Newspaper Page Text
4
THE TRI-WEEKLY JOURNAL
ATLANTA, GA., 5 NORTH FORSYTH ST.
Entered at the Atlanta Postoffice as Mall
Matter o£ the Second Class.
Daily, Sunday, Tri-Weekly
SUBSCRIPTION PRICE TRI-WEEKLY
Twelve Months SJ.OO
Six Months
Three months , 25c
Subscription prices Daily and Sunday
(B* Mail —Payable Strictly in Advance)
1 Wk. 1 Mo. 3 Moa. 6 Mos. 1 Yr.
i Dally and Sunday.. .200 »Oo 32.50 35.00 39-50
Dally 70c 2.00 4.00 7.50
[ Sunday 10c * R « 1 - 35 260 >o °
NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS
The label used for addressins your paper shows the
time your subscription expires- By renewing <t leaat
two weeks before ths data on thia label* you inaure
In ordering paper changed, b* sure to give your
old, as well as your new address. If on a route,
please give the route number.
We cannot enter subscriptions to begin with back
numbers. Remittances should be sent by postal order
or registered mail. . r,
Address all orders and notices for this Department
to THW TRI-WEEKLY JOURNAL, Atlanta, Ga.
Jell It to Little Miss Fixit
I£ anything Is wrong in service from
The Tri-Weekly Journal, let us know.
Send a letter or postcard to Little Miss
Fixit, who will quick-
Bk
a IPTm
W?|
LITTLE miss fixit,
Care Tri-Weekly Journal,
Atlanta, Georgia.
A BIBLE THOUGHT FOR TODAY
The hypocrite’s hope shall perish; whose
hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall
be a spider’s web. He shall lean upon his
house, but it shall not stand; he shall hold
it fast, but it shall not endure.—Job 13-15.
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypo
crites! for ye devour widows’ houses and
for a pretense, make long prayer; there
fore ye shall receive the greater damna
tion. Woe unto you; scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites! for ye compass sea and land to
make one proselyte, and when he is made,
ye make him twofold more the child of
hell than yourselves. —Matthew 23:14-14.
(Christ is speaking.)
News Facts vs. Editorial Fancy
TO THE ever valiant if not always ef
fective New York World, and to the
ever philosophic if not always profound
New York Times, we would suggest as old
admirers and with due deference to Gotham
greatness, that before writing their political
editorials they read their political news col
umns, or at least scan the headlines. The
enlightenment would be worth the labor.
True, the decorous Times and the dashing
World would thus find themselves under
necessity of revising certain notions of theirs
concerning William G. McAdoo as Democratic
nominee for President. What they would
lose in pride of opinion, however, they would
gain many times over in service to devoted
readers. Then, too, the thrill of discovery
would have its relish for the jaded metro
politan mind.
Evidently the World has something to dis
cover regarding the country’s judgment on
Democratic Presidential possibilities. In its
issue of May the twenty-sixth our esteemed
contemporary begins an editorial on “Two
Available Qualified Candidates’’ in this wise:
“The increasing active public discussion of
the Democratic dark horses is a sign that
the political managers are beginning to face
the realities.” Truth to tell, it is the World
who is beginning to face “the realties.”
Having spent its talents in strenuous but
unavailing effort to promote the candidacy
of its own “Al” Smith, and to wreck that of
McAdoo, the World at length realizes that
while “Al” is out of the running, McAdoo is
on the home stretch, his every rival lost in
rearward dust. Hence this sudden and- con
suming interest in dark horses. And who
are the World’s dusky favorites? Why, no
others than Senator Carter Glass, of Vir
ginia, and Senator Robinson, of Arkansas.
It is with these friends of his that McAdoo,
pronounced choice of his party’s progressive
and all-dominant majority, is to be defeated!
Remarking that “the objections to Mr.
McAdoo do not apply to Senator Glass,” the
World goes on to argue that the latter “em
bodies that very devotion to principle and
opposition to materialism which Mr. McAdoo
can advocate but can not represent.” Well,
let us see what Senator Glass himself has to
say concerning Mr. McAdoo's ability to rep
resent, as well as to advocate, those prin
dqles which the World admires. We need
go no further than the World’s own news
©plumns. In the same issue with its “dark i
norse” editorial, is featured this special dis
patch:
PHILADELPHIA, May 26.—Before he
talked to the Democratic Women's
Luncheon Club here, this afternoon.
