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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1909-07-08, Page 6Oi' SOCIAL LIVING Right Living People Know That They Live in a Society as Living Parts of Society "This commandment havo wo from him that he who loveth .we k ve his brother also."—I. John v. The signitleance of religion changes according to the need of the ago and the moral progress of the world. Once the emphasis was upon philosophical forms, upou statements as to the Deity or as to human destiny ; later it shifted to forms of religious organizations. In our own day it became moral and ethical, insiatiug that religion is valueltes unless is produces virtu- ous lives, demanding character as the proof of creed. But now, even the ethical empha- sis has a changed significance; it fa more than a matter of personal uprightness; it is one of social rightness. The virtues of the ideal man to -day are quite different from those of the good man of the past, who could walk his solitary path of rectitude, whose righteousness was between his soul and God alone. Just as psychology knows no in- dividual, so does religion, for novo e,f us liveth to himself. Men come to a social realizatiou of themselves. The study solitude gives place to the human fnllowahip, the brooding over personal faults and the lonely struggle for individual perfection passes and its high passion is sat- isfied in banding ourselves with our fellows for the SALVATION OF THE WORLD. There is one voice to which every free soul responds to -day; it is that which insists on the claim of alt the lives about sa on our own lives, the sense of common responsibility. A who live in any large. sense, who lift up the eyes and know the world ae it is, know that they live in a society as living parts of society. Such living involves religious ob- ligations. It means that the high- er lite must find expression through these relations to all other lives. Social living means the death of sel- fishness. of the old soul dwarfing individuality. It takes the I from the old time throne and sets the All there. Faith nowhere finds finer expres- sion than in the life that forsakes self-seeking in order to serve an- other, that thus says, I believe so firmly in the eternal goodness, in tete rightness of this world that I dare cease to think of myself and even seem to neglect my own pros- perity in order to make sure of the wellbeing of my fellows. Piety need never fear that it will suffer from too great practical mindedness of this type. The peo- ple who warn us of tho danger of the spiritual life decaying in our interest in social welfare are usu- ally those who dread the necessity of making practical proof of their professions of religion, of express- ing their spirituality in any service- able manner. The social interpretation of re- ligion do not mean the adoption of any particular theory of society; they do mean living the life that it ours as CHILDREN OF THE INFINITE in full consciousness of all other lives, in relations of lovo and ser- vice toward them, in recognition of all their rights, in the joy of liv- ing with others and loving them. The creeds of religion niay lie be- yond our comprehension; its forms may seem meaningless to us and its emotional expressions repellent, but here is a forret of religion that all may understand and practice; here are religious acts that all may do; they lie next to us in daily liv- ing, simple, usually easy done and yet far reaching iu their potency. The mystery of the love of the Most High will solve itself as a man gives himself to the loving service of his brother reran. If only for a while we might learn this way of living, the way shown by the life that gave itself in service for all lives; if only we might see life as just..tho chance to love and help, and religion as the eternal spirit in us seeking the highest good for all, the wonder would be not so much in the good that would cone to us all as in the new joy and fullness in living we ourselves would find. HENRY F. COPE. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL INTERNATIONAL LESSON, JITLI 11. Lesson 11. Paul's Secoud Mission- ary Journey—(Continued.) Golden Text, Acts 16: 31. I The Story of the Frenzied Girl. Her Mental and Physical Trouble. --Vs. 16 18. The missionaries fre- quently went from Lydia's house within the city to the place of pray- er beyond tite wails by the river aide, where they could instruct the new converts, and gain others who were willing to come to the meet - (ng. (()n several occasions they met in the streets a . . . damsel possess- ed with a spirit of divination. Lit- erally, a Python -spirit, the Python being in the Greek mythology the serpent which gu..rded Delphi, the famous oracle on .