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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1909-07-22, Page 6THE GLORY OF A NATION Whoever Helps Lives to Worthier Ends Ennobles the Life of All the People And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose." -Isaiah xx>;v. 1. The glory of a nation depends on its gifts to its own day. We may please ourselves with boastings of the past, but, after all, in the long test of the ages this only counts, in what way have we enriched the earth, in what way have w•o made its moral and intellectual deserts to blossom as the rose, and how far have we converted its parched ground into pools? The greatness of a people depends not on what they have, but on what they give, not on what they may store up within their borders, but en what they may share with others. The gifts we can give to our world will not be in gold or silver, not in what wo list in our export repssrts. Ultimately these gifts can be measured in one simple way the kind of manhood and wo- manhood we are giving to the world. Every nation must play its part in the world's affairs, but the great part we all have to play is that of educating the whole human family into FINER AND FULLER LIVING. No people can ever be greater hi fact than they are in faith and in ideals. Tho people make the na- tion. What we aro our nation is. Our greatness is wholly a matter of cur real worth, our worthiness. All splendor and pomp, all parade and display of power that is any more than the expression of the real life and work of a people is a fool's mockery. Sometimes we think that the days aro past when a man had a chance to play a man's part in the affairs of the nation, when be might, moved by splendid heroism, lay down his life for his people. Our day needs men who will lay down their lives not on some altar of im- mediate sacrifice, but on the field of long and toilsome service. There is still all a man's work, indeed there is holy and divine work to be done in making the nation hat it might be, in serving the principles and securing the ideals which for us make national great- ness. People have been groat in the measure that they have forgot- ten all self-seeking and everything beside in serving some great prin- ciple, in living and dying fur some high aim. Our fathers gave themselves to great principles; their sons must do even harder se. vice, for they must toil in quiet ways, without the contagion of the mob and the plaudits of the throngs. We can set first the things that are first, honor, truth, justice, and love. We can, if we will, make sacrifices that the ages will recognize as just as truly heroic as any that have been made on BLOODSTAINED FIELDS. Eternity will reveal heroes in un- dreamt of places, plain mothers who sacrifice social ambitions and the temptations of life that they might train their children aright, giving not their own lives alone, but giving to the world other lives rich in usefulness and character worth. Though we compassed all the earth in our possessions we could be no greater than our souls; though we possessed no more than little rocky Greece or barren Pal- estine, no measure could be mado of our worth if wo but give the world such ideals, thoughts, aspira- tions, and visions as have sprung from these little lands. This is the finest, highest, holi- est, and most truly religious service that we may know, this is that which sets each one into the glori- cus company of the great of all ages, just to live such a life and give such measure of service that the whole world is richer, that men think of better things and live for nobler ends And the flowers of love spring in the deserts of old desires. HENRY F. COPE. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL INTERNATIONAL LESSON, JULY 2a. Paul's Second Missionary Journey -(C'ont'd.) .Athens. Acts 17: 16-24. Golden Text, John 1:'24. . Athens in St. Paul's Day. Driven from Berea, as we learned in our last lesson, Paul carne to Athens in Oreece. As be w't..Ked from the Piraeus, where he landed, along the neeroad to the city, he saw raised at intervals altars to the unknown gods. As the city of Athens came into his s iew• his soul must have been thrilled with the deepest emotions. Ile hacl seen Jersualem, the most influential city in the world for re- ligion ; he longed to go to Rome, which stood ahuve all others in power, in law, in imperial sway, the capital of the world ; but now he was to gaze upon the city which then stood and still stands en- throned above all ethers for in- tellectual suptemecy, for litera- ture, ort, architecture, and phil- osophy. Its situation was one of the most beautiful le the world. Within its walls rose a double group of hills. The Acropolis, Mars' Hill (Areo- pagus), The Pnyx on which De- mosthenes spoke his orations, the Museum Hill, tho Hill of the Nymphs. all crowned with buildings of the most perfect architecture. Below these were the market. the forum. the great square south of the .