Senator Carter Glass, of Virginia, denied
he is seeking the Democratic nomination
for President, and said he favors W. G.
McAdoo. “I am not a candidate for
President in any sense of the word,’’ said
the Senator. “I am for Mr. McAdoo, as
is well known. I believe Mr. McAdoo
will be nominated. I think Mr. McAdoo
is confident of being nominated, and 1
doubt if his managers have contemplat
ed the necessity of having to turn to any
■ ly and cheerfully see
that things are made
right.
We want every sub
scriber to get The Tri-
Weekly Journal reg
ularly and punctual
ly. We want all of
them to receive what
they have paid for.
We want only satis
fied subscribers. A
small percentage of
errors are unavoid
able, but we want to
correct them quickly.
Address,
THE ATLANTA TRI-WEEKLY JOURNAL
other candidate. My state will probably
send a delegation to the convention in
structed to vote for me, which is an
honor. But many other states also will
have their favorite-son candidates. I
do not helTeve anybody could swing the
entire McAdoo strength to any other
candidate.’’
The World needs must be Impressed by
the fact that its own latest favorite thinks
enough of Mr. McAdoo, whom he has known
long and well, to declare openly for him;
and by the further fact that so practiced an
observer of politics as Senator Glass is con
vinced that Mr. McAdoo will be nominated.
The New York Times also would have
avoided a comical inconsistency if it had
consulted the news on May the twenty
“ Mr. Glass’ financial and economic and so
sixth before editorializing in this fashion:
cial principles are as far removed as possible
from Mr. McAdoo's. Ths railroad baiters, the
railroad brotherhoods, the Plumb-Planners,
the miscellaneous radicals whose hope is in
Mr. McAdoo, have been deceived if Mr. Glass
is to be his heir apparent.” On ahother page
the Times printed this interesting report
from its Philadelphia correspondent:
Senator Glass, in an interview before
his address, declared he expected to see
William G. McAdoo returned a winner
at the New York convention of the par
ty. Senator Glass smiled skeptically
when questioned about reports emanat
ing from New York to the effect that the
McAdoo forces, if unable to “put over”
their candidate in the first few ballots,
would swing their strength to him. “Let
me say right off that I am for McAdoo,
and I believe he will win,” remarked the
Senator. “I do not believe that the
managers of his campaign have any idea
of switching their followers to me or
any one else. McAdoo is confident, and
so are his managers. They are not con
ceding the possibility of defeat even to
themselves. Moreover, it would be im
possible for them to swing the McAdoo
following in a block to any other candi-
Personally, I am not a candidate
for President in any sense of the word.
I understand that the Virginia delega
tion may go to New York instructed to
vote for me, but that merely puts me in
the favorite-son class, as many other
men will be.”
So does news fact confound editorial fancy.
The hope of what the Times is pleased to
term “miscellaneous radicals,” is also, curi
ously enough, the choice of that temperate
Virginia senator in whom the Times has all I
confidence. Is it not extraordinary that one
whose “financial and economic and socia!
principles” are the antithesis of McAdoo’s,
should be warmly supporting Mr. McAdoo
for the nomination and firmly expecting his
success? The fact is that Senator Glass,
who worked hand in hand with Mr. McAdoo
for the great economic achievements of the
Wilson administration, and who succeeded
him as secretary of the treasury, knows that
Mr. McAdoo, far from being radical or iin- j
pulsive or unsafe, is as true a friend to
honest business as the nation holds within
its bounds. That he is a foe of corrupt busi
ness and corrupt politics, and especially of
the alliance of the two which has thriven
under the present Republican regime, is not
to be denied. That is why the probability,
now well-nigh the certainty, of William G.
McAdoo's nomination is so intensely dis
quieting to certain interests; but that is also
why Americans who are for justice against
privilege and for progress against reaction,
rejoice at the ever-widening prospect of his
nomination and his election.
QUIZ
Any Tri-Weekly Journal reader can
gel, the answer to any question puzzling
him by writing to The Atlanta Journal
Information Bureau, Frederic J. Has
kin, director, Washington, D. U’., and in
closing a two-cent stamp for return
postage. DO NOT SEND IT TO OUR
ATLANTA OFFICE.
Q. Where is the largest office building in
the world? M. L.
A. The Equitable Trust Company building
in New York City is said to be the largest
office building at present.