+fount i'arnassus. This girl gave fui'th strange utter- ances and hysterical cries in her frenzied condition, which her mast- ers interpreted as they wished. H. The Missiot,h.riev Thrust Into Prison; Their Faith; Their Deliver- ance. --Ve. 19-26 The masters, having lost their source of gain, like tho makers of sih•er shrines in Ephesus, stirred up a mob in the city and drugged Paul and Silas before the magistrates, who, in such a colons as Philippi, were "rich merchant.. landow nets, pro- prietors of the mine•, elected by their fellow citizens." The accusation did not give the real reason for their arrest. The charge pre'ented was that of throw - Ing the city into confusion and anarchy by trying to conve: t the Roman to a new religion. Rohe tol- erate} all relies-, . 1,,:t rado it ciin:inai t. testis .,.•c':. from the national rehgio,: 111. The l onvei -i"n of the Jailer. Deliverance from Sin and Death. Through the Faith of the Jailer. -- Vs. 27-34 Tho keeper . would have killed himself. because by Ho- man law he was respon•ible for the safety of the prisoners, and he would avoid by suicide the disgrace of an execution. 44. Paul cried . . . we are all here. Thus saving the jailer'? life, for there was no longer a reason foi his committing suicide. .9 Called fora light. The (;reek is Aural, lights, torches ur lamps Fill down before )'a;.l and Silas. Ne must have known something about there men. sed their power over the slave girl. ?o Brought them out, of the Inure pi.•.'n• into the open court, or in- to h;' own house \That was the ja:'er's tuetire in &skier What moat i do to be saved' Saved from what 1 Tho question "cannot refer to any fear of punishment from the magistrates; for he had now ascertained that the prisoners were all safe." But he was con- seious of having done wrong toward God, and toward men. Ho had led an imperfect and sinful life. Sud- den and terrible exhibitions of God's power naturally awaken a sense of sin. Tho jailer's motive was a consciousness of sin, of dan- ger, of need, and of the goodness produced in Paul and Silas by their religion. Each one of these is a right feeling. Tho fear of conse- quences is not a leading motive in the Christian life, but it is often a motive with a sinner leading hien to become a Christian. A man that refuses to consider the conse- quence!' of what he is doing is sim- ply a blind fool. The danger was not of harm from the Roman gov- ernment, but from his sinful life. The motives that lead to a better life are usually manifold. IV. The Missionaries Released and Sent on Their Way.—Vs. 35.40. The next morning the magistrates, learning what had taken place, sent officers to quickly release Paul and Silas, as the easiest way to save trouble. Professor Ramsay thinks that an old account is correct which adds that the magistrates were afraid of another riot.. They would induce the weake. party to submit to injustice, and withdraw. 37. But Paul know a better way, and stood upon his rights, quite as as much for the good of the young church as for hunself. They have beaten us openly uncondemned, without trial, and legal decision that they were guilty according to Roman law. There are four dis- tinct allegations in Paul's reply, "beaten," "publicly," "uncon- demned," and "being Romans.'• Being Romans, and exempt from stripes and torture. Let them come themselves and fetch us out. As openly as they arrested us for criminals, let them declare our in- nocence Let the mob know that the whole power of Rome was against those who injured these men. If Pau! and Silas went away secretly, a stain would have been left ori their reputations, dishonor upon the gospel they preached, and other cities would have dared to ill treat thein. 39. They feared, when they heard, etc They were liable to a prosecution sncb as Cicero institut- ed against Verres The criute was regarded as treason. and those who committed it were liable to degra- dation from office. confiscation of propert', and perhaps death. 