%rcopngus, and the Acropolis, like the piazza or square of St. Mark's at Venice, surrounded by the most beautiful buildings and busiest stores in the city. II. Paul Begins Itis Work in Athens.- -Vs. 16-21. While Paul waited for Silas and Timothy to come from lteren, before proceeding farther. er beginning sl.ecial work in a r:t w a,i.l peruliar field, his spirit was stirred in him. "urge(} on with a sharp goad," to give the gospel to a t ity holly given to idolatry. His work ens with fur classes of person'. 1. The ,lens. ire went first to the s} nagogue, as was his usual custom. and rens..ned, discoursed, (onsersrd (not disputed) with them. 2. Devout persons, proselytes to the .leeish religion. who accepted the Scriptures. and believed in the one true Goll. 3. Epicurean Philosophers, dis- ciples of Epicurus, known as "The Sehool of the Garden." Their tea.•hing was that the abject of liv- ing was pleasure, enjoyment in the broadest sense including the whole of life. in w Dish teaching there was some truth. But in Paul'. tome, in spite of the saki guards of Epicurus, his teaching de- generated "into a mere series of prudential calculations or a mere indulgence of the senses and ap- petites" ; and "his folIoe><;ers were given to gross sensualism." 4. The Stoics, whose school was called the Porch an dthe Academy. Thee- were pantheists believing that God was the soul of the world, that everything was governed by fate, that there was no perpetual individual immortality. "Virtue was its own reward, and vice its own punishment. Pleasure was no good, and pain no evil." It is well to note the tenets of these philoso- phers in connection with Paul's address, to see how be answers them by his positive teaching. IIi. Paul's Address Before the University of Athens. -Vs. 22-31. A Gracious Introduction. 22. Ye men of Athens. The Athenians were proud of their city-, and could Ise called by no higher title. So Demosthenes, the greatest orator in all history, addressed them. I perceive that in all things yc are too superstitious. An unfortunate translation, not, in accord with either Paul's courtesy or his skill as an orator, or as a Christian seek- ing to gain converts. The ].reek means "more full of reverence for deities than the other Greeks, very religious,•' alluding to the great number of idols in the city, and t., the fact that the two great phil- osophical sects, Epicureans and Stoics, were deeply concerned with religious questions. IV. The Effects Produced by Paul's Address. --Vs. 32-3-1. 1. 32. Some mockld. The teaching seetn- ed absurd to thein. 2. Some refused to decide. We will hear thee again. Like Felix, they would wait for a more con venient reason. They could en- dure almost any strange theories, but when it. ensile to giving up their sins, and to a change of life, they rebelled. 3. A few accepted the truth, re- pented, and became disciples of Jesus. 34. 1►ionysius the Aren- Hemsley angrily, limping to his pagite. that is, a member of the l feet "For what reason have you learned council before whom Paul come Lere, if you've nothing bet - had preached. Damaris. Nothing ter, wiser, kinder to say 1' further is known concerning her, "The p»ri,u,.o for which I'wc but she must have been n woman of come hire, my son, is, as i'ce told distinction and power. A church A depleer purpose, and I was founded here later, and the Parthenon became a Christian thought I might kill t birds with temple. one atone, old Wade responded blandly. "i've not conic to qur.r- rel, though 1'II confess to tieing UIS('IPt.iNI?. predisposed by n deep 'tense of ir- Nearsighted Lady --"The boy who ritation. 1 want to see if wo can't is trying to tie that can to that apply a practical remedy for your poor dog's tail ought to be thrashed within an inch of his life -the horrid little brute." Maid --"it's your boy, mum." I.rnly-'•my boy 1" Ma"cI Yes, mum." besiness. I r.sse .c.e, to e?:. e. Lady -"Tell him if he'll at( p 1 11 w ith n for ic•rt rnnt'er '1'1,• r. fore. give him some cake." if sou u' t •ny . y ur I s. i..t �.