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A BIRLE THOUGHT FOR TODAY
The trees of the Lord are full of sap,
the cedars of -Lebanon which he hath plant
ed, where the birds make their nests. The
high hills are a refuge for the wild goats,
and the rocks for the conies. He appoint
ed the moon for seasons; the sun know
'i eth his going down. Thou makest dark
ness, and it is night, wherein all the beasts
of the forest do creep forth. The sun aris
eth; they gather themselves together and
lay them down in their dens. Man goeth
forth unto his work, and to his labour until
the evehing. O Lord, how manifold are
thy works; in wisdom hast thou made them
all. —Psalms 104:16-24.
An Interesting Contingency
POLITICAL savants are counseling un-l
usual care in the selection of nominees I
* for the vice presidency this year be
•ause, as they argue, events may so fall
out as to place one of those nominees in
the presidency on March the fourth next.
That certainly would be the case if no presi
dential candidate ah'ould receive a majority
eftftwr of the electoral vote or of the vote in
the House of Representatives. In such a
quandary the vice presidential candidate
having the highest electoral vote, provided
i
It were a majority, would act as president.
If, however, no vice presidential candidate
had a majority, then the Senate would
choose a vice president from the two candi
dates for that office having the highest num-!
her of votes, and he would become the na- j
tlon's chief magistrate.
Since the adoption of the Twelfth amend-!
ment to the Constitution, by which these]
rules are prescribed, there has been but
one Instance of failure to elect a president
by the ordinary process. That was in 18 24,
when none of the four candidates received
a majority. The returns gave Andrew Jack
gon ninety-nine electoral votes; John Quincy
Adams, eighty-four; William H. Crawford,
of Georgia, forty-one, and Henry Clay, thir
ty-seven. The election thus was thrown
into the House of Representatives, where
Adams, with the support of Clay, received
th« votes of thirteen of the twenty-four
states, and so was declared elected. The
vice president was John C. Calhoun, who
htad received a clear majority of the elec
otral voters. Only once has the senate had
occasion to exercise its privilege under the
Twelfth amendment to elect a vice president.
In 1837, none of the vice presidential candi
dates having a majority, the Senate chose
Richard M. Johnson, of Kentucky.
When the House is called upon to elect
a president it must vote not as Individual
members, but by states, and a majority of
the total number of states is necessary to
•lection. This means that the present House
of Representatives could not, or would not,
•lect; for It is politically so constituted that
neither a Republican nor a Democratic can
didate could secure a majority of its votes.
The Republicans have the delegations of
tweniy-three states; the Democrats, of twen
ty; while five delegations are tied, so that
they would have only a half Note or else
none at all. Possibly, of course, there may
ba changes iu some of the delegations ere
March the fourth next. Touching these con
tingencies, one observer points out that New
York state “may be made Republican for
such an election by action on the Contested
seat of Representative Sol Bloom, a Demo
crat.” Should Mr. Bloom be unseated the
New York delegation, for purposes of a
House election of the president, yould be
Republican. “But,” it is added, “that alone
would not give the Republicans a majority
of the forty-eight states. Another state
delegation must be obtained. Some Repub
licans have figured it out that New Hamp
shire might be converted from a tied state
by th« resignation of a member and a
ly and cheerfully see
that things are made
right.
We want,every sub
scriber to get The Tri-
Weekly Journal reg
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ly. We want all of
them to receive what
they have paid for.
We want only satis
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small percentage of
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able, but we want to
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TA TRI W. ! ELY *D>t RNAIi
special election, as conditions m that state,
they .believe, would be favorable to electing
a Republican, thus giving the Republicans
the necessary twenty-five states to elect a
President if the election goes to the House.”
The five states now having evenly-di
vided delegations are Nebraska, New Hamp
shire, New Jersey, Maryland and Montana.
The twenty Democratic states in the House
are Arizona, Arkansas, Delaware, Florida,
Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi,
Missouri, Nevada, New York, New Mexico,
North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina,
Tennessee, Texas, Virginia and West Vir
ginia. The remaining twenty-three are Re
publicans.
If, then, the House keeps Its present po
litical status; and if the necessity of choos
ing a president by other moans than the
electoral college should arise, one of the
vice presidential candidates would become
president, either by virtue of having a ma
jority of the electoral votes on his own ac
count or by selection through the Senate.