Q. Who invented the self-acting steam en
gine? E. D. N.
A. In 1717 Henry Heighten invented a sys
tem of “hand gear’’ which rendered the steam
engine completely self-acting.
.Q. What are the most beautiful words in,'
the English language? A. M.
A. While this is a matter of opinion the
twenty words which won in a voting contest
are: melody, splendor, adoration, eloquence,
virtue, innocence, modesty, faith, joy, honor,
nobility, sympathy, heaven, love, divine, hope
harmony, happiness, purity, and liberty.
Q. How are the press galleries in the Cap
itol managed? P. A. D.
A. Press galleries of the house of represent
atives and the senate are under the control
of a standing committee of correspondents,
subject to the approval and supervision of the
speaker of the house and the senate commit
tee on rules.
Q. Should eggs be washed? A. F. N.
A. The Department of Agriculture says
that eggs should not be washed. Washed eggs
deteriorate more rapidly than unwashed. Al
though dirty eggs are discounted in price,
washing eggs will usually cause producers a
greater loss. It is best to use the dirty eggs
on the farm and market only the best quality
of clean, unwashed eggs.
Q. Does it ever snow red ,or blue, or
green? A. M. N.
A. Though often discredited, it is a fact
that, black snow sometimes occurs. The col
or is produced by the action of innumerable
fungi, known a" the micrococcus nivalis. I;
has also been reported from time to time
that snow either red. blue or green in color
has fallen in certain localities.
Q. Where was the most important naval
battle of the World war fought? V. H. A.
A. The Battle of Jutland is generally rec
ognized as the greatest naval battle in his
tory. though not the most decisive. It was
fought on the North Sea. fifty miles west of
Jutland. May 31. 1516, between the main
fleets of the British and German navies. k
HIS BROTHER’S WIFE
BY RUBY M. AYRES
CHAPTER V
“Died From Wounds”
•n yr ARY FURNIVAL opened her eyes to
l\/l the angry sting of chill raindrops on
x x the window, and the sullen breath of
October wind shaking the casement.
Nearly a month had swept itself away
since that day when they heard of Nigel's
death.
“Died from wounds’.”
Mary wondered, as she lay back on the
pillows with closed eyes, if she would ever
be able to get those words out of her brain
—her heart!
Nigel was dead; the brief chapter of his
life was written and finished. A kindly com
rade had sent back his few little possessions;
they still lay on the table in the pretty draw
ing room across the hall—a few letters, a
pocket case, a broken pipe.
A clock on the shelf struck 8.
Mary sat up in bed, and looked through
the window at the drenched, weeping world.
Someone tapped softly on her door. She
roused herself.
The little maidservant entered.
“Oh, please, miss, t ( he mistress Is not In
her room.”
Mary smiled involuntarily.
“1 expect she is in the dining room—or
she may have got up early and gone out.”
“But, oh, please, miss, her bed hasn't been
slept in; it's all just as I turned it down
last night.”
For a moment Mary sat very still, then
she threw back the bedclothes.
She put on her dressing gown and crossed
the narrow hall to the open door of Dolly’s
room.
She looked round the room with dread
in her eyes.
It was quite tidy. Nothing had been dis
turbed, but on the mantel shelf —she felt
suddenly weak, as if she must fall, for there,
propped up against the clock, was a letter,
directed in Dolly's flourishing hand.
“Mary—”
Her own named stared at her across the
gray light of the room; she went over and
took it down with a shaking hand.
From the doorway the little maid watched
her with scared eyes.
She broke the seal, and read the first
few lines —there was no beginning.
“I know you will hate and despise me
for what I am going to do, but I can’t see
that it matters. *
“Nobody cares what becomes of me except
Robert, and he has always loved me. He is
going to leave England today, and I am go
ing with him. I ought to have married him
instead of Nigel. We shall be married in
London this morning.
“You can tell people what you like. Good
by, and thank you for all your kindness to
me. I suppose I haven’t deserved it.
“DOLLY.”
“P. S.—You may have everything I have
left. The furniture is good; sell it if you
don’t want it.”
The voice of the little maid roused Mary
from the depths of horror into which she
seemed to have fallen.
She brushed her hand across her eyes; she
tried to force herself to speak, even to smile
CHAPTER VI
Nigel’s Widow
IN the little silence following David Brefh
erton's words, a sudden gust of wind
lashed the window with cold rain like a
storm of a woman’s petulant tears.