•;, After a man has turned down t• -o (erten. c .: e"t :sise.a. tie! ,•.,u ., or th-ee o ,rtunitics nee1 . pl„ they begin (;, � .. - '! j..l ,• U ., sl... (; ,1• to dodge him. to ,..: :, ,:fbl3 l 13 to• reit CAW,: ♦N++,+$ +++H+•++•iii • •• • • • • Cie 01 ane •Crowd • .• •• • • • Nil•••♦♦i♦♦i♦♦i♦♦♦♦t•tt. I. "Mr. Wade in?" Josephs, the mild -looking junior clerk, looked at the big, grey-hair- ed visitor considcringly. It had been one of his duties the last few weeks to furin some idea whether cauers on Hemsley Wade were cli- ents or duns before admitting that Hemsley was in. He decided now that the stranger scarcely had the appearance of a bill -collector or an irate creditor; at the same time, the visitor was a stranger, and might be on trouble bent. "If you will give me your card, I'll see," he said non-committally. "I'm Montague Wade, his father," said the elderly visitor, casually. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" apolo- gized Josephs, at once hurrying to the inner office. Hemsley Wade came out his room hastily; smiling, both hands extend- ed, to greet his father. "Why, dad!" ho exclaimed, looking thoughtfully into Montague Wade's face. "What's brought you to town 1 Come into my room ! Josephs, I'rn out, to everybody but Mr. Marvale, and, if he comes, ask him to wait." Old Wade shook his son's hand abstractedly, and allowed himself to be drawn into the inner office. Ho looked round the comfortable apartment curiously as he advanced towards the table raider the win- dow, and Heinsley shut. the door. "Well, how are you?" inquired Wade the elder, and sat down. "Oh, I'm all right ,thanks !" re- turned Hemsley hopefully, and took a chair. "Glad to see you looking so well. You were not well when you wrote me last, you'll remember. What's brought you up?" "Two things, Heinsley," said Mr. Wade, looking at his son fixedly and crossing his legs. "I hear you're on the point of bankruptcy, and that you're practically engaged to a most undsirable young wo- man." Hemsley flushed, and his hands clenched under the screening of the table. He drew a hard breath, for his father's tone was a brutally offensive as were his words. "You have no right to speak in that way of a girl you don't know, sir," he said, as calmly as possible. "As to my financial difficulties -un- less you've an inclination to re- lieve them, I don't see that it will serve any good purpose for us to discuss then. I'm not in the state of mind just now to accept a verbal castigation lying down." "Don't lose your temper, please," said old Wade. Re- member, I am your father, and that I am deeply concerned in the pos- sibility that our name may bo dis- graced by bankruptcy or a mesal- linnco. Aro you actually engag- ed 1" "Yes," answered Hemsley, re - seating himself. "Actually eng.iged-eh 1" mut- tered old Wade, and moved un- comfortably in his chair. "And does this chorus -girl, or ewhatever she is, know that you're ruined 1" "No." "That your father is wealthy?" "Yes." Montague Wade laughed slily. Hemsley stared at hint, his lips tweehing. "Father," he exclaimed, leaning forward suddenly and laying bis clenched fists on the table before him, "this is no tiine for you to come to me in your present framo of mind. I can't stand it. My posi- tion is desperate; every moment I'm expecting the bankruptcy petition to come along. For the love you bore me as a child, for the affection you Dae a borne me as a maul, don't scoff at the one thing that makes my position endurable-Lettic!" "1'm afraid you'll find that 'Let - tie' will make your position worse when she knows what your position is," answered old Wade wisely. "If she don't chuck you, it'11 be be- cause she knows I'm your father, and you're my only son." ''Cut it, sir- rut it !" cried !1 - complication of diseases. :1s far as i understand think?, this business was doing very well until you got involved by experiments with that t. rpec!o; 1h: t crit pled pati, eh' You'ee rtam .1 yo:tr legit: slate • sand pounds, on one considera- tion." "If that is a fatherly offer, mado in a spirit of fatherly generosity, [ accept most gratefully, " said Hems - Icy deliberately ; "but it it is un offer for mw promise to give up Let - tie, I decline it absolutely !" Old Wade rose; put on his hat, and began to button his jacket. "I think that is all I had to do in town," lie muttered