Hence the exceeding importance of the po
litical parties nominating able men for the
vice presidency when possibilities like these
are on the horizon.
The Twelfth amendment ot the Constitu
tion was adopted after the election of 1800
in which Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr,
candidates for president and vice president,
respectively, received an equal niyuber of
electoral votes. The ' Constitution at that
time provided: “The person having the
greatest number of electoral votes shall be
president, if such number be a majority
of the whole number of electors appointed;
and if there be more than one who have
such majority, and have an equal number
of votes then the House of Representatives
shall immediately choose by* ballot one of
them for president.” it so happened
in. in the election of 1800 that Jefferson
and Burr received an equal number of elec
toral votes. The tie was referred to the
House for a decision. When balloting be
gan it was evidentt hat the Federalists, or
a faction of them, were bent upon placing
Aaron Burr In the presidency. On thirty
five successive ballots they contrived to keep
Jefferson from the requisite majority; but
on the thirty-sixth he was elected. In the
light of ensuing history the seriousness of
that situation was brought home to the
country’s mind, and prompted the adoption
of the Twelfth amendment, which provides
as follows:
“The electors shall meet in their respec
tive states, and vote by ballot for President
and vice president, one of whom at least,
shall not be an inhabitant of the same state
with themselves; they shall name in their
b.allots the person voted for as president,
and in distinct ballots the person voted for
as vice president, and they shall make dis
tinct lists of all perons voted for as presi
dent, and of all persons voted for as vice
president, and of the number of votes for
each, which lists they shall sign and certify
and transmit sealed to the seat of the gov
ernment; of the United States, directed to
the President of the Senate. —The Presi
dent of the Senate shall, in the presence of
the Senate and House of Representatives,
open all the certificates, and the votes shall
then be counted. The person having the
greatest number of votes for president shall
be the president, if such number be a ma
jority of the whole number of electors ap
pointed; and if no person have such ma
jority, then from the persons having the
highest numbers, not exceeding three, on the
list of those voted foi' as president, the
House of Representatives shall choose imme
diately, by ballot, the president. But in
choosing the president, the votes shall be
taken by states, the representation from
each state having one vote; a quorum for
this purpose shall consist of a member or
members from two-thirds of the states, and
a majority of all the states shall be neces
sary to a choice. If the House of Repre
sentatives shall not choose a president when
ever the right of choice shall devolve upon
them, before the fourth day of March next
following, then the vice president shall act
as president, as in the case ot the death
or other constitutional disability of the
president.—The person having the greatest
number of votes as Nice president, shall be
the vice president, if such a number be a
majority of the whole number of electors
appointed, and if no person have a majority,
then from the txvo highest numbers on tne
list the Senate shall choose the vice presi
dent; a quorum for the purpose shall con
sist of two-thirds of the whole number ot
senators, and a majority of the whole num
ber shall be necessary to a choice. But no
person constitutionally ineligible to the of
: fice of president shall be eligible to that ot
vice president of the United States.”
Is it more than possible that the presi
dential election of 192 1 will be thrown into
the House? Those who say yes think it
likely that a third party wjll enter the lists
and will so divide the electoral vote that
| neither Democrats nor Republicans will com-
I maud a clear majority. But this supposi
tion, it seems to us, does not take due ac
| count of the popular strength of a forward-
I minded Democrat like William G. McAdoo.
With him in the field, against the foregone
Republican candidate, the battle lines be
tween progress and reaction will be so clear
ly drawn and so decisively wag d that the;>
should no need whatsoever of referring the
Icontest to the House of Representatives.
]ThisL however, docs not lessen the impor-
I tance of nominating a strong man far the
fice of th*, highest potentialities. •
SLANDER
—
BY HAZEL DEYO BACHELOR
What has gone before,—Miriam Fbl
| well, a young business woman, has an
episode in her life which, although inno
cent, has caused scandal. She has al
most forgotten this when, a year later,
she meets Anthony Breen and falls in
love with him. He loves her in spite of
himself, but he is a stickler for conven
i tion, and when he takes her to his
mother, he suggests that she say noth
ing of her work. Miriam inadvertently
blurts out the truth, and later, when
she hesitates about giving up her work,
Anthony in a rage insinuates that there
is a reason back of her unwillingness
to leave, the firm of Carson & Holland.—
Now go on \\ iih ihe story.