39, 40. As the result. the niagis• ?rates apologize -de and req:srsted them to leave the cite, which they tiid with dignity. at:,l ft), the peat - and good ret the infa!:t Philippi -in church. I'••r if !hos had remainee1 there night arise c'sel•'es eppn•i tion ; while by leaving Luke with ♦+i+t♦♦♦♦+i++♦ ♦+-►`+}♦Ml that it was of the utmost import- ♦ ante he should obtain. Ho had tlocked them in his own desk. He ♦♦ woudered if he should wait until I ell 1)I ilio pllsi ♦ the morning, but, reluctant to go �� G (jrl there after having announced his Vp $ intention of never doing so again, he decided he would go that night. $ H1 had keys that opened doors, +++++4.44++++++++++444+ because the work there was some- times unusually heavy and he had often remained until a late hour, and these keys he had forgotten to deliver up. It was a fine night and he walked from his lodgings to the City, and upon entering the building was greeted by the night porter, who liked "Wilfrid Vane." "Are you going upstairs, sir 1" ho asked. "You'll find Mr. Yates there. He came about half an hour ago." Robert glanced at him with sur- prise. "Mr. Yates! Is he &tenet" "Yes, sir. Everyone else has left." Robert hesitated, loath to meet the money lender again ; yet those letters he decided he must possess. When he reached the auite of offices he was rather astonished to find them in darkness, but, con- cluded that his employer must have left. He turned on the switch and moved over to his own little room. wondering what purpose could have brought Mr. Yates there. But lie was not left long in doubt. His papers were disordered, his draw- ers ransacked, and a wave of in- dignation swept over him as he realized Mr. Yates's errand there. Fighting down his rage, he searched for the letters, found them, and thrusting them into his pocket he was about to leave the outer office when he observed that Mr. Yates's private room door. which was never left unlocked, was now ajar. Robert Blanc crossed over. E ut all other emotion was changed sud- denly into one of over -whelming terror, for just inside, revealed by the light which camp from the room where Robert stood, was the prostrate form of Isaac Yates dead from a wound that was still feeding a pool of blood—stabbed to the heart—murdered. It was some moments before Blane could recover from the sheer horror which this discovery had brought with it. Then his brain began to work rapidly. and he real- ized, almost in a flash, the danger of his own position. His eyes had wandered towards the door --for his instinct was a natural one—to call for assistance, to spread the alarm. But ho was pulled up by a second considera- tion. That would mean delay—peril even to himself. They night detain him on suspicion, would almost be certain to do so. All his lite would bo raked up, his true identity re- vealed ; and the man who had done work that went against the grain. acting as a money -lender's jackal, would [fever he able to resume the postion which was so wonderfully opened to him once more. With ashen face and ragged nerves ho moved softly and hur- riedly from the room. * * 0 I Robert Blane stared at the letter before him. "Why don't you come back? The old place is waiting for you—the old life. "Go back !" track from the hateful present to the sweetness of other days, return into the past! It only he could. Cut aside all bonds that held him down, float back with an ebbing tide that would land him safely at the golden gates, which be had once been so eager to shut behind him! He lamented his folly as he sat brooding with this letter in his hand. this letter from the man who had forgotten his ingratitude, his heartlessness, and offered him his old place. Robert Blano gave a low groan. Ho had learned many bitter les- sons since in the insolence of in- tolerant youth ho had flung him- self out of the place that was to have been his, because he resented the kindly adivce that his good old uncle had spoken. He sat down at last to ponder the queation, and with retrospective gaze reviewed his life. After all, he had done nothing that men of the world would very much con- demn; and yet, he was shamed. He had been mixed up with game- sters and racing sharks, a passive if not an active partner In their schemes. Yet other men, more guilty than he, had redeemed their past, and might not, he? His present life was, after all, an assumed one, as much so as the name he had assumed—alien to his true instincts. Ho started once more to his feet, resolutions formed. He would waste not an hour, not a moment. Tho spell of the past had caught him a willing victim, and he would break with the present at once. He would go immediately to his employer and inform him of his resolve. That would bo but fair. Ho himself had been the last to leave the office, therefore he must Call at his private house and ask to sco Mr. Yates—the man who traded under the name of Smith and Co., money -lenders. Mr. Yates, who had expected that the caller