Mary’s hands Lad fallen from her face
and hung limply at the sides of her black
frock; she stared at the man opposite hex
with blank eyes.
Os course h was mistaking her for Dolly
—Dolly, who had run away—Dolly, who had
married another man almost before her
widowhood was a certainty.
Bretherton was speaking again. He did
not seem to expect an answer to his ques
tion; he was taking her silence for consent.
“I came straight to you. I am afraid you
must have thought me unkind—unfeeling,
if you saw the letter I wrote. I was sorry
as soon as it had gone. I came home earlier
than I had really intended, in the hope of
seeing Nigel before he went to France. If he
got my letter— ’’
“It was sent here; he never saw it.”
“I am glad.”
The silence fell again; the man’s eyes
were wandering round the room. It was
comfortable and tastefully furnished, but he
thought of the Bed Grange—its lofty rooms,
and priceless j ctures, and thought that his
brother must have loved this woman very
much to be content.
Mary’s eyes followed the direction of his
gaze; it had fallen on the little table where
lay the few possessions of Nigel’s that had
been sent home after he died.
She indicated them with a hand that
trembled.
“A friend of his sent those back after—
afterwards. There is a letter for you
amongst them—we have not opened it! It
was written the night before he was killed.”
Bretherton walked over to the table, and
stood looking down at the little collection.
They might have belonged to any man—the
pipe, the shabby tobacco pouch, the little
bundle of letters. David Bretherton put out
his hand and picked up a little gold locket
lying conspicuously there.
“This was our mother’s,” he said.
Yes, said Mary dully. She could remem
ber in happier days when Nigel had worn it
from his watch chain; she had not touched
it since it came home—she had not been able
to bring herself to move any of the little
things since Dolly had put them there.
David was fingering the little locket; it
was fiat and engraved with a worn mono
gram.
He touched the little spring, and the case
opened.
Mary was watching him listlessly.
CHAPTER \ II
The Photograph
A FTER a moment he turned and looked
/A across at her.
“This is your photograph in here,”
he said.
She started, a wave of color rushed to her
pale face.
“My photograph! Oh. no—”
He came across to where she stood. He
held the little trinket to her, open on the
palm of his hand.
‘‘l am sure this is your photograph,” he
said again.
“It’s all right—Mrs. Bretherton has gone
away. She—she couldn't bear to stay here
now—now —” She broke'off.
Presently she went back to her own room.
She dressed mechanically; her brain felt
numbed and dead; she wanted to think—to;
act. but she could not force herself.
She went to breakfast, and forced herself
to eat. Her one great aim was to prevent
people knowing the truth; to save his mem
ory—the memory of the man she had loved.
Later in the morning she forced herself to
tell the little maid a coherent story—that
Dolly had gone abroad to try and forget her
loss and sorrow; that they would hear from
her soon; that she—Mary—was shortly go
ing .out to be with b p r.
The day passed like a dream. She was
afraid to go outside the flat; she was sure
that if she met anyone she I new her face
would give away the secret she was so jeal-'
ously determined to guard. In the evening
she sat alone and listened to the angry sting
of the rain on the windows.
It was past S o'clock when someone rang
the doorbell.
Mary was listening with strained atten
ti on.
"Is Mi«. Bre ! ’te ton at home"”
Mary had never heard the voice. She rose ,
OLD-TIME RELIGION
BY BISHOP W. A. CANDLER
LET US CONTINUE TO BE A PECULIAR
PEOPLE
SIR ARCHIBALD ALLISON, the great
Scotchman, who wrote “The History of
Europe During the French Revolu
tion,” in one of his most profound essays,
shows what immeasurable benefits small
states have accomplished in the history of
mankind. Upon this he
says:
“The history of man
kind, from its earliest pe
riod to the present mo
ment, is fraught with
proofs of one general
truth, that it is in small
states, and in consequence
of the emulation and ar
dent spirit which they de
velop, that the human
mind arrives at its great-
I est perfection, and that
the freest scope is afford
ed both to the grandeur
of moral, and the bril
liancy of intellectual char
acter. It is to the citi-
zens of small republics that we are indebted
both for the great discoveries which have
improved the condition or elevated the char
acter of mankind, and for the noblest ex
amples of private and public virtue with
which the page of history is adorned. It
was in the republics of ancient Greece, and
in consequence of the emulation which was
excited among her rival cities that the beau
tiful arts of poetry, sculpture, and architec
ture were first brought to perfection; and
while the genius of the human race was
slumbering among the innumerable multi
tudes of the Persian and Indian monarchies,
the single city of Athens produced a suc
cession of great men, whose works have im
proved and delighted the world in every suc
ceeding age.
