Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 103, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1910 — Page 3

THE QUICKENING

questions of sectional And new industrial progress which are interesting every thinker in the country. " It will t>e a life like experience to the reader to trace the career of Thomas Jefferson Gordon, the hero, from an humble beginning through th 6 grades of mental development to a all the sentient elements of his nature are called upon to meet a climax such as tries the souls of great men. ; ' It will be a pleasing revelation to study the destiny of the the heroine of this sterling romance, whose love is the guiding star of “the Young Captain of Industry. ” There are scenes of strife, plotting and peril that are more than interesting—they are thrilling in their details and educational as demonstrating the power and fervor of men fighting for principle and right. • Not many recent_stories have even approximated the intense interest, the inherent merit of theme and purpose shown in ‘‘The, Quickening. ’

CHAPTER I. The revival in Paradise Valley, conducted by the Reverand Silas Crafts, of South Tredegar, was in of its second week, and the field —to use Brother Crafts’ own word —was white to the harvest. Little Zoar, the square,- weathertinged wooden church at the head of the valley, built Upon land donated to the denomination in times long past by an Impenitent but generous Major Dabney, little way back from the pike in a grove of young pines. J3y hal.f-past six of the June evening the revivalist’s congregation had begun t(£_assemble. Those who came farthest were first on the ground; and by the time 12-year-old Thomas Jefferson, spatting barefooted up the dusty pike, had reached the church-house with the key, there Was a goodly sprinkling of unhitched teams in the grove, the horses champing their feed noisily in the wag-on-boxes, and the people gathering in little neighborhood knots to discuss gravely the one -topic uppermost in all minds —the present outpouring of grace on Paradise Valley and the * Region roundabout. “D.’ye Elder’ll make it this time with his brother-in-law?” asked a tall, flat-chested mountaineer from the Pine Knob uplands.^ “Samantha Parkins, she allows that Caleb has done sinned away his day o’ grace,” said another Pine Knobber, “but I atn’t goin’ that‘far. Caleb’s a sight like the iron he makes in that, old furnace o' his’n —honest and evengrained, and just as good for plowpoints and like as it is for soapkitties. But hot ’r cold, it’s- Just the same, ye cayn't change hit, and ye cayn’t change him.” „ “That’s about right,” said a third. “It looks to me like Caleb done sot his stakes where he’s goin’ to run the furrow. it livin’ a dozen years and mo’ with such a sancterfled woman as Martha Gordqn won’t make out to toll a man up to the pearly gates, I allow the’ ain’t no preacher goin’ to do it.” “Well, now; maybe ghat’s the reason,” drawled Japheth Pettlgrass, the oflly unmarried man In the Bmall circle of listeners; but he was promptly put down by the tall_ mountaineer. “Hold on thar, Japhe Pettlgrass! 1 allow th' ain’t no dyed-in-the-wool hawss-trader like ‘ you goin' to stand up and say anything ag'inst Marthy Gordon while I’m a-listenin’. I’m recollectin’ right now the time when she sot up day and night for more ’n a week with my Malviny.” Thomas Jefferson had opened the church-house doors and windows and was out among the unhitched teams looking for Scrap* - Pendry, who had been one of a score to go forward for prayers the night before. _So it .happened that he overheard the flat-chest-ed jnountaineer’s tribute to his mother. It warmed him generously; but there was a boyish scowl for Japheth Pettlgrass. What had the horse-trader been saying to make it neperful for Bill Layne to speak up as his mother’s defender? Thomas Jefferson recorded a black mark against Pettlgrass' name, and went on to search for Scrap. / '*What you hiding for?” he demanded, when the newly-made convert was discovered skulking in the dusky shadows of the pines beyond the farthest outlying wagon. "I ain’t hidin’,” was the half-defianr answer. « ““Come on out where the folks are, 1 urged Thomas Jefferson. "Sim Can trell and the other fellows are allowin’ you’re afeard.” “I 'ain't afeard,” denied the convert "No; but you’re sort o’ ’ahtfmed, and that’s about the same thing, I reckon. Come on out; I’ll go ’long with you.” Then spake the new-born love in the heart of the" big, rough, country- boy. “I cayn’t onderstand how you can hold out, Tom-JelT. I’ve cobe thoo’, praise the Lord! but I jest natcfielly got to