consider- ingly, and held out his hand. Hemsley grasped it quickly, and got on his feet. "Father," he exclaimed eagerly, "don't bo prejudiced! You haven't seen her; you don't know—" "I have seen her, I think. I was at the Kemble Theatre last night, and she was pointed out to me." "And doesn't your knowledge of character enable you to judge that she's a good girl 1" "My knowledge of worldly affairs enables me to judge that Montague Wade's cheque for ten thousand is a good cheque," answered old Wade quietly. "You -you're thirty - throe, old enough to know what sort of girl, woman, or chit you most fancy for a wife, and I'm not disposed to discuss your judgment. At the same time, l'tn old enough to know what to do with my money. You understand?" "Perfectly!" returned his son huskily. "I need never expect an- other penny from you unless I give up Lettie-which I shall never do.' "Yes, you understand. I leave ray offer open for a week. If with- in that period you caro to call upon me for the cheque, on the condition named, you shall have it.; if not, I shall take the distasteful step of informing the girl that you're bankrupt, and entirely without expectations, which is another mans to the same end -namely, saving you from the toils of a for- tune-hunting chorus -girl. I mean it." "Oh, I don't doubt you mean it!" Hemsley answered bitterly "But I'ni not a penny he' -ter or worse off for your bribee or threats." "Yes, you are, young hot -head. You're better, because you know now, while before you could only have supposed. Which door do I—Oh, this one! Good-bye! A week, Hemsley 1" He opened the door leading to the outer office and went out. Hemsley threw himself into his chair, and sat inertly, crushed. The last straw had been laid upon his back. I[e fell into a brown study -or, rather, a dull, fitful at- tempt to review the situation, and find a glimmer of hope in any cir- cumstance. Ile scarcely felt, any resentment against his father, be- cause he understood him -knew that he was sincere in his prejudice and honest in his determination. Hensley knew all along that his engagement to Lottie Somerton would meet his father's moat dog- ged opposition, and, for that rea- son, he had planned to marry her, and take her off the stage, and in- troduce her to Montague Wade as what she was by nature -a charm- ing little lady -not .ns what she had been for a livelihood. In which circumstances, being unprejudiced, his father would accept her -critic- ally, perhaps, scetically, it might even be, but, open to conversion. But his financial difficulties had prevented the execution of his plan. And now it was ton late. Now he had to choose between Let - tie and a fortune of something like ,£30,000 -possibly it might be s great deal more, for his father had always lived n quiet, country life, and the way in which he had spoken of a cheque for J:IO,OUO suggested that it would be a comparatively easy matter to arrange without em- barrassing him. Then lie was interrupted in his bewildering thoughts --this time by Josephs, who camp in and looked at hint with scared eyes, and held out a card. Ilemsley took the card, but his hands trembled so he could not read it. "Who is it, Josephs'" he asked, blinking. "A clerk from Andreeea, itinton, .E Gutley's," said Josephs compas- sionately. Hemsley swung half -round, and dropped into a chair. It had eomo -the petition --within an hour of his father's visit. "Show him in, Josephs." 11. Lottie was very white, and her pretty eyes, which were generally so tender and thoughtful, were bright and restlesswith excitement. She leant back against tho head of the shabby sofa, her fingers dug deeply into its padding. Hemsley watched her eagerly, hungry for her answer. The pause seemed interminable. "1'm sery fond of you." she said at length, speaking with evident effort ; "hut not, eno►igh to enjoy poverty with you, Ilemsley. And, it world not he fair to expect you to 81101W you to r• fine your father's offer. and quarrel with him. for my sake. Love is sweet, b •t n►.,r;e3 i= r'• rail." tt hi'c ,he .1., i.e. anger and re. ,i.•,. !.'q eyes 1'h.t; . : , i,.n your rtn- Ca.e,• 10. ,.l."i ;.r ,•r ,•!e'. aftnr,. •tr,svglini .i t.• •e f r I,: hr (sath. `rue tt,'d.t.0 rr. ae.,;,l:rg his fixed gaze. "You chuck me!" he added bitterly, with scorn. "He said you would! 