"Examples of this kind often led his
torians to consider the situation of small
republics as that of all others most adapted
to the exaltation and improvement of man
kind. To minds of an ardent and enthusias
tic cast, who delight in the contemplation of
human genius, or in the progress of public
improvement, the brilliancy and splendor of
such little states form the most delightful of
all subjects; and accordingly, the greatest
of living historians, in his history of the
Italian republics, has expressed a decided
opinion that in no other situation is such
scope afforded to the expansion of the hu
man mind, or such facility afforded to the
progressive improvement of our species.”
With great balance of judgment he observes
on the contrary:
“Many wise and good men have been led
to regard small states as the prolific source
of human suffering; and to conclude that all .
the splendor, whether in arts or in science,
with which they are ’surrounded, is dearly
bought at the expense of the peace and tran-1
quillity of the great body of the people. To
such men it appears that the periods of his
tory on which the historian dwells, or which
have been marked by extraordinary genius,
are not those in which the greatest public hap
piness has been enjoyed; but that it is to be
found rather under the quiet and inglorious
government of a great and pacific empire.”
He then proceeds to apply these principles
to the United States Kingdom of Great Britain.
“Without pretending to determine which of
these opinions is the best founded, it is more
important for our present purpose to observe
that the union of the three kingdoms in the
British Empire promises to combine for this
country the advantages of both these forms of
government without the evils of which either is
exposed.”
Considering the case of his own beloved
Scotland, he 'proceeds to say:
“Towards the accomplishment of this most
desirable object, however, it is indispensable!
that each nation should preserve the remem
brance of its own distinct origin, and look to
the glory of its own people, with an ’anxious
and peculiar care. It is quite right that the
Scotch should glory with their aged sovereign
in the name of Britain; and that, when con
sidered with reference to foreign states,
Britain should exhibit a united whole, intent
only upon Upholding and extending the glory
of that empire which her united forces have
formed. But it is equally important that her
ancient metropolis should not degenerate into
a provincial town; and that an independent na
tion, once tf!e rival of England, should remem
ber, with pride, the peculiar glories by which
her people have been distinguished. Without
this, the whole good effects of the rivalry of
the two natjons wijl be entirely lost, and the
genius of her different people, in place of
emulating and improving each other, will be
drawn into one center, where all that is
original and characteristic will be lost in the
overwhelming influence of prejudice and
fashion.
Such an event would be an incalculable
calamity to the metropolis and to the genius
of this country.
“Nor would such an event be less injurious
to the general progress of science and arts
throughout the empire. It is impossible to
doubt, that the circumstances of Scotland be
ing a separate kingdom, and maintaining a I
rivalship with England, has done incalucula
hle good to both countries—that it has given !
rise to a succession of great men, whose la
bours have enlightened and improved man
kind, who would not otherwise have acted
upon the career of knowledge. Who can say
wha would have been the present condition
of England in philosophy or science, if she
had not been stimulated by the splendid prog
ress winch Scotland was making, and who ran
calculate the encouragement which Scotish
genius has derived from the generous applause
andwJkVi T ith > a f enSe ° f corain S disaster,'
ana walked to »the door.
A tall man stood in the narrow hall
dpr- e n 7 re t a ! hick travelin S coat, the shoul
ioVf \ W UCh ? leamed wetl y in the hall
?- cr ° S 3 the dividing space his eyes—
lather hard eyes they were—met Mary’s.
She looked a pathetic figure enough stand
wMfl 1 ? her black frOck; her fac e
AMiite and drawn as she looked at him.
won't you come in?”
He followed her into she little room the
“JL?. ro ? m where the few small possessions
o. Nigel s that had been sent home still lav
on the table.
.Mary closed the door and stood leaning
against it.
"I didn t hear your name,” she said, “but
think you said you wished to see Mrs.
Bretherton.”
1 he man s soft eyes had softened a little
as they rested on her face. She looked so
ill, so sorrowful; somehow he had not ex
pected 'o see this type of woman. He had
pictured her as being so different. There
was a gentle note in his voice when he
spoke.
I am David Bretherton—Nigel’s brother.