FRANCIS LYNDE

-Copyright, 1906, by Francis Lynda

.STORY of vast scope and power, beginning with the weird experience of a struggling soul among the working glasses of the moonshiners and the old aristocracy of the reconstructed South—this is the"*locale of the wonderful serial now presented. _ “The Quickening is truly a remarkable literary production. Its main motive is in touch and' sympathy with those complex

have stars for my crown. You say you’ll go ’long with me, Tbm-Jeff: say it ag’ln, and mean it.” It was admitted on all sides that Brother Crafts was a powerful preacher. Other then had wrestled mightily in Zq*r, but none to such heart-shak-ing purpose. When he expatiated on the ineffable glories of Heaven and the Joys of the redeemed, which was not too often, the reflection of the celestial effulgences could be seen rippling like sunshine on the sea! of faces spreading away from the shore of the pulpit steps. When he spoke of hell and its terrors, which was frequently and with thrilling descriptive, even so hardened a scoffer as Japheth Pettigrass was wont to declare that, you could hear the crackling of the flames and the cries of the doomed. The hush that remained unbroken till he announced his text in a voice Jhat rang like an alarm-bell pealed in the dead of night. There are voices and voices, but only now and then one which is pitched in the key of the spheral harmonies. When the Reverend Silas hurled out the Baptist’s words, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand! the responsive thrill from the packed benches was like the ♦sympathetic vibration of harpstrlngs answerirfc a trumpet blast, > He passed from pleading to denun- ± h t . 1 5* n ’ . The , setting of The Great White Throne and the awful terrors of the Judgment Day were depicted in words that fell from the thin lips like the sentence of an inexorable Judge. “ ‘Depart fropi me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels!’” he thundered, and a shudder ran through.- the crowded church as if an earthquake had shaken the valley. “There is your end, impenitent soul; and, alas! for you, it is only the beginning of a fearful eternity! Think of It, you who, have time- to think of everything but the salvation of your souls, your sins, and the awful doom which is awaiting you! Think of it, you who are throwing your lives away ip tli» pleasures of this worldyou who have broken God’s commands; you who.have stolen when you thought no eye was on you; you who have so often committed murder in your hating heaxts! Think not that you will be suffered to~escape! Every servant -l the (host high God who has ever declared His message to you will be there to denounce you: I, Silas Crafts, will meet you at the Judgment-seat of Christ to bear my witness against you!” A man, red-faced and with the demon of the cup of trembling peering from under his shaggy eyebrows, rose unsteadily from his seat cfa the bench nearest the door. ”’Sh! he’s fotched Tike Bryerson!” flew the whisper frbm lfl> to ear; but s the man with the trembling madness in his eyes was backing toward the door. Suddenly he stooped and rose* again with a backwbodsman’s rifle inhis hands, and his voice sheared the breathless silence like the snarl of a wild beast at bay. - “No, by Jacks, 'ye won’t witness ag’inst me. Silas Crafts; 'ye’ll be dead!” The crack of the rifle went with the Words, and at the flash of the piece the man sprang backward through the doorway and was gone. "Happily, he had beefi too drunk or too tremulous to shoot straight. The preacher was unhurt, and he was quick to. quell the rising tumult and to turn the incident to good account “There went the arrow of conviction quivering to the heart, 6f a murderer!” he criedi dominating the commotion With his marvelous voice, “tome back here, Japheth Pettlgrass; and you, William Layne: God Almighty will deal with that poor sinner in His own way. For him, for every impenitent sdul here to-night the Hour has struck. ‘Now Is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.’ While we are singing, ’Just