1 bhall not plead with you 1" t$he looked at him nut of the tail of her eye, and winced. "Of course ho did. It was his policy to lar you with the brush of his own prejudice; but be didn't know. 1 might have bold you to the engagement,' she returned ; "but I don't. You can go to him and tell him that you Dawe broken with me." "But 1 have not ! You have jilted ate!" he exclaimed natty. "We won't argue about that," she responded coldly, and moved from tho head of tho sofa and sat down. "You're perfectly justified, of course, he said, turning to her and speaking rapidly, "and I'm bound in honor to release you, without plea or protest. I courted you as a man of comfortable means, with large expectations. You're perfectly justified. 1 shall see my father to -night and sell my pledge for his draft.' "I will return your letters," he added, and went towards the door. "Thank you !" "Good-bye!" "Good-bye 1" she ech2ed. Sho heard him speak to her landlady, whom she met in the passage, and go uot, shutting the street door after him quietly. "Good-bye!" she repeated. She had a rehearsal that after- noon of a musical comedy for a provincial tour, and she was glad of it. -glad to have to work -ardu- ous work -to take her thoughts -from her disappointment. Though it scarcely did that; but it blurred the figures of her imagination, and inspired her with some hope of the future, for in the tour she was to have a speaking -part. Her salary would be the same as she received as a chorus -girl in town, but her status in the profes- sion would bo improved. It wan the second rung of the ladder, and in her mind's eye she worked up the possibilities lost. And after the re- hearsal she had to attend at the Kemblo Theatre, to sing and look pretty. She threw her whole soul into the matter, and succeeded. Ilut while she sang, her fancy pictured Hems - ley, and an indefinite form, which represented his fattier, sitting over their after-dinner wine, and her voice almost. broke. She was still a chorus -girl, with the heartrend- ing struggles before her; still "one of a crowd" ; still a face and figure to be looked at, a voice to be heard ; no longer a woman of flesh and blood and mind, to be loved. At last the curtain rang down, and she was free one more till the following evening. Free ! At lib- erty to experience to the full that dull, strangling sentiment which is loneliness in despair. For the first tune she paused on the dirty pavement outside the stage -door, hesitating which way to turn, instead of hurrying straight home, as usual. The right ea) home to her lodgings seemed the wrong way anywhere to -night. "Are you Miss Somerton, may 1 ask I" Sho looked round, and saw in Montague Wade's big face and fig- ure a stranger, who in some inde- finable way reminded her of some- one she knew. "Yes," she said sillily, on her guard instantly, and looked over her shoulder to assure herself that the doorkeeper was at hand. "I ata Montague Wade," be said pointedly. ''1 should like to speak to you confidentially, if I might." "I don't think Montague Wade and Letlie Somerton can have any common interest to discuss at this time of night, sir !" she retorted, her self -loving kindling her anger at the announcement of his name. He was obviously surprised by the uncompromising attitude, and irritated, too; but he pressed her to accord him an interview, and, finally, writhing urulcr his per- sistence, she consented to eater a neighboring cafe, where she bad often supped with Hemsley after the play. For form's sake, they ordered coffee. "I have sought this opportunity to thank yon for relearting my son from his engagement, Miss .Somer- ton," said old %1'a.te, in an under- tone, with a trace of sarcasm. "I feel it• is due to you to adroit you've laid me under an obligation. 1 saw him to -night, and he was quite frank, giving you the entire --the entire credit of cancelling tho en- gagement. Of course, as he ex planned to you, I presume" -ho smiled in tho merest pause, and shot a sly look at her har(1, white face. Sho was listening intently, every nerve tense ---"you would have married a beggar if you had insisted on marrying him. At the Annie time, I fancy you may feel you have made a sacrifice in enabling him to conform to his father's wishes, and you would free my mind of self -reproaches, and give me real pleasure, if you would permit me to make you some com- pensation for your disappoint- ment. 1 thought -you won't be offended, I hope -but I thought, if i could induce you to accept five hundred pounds, we might all re- gard the affair as having been brought to a satisfactory conclu- sion." "Did your son suggest that?" asked l.ettie . "No," I,t' said hurriedly --''oh, no! No! ( ' . tait►ly not '" "Thank Heaven for that exclaimed hoarsely, looking al- most fiercely at.the oldman. "I wished him to think I had cared for !