was a friend, gave a snarl of disappointment upon en• tering the study of his lovely rosi dente and finding that it was only his confidential clerk. "Why havo you come beret" he demanded. "Yon know that I livo privately—like a gentleman. I want to hear nothing about busi- ness. What does this intrusion mean 1" "Merely this, Mr. Yates," replied Robert Blane. "I shall not be at your office any more; I give up my situation." The other threw up his hands with a kind of horror. "What do you mean 1" ho de- manded. "Chuck your employ- ment? My good fellow, you must be demented. Do you know the condition of the labor market'? Have you anything else '1 Have you been bribed to leave? You must give me proper notice. I will sue you unless," raved Mr. Yates. "I can give you no further notice than this," replied Blane. "And that is your gratitude!" Robert Blane's eyes flashed with angry light. "Do not mention that word, Mr. Yates," he retorted. "You tined me because I was in need, took ad- vantage of my position, and forced me to do work that I have always hated." "I suppose it is all leading up to a demand for an 'nemesis cif salary." Ho moved over to his desk and pulled down the roll top. "Yes; I admit you have been useful to me, and I will prove myself not un- generous. I am willing to add a lit- tle to the thirty shillings I pay you at present. We will Fay thirty-two to start, let me see- it is the lath now --to start at the beginning of next mont.h.'' "It isn't a question of money. I am leaving London altogether, as well as your employ. That is all I have to say." "Why are you doing this!" Yates inquired. "Have you had money left you 1 Or---" he paused, "is there any other reason 1" „That is my own concern. Mr. Yates," replied Matte, coolly. "What you hart paid me has been earned. Good -night." He returned to his rooms and commenced his packing. Then he started burning letters and papers -everything that belonged to the past three years and his identity in Loudon as Wilfrid Vane. for he meant to bury those three years, regard them henceforth as an epi- sode, as he hoped. Suddenly he stopped in his task "Welcome home, Mr. Robert— welcome home, sir.' Everywhere it was the same -- voices that spoke such greetings to the man who had come back. A handshake --a long, close grip be- tween himself and the old man, his unclo—a few words in which every thing was explained and forgiven— and ho was reinstated --Robert Blane once more in the home of his boyhood. But better than all these things, dear though they were, was the look that greeted him from one pair of eyes -ea look that told Robert that n romance which had been only a boy -and -girl fancy might bo taken up where it was dropped and the tall, slim woman with the ten- der, grave eyes won for his wife. The days that dawned for him now seemed so wonderful, such a golden time, that ugly memories were sometimes almost forgotten, and with them the shadow of fear that hung over him. But one day Reber', Slane found himself staring at printed newspaper lines, which related that the police were search- ing the country for a man suspected of stabbing Mr. Isaac Yates, the money -lender, mysteriously murder- ed on a recent night in his private office. ]leading farther on, Robert knew that the roan they were hunt- ing for was himself. He had been thinking of the wo- man he loved when he read this -- dreaming of her- filling the future with delightful pictures. Yes, for the moinent he had forgotten. But now, good heavens, he remembered. He loved Olive King, but she did not know it from his lips, and she never should know. s r . . "Olive, before this man came back tiere, to this place where he was not wanted, you loved me, You cannot deny it, for what I say is the truth." The girl colored, but with annoy - with an exeLimation of dismay. ance, not self-reproach. The man He remembered that at the office had been speaking in low•. urgent were some letters of his letters tr.nes. Seine compassion touched hnr woman's heart. as she glanced - into Vivian h' nerd', haggard, the church (as we lease from the passionate face change of pronouns '•se to • IN hat � jyou say is net true.- she -the) • ). ibere nn• a peaceful but i, sp,•n,l•. "1 - 1 liked you well largo growth of the Christian coin- enough 1 like you atilt. But :,ever reuoitp. Flom a tomparkou within that lay: !wither then nor now. Ns hat t.