CHAPTER XXV
I tumbled
i (XrOF mean that, Anthony?”
Y “Mean what?”
I “’1 hat I have adjustments to
make before our marriage, that there, may be
something in my life that 1 want to conceal
from you?
“How do I know what to think? What
do I know about your life before 1 came into
U u/V w V ,nan living alone, leading a
thoioughly unconventional life. What do 1
i -io a alter l l ter a11 ’ aboUt yOUr Standar <ls Os
|ii a nt and wrong, tell me that?”
j “You should know,” Miriam said very
i slowly, and as she . spoke there flickered
across her consciousness the memory of a
night long ago. She and a man had stood
lacing each other on the porch of a rustic
inn. That man had been considerate of her.
and she had hated him for it, she had tried
to put him out of her memory, and now this
man she loved better than anyone in the
world was hurting her cruelly, was saving
tings that were unwarranted, worse than
Uia., unjust, lor no reason. What would he
il he knew about that episode in the
mountain, fww would he judge her if she
•>»'i lum that? The thought was terrifying,
and involuntarily she shuddered.
Watching her, Anthony saw the girl’s face
go white, he saw her lips quiver. If she had
been defiant and cold, he might have" per
sisted in his treatment, he might have gone
on flinging stinging sarcasms at her, but the
sight ot her, tremulous and uncertain, went
to his heart and melted the ice around it.
“I don’t know,” he burst out suddenly,
striding across th§ room to her. “I don’t
know what possessed me to talk that way. 1
must have been mad.” His arms closed
' around her and she clung to him, but the
! strain had told on her, for all of a sudden
! she was crying. She tried to choke back
her sobs, but they came faster, her throat
felt hot and constricted, her eyes were burn
ing, she sobbed wildly, hysterically, with a
complete loss of control that was somehow
( strangely alarming.
“Don’t ever talk that, way to me again,
will you, Anthony?” she was saying. “1
don’t think I could bear it. Your eyes were
so cold and hard when you looked at line
I and your lips were drawn into a straight
, line. You seemed like a stranger to me, and
the thought that you could believe anything
■ wrong of me was somehow horrible.”
“But I didn’t believe anything wrong of
: you,” Anthony assured her over and over.
“I was jealous, call it what you will, but
I certainly I was not myself.”
J-Je was frightened at the girl’s intensity
i of emotion, but back of his alarm was a
: feeling of triumph. He had bent her to his
i will, it was she who had weakened, who
j had come to him. Never again would he
i feel her remote from him; for now there
. was nothing he could not do with her. He
i was sure of her love where before he
'had felt respect for her Individuality. Now
i he was certain never to lose her; she loved
i him enough to give up anything for him. He
■ had frightened her with his anger, he had
: given her a foretaste of how he might be If
he were crossed. Nonv he could afford to be
j generous, to take, the blame on himself, noxv
! that he was sure of being her master.
I But what Anthony did not know was that
'he could not. drive Miriam too far. She
] loved him and because of that she tried to
! forget the things he had said to her. She
I did succeed in relegating them to her sub-
I conscious mind, but after that she Nvas
I never quite so frank with Anthony. She
i Nvas careful of what she said to him, she
! considered her speeches beforehand, for
, there Nvas always the fear that he might fly
into a rage, and Miriam never wanted to
see him like that again.
CHAPTER XXXI
Ah Afternoon Tea
TN /r RS. BREEN was having an after
i\/J noon tea to introduce .Miriam to
I ’ x some of the best people. It was the
j first social affair held in the old house in
I many years, but Mrs. Breen, having decided
' to sponsor Miriam for Anthony’s sake, wished
, every one to believe that she thoroughly ap
| proved of the match. Miriam had told Mr.
■ Carson of her engagement and she planned
I to give up her work the following xveek.
Anthony had been somewhat put out because
i Miriam would not give up everything imme
! diately. lie wanted her to accept his nioth
, er’s invitation to stay down at Laurelton
until the marriage, which was to take place
] early in September.
