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Vol. XXIX.
Roman Kirke,
r
By John Robins.
Standing on the brow of the hill
behind my father’s house. 1 gazed
long and silently down the valley
before me. Ah, memory, memory,
how it rushed through my mind!
One short year before this I had
lelt :ny father’s home to pursue iny
studies at Emory college. What
had that year been to me? 1 bad
studied bard, and was sensible of
the changes ttie year had brought.
As a boy 1 bad found much plea¬
sure roaming through the woods or
fishing in the creek running down
the center of the valley before me.
Now—now 1 took no delight in
these things, and as 1 stood looking
at the old familiar scenes this
bright April morning—as the sun
began to rise above the eastern hills
there came over me a feeling ot
despondancy and glooin. What
were these things to me, tl is dull,
monotonous country life, these
quiet hills, these sleepy vales;
could 1 ever again bring myself to
be contented will) this; could J ever
again grasp the handles ot a plow
and follow a slow plodding hor^e
back and forth along the furrow;
no—no, I could not; life was too
short to go plodding through it; in
the mad race before me, 1 must nol
lag behind, I—my thoughts were
interrupted here by some moving
objects on the hill across the valley ;
1 shaded my eyes with my hands
as the morning sun was full in my
race, to get a better view.
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Miss Ellen Me Ray.
i“ Ellen Me Ray and Rom »n
Kirke!', 1 involuntarily ejaculated,
A lovers' meeting in the early
morning light, Ellen, tie most
lovely maiden in the valley ;
Roman, the handsomest and most
manly youth in the county, A? 1
looked, she threw' ‘ r arms around
his neck and kissed him cffeCtion-
atelv * ir/.nediateiy she turned and
moved away, going to her home,
Roman (my adopted
eii down the Mde of i hr hill, and
crossing the valley came directly
toward me.
\Y e had btt n raided by the
parents, and lived in the same
home. From my earliest recol'ec-
’tion we had entertained «n affec—
tion for each other, which, to ine
at least, was as undying and ever-
lasEug as the hills and mountains
about us.
• Knowing Roman as I did, no
suspicion of evil in the meeting I
kad just witnessed, came into my
mind. He did not seem surprised
at seeing me there, hut came direct-
ly up and said :
TheToccoa Record
Toccoa, Georgia, May 16, 1902.
“Hello John! looking over old
scenes ? 1 »
“Yes Roman,” I replied, “and
■a new one, too. > y
4 4 You saw Ellen and I across the
va 1 ley, john ?”
“Yes, 1 saw you; what does it
mean Roman?”
4 4 Oh, nothing at present,” he
replied.
“From which I infer it means
something later on?”
4 4 Yes John, I am going to marry
Ellen some day ; you know how
everything is just at present, you
>n
°L/a4
At
J
A
Roman Kirke
know', John, 1 could not take care
of a wife. Father todl me yester¬
day I was to go back with you to
Emory, and I have just told Ellen
of it. It will take me at least four
years to go through college, and
another to get started in some kind
of business by which I can make
enough to take care of Ellen ; I told
her this just now, while you were
looking at us. > y
4 4 What does Ellen say to it
Roman?”
“She does not like it very much,
she thinks we should get married
now, but you know, John, her
father seems to hate me. I am poor,
of course, and he is w ell off; ..
tliiiik he is looking for a better
match for Ellen. 1 could not marry
her now,unless we ran off together
and 1 do not think I could agree to
that. 1 do not like that kind o
thing, 1 have made her promise to
wait however. Yon know, John ,
she is just sixteen, and I cm only
eighteen, so we have plenty time. >»
Roman and myself were if possi-
ble more than brothers. His father
died about the time he was born,
mid his mother (a distant relative
of my father's) died about a year
laier. . Roman was taken home by
my father after his mother’* fune-
ral, and g rc w up to be a* dear to us
a son could have been. He was
a handsome young man, large in
stature and from Ins earliest days
had lived an example of truth and
honor.
W hen 1 returned to Emory Ro-
mun went with me. From tbc first
he secon d to be quick in his studies
and soon gained the good will of
both teachers and students. 1 did
not say anything to him about El—
len McRay for p-robably a month
after we had returned to Emory,
and as he said nothing to me on
the subject, I .naturally concluded
that everything was moving on as
he wished it. About this time
however, he. told me that Ellen’s
father had intercepted one ot I.it
letters to her, and had written him
u very insulting letter, demanding
“flood Will to All Men.’
that all correspondence between
his daughter and himself should
cease and added :
“What shall I do, John? I do
not like to write to Ellen against
her father’s wishc», still, still—”
he ran his hands through his hair
in a puzzled way and repeated,
“What shall I do, John?”