I only reached London this morning, and '
.u'.nd He broke off, recalling the bit
teiness and shock of the moment when he
knew that he would never see Nigel again.
Mary caught her lip between her teeth. '
l or a moment everything swam before her
eyes—she seemed to live through an eternity 1
of desolation and misery in the little follow- :
ing silence.
How could she tell him what Nigel’s wife
had done? How could she let him know that
any woman could so shame and forget a '
• rave man’s memory?
“I am David Bretherton,” he said again.
THURSDAY, JUNE 5, 1921.
L ’ which England has always lavished upon her
I works? As Scotchmen, we rejoice not less
t' sincerely in the literary celebrity of our sister
f i kingdom; not only from the interest which, as
j citizens of the united empire, we feel in this
’ j celebrity of any of its members, but as affoit
1( . ing the secret pledges of the continued and
e ' progressive splendor of our own country.”
These reflections of this illustrious philoso
[. phical historian apply with peculiar force to
the character and position of our own country
>- and its mission to mankind.
h In the wide extent of its territory, in its
.1 populousness, and in its vast wealth there is
11 danger hat its noblest things may be suffo
e cated, and that it may sink to the level of the
’" sodden condiions of the Persian, Babylonian,
and Indian Empires in their worst Estate, or
” fall ito the remediless decay of the Roman
t commonwealth in the days of its hopeless de
cline.
r To save it from such decay it is necessary
_ for each of its states and sections to preserve
-jits characteristic excellencies and cherish the
- inspiration of its own peculiar history. A
wholesome, but not hateful sectionalism is in
dispensable to the welfare and glory of the
whole nation.
There are those who indulge often a per
fervid and thoughtless declamation, crying in
blind enthusiasm, “I believe in no North, no
West, and no South.” But they know not
what they say. The history of no section can
be effaced. And if it could, it would be a
calamity to efface it. Nor should the pecu
liar characteristic of any section be depre
ciated or destroyed.
, New England has had a great history, and
- it should be preserved, and the characteristic
excellencies of New England civilization should
be perpetuated.
The South also has had a great history,
and its virtues should never be minimized,
despised or forsaken. The South gave birth to
George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James
Madison, Patrick Henry, Andrew Jackson,
• James K. Polk, William H. Crawford, Alex
. ander Stephens, Jefferson Davis, Stonewall
■ Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Woodrow Wilson.
’ The Colonial Armies under the leadership
; of Washington won our Independence. The
s Declaration of Independence was written by
Jefferson, and by him the Louisiana Purchase
was made. Madison is justly called “the
father of the Constitution.” Andrew Jackson
1 was the victorious hero of “the war of 1812,”
and under the administration of James K. Polk
our national boundary was extended beyond
the limits of “the Louisiana Purchase” and
the domain of the Republic extended from
, ocean to ocean.
Thus we see how’ much is due to the valor
. and statesmanship of Southern leaders in
both war and peace. They framed the fed
eral government and won the imperial do-
* main over which it stretches its authority.
The patriots of the nation, least of all the
people of the South, can n't afford to forget
or lightly esteem the historic achievements
■ of these great Southerners.
■ Nor can we despise the heroic deeds of Jef
i fe-rson Davis, Stonewall Jackson, and Robert
E. Lee, or undervalue the high services of
William H. Crawford, Alexander Stephens,
and Woodrow Wilson. To forget them would
■ be ignoble and to depreciate them would be
, base ingratitude.
' We have inheritance far too sacred to be
scorned and renounced.
Moreover, the South oday lx in a great de
’ gree the home of true Americanism and the
bulwark of a wise conservatism in the United
States. By the march of events and the prov
idential movements of the last half-century,
there has come upon our Southern sections
the hard and high duty of preserving and
propagating the spirit and traditions of that
genuine Americanism by which the nation
was established originally and through which
it lias achieved the i oblest triumphs of its
history. In the fulfillment of that duty the
I Southern people must neither falter nor fail.
To do so would be the forfeiting of a lofty
mission and the betrayal of a holy trust
which Providence has committed to them.
The most sacred part of this trust is the
maintenance of the evangelic 1 type of reli
gion which characterized our fathers and
which should be transmitted unimpaired to
our children.
