Evening Star Newspaper, June 20, 1926, Page 82

4 | EARLY AMERICAN THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE el MARY SYNON Love and the Dollar Sign—At School Lucie Had Learned Pleasures and Extravagances Far Beyond Her Family’s Means—Roger, Who Had Been Waiting for Her at Home, Was a Struggling Lawyer. BURTON came home hirley Manor School of the rich. with manner, ward fashi acquaintan of her thre Yom: ial uhip country’s e eternal friend her schoolr re d her town, ss 0f @ care ehe flamed into the shabby 1} which her mother had striven to xtad for her return. There we roses the tall silver had her tic and fre i ) the heen a B West i glas Middle in the lotte Bt cent st president’s i holde had b in the wife the ten which a to Aunt in 7 ted a can tive of the ds er mother’s windows w st pote n spots silver serv for Lafayettc ing of the wall pap As she glimpsed the details o bhy-genteel p ¥ from d removed her for e’s brightness cloude il to her mother with sure ation of the desire for praise > kuew to be hiding behind ¢ Charlorte’s pride it hea 1" she her eyes again took run-down place of the treasures with the terrible of ¥ » gleamed the peel- f the 3 ¥ h let him see this flushir Was measar by the fe tion to it her answers her mind ance of the setting: d her. spa- d house where she sther's daughter. the the assured back iwch as the Doanes and the Spencers r summer homes which the rest of not hope copy = to accept this heeks ns seen the him es of her poverty = that he loved her? come here,” she i spent the Christmas holi the Carringtons in B th the Bram The B » 1o New s to nleys London Alaska in July and they plan casual | der. | of her father’s .,ace she knew that Aunt Frances had spoken the truth. By dint of the charm which had I never failed her in the school assoca it had been her most , she tried to 1ift him from s, but after his first_happi slumped back + could say brought him_out. ww that the accepted his attitude as a matter course, Jud hurrying through din | ner to get out to tennis, Waller im- mersed in audible speculation as to how he cguld make $50 buy a fourth iterest in a $300 car. “Would you be willing to put in | twenty-five”” he finally asked her. ‘Wg'd ride you around a lot if you aia.™ s in gre | into gloom ‘I can run our own bus,” she said. ‘Dad sold it,” Waller told her. She thought he was joking, remem | hering the explanation her’ mother | had made for meeting her at the sta tion with a taxicab, but the look in tte’s eves told her that Waller spoken the truth. She made * mind that she would not burd her more than she had alre She was wondering how to put effect this code when a motor horn honked, and she looked out to see Cara Doane at the wheel of leaming new roadster. Come on for a spin,” Cara bade I've a hundred things to talk one. into her. bout.” | “Nothing's happened since we came this morning.™ Nothing will happen this Summer ou don't play with me.” There was portent in her voice which deter- mined Lucie. *“We'll have to cam- gn if we're going to get any whirl |in this place,” she went on as Lucie ipped down beside her. “We might s« well put the cards on the table. You and I are to play against Grace and Ade “But why nny! 47 Yes." “And you didn't see that the Wish irts had the battle plan all mapped Didn't you get Adelaide’s | L or what?" or her, of course. And doesn't | Mrs. Spencer do whatever Adelalde’s mother wants? And isn't my mother | 45 good as nothing in managing any | thing? No. my dear. if you and I are | going to pick anything out of the | Summer, we'll have to bait our own | hooks, and cut the bait. at that.” 3ut T don't see— “Oh, Lucie, wake up and listen to {me. Mrs. Spencer has made up h mind that e 1sn't going to marr) Ben Riddall, s going to see that Grace meets every eligible man along the shore this summer. Mrs. Wishart has made up her mind that Adelaide is golng to marry a very ch man, her engagement to be an | nounced with her debu i all that | sort of stuff. My mother doesn't care whom I marry as long as he hasn't a eriminal record. but I'm not going to let that crowd get away with mur- How about you®” 4 day to coax you to let | lotte tried to =i or of panic. which had » firat joy of Lucle's h yut again. “I wo been e T I'm couldn't.” going to visit she's abroad.” that, but they won't T nd-cents nt dear?” lief. She the look™ deepened . Really lfted in “Really eves betray she demand, “He'll caid to Char otte’s voice ay lest her How's Dad?" “And why didn’t he 1y.” Charl jeen very we trouble at the p noney on it, and it worrie fully. ~ Don't say anything it, thougl he warned wouldn't want you “1 won't. going up to sald. “You'd better,” Charlotte ‘You know how sensitive she ythir THE old w the girl pron Aunt Fr Ivised. nan, however, bolstered by countless pillows in the ¢ of the room she had chosen fc n when sie had descended. bag baggage, upon the Burtons a dozen ars