(int wale money, and would not care for him without ; hut 1 tried -- 1 tried and prayed ho would not think so cruelly, so-so brutally of nie as that I did not care fur him at all !" (il►, be calm, my clear !" said 1Va(lo soothingly. "We under- stand! Of course--" "You understand ---you under- stand'!" she said, panting with anger and contempt. "You think you understand why I did it, and you offer the money?" She leant forward towards him, her anger flashing from her tear-filled eyes, and beat softly on the edge of the table uncontrollable passion. "I did it because I loved him, just. as I would have worked for him and starved for him because I love hint! And you offer me money!" She leapt to her feet, and, before he could recover his presence of mind, brushed past him, and swept out into the street. Ho rose quickly as she disap- peared, and, throwing half-a- crown down upon the table, rushed out of the cafe after her. "Hi!" he shouted, catching sight of her swiftly -moving figure twenty yards down tho street, and, in his amazement, forgetting himself, and oblivious to the attention he was attracting. "Hi 1" A quick-witted policeman, whom Lettie had flounced past, scenting a case of pickpocket, or something akin, prop►ptly gave chase to the unbreeding girl. In a few seconds he had caught her by the arm, swung her round, and was walking her back to meet Montague Wade. At sight. of her in custody the old man hurried forward. "Touch her, if you dare! Don't touch her !" he stormed. "What e—" "Ain't you lost nothing?" de- manded the surprised constable. "No !" snapped Montague. And, taking her hand quietly, he drew her away from ttte little knot of people who had gathered round. "Come along, my dear !" he said briskly. "It was my faulty -entire - 1y my fault ! I loss myself !" "It's all right now !" he contin- ued soothingly, yet quickly. "It's all right r.ow ! We understand now 1 I was an old fool, toy dear ; but how should I know it was liko that t Women are so beguiling, and young men are so easily be- guiled. I love my boy, and I was afraid for him ! I'm a bit olds fashioned, perhaps. But it's all right now, my dear ; though I shall insist on your leaving the stage. You'll do that., to please me, won't you? And it'kl please Hemsley, too. I know you'll do that, for you lovo him, as much as I do. My dear, you melted me! Let's look for a cab! I'll drive you home! We can't get hold of flemsley and let him know to -night, but I'll try -aa soon as I've .seen you home, I'll try! Where d'you live? Hi, cabby! Cab -hi !" She got into the hansom with chaldlike obedience, dazed by Ler wonderment, bewildered by his volubility; but as he threw him- self on the seat beside her, and, taking her hand, patted it soothing- ly, tears gushed from her eyes. "1 feel for the moment that I love you Letter than Ilemsley !" she said hysterically. "Pooh! Nonsense !'' he exclaim- ed; but he was immensely pleased, nevertheless. -London Answers. FAIR LX( f1.1N(;E. "You are in the employ of that millionaire up on the hill, aren't you I" snapped the sharp -faced wo- man who ran the butter -and -egg shop. ''Yes, ,on'run.'' responded tha man in the white apron, "and I want two pounds .,f butter for my master's table. He said he'd send to town after it, only the roads aro So bad." "He did. eh i We11. we are not particular about his trade. Did you tell him I said his rm,ney was tainted 1'' "!ri(Ieect 1 (11(1.'' "And what did he sav'•" "Haid so was your blamed old butter." USEFUL. "Life is largely made up of il- lusions," said the eemplaceut cynic. "Yes," answered Miss Cayenne, "and they serve a beneficent pur- pose. if there were no illusions, there would be far less sclf- eatectn.'' When charged with being dis- orderly and asked what he had to say for himself, the nian in the dock gazed pensively at the magis- trate, smoothed down a remnant of grey hair, and said :•-Your honor, man's humanity to man makes countless thousands mourn I'm not as debased as Swift. as pro fligate as Byron, as cli•;ipatcd as Pee, or as debauched as -" ''That will dn." thundered tits magistrate. "Sven ,lays' .Ina, officer, take s Hat of those name$ and run 'em in. They're as bad to lot es be ill 1'1-