“Why not plan to stay down there when
we go down on Saturday for the week-end?”
I Anthony had suggested.
But Miriam had been firm. She could
not leave .Mr. Carson like that, the firm had
been too good to her for her to walk out
without finishing up her work. They had
! been going to send her to Europe in the
i Europe, Anthony, think of ft!” Miriam
l had said with shining eyes. Whereupon An
' thony had retorted, ‘‘We'll go to Europe on
our honeymoon so you can have that to
look forward to, anyway.”
i Miriam had been almost "happy as she and
i Anthony had journeyed down to Laurelton.
Anthony was in his nicest mood, and when
they reached the house it seemed to the
I girl that it wore an unusually festive look
of gayety, as though for a time it had
siinken off its gloom.
■ She went immediately to her room so as
'to have plenty of time to change her things.
| and all during her dressing she felt happy
and excited at the thought of pieeting; An-
I thony’s friends. Her gown, of dull red ma
terial, was made simply, but clung to her
slim figure in long, graceful folds. As she
i came into the drawing room Mrs. Breen,
who sat in state in a large carved chair be
fore the tea table, nodded approval.
After all. the girl looked well-bred, she
really had quite an air about her, and her
manner was charming. It might be possi
ble to palm her off on people bv hinting
that she < aine of the Massachusetts Fol
money.” This thought, together with the
fact, that Miriam looked so unusually pretty,
put .Mrs. Breen into quite a good humor,
and made her treat her future daughter-in
law quite affably. Miriam responded eager
ly, and again that little feeling of happiness
surged up in her. Afterward she remem
bered those few moments before the gue-ts
began to arrive, as the lull befbre the storm,
for no slightest ’premonition warned her of
the tragedy that was to follow.
Mrs. Breen had invited fifty persons to
the house, and shortly after 4 o'clock the
ts began to arrive. .Mrs. Breen expand
ed ip ti. new role she was playing. She
began to feel a certain fondness for .Miriam
iiOdiing her own. and showing marked abil-
I'bp old worn ans rvp-s followed s’pn
j dor form around the room, raw her pause
OLD-TIME RELIGION
BY BISHOP W. A. CANDLER
THEY •’I:. \ \LIANT FOR THE 1
I RUTH
KING SOLOMON has the credit of being
the Nvisest man that, ever lived; and I
one of his most valuable exhortations i
is, “Buy the truth and sell it not.” (Proverbs
23:23.)
The implication underlying this saying of
the wise man is that, the I
truth cannot be had for]
nothing; that to acquire i
it one may well afford to ,
give anything; and that;
once possessed it should I
not be sold at any price
whatsoever. And this i
means that It is a thing
of priceless worth. And
such, indeed, it is. It is
more than light to the i
eye and food for the
; body.
! Nevertheless, there!
come periods in the his-1
[ lory of men when they ]
I seem to hold the truth
very cheap. In such dull,
r **** WSr
I
’a
stupid, dead times they refuse to endure any
discomfort or inconvenience to obtain it, or
to turn away from any self-sacrifice to de
fend it.
The inmperious demands of fleshly appe
tites and inordinate desires for baser things
exclude all proper and just appreciation of
the worth of truth and set an exorbitant]
value upon carnal gratifications. If that'
which is false sterns to be more effective
than truth for serving the sordid ends of |
selfishness, the false the true and !
the true is denounced as the false. Thus all j
spiritual values are confused and “the moral !
currency is debased” during such eras of i
decay and degeneration.
To the great grief of the prophet Jere
miah such a time came to his people iu his |
day, and he lamented most bitterly the cor- |
rupting voluptuousness through ’which their i
indulgence in vice and falsehood became i
wanton while their interest in virtue and ]
truth became languid.
In agonizing distress he cried out: “Oh j
that my head were waters and mine eyes a j
fountain of tears, that I might weep day
and night for the slain of the daughter of
my people! Oh that I had in the wilderness
a lodging place of wayfaring men that I
might leave my people, and go from them!
for they be all adulterers, an assembly ot'
treacherous men. And they bend their |
tongues like their bows for lies, but they are I
not valiant for the truth upon the earth,”
(Isaiah 9:1-3.)