•'1ov. - it appears that '1'i;no- ,Anti why do you say this to me thy v.etat with Peel and Si!es. 1 What is Robert Inane to mo! You —you seem to imagine that—that we are engaged; but you are wrung." "You mean he has not yet spoken!" he said, huskily. "Yet you love him, Olive, and jealousy or hate—I don't know which -- tempts ine to reveal to you the kind of man it is you love. Olive, Scot- land Yard detectives are hunting for a man they --they suspect in con- nection with the murder of lsaac• Yates, a Jew money -lender. It WXF a mystery, and has gripped tho at- tention of all England. You must have read of it1" She nodded, gtazing at him with mute wonder. "Well, this murder was supposed to have been committed by a clerk in Yates's emplopvment. It is known that they met in the office after office hours, and that same night this clerk vanished. On the follow- ing morning Robert Blane arrived here. Olive, if I were to tell you that he is this missing clerk, what would you say? Would you love hint still?" "I should answer that. I re- fused to believe it," she said. It couldn't be true. Why, he is the very soul of honor and kindness, and as for—for killing a fellow - creature, lie couldn't do it—he simply couldn't," "Are you sure of that?" he asked, in a strained voice. "I doubt it. However, since you will not believe me, ask him. I aluno know this at present, myself and he in all the world!" He sauntered away from her, perfectly at ease in manner, and he the presence of the man who she drove his words home. Pale and trembling, yet borne up by a determination to know the worst, Olive made her way into the presence o fthe man who she knew loved her, thGugh as yet he had riot told her so, and then, when she reached his side, she paused—confused, hesitating. Then she said, trembling :— "Robert, I want to ask you a question. Are you the man they are searching for—the man suspect- ed of murdering Isaac Yates t" She saw his features change, then ho glanced up at her, with steady, open gaze. "Olive, I don't know how you learned this, but it is true. 1 am the man known in London as Wil- frid Vane." "Oh. Robert! But it isn't true?" "`My guilt, you mean 1 Olive, my little girl—you who havo known me since I was a boy—can you ask me that.? No; it, isn't true. This man and I had no quarrel. I am innocent of his blood, as Heaven witnesses my words." "And I believe you. But --but," :.he went on, "would it be possible to prove yourself innocent? Or—" she shuddered, unable to finish the question. ''Olive," he came a step nearer to her, and spoke in a low, grave voice, "I cannot hide from you that I am in danger. (,'ircurnstantial evidence would, I fear, almost bo strong enough to convict me of this crime. But my hope is that my hiding -place may rennin undiscov- ered by the police until the real culprit is found—though that may be the work of months—yet it is my hope." "Oh, Robert•, what a terrible, terrible thing!" "Olive, you will give me your hand; you will say that, you believe Inc ?" She turned to him with hands 'outstretched, her lovely eyes filled with trust. "Does that need telling slid said. Outside Vivian Dynard was still waiting for her in the garden. The face he turned to her wits like death for a moment, so set and white. "Weill" She nodded her bead slowly. Ile understood. Site remained a moment with closed eyes, overwhelmed by this sudden avalanche of fate4 Then she opened them quickly, for Vivian Dynard was by her side, pleading with her, telling her that ho loved her; adding, in feverish yet force- ful accents, that she must go away with him, go at once, with not an hour's delay, else be should not keep silent, but reveal to Scotland Yard that the man they sought was in hiding there. There was no uterus in him. He would not give way to one condi- tion. It was with her to accept his terms, now or not at all. Tho girl realized that it rested upon her "Yes" or ''No" whether the roan she deeply loved was put on trial for life --denounced, or left in this safe retreat until the hounds of justice were placed upon another see n t. Ilei very soul rose in revolt against the idea, and yet her uo man's heart. to save the man it had • enthroned, consenter. • Hobert Blase sat readingg the let- ter she bad written, the few hur- ried, almost indecipherable` lines which told him briefly that she had gond away to become Vivian i)y nard's wife. reeling that one star of hole had for ever set, he rose from his chair and walked with slow, dejected gait over to the window. But he •farted bask with a sharp exclamation, then looked again from behind the . nr tains, himself unseen l'wn brisk -looking men erre striding towards the heti'(, with the seal of are iaidom .tamped :opo' their hearing. For -erne