With all the faults which may he charged
to the Southern people, it remains true of
them that a greater proportion of them than
of any other people on : planet are vitally
related to Christianity and the Church of
God. There are more church members in
the South than there are among the same
number of people in any othe 1 nd and their
faith is the simplest, purest and best. The
predominant type of their religion is evan
gelical, not rationalistic.
Eccentric isms and theological liberalism
have never flourished in the South—and,
please God, they should never get a foothold
among our people.
In the South the Christian Sabbath is sa
credly regarded and the Bible is implicitly
accepted as the Word of God, and the great
doctrines of Christ which relate of per
sonal experiences are maintained.
It is r.ot true, of course, that none but
Southern people stand for these precious
things. in every section of our beloved
country there are many good people who
stand with them. But our history, under
I loyidence, has tended to preserve these
principles among them in a degree unknown
to other sections, and their responsibility for
the maintenance of these essential truths of
evangelical Christianity is, therefore, pro
portionately greater.
Let them “stand fast in the faith” (I Cor
inthians 16:13), and “continue in it;” for
in so doing they will both save themselves
and others (I Timothy 4z16).
with a touch of impatience, “and you”—he
hesitated—-“you, I suppose,” he went on
more gently, “are my brother’s widow?”
(Continued Thursday.)
MY FAVORITE STORIES
By Irvin S. Cobb
A S a rule, or perhaps I should say as a :
sex, women do not tell stories as !
well as men do. However, as some
one else has very sanely said, there are
exceptions to all rules. In the matter of
story-telling abilities I have in mind a most '
charming exception— a lady tremendously U
distinguished in acer- :
tain field of artistic endeavor, who is as
versatile as she is gifted and who lias the
ability, .when she cares to display it, of :
putting over an anecdote with faultless es- <
feet and finish. To her I am indebted for 1
today’s contribution for this symposium, i
She tells me that in a small New Eng- *
land town, not far from the town where she I
was born, there used, to be an Irishman 1
of convivial habits. He convived in season i 1
and out of it. In fact, he was in a fairway 1
to qualify as the village drunkard. <
Late one night—perhaps I should say <
early one morning—half a dozen natives
were on their homeward way after a so- 1
cial evening at the local groggery.. At the i
foot of the main street they stumbled upon I
the recumbent form of the inebriate whose I
name was McGuire. Now, they were what s
used to be known in the old pre-Volstead I
days as “pickled.” But he was absolutely 1
petrified. There is a distinction to be drawn :
, here which some of my older readers, who
MY WIFE AND 1
•V. I ■
BY CAROLYN BEECHER .j
CHAPTER XXII
HE dinner passed off without further
disparaging remarks and I took heart
> again. Soon after we had gone to the
living room I said T must be excused for a
I while to call upon Uncle Robert. He had not
been at the office all day.
“Your uncle is very wealthy, isn’t he?”-
i Mrs. Brooks asked.
“He is considered fairly well to do,” I
replied.
i “I should think he would want you and
s Natalie to live with him. He must be a
. very selfish old man to keep that big hous6
, all to Jiimself.” <
“Uncle Robert is very kind, very gener
ous,” I said, checking an impulse to speak
straight to the point. “I have no wish to
live with him. We are young, enjoy com
pany. He loves quiet. Everything is
ranged very satisfactorily so far as I am
concerned. And I am sure Natalie is
'■ satisfied with her >rtjTne.”
I distinctly heard another sniff as I left
the room.
Now I was sure Natalie had written about
her fancied wrongs. In no other way could
she have known about Uncle’s house and as- *
fairs. But I soon dismissed my momentary
uneasiness from my thoughts. Far more
disturbing was Uncle Robert’s indisposition.
I spent a long quiet evening with him, dis
cussing business and other things. I told
him of Mrs. Brooks’ arrival and he expressed
his disappointment because he could not pay J
his respects at once.
“Just as soon as I feel a little better
will have a dinner for her,” he told me as
hade him good night. I,
As I entered our apartment I heard Nata
lie and her mother talking earnestly. They
were unpacking Mrs. Brooks’ trunk. I gave
them Uncle’s message, then lingered, amused
at Natalie’s remarks as she inspected her
mother's wardrobe.
“I shall take yon shopping the first thing
in the morning. These dresses may be all
right out home, but here—”
“I'm sorry you don’t like them,” her moth
er answered with what in a younger woman
would have been a pout, but was a grimace.
“We’ll soon remedy that,” Natalie return
ed, flinging one of the obnoxious dresses
aside.