In our day there are prevalent somewhat
similar conditions. In our own country, and
throughout Christendom, there is a conspicu
ous want of confident belief of the truth
and courageous defense of it. Indeed, by a
certain class of writers on theological sub
jects it seems to be assumed that definite
truth is unattainable, unimportant, and non
essential.
The chief exponent of this vogue was Al
brecht Ritschl, a German theologian of the
nineteenth century, who died in Gottingen
Marell 30, 188'J. Many have both imbibed
and perverted his teachings, drawing infer
ence and proclaiming propositions, which
they imagine are corollaries of his prin
ciples, but which most probably he would
reject, if he were living honv and heard them
stated.
Rit’schlianisin rejects the inerrancy of the
Holy Scriptures and all things supernatural.
It makes little of logic, and rests its system,
if system it may be called, on “judgment
values.” An exemplification of its position
is found In an utterance of a leading Ameri
can Ritschlian who is reported as saying l
with reference to a definite belief in God:
“We do not know that there is a God. But
if there is no God, then there is no moral
sysetm iu the universe. That Is a horrible
condition, and to avoid it we make a ven
ture, any. we postulate there is a God. This
venture is our faith, and this postulate is
our God.”
From such'' statements philosophic skep
ticism, as well as theological doubt, exudes!
like ink from the (ail of the cuttle-fish. Sc- j
cording to this viexv God, Christ, salvation ]
and eternal life are not really matters of |
knowledge, and any sort of belief concern- ]
ing them arises as a sort of religious fog or ]
mist from one’s own “judgment values.”
Os course, definite truth can be neither
clear nor dear to a man who holds such
views. He would probably share the spirit
of Pilate’s contemptuous question xvhen the
Roman Governor said sneeringly to Jesus,
“What is truth?” (John 18:38.) Many of
the men, who have been dislodged from* all
settled convictions of truth by the specula
tive theories of Ritschl, place all authority
in religion in their own feelings, experiences, ]
and intuitions. They magnify feeling and |
minify truth. They are fond of affirming j
that religion is not a creed, but a life, as if j
there were an irreconcilable conflict between I
what a man believes and what he is—a !
most absurd notion truly.
They deprecate all discussion of theologi
cal questions as being un-Christian and un
friendly to peace—becoming advocates of a
specious pacifism with which nevertheless \
much of their own aggressive talk is in
MY FAVORITE STORIES ,
By Irvin S. Cobb
There shall’follow now in daily sequence,
a brief series of jokes all dealing, curiously I
enough, with the general subject of intoxl-j
cation. Perhaps, if you don't like the first, j
one, which appears here today, the second
one, coming tomorrow, or the third one may .
find more favor in your eyes.
Here is our initial offering!
The scene is an English public house, or |
by the terms of a phraseology no longer'
used in our fair land, a saloon. The early :
closing law, first put into effect as a war
measure and noxv urged as a permaneni
step, is the topic under discussion.
Most of those present are opposed to any
further, entailment of thir liberties. But a
sound counter-argument is offered by a red
faced. hoarse-voiced gentleman Nvho puts his :
emptied b n nr glass down, sticks the ends ot
his mustache —being a tidy person—and re
marks:
, "Well, wot I sez is this: If a bloke ain't
I drunk by ’alf past ten. he ain't tryin'l”
(Copyright, 1 924.)
It doesn't take a very large man to make
j a big boast.
Occasionally an actress considers a divorce
' her best part.
I for a few moments’ conversation here and '
i there, watched her as she talked with the ]
i groups that formed around her, and was al
-1 most as well satisfied as though Miriam had ’
; been a daughter of one of the most exclu- i
sive families.
| Anthony had come up to Miriam with >
| some new arrivals, and after the introduc
| tions they stood chatting a fey moments. ■
Miriam, looking over the shoulder of the
! man who stood next to her, saw a woman <
enter the room and go up to speak to Mrs. j
i Breen. The woman’s face was vaguely fa- .
| miliar, although for a moment Miriam could ■
; not place it. The fact annoyed her, for she
! rarely forgot a face, but puzzle as she
I would, she could not remember where she
had seen the woman before.