n:ome:it- Rohert's heart beat w ith a throb of leer. as just now it had been stabbed by despair, :at ho knew the purpose of those tee men. An idea of instant flight suggested itself. Then it was fought down; and when a scared servant came into the room to announce that two gentlemen from Scotland Yard wished to see hint it was outwardly calm Robert thane who re lieu that they were to bo admitted to him at once. lie faced them as he entered, ready to stretch outhis hands to be manacled. But one of them. per- haps reading something in his features of the fear that possessed his mind, shook h.s head. "Our presence here to -day has nothing directly to do with you, sir," he began, "but we want you to supply us with information re- garding a certain person who has been traced as living in this neigh- borhood." "Do you mean the man once known as Wilfrid Vane?" He spoke in a low, emotionless voice. "No, sir ; we have never suspect- ed him, beyond the first few hours following the murder of Isaac Yates, despite what we told the newspaper reporters. The man we have come to arrest actually did the murder; we hold irrefutable proof. It is Mr. Vivian Dynard whom we seek." "Vivian Dynard! The tenant of the Grange!" Robert took a step back in his amazement. "Come, sir; you must help us. We know that Dynard has bolted. Have you any clue to his where abouts? That letter---" He reached a hand forward. Blane placed the letter behind his back. "Is my property," he said. The detective gave a short, baffled laugh. "Mr. Bland, you will regret this. I tell you that Vivian Dynard is a scoundrel through and through. Why do you shield Iiiw—thin mur- derer and bigamist?" "What is that you said I" Robert demanded, in a hoarse whisper. "Only what is the truth. The man has been twice married, and both wives still live—undivorced." Robert stopped him by placing Olive's letter in his hand. "For Heaven's sake, find a clue in that, and save that, unhappy girl from herself. She loves him, 1 sup- pose ; yet better her heart were broken by ono swift blow than crushed by such a load of shame." • • r r • It was night. The detectives had left hours ago, in the wake of the fugitive, who, with his latest victim, they imagined had gone to ono of the South Coast ports, en route for the Continent, or some further destination. Robert sat brooding he his study, seeing only one woman's face ---a •face lost to him. 1'roseetly lin pushed open the French windows and went out into the moon -flooded garden, thinking the night air might soothe him. He walked some few paces, then suddenly caste to a Balt. Before hint• was a figure; unless his eyes deceived him, oh, surely, it was Olive King. . "Olive!" He whispered hes name, and she came towards him, a wonderful light revealed in 1ie1 face, an 1 then in n moment some• how she was in his arms. . "Olive, my dear, my dearest( How is it you are here 1" She shi,:.dered as she rested is his arms, then looked up at him. "My courage failed me," she said slowly, "and at tho last moment 1 turned hack. I saw, too, that in my terror I had acted rashly in lis- tening to l)ynard'si threat(' uguinsl you." ".Against me 1" "Yes; threats of revealing your identity as Wilfrid Vane to the police." "Ah, I understand." Indeed, everything seemed revealed to him iu a fleet's -that Olive loved him, that she had gone merely to saw t him, as she imagined - he saw it all. "I had gone on the boat with him, Hobert. But. V% en then i eluded him, and escaped. I simply had to come back. :And I have learned since thl at it was his guilt --that it was he who murdered Isaac Ya��s." "YOU a" "1 cs ;k8now th11(1 alsot ? something which you have yet to learn. Robert, he did net know until after the boat started that 1 lied turned back, and so he went on alone. The boat ar- rived safely at Hat re, but one pas- senger was missing. and his name was Vivian Dynard. He threw him- self overboard, and all efforts to save him were useless." "It. is Netter so. Olive. But let's forget these terrible things; let us forget everything except that you and 1 are together Make this garden my Eden. Oh. Osie e. tell me that von love me - promise to be my wi%e." Shoe turned to him with starlight and moonlight shining in her eyes. and he rend his anew er there l.ondou Tit Bits. 4 - THE REASON. Mr. Cactus- 'What d'ye think, Miss Dandelion 1 1 just- raw the weeping willow laugh." Miss Dandelion ' They surely must have hal a luck at )ou." Jl.t .y i il'an who thinks he :s i., 71e:• be pays back bur r, a• i ', .1. t .pn.r!cln't Think of re• ti;t••iiiag a horrowed umbrella. • %•