* 4 Have you heard from Ellen
since you received her father’s let¬
ter?” I asked.
‘‘Yes, she seems to be very much
worried, and suggests that I direct
my letters for her to Mary Carroll,
whom you know lives just a short
distance from her. I do not like
that, though ; it does not seem ex¬
actly the right thing to do.”
“Well, what are you going to
do?’* I asked.
“I don’t know, I don’t know.”
he replied, and went off to his
room.
I do not know how they man¬
aged their correspondence, but I am
inclined to think he did not write
to her again.
When we returned to our home
al ter the close of school, everything
seemed to be just as we had left it.
had if anything a stronger dis¬
like for the country than ever, and
determined that now while the op¬
portunity presented itself, I would
turn my attention to the study ot
aw. When I mentioned this to
my father, and spoke of Roman’s
oratorical qualities, ne at once said
that if we thought this was the
course we were best fitted for, we
had his full consent to follow it.
Several weeks passed, I had not
thought to ask Roman about Ellen,
until when 1 saw him one day when
he thought he was alone take a note
from his pocket and read it; he
then carefully tore it in little bits
and scattered it to the wind.
••Hello, Roman! > 1 I cried, “is
that a love letter?”
He jumped when I spoke, then
carelessly said. “No John, only a
note from Ellen. She wants me
to meet her over there on the hill
where you saw us once. i i
* 4 Well, are you going?” I asked.
“Yes, I shall go, though I am
afraid it may cause trouble.”
*» When are you to meet her?”
I asked.
••This evening at dusk. j >.
That evening half hour before
dusk, I sat on*the porch ot Mr. Me-
Ray’s house talking of everything
that came into my mind. He had
nothing against me. As I had a
gun and a-dog with me, he suppos¬
ed 1 had been hunting and just
slopped wh'le passihg. After we
had talked for some time, a young
mat) a stranger to me, came out;
Mr. McfRay introduced me to him
—Mr. Anderson from New Or-
leans, up here for his health. I
was not much struck with Mr. An-
derson, though he was a fairly
good looking man. He only
ma’ned on tbe porch a short time
and then went back into the house.
I remained. *ome time talking to
Mr McRay, and having concluded
that Ellen had got well away,
took iny leave. Passing around
the corner of liie house, I moved off
in the direction where I thought
Ellen and Roman might be. A
quarter of a mile further on, as I
reached the top of a little knoll, to
my astonishment I noticed not
more than fifty yards in front of
me, a man lying behind a log. I
quickly stepped behind a tree and
watched to see what he was doinsr:
he was evidenty watching Ellen
and Roman. I craned my neck
Successor t» Toccea Times and Tcccoa Hews.
far around the tree and soon
them out, about three hundred
yards from the man. I was so
busy looking at them that I did not
notice the man for several
When 1 looked at him again I saw
the long, shining barrel of a rifle
pointing over the log at the lovers,
[The continuation of this re-
markably interesting story will be
found in next week’s Record.)
Unconscious Influence.
For none of us liveth to himself, and uo
mau dieth to hituself.—[Roman*, xiv.. 7-
Somebody has said that thoughts
are things. The phrase is unfortu¬
nate, because it is misleading and
inaccurate, This world is made
up of things and forces. Thoughts
are more subtle than mere things
and far more potential, They are
forces which change a man’s life
for better or for worse.
If you apply the piinciples of
wireless telegraphy to spiritual
concerns you will sect lie lull scope
of my statement. We may safely
do this, for there is a spiritual law
running parallel to eveiy physical
law, and no man can discover a
physical law without suggesting a
corressponding spiritual law.
this way all thinkers stand shoul-
der to shoulder, lifting the world
out of the old into the new.
The wireless telegrapher tells us
that a word or its equivalent creates
a vibration of the air, as a pebble
creates a ripple in the pond, and
this vibration speeds on its way to
the destined terminus, however
distant, and there makes itself
known and felt. We are living in
an age of miracles, or. in other
words, an age of discovery, and
tliis is one of the startling results.