Snt ii r<l;i\ —“Out of the Past" and ‘’Damn
ing a Reputation.**
ilunisn.D. Ar’R»r. tr. 1021.
diet. They do not wish to be . u’rbed by
controversy, and covet for themselves the
privilege of pouring out for themselves a
sort of theological monologue, while all who
oppose their teaching keep isilent before
them. If they had lived in the days of St.
Paul they Nvould have deprecated, and sup
pressed, if possible, his great polemical epis
tles. In fact, they generally deprecate Paul
and what they call “Paulinism.”
Os course, such men cannot be “valiant
for the truth;” for they do not value it.
enough to seek it or contend for it.
A strange feature of their case is that
they dote on seminaries, colleges and univer
sities. This is quite strange; in fact, it is
quite paradoxical with reference to their
position. For what is the use of institu
tions of learning if definite truth is unat-l
tainable, is quite inferior to feelings, and 1
may be even antagonistic to religious ex
perience and Christian life? Efforts at any
sort of education are something worse than
vain, if truth be so uncertain, and possibly
so Injurious to Christian life. Why teach
anything if the highest and moss indispensa
ble truth —the truth about God—-cannot be
known with certainty, or, if known, is near
ly, or quite, worthless?
The great schools of which history takes
account, sprang from definite religious con-j
victions and were designed to defend and
propagate the principles of their founders.
Such were the schools of the prophets in
the days of Elijah, which probably the brax e
and uncompromising Tishbite set up and
supervised (IL Kings 2:1-5.) They were not
designed to serve the ends of a, concoidat
between the Baalism of the court of Ahab
and Jezebel and the religion of Jehovah
which Israel had received through Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob; but were intended rather
to prepare men to carry on the conflict of
pure faith with the foul cult of the daughter
of Ethbaal.
Such also were the schools of the fathers
of early Christianity; and such was St. An
drew’s in Scotland and Oxford university in
England.
Oxford university is a rich collection of
great colleges, every one of which rests on
foundations laid to promote the most definite
religious beliefs; and they have served well
the high purposes of their founders and pro
moters. What would Great Britain be today
if these institutions had not been established
in faith?
The assumption that theological pacifism
promotes progress is contradicted flatly by
all history. The record of human advance
ment is made up of the epic annals of the
valiant knighthood of the defenders of the
faith who lived, and contended, and died for
the truth.
Such an one was Daul, without whose
militant devotion to "Jesus and the resurrec
tion,” a. ■' truculent Judiaisni and persecuting
paganism would have crushed Christianity in
the first century. Wherever he went, he
went to war, and knew that his going meant
conflicts. At Ephesus, where he spent more
than two years, during and bu Nvhich long
ministry “all they that dwelt ih Asia heard
the word of the Lord Jesus both Jews >and
Greeks.” (Acts 19:10.) He fought with
beast-like opposition. (I. Corinthians 15:32.)
There for the truth as it is in Jesus, he
was pressed out of measure, above strength.
Insomuch that he despaired even of lite.
(11. Corinthians 1:8.) The churches in Asia
were the trophies of his suffering and con
quering faith —especially the church at
Ephesus. To that church, which he won by
standing in jeopardy evdry hour, he wrote a
letter in which he called with a bugle call
the Ephesian Christians to heroic warfare,
saying “take unto you the- whole armor of
God,” have your feet “shod with the prepara
l tion of the gospel of peace,” gird your loins
“about with truth,” and take “the shield of
faith,” and “the helmet of salvation” and
“the sword of the spirit which is in the
word of God.”
Gamaliel was a pacifist (Acts 5:15-39),
but such was not Paul, his nobler pupil. And
this martial apostle did more for mankind
than all the lazy and languid Gamaliels that
ever lived on the earth, whether in the first
!or the twentieth century, or any other cen
' tury.. When he came to die he came with
the unterrified faith of “a good soldier of
I Jesus Christ” (11. Timotihy 2:p), triurnph
! antly exclaiming, “I have fought a good
fight, I have finished my course, I have kept
the faith.” (11. Timothy 4:7.) Against such
an one no prophet of God could bring the ac
cusation of not being “valiant for the truth.”
Our befogged times need more Pauls, and
fewer Gamaliels, Ritschls, and Ritschlians.