Nothing more was said and we soon re
tired, Natalie grumbling that she had heen
obliged to refuse an invitation from the Mor
tons to dance.
“If you had been here to stay with moth
er I might have gone, but I couldn’t leave
her alone the first night.”
“She wouldn’t have felt flattered had you
left her with me. We scarcely know each
other and you must have had plenty to talk
about.”
Natalie made no reply, unless a prodigious
yawn were one, and was soon asleep.
In the morning both she and her mother
appeared at breakfast dressed for the street.-
"Please order me a car,” Natalie said.
“We shall need it all the<morning.”
I did as she asked and as it came before
I left I had them drop me at the subway.
“Show your mother the sights,” I said as
I hade'them good-by and entered the cavern
of business men.'
“Only the shops today,” she answered.
I smiled as I thought of Natalie's love of
shopping. She wduld lead her mother a
.merry chase. But it was no concern of mine
—for once the bills wouldn’t come to me.
Uncle Robert was not at the office. I was
worried and telephoned his physician. He
reassured me, saying he thought nothing
really serious the matter. But I knew Uncle
was very weak, that he was desperately
tired, that his dear old heart had come as
near to being broken as human hearts ever
come because of his grief over his wife, and
that now he was lonely, that he missed me,
the long intimate talks that had taken his
mind from her. For a moment I wished he
had accepted Natalie's offer to be mistress of
his home. Then I was glad he had not
listened. He was happier with his memories
than he would have been with her uncon
sidered gaiety.
I attended to my duties with a heavy
heart.
“A lady to see you, sir,” the office boy an
nounced.
“Did she give her name?”
“No, sir. But she’s—”
“She’s what?” !'
“A regular pippin, sir.”
I laflghed heartily. Our office boy was a
continual joy to me. In spite of,his levity
he was almost uncanny in his judgment of
people.
“You think I should see her, Tom?” I
asked. •<
“I do, sir.”
“Very well, show her in.”
“I told you the first time I met you that
you would have to get me out pf trouble,”
Diana Lovell's gay voice declared.
“Do come in.” I drew a chair for her.-
“The trouble isn’t serious if one is to judge .
from your voice.” ▲
“Not very, a little legacy, and I
know how to go about claiming it. Are yoiJ®
too busy to attend to it for me?”
“No, indeed.” For half an hour wo dis
cussed the affair, then as it was luncheon
time I asked her to lunch with me.
“Are you sure it won’t ruin your reputa
tion?” she asked as we left the office.
Continued Saturday. Renew your subscrip
tion now to avoid missing a chapter.
have good memories for the ancient times,
will understand.
A pickled person is one who still has tho
use of liis limbs and his faculties. A petri
fied individual has lost the powers of co
herent speech and locomotion altogether.
This explanation is made for the benefit of
Americans of the younger generation who,
of course, know nothing, save and except hy
heresay, of the effects of strong drink upon
the human organism.
To resume: At sight of their friend
peacefully asleep, thwartwise of the side
walk, one of the party had an inspiration.
“Here,” he said, “is a beautiful chance to
cure old McGuire of boozing. Let’s carry
him out to the cemetery and stick him in an
open grave, if we can find one. Then we’ll
hang around and wait until he comes to.-
He’ll think he’s been buried alive, and the
shock will be a lesson to him.”
The suggestion met instantaneous and
unanimous approval. The siumberer was
picked up by bis arms and legs and borne to
the burying ground. Circumstances and
chance favored the giggling conspirators. In
an ancient vault from which the root was
missing they found an abandoned coffin.
Into tlie empty box they snuggled their vic- '
tim, and, placing the crumbling lid over him
for a coverlet, they hid themselves behind
adjacent tombstones to await the climax of
their plot.
The wait was a long one, but all of them
stayed on, allured by the prospect that their
patience eventually would be rewarded. At
length dawn showed in the east. Daylight
broke; the sun came up and presently it was
6 o'clock. Prompt on the hour the whistle
of a nearby shoe factory cut into the morning
calm with a shrill siren whoop.
At this blast Mr. McGuire stirred. He
threw up his arms, displacing the lid, sat up
in his narrow, form-fitting casket, and
blinked in the rosy light. Then, as he icom
prehended where he was, a triumphant smile
split his face.
“By cripes!” he said exultantly, “'tfs the
Resurrection Day, and I'm the first son of a
gun up!”
(Copyright, 1524.)