*« I»am, without one plea.' let the doors of divine mercy stand opened wide, and let every hard heart be softened: Conte, ye disconsolate; come forward to the mercy-seat as we stag." The old, soul-moving, revival hymn was lifted In a triumphant burst of sound, and Thomas Jeftar.son’s heart, began to pound like a trip-hammer. Wfis this ha call—his one last chance to enter the ark of safety? Just there was the pinch. A saying of Japheth Pettlgrasa’, overheard in Hargis’ stofe on the first day of the meetings, flicked into his mind" and stuck (here: "Hit’s scare, first, last, and all the time, with Brother Silas. He knows mighty well that a good bunch o’ hickories, that'll firing the blood every cut, beats a /Sugar kittle out o’ sight when it comes to fillin' the anxious seat.” Was it really Ijis call? Or was he" oniv Beared ? The 12-year-old brain grappled hardily with the problem which has thrown many an older wrestler. This he knew: that while he had been lis tening with outward ears to restless .champing and stamping of the horses among the pines, but with his inmost soul to the brfrnlng words cf his uncle, the preacher, a great fear had laid hold of him—a fear mightier than desire oy shame, or love or;ha•tred, or any spring of action known to him. It Was lifting him tb his feet; It was edging him past the others on the bench and out into the aisle with the mourners who were crowding the space in front of the pulpit platform. At the turn he heard his mother’s low-mur-mured ‘T 1 thank Thee, O God!” and saw the grim, set smile on his father’s face. Then he fell oh his knees on the rough-hewn floor, with the tall countaineer called William 'Layne cn his right, and on his left a young girj from the chpir who was sobbing softly in her handkerchief. To his new young life after that *t seemed* but a step to June, the qUt?en ■of the months in the valleys of Tennessee. The revival converts of Little Zoar had The pick and choice of all the Sundays of the year for the daj of their baptizing. The font was of great nature’s own providing, as was -the mighty temple housing it—a clear pool in the creek, with the green-walled aisles In the June forest leading down to it, am? the blue arch of the flawless June skyfor a dome resplendent. All Paradise was there to see and hear and'bear witness, as a matter of course; and there were not wanting farm-wagon loads from the great valley and from the Pine Knob highlands. Major Dabney was among the onlookers, sitting his clean-limbed Hambletonian, and twisting his huge white moustaches until they stood oul like strange and fierce-looking homp. Also, in the outer ranks of skepticism, Major Dabney’s foreman and horsetrader, Japheth Pettigrass, found a place. On the Opposite bank of the stream were the few negroes owning -Major Dabney now as “Majah Boss,” as some of them—most of them, in sact —had him as “Mawstuh Majah"; and mingling freely with them were the laborers, white and black, from the Gordon lron-furnac». Thomas JefTerson brought up memories from that solemn rite administered so simply and yet so impressiely under the June sky, with the manypointing forest spires to lift the soul to heights ecstatic. One was the singing of the choir, minimized and made celestially sweet by the lack of bounding walls and roof. Anothter was the sight of his father’s face, with the grim smile gone, and the steadfast eyes gravely tolerant as he—Thomas JefTerson—was going down into the water. A third—and this might easily become the most lasting of all—was the memory of how his mother clasped him in her arms as he /:ame up out of the water, all wet and dripping as h£ was, and sobbed over him as if her heart would break. (To be continued.)

FISH HAWK’S DEVOTION.

Mate Was Killed by Lightning's Flash and Mourif&d Two Years. From the nature of the case it is difficult for us to follow the history of the individual bird year after year, but among hawks, eagles, wild geese and seme other large birds there are authenticated instances of union for life and even of constancy after death. It is recorded, for example, of a paflr of fish-hawks that the finale was killed by a stroke of lightning, as she sat upon her eggs. The nest was demolished, says F*ank M. Chapman In Collier’s, but the male took his post in a nearby tree and was seen there day after day during the following summer, until In September, with others of his species, he left for the south. The following spring, apparently, the same bird resumed its faithful but fruitless vigil until, as before, he Joined the ranks of his kind on their annual retreat to winter quarters, but the third year he did not return. Whether he had gone to join his lost partner In the happy fishing grounds of his race, or whether his term of mourning had expired, are questions to vblch- an ornithologist with due regard for facts dare not answer. Novf, compare withthis really pathetic devotion the action of the English sparrow under a similar affliction. A pair of these irrepressible feathered pests took possession ,of a hir'd box near the home of a gentleman who, as a beginning to the destruction of both of them, killed one. Before the second bird could be shot itVllsappeared and shortly returned with a new mate. Again one of the two was made away with, but, as before, the remaining bird escaped and soon reappeared with another partner. This actually happened over thibty times, but in no instance were both birds killed and invariably the survivor, without loss of time, secured another mate. The flshhawk and English sparrow may well, therefore, represent the extremes of consistency among monogamous birds and at the same time show how wide a range of habit is covered by monogamy.