We need mors soldiers of the cross and few
er sorry sentimentalists. ,
“The Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His Blood-red banner streams afar;
Who follows in His train?
| ‘‘A glorious band the chosen few
I On whom the Spirit came:
Twelve valiant saints they knew
And mocked the cross and flame.
“They climbed the steep ascent of heaven
Through peril, toil and pain:
O God, to us may grace be given
1 To follow in their train.”
. QUIZ
Any Tri-Weekly .Journal reader can
get the answer to any question puzzling
him by writing to The Atlanta .Journal
Information Bureau, Frederic J. Has
kin, (liiector, Washington, D. and in
closing a txvo-cent stamp for .return
postage. DO NOT SEND IT TO OUR
ATLANTA OFFICE.
Q. What woman has her statue in the
Hall of Fame in Washington. A. .J. R.
A. The only memorial statue erected to a
woman in the so-called Hall of Fame in the
Capitol building at Washington is the por
traiture of Miss Willard. Frances Willard
was at the time of her death in 1898, the
president of the Woman’s Christian Temper
ance Union and of the World’s Woman's
Christian Temperance Union.
Q. When were oars first used to propel
boats? E. C. P.
A. Paddling was probably known before
rowing. Boats with oars are found in the
earlie-t pictorial monuments of Egypt, about
2500 B. C. Tn these some crews are facing
the bow and others the stern. Later the
hieroglyphic show the oarsmen facing the
stein. •
Q. How old is Charlie Chaplin?
A. Charles Chaplin will be thirty-five years
old in April.
Q. What is a young swan called? A. M. P.
• A. The name used for a young swan is
cygnet.
Q. When a man of India loses caste doos
he descend into the caste beneath him?' N. F.
A. In losing caste a man does not enter
the caste beneath him; he becomes an out
cast.
Q. Is it correct to say “United States of
America” or should the title be 'The United
States of America?” O. JI.
A.’ "The United States of America” is cor
rect.
Q. How far does oxvgen extend into the
sky? J. F. ,
A. The atmosphere extends about 100
miles above the earth. It is estimated that
it has a slight oxygen content at that height,
but oxygen is not present in quantities to
-uppnrt human life more than a few miles
above the earth's surface.
MY WIFE AND I
BY CAROLYN BEECHER
What has gone before —Robert Bruce ,
young lawyer, falls victim to the charms
of Natalie and marries her immediately,
without knowing much about her or her
family. Within two weeks they begin
housekeeping in a New York apartment.-
Nonn go on Nvitji the st o ry.
CH AKTER II
MINE had been a whirlwind wooing, s
hasty marriage. I met Natalie while
on a business trip to a small mid-west
ern city, had been at once attracted to her.
Quickly the feeling had ripened Into love, th»
desire to possess the beautiful girl whom gos
sip said was about to marry one of the young
men of her acquaintance. If anything had
been needed to egg me on this woud have done
it. 'lbis idea of another possessing her!
The thought of losing her was unbearable.
Always I had acted impulsively. To leave
the ground clear for my unknown rival was
not Io bo considered. My business was fin
ished, yet 1 lingered. Then while motoripg
in the moonlight I proposed, was accepted.
"We must be married at once,” I declared.
“It is imperative that I go home—l shall not
go without you.”
She objected. She could not be married in
such hasty fashion. Her trousseau, etc. But
I overruled her objections, those of her par
ents, and three weeks after J first met hep
Natalie and I were quiet}' married. I ha'.-J
written I’ncle Robert. He received the letter’,
the day of our wedding and had sent me A*
wire wishing me happiness.
\\ hat do you know of your wife’s family,?”.
I ncle Robert asked the day I returned to the
office.
‘Not much, hadn't lime to get acquainted
with tbeiii,” i laughed. “But 1 didn't marry
the family.”
“There's whore you made a mistake, Bruce.
Whei; a man marries he MUST cotnsider her
famly—if she has one. They are a part of
her and will continue to be a part—not only
of her life but of his.”
“Um willing to take the risk. They are, f
imagine, just like thousands of other families,
neither better nor worse,” In fact I scarcely
knew even Natalie’s parents.
“I’ll say no more, Bruce.” He laid his hand’
affectionately on my shoulder. “My greatest
wish is to see you happy.”
“1 am, I shall be, Uncle Robert,” I replied..