before to become a non-paving ind continuous guest, seemed testy ither than touch I s call. “It's a wonder Lome at ull” she observed. you going nlec what are imer “Stay home It's about time. I mother's told 3 t lost o lot of money be in the house five hearing from her." “He h failed, has he” Not yet. He will, though. if he has to keep up this spending for you.” “What spending?” “Did vou think you were going to charity school? " You didn’t know ippose, that Shirley's expensive? The old woman's volce ran corr ou had no new clothes, did And you went steerage to Bermu Jamaica, or whatever place it ¥ had to go? ‘Well, I'm d_angrily. “Through with what? rough with the Spence! Wisharts, and the Doane They're the only or since you've gone them ou don't Rentley any more, and Hallam—" “Aunt Frances, that isn't true!” “He doesn’t come to see you any more, does he “That fsn't doesn’t. “Then why doesn’t he?" 3ecause he's hateful. ‘hange an engagement with him la Summer because Cara Doane was giv- mg a dance that evening. I offered to %o with him some other time, but he wouldn't.” sn’t that what T said? It's your friendship with those fly-by-nights that did {t.” “They're my friends,” Lucie made hot protest, “and I won't listen to what you say against them.” “It "doesn’t matter whether you listen or not,” the old woman in- sisted. “The fact is that your mother raised_you all wrong. Do you sup- poss I'm blind and deaf as well as lame? No, I'm telling you the truth.” pose vour fa You w rs uldn't you was through now,” Lucie You aren't and the are you? you've noticed school with e Agnes for Roger to even as the reason why he “It's not the truth,” Lucie declared. | Then she whirled out of the room. ERE HROUGH 'an afternoon crowded with a visit from Cara Doane, telephone call from Grace Spencer a note of invitation for a dinne the next week from Adelaide Wishart, Charlotte tried to drown the sense of impending trouble which had met her is about | nd | | interested your | minutes without | I had to| Lucie | The introspec. | A Waller called | I'm she | “YOU'RE A BRUTE,” SHE FLU! AT HIM. “YOU'RE A BULLY.” “I don’t care what they do.” “Oh!" Cara’s eyes narrowed. “You must have made good use of your week with the Bramleys. Is it Mark > “Don’t be silly.” fou're the one who's silly, if you're in him. He's Adelaide's you want to know it.” pal, if M. “They've asked him out here.’ “He's going to Alaske.” “He won't go If he's interested here, will he?” “He'll go i T go.” she flared. “I thought so. Are you going?” “I don’t know.” “What's the rub?" What was the use, Lucie thought, of trying to explain to Cara, who had never known what lack of money meant, that it was poverty which kept her from joining the Bramleys? “I don’t know that I want to go,” she led. “I saw that Hallam boy today,” Cara said. “He's awfully good looking, isn't he? “Yes “You used to like him pretty well, dldn't you, Lucie?” “Oh, when I was a youngster.” She tried to be air: like him pretty well, myself. most presentable; youth in . even if he does work at' the soda. ain. o only worked there while he rning money to go through col- He's passed his bar examina- ge. tion."” “That ought to make a hit with my father,” Cara mused. | QUE turned the car back toward town, chattering about a dozen | unrclated’ topics. Lucle had, how- ever, the suspicion that Cara had :rmined upon a destination of | place ws well as of purpose, but she was surprised when the other girl owed the rondster into the street | where the Hallam house stood. She stopped the car in front of the house and honked. A youth came down from the veranda. Lucle’s heart skipped a beat us she recognized Roger. “We just wanted to know how you are,” Cara sald smoothly. “Lucie and | I've talked about you So much while | we've beeh at school that we thought { we'd look you up. Come with us,” | she urged him. | " He hesitated, looking at Lucie. Un- | der his gaze she flushed hotly. What {if he didn’t know that this call was {all of Cara’'s doing? To emphasize her indifference she stiffened. | “I don't belleve I can,” he said. | She felt the surge of a swift pride |in him for his retusal, but her heart fell under Carra’s insistence, and she felt strangely unhappy when he told Cara that he would come to see her * * home-coming, but with her Arst sight some night in the next yweeks Lnder the injustice of the knowledge that it had been a party of Cara’s to which he had not been bidden which had allenated them, she resented Cara’s interest in him now In view of Cara’s implication that he had staked out Roger for her own claim, Lucie could not return to thought of Mark. Her emotion for a tine she refused to recognize as jeal- ousy. It was only after she was at home In her own room that she fuced the fact. “But I don’t care for him any more,” she insisted to herself. “I love Mark if he loves me. I don't love Roger. won't let myself love hiv The morning