In like manner a word of scorn
or o f praise hurled into the spiritual
universe from a heart that loves or
hates* becomes a living force, not
lost in the general confusion as a
single note is lost in the multitude
of sounds, but going straight to
the man or woman against whom
or in favor’of whom it is directed.
That other heart at the further end
of the line perhaps half broken by
remorse or timidly hoping for bet¬
ter days, is the receiving station of
this wireless telegraphy, Your
thought, critical or gentle, strikes
that other heart with an impact
which either hurts or helps. You
mav not know that your thought
has taken it* fight, that other per-
son may not know whence it comes
but all the same he is uplifted or
depressed by it.
This may seem strange and even
incredible, but while it is to-day a
possible fact, it may to-morrow be-
come a demonstrated truth, and
the next day it may change the
whole outlook of the spiritual
world. It has the appearance of a
miracle, but protounder knowledge
always seem miraculous, while in
reality we only climb from the
lower to the higher realm of law,
see further and understand God
better.
A spoken thought i* even now
recognized as a force when speak-
ers and hearers are within earshot
of each other. An oath, a compli-
ment," a bit ot vocal flattery go
through the ear to the heart and
kindle a flame of sentiment or qf
happiness. What you say becomes
part of another man’s life and ex-
cites passion or stimulates friend-
ship. Why may there not be a
quicker transit than the slew and
dull ear affords? Why may not
the time come when we can convey
our thoughts without the coarse
No. 20
medium of word*? There are no
word* between u* and heaven. A
prayer i« a longing of the soul,
“uttered or unexpressed. »» God
speaks to hearts. The impression
is instantaueous, as when the suu
makes it* mark on the photograph¬
er’s plate. There are “unseen be-
ings who walk the earth both when
we wake and when we sleep,” but
they use no words. They make us
feel tiieir presence, and we are a*
sure that they are close by us
as though we heard a trumpet call.
What they would say steals into
the heart, for our poor ears cannot
catch it. We hear nothing, but
we know that they are giving us
a helping hand. Is there any
language in heaven except that of
thoughts? I
When the world grows older
why may we not speak to each
other" without this cumbersome
factor of spoken words? Progress
is indefinite aud we are moving
in that direction. We catch
glimpse? of the possible already.
A look, a pressure of the hand,
4U( j S y rn p a thy or contempt are
complete, Enlarge tne circuin-
Terence and you have a new truth.
^o one ncc ded to tell Christ what
he thought. He read the heart as
an open book. He looked at a mau
and the man’s story was already
told. Lips had nothing to do with
it. The Master felt the woes and
shared the joys of humanity. A
subtler language than we can use
was at his command.
A thought is the wireless mes¬
sage of soul to soul. Your neigh¬
bors welfare is affected by your
kind or unkind criticism of him.
When we deal with subtile and
far reaching forces of this kind,
then religion which enjoin* char¬
ity is brought to the forefront a*
themost important factor in humun
life. If you would be at your
best you must love your neighbor,
for your theughts of him will
either lift him up or trip him to a
fall, The whole trend and swing
of the universe bid & man be hon¬
est, just and gentle, for we|are so
bound together that nobility in
one kindles nobility in all, and
one man’s hurt is an injury to
ell. Since wejjare marching, one
great company, from time to
eternity let us go as brothers with
a kindly word and a helping hand
whenever opportunity offers.
The New York Sun calls atten¬
tion to the fact that Juan Ferandez
island was not Robinson Crusoe’s
island at all. That not only was
Defoe’s hero entirely fictitious, not
having been drawn from Alexander*
Selkirk,but that h**xprestly state*
that the island upon which Rob¬
inson was cast away was “off the
coast of America near the mouth
of the great river Oroouoque
(Orinoco) and was, therefore in
the Atlantic instead of the Pacitic
ocean. Hence, to refer to Juan
Fernandez as “Robinson Crusoe's
island,, i* a mistake, though it
must be admitted a very common
one.
The governor of Arkansas, who
has pardoned a negro criminal on
the condition that he become a citi¬
zen of Massachusetts, ought to keep
in mind two important facts. One
is that the constitution torbids
“cruel and unusual punishment,”
ana the other is that the Governor
of Massachusetts might take it into
his head to retaliate by sending to
Arkansas white criminals from
his state.