Wait until you see Natalie. You'll love hep
I am sure.!’
“I shall try to,” his face a little sad, then
flashing the old loving smile I knew so well.
“You won't have to try,” I declared with
all a lover's enthusiasm.
“What family has she? I must know some
thing of my new niece.”
“Father, mother and two brothers, one mar*
ried and living in Jersey. A host of uncles,
aunts and cousins, so she tells me. She is
sorry for me because I have so few relatives.”
"Yes, we are few, Bruce, really only th9
two of us. ■ Yet we have managed very well,
my boy.”
1 11 tell the Nvorld wo have!” I replied
heartily. “I for one never have missed them'.”'
J hank God I have been able to make
you happy.” '
“And, uncle, my marrying }viil make np<
difference with us”—l had sensed bis feaj—
“except that I shall have a home of my own
to welcome you to.”
“I shall be content to be second now. A
man’s first duty is to the woman he makes
his wife.”
1 Duty had always come first with him. And
in his attitude toward his wife, my aunt, he
| had been exemplary. She had been confined
in a sanitarium for years, hopelessly insane.
Yet never had he watered in his fealty to
her, nothing ever interrupted bis visits. I
knexv that secretly lie grieved over her,
never had he allowed that grief to shadow
our intercourse, my life. But the knowledge
of it had often acted as a check to ray ira-
I pulsive nature, often prevented rae from do
ing things that might worry or hurt him, al
| though he had a profound understanding of
j a young man’s needs, a wide sympathy for
< his faults, even as he had had for the young
lad’s.
He had been father and mother to ma
since my fourth year and never had his love,
his patience, his sympathy failed me. I
knew he loved me as if I were his own son;
that my impulsive marriage had wounded
him. Yet it was for me, my happiness he
feared, saying nothing of himself, his disap
pointment.
I repeated some of his conversation to
Natalie.
“Os course your first duty is to me,” she
said. “I’d like to see any old man come’
first.”
“You don’t understand, Natalie.” I was
a bit shocked at her reply. “I have been like
a son to I’ncle Robert and it wasn’t treating
him quite fair to marry without his approval
•—at least his knowledge.”
“If you care more about him
me * -f
‘‘Don’t, Natalie! And do try and love
Uncle Robert. I promise you it won’t be
hard.”
“He’s rich, isn’t he?”
“Fairly. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. That’s a lovely old house
he lives in. 1 suppose it will be yours some
day.”
“I hope that day will be long in coming.”
She shrugged. I saw she hadnt’ yet un
derstood my feeling toward Uncle Robert.
But after she met him, knew him, she would.-
Coni iimed Saturday. This latest, st/wy by
Miss Beecher will delight those nn ho read her
previous novels, “A Woman Obsessed” and
“Her Money.”
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES
A witty retort is credited to the present
Lord Stair. It was his ancestor, the first
earl, who was mainly responsible forth«,
massacre of Glencoe, and in revenge an old
highland woman called down a fearful curse
on his house, prophesying among other
things that the future holders of the title,,
would die childless. And, as a matter of- 1
fact, the second, third, fourth, sixth, sevenllL*
and eighth earls did die without issue. A‘J
superstitious lady once asked the
Lord Stair if this were true. “Quite tru®<”*.
answered his lordship briefly. ’’
“And do you attribute it to the curse ol’*
Glencoe?” persisted the lady. • \
“Possibly,” was the guarded reply,!*
‘‘Though as regards the third and sixth earls.j!
at all events, there was what the lawyer**;
would call ‘contributary negligenre.’”
"How so?” came the puzzled inquiry.
“Well, you see, madam*, neither of them
got married.” .
Mr. Beanpole was somewhat sensitive
■ bout past failures, it being his job to look ■>
after the plants and the goldfish when Mrs.
Beanpole went away. So this time he picked ‘
out a rear bath room, put the fish in the
turned on a gentle stream and ranged th*
plants under the eaves to catch the overflow.'
Surplus water merely trickled down the back
stairs and under the kitchen door into the
yard.
Such were the arrangements greeting Mrs.
Beanpole upon her return. There was a
moderate amount of damage to plaster and ,
linoleum, but. th p goldfish and the plants _
were never more flourishing.