He who knows mankind humors them; he who has not that knowledge thwarts them; it is wise to humor and not thwart mankind.—Scudere.

GOOD ROADS

Good Roads a Woman's Question. In November last the three hundred and fifteen Woman’s Clubs of Illinois had their state federation meeting at o|k Park. Over six hundred delegates were present from all parts of the stats. A brief address on good roads by the Writer aroused a great deal of enthusiasm, and at the close .of the session the resolutions given below were unanimously adopted, making good' roads a part of the work of the Woman’s Clubs of— Illinois. This movement Is .significant and means a determination on the part of women to remove ccfaditions that have been almost unbearable and usher In a brighter. happier day with Its larger opportunities. Thp Indications are that the movement will spread to similar ganlzatlons In other states. The resolutions were: x . - ...Jv ' “Whereas, Bad roads are everywhere recognized as a-serious handicap to the economic, Bqclal and educational development of our country, in that they add to our burdens, diminish our pleasures, and are a fruitful source of unrest In country life, and are a potent factor In the large and unfortunate drift of young life from the farms to the city, therefore be it “Resolved, That In our opinion It Is the duty of the women’s clubs of the state to take up the question of good roads and make it a part of the club work; and be it further "’Resolved, That In our opinion It Is the duty of the state and nation to assist in some substantial way the respective townships and road districts, which desire to permanently Improve their highways to the standard required by twentieth century conditions.” The reports the majority of women’s clubs will arrange for a good road day as a feature of their program for the coming year.—Howard H. Gross.

MAKING MEN LOP-SIDED.

Modern Methods Placing the Mischief with Handicraft^ Sir Frederick Treves, among the most notable of English surgeons, declares that modern scientific and engineering discovery is playfhg the mischief with handicraft, once so greatly admired and so patiently trained for. At the present time not a year passes tihat does not add some wonder to the list of things manufactured. If must not be inferred from this that man as a master of handicraft Is becoming every year more adept. Handlcraftsmanshlp has a limit just as there is a limit to the power of-vision and of hearing. Has that limit even now been reached, or is it by any possibility declining? In response to the question, “Are we losing the use of our hands?” I would venture an answer l{i the affirmative and say that we are. A machine shop of big equipment strikes the layman with awe. He marvels at the skill which has built the mechanisms. Yet there are men working In many of these larger plants who are utterly lacking in handicraft. Some can run a drill press day after day and month after month and never be able to sharpen the tools they use. They get them sharpened from a storekeeper and turn in the dull ones. Men work at lathes whd wouldn’t know how to. go about it to "make a cold chisel.. Some labor at intricate machines at astonishing speed and with seemingly finely trained eyes, but shlften from that particular work they are lofct and bewildered. Industrialism is~to be -blamed for more than the ruin of handicraft. It has twisted good men awry and made broad-minded \ men mentally narrow and lop-sided.—Toledo Blade.

RAGTIME IN OUR LANGUAGE.

Protest Against the Sanctioning of Certain Colloquialisms. - Students of Laura Jean Libby and the Police Gazette, who look to the substance rather than the forms of speech, greeted with enthusiasm the announcement of Prof. Otto Jerperson of Coppenhagen that "it Is me” is quite as correct' as “it is if and “if it was” quite as proper as “if it were,” in spite pf the restrictions which a little oligarchy of grammarians has imposed upon our noble English tongue. Prof. Jerperson tells us blandfy that .‘it is me’ has been In ude 200 years, though he fails to cite his authority, in the absence of which he alone must be held sponsor. He is a Dane, on his way to receive some of thfe Danegelt which, apparently, the University of Chicago keeps in its strongbox for the foreign eccentrics who make occasional forays in its midst, the Baltimore Sun says. But the real explanation of his position revealed 1 when we learn that he in to lecture on a. new universal language, known as “Ido.'’ There have been a number of panaceas for the confusion of tongues which began "at the tower of Babel, so, in a certain, sense, Prof; Jerpefseo brings us nothing new. Volapuk rose, reigned and fell and tp° re recently Esperanto has had the call. Only an enthusiast on the subject of parts of speech could hope to succeed in establishing upon the ruins of other universal languages a twentieth cen-

tflFy vehicle which would be generally accepted. The dletum flrst uttered by M. Talleyrand—and several others—that lan* guage was Intended to conceal thought has been discarded by a wholesomeminded generation which believes that a diplomat Is not an emissary appointed "to lie abroad for one’s country," but rather a business ageat who Is able to dance and rent a palace out of his own pocket. It Is an age of alrect simplicity of speech, but that does not carry with It any authority for slovenly syntax; no license for “It Is me.” This Danish Daniel come to Judgment merely indicates things as they ought to be, in his opinion, and not as they are or have been. When truant husbands stumble on the stairs as the cuckoo clock microphones some early morning hour, they may be pardoned lf,‘ in response to an anxious challenge, they should answer with a hasty “It is me.” , Mrs. Caudle herself mlght"be forgiven the expression, under the circumstances: - ‘lf I was would leave my breath In the hall.” . But written fair, set In print, or uttered with deliberation, the accepted forms for the kind of English in which Dr. Johnson defined a “net” as something "articulated and reticulated, with Interstices between the intersections." We are all for the simple, heartfelt lay, In verse or prose. But when a Dane who has Anew language to sell comes over and begins to pick flaws In the one in which the declaration of Independence and “The Message to Garcia” were written, we are Inclined to suspect his motives and discredit his wares.

TRUE IN BOTH CASES.

The little son of a most upright and respected head of an educational Institution not many miles from Boston oqe night prayed at his astonished mother’s knee that "papa might not come home drunk that evening.” As the gentleman in question was most exemplary in his habiflr, he must have had, on hearing of the petition in his behalf, somewhat the same sensations as those experienced by the captain in Charles E. Trow’s book, “The Old Shipmasters of Salem.” The captain, on one voyage, had a first mate who was addicted to drlbk. While in port in China this officer got sadly intoxicated, and was not able to make up the day’s log. The captain did it for him. Never touching liquor himself, and being greatly disturbed over the affair, he added to the record the sentence, “Mate drunk ail day.” When the officer recovered sufficiently to resume his duties with the log, he was appalled. "Cap’n,” he exclaimed, "t?hy did you put down that I was drunk all day?” “It was true, wasn’t it?” “Yes, but what will the owners say? It will hurt me with them. Why need you have done it?" v But all the captain would respond was, “It was true, wasn’t it?" The next day, when the captain examined the log, down after the entries! of observation, wind, course, tides, and -so forth, he saw, “Captain sober all day.” In high dudgeon he rushed to the deck. , % “What do you /mean, you rascal,” he shouted to the first mate, “by writing In the log that I was sober all day?” "It was true, wasn’t It?" replied the mate. “True? Of course it was true! You know I never touch liquor. Of course it was true!” And then the joke dawned upon the captain, and he had the good sense to laugh.

Alphonsine Aids Providence.

John W. Alexander, eminent artist, talked with his neighbors at a recent dinner at the Hotel Astor about student life in Paris. "Two students,” said Mr. Alexander, “sat before a case in the Boul’ Mich’. One complained of the difficulty of getting on. “ ‘But you,’ he said, glancing at his companion, ’are fat. You get on well. How do you manage it?’ “ ‘You see,’ was the reply, T have a pet monkey. 1.-let Alphonslne down from my window by a rope every morning and she visits the apartment of my landlord. Some times she returns with a game pie, a chicken or a loaf, sometimes with a ham and a bottle of wine. I trust to Providence. forages are full of interest. One never knows what she' will bring back.”’-

Byron’s Carriage a Henroost.

The discovery of a carriage which belonged to Byron in the stable yard of a South Australian bush inn will set relic hunters agog/ The pedigree of the vehicle is undisputed. I* was a gift from the poet to Lady Charlotte Bacon when she emigrated. It has bis motto and coat, of Arms on the panel. And, remarks the Glasgow Herald, Hamlet's trite observation upon the vicissitudes of men and things is once again -given point by the tact that the carriage has been used as a fowl roost: ■ Imperious Byron, wearer of the bays. To Lady ’Charlotte Bacon gave his chaise; Oh, that this vehicle, above all men's. Should prove a roost for South Australian hens. When a mean, useless, troublesome man is kicked, he always says there is nothing against him except that he Stands for the Right. The trouble with scaring a man into being good is that it takes so much time to keep the thrills going.

BITS FOR BOOKWORMS

“An Ideal Husband,” by the late Oscar Wilde, has been translated Into Russian and has been staged by ths Moscow Imperial State Theater. The play has attained an unusual success In Moscow, having been pei foraged 25 times in the space of four months. The Moscow theater Is a “repertory" playhouse, with 15 to 20 plays running each winter. A parchment recently discovered In the State archives of Munster haa proved to be the manuscript of three songs>of Walter von der Vogelweide. together wtlh the music and a fragment of a poem by another writer. It had been used as a cover ,for a sixteenth century bill and is Judged from the handwriting to belong to the middle of the fourteenth century. “Three Years Behind the Guns” is to be put Into embossed type for the blind. This Is the story of the experiences of a runaway sailor lad on tße Olympia and it was of this book that Admiral Dewey wrote the publishers: “I can vouch for many of the facts, and the description of the battle of Manila Bay Is one of the best I have ever seen published.” A curious fact In connection with this book Is that It was written by a woman who didn’t see the battle, but wrote the story as her runaway sailor son told It to her. A naif correspondent of the London Athenaeum writes a long letter to that journal in the hope of recovering his copy of the early poems of George Meredith, which he left a* St. Goarhausen in 1857. "It so happens that I have had five copies of this notable little volume. At this moment I have my hand upon two copies of the book. One of them ,1 lent to Meredith about the time of his second roarritee. He asked for the loan of it to read to his new wife during their honeymoon. When he gave it me back I was obliged to have It bound.” i The new biography of the French Republican, Gambetta, complied by a relative of his, M. P. Gheusi, has been published In England under the title “Gambetta: Life and Letters." The work Is largely made up of letters from, the great tribune to his relatives and Intimate friends. M. Gheusi, by a Judicious choice of the very voluminous correspondence left by Gambetta, and treasured by his own eit'cfb, now rapidly growing smaller and smaller, enables us to follow the patriot’s career from his entry Into the humble seminary at Cahors kept by priests until his sudden death. In a little book, “The Education of tb6 Child,” Ellen Key attacks vigorIn a little book, “The Education of the Child,” Ellen Key attacks vigorously some common mistakes made by parents. She says; “A grown man would become insane if Joking Titans treated him for a Single day as a child 13 treated for a year. A child should be Just 'as courteously addressed as a grown person, In order that he may learn courtesy. A child should never be pushed Into notice, never compelled to endure caresses, never overwhelmed wtlh kisses, which ordinarily torhient him and are often the cause of sexual hyperaethesla. Nor should the child be* forced to express regret In begging pardon and the like, which is excellent training for hypocrisy.”

A Careful Parent.

At a settlement located on the East Side in New York -a mothers’ meeting is held Wednesday afternoons. There mothers, of various nationalities, of greater or less familiarity with the English tongue, and in different degrees of assimilation to the ideals of their new country, are served with tea and cake*, helped with their sewing atdjfurnished with hints as to the proper up-bringing of their children—hints sometimes carried out on exraordinary lines. A worker from, the settlement, paying calls in a populous tenement, on reaching the two rooms occupied by a recently arrived Italian family found her ears assailed by childish howls of anguish. “Les-a, signorina, me—l wheep An-gelo—hard-a!” explained the mother of the family, who for a month or so hac iMen a regular attend at the Wednesday afternoons. “I go on the meeting at-a your house—l not let-a my keeds say bad-a word, I breenga up ro> keeds all-a right. Angelo seeng-a lou song-a—bad-a word in beem, vera bad-a word! I wheep Angelo vera mooch.” And then the worker from the settlement found a serious task of explanation on her hands; for, probing the matter, she discovered that the “low song-a” containing the “bad-& word,** which had brought poor Angelo to grief, was none other than “Nearer. My God, to Thee!”

Female Chanticlers.

Alas! That the women should crow over men, ; - They simply won’t do as they ufe’ter; They not only want to pose as the hen. But wear what belongs to the rooster. —Boston Herald.

Keeping It Dark.

Miss Kidder—S’sh! Carrie has dyed her hair black. Don’t tell anybody. Miss Askitt —Is it a secret? Miss Kidder—Yes. She wants! to keep it dark.—Boston Globe. e Look on the bright side: With meat where it is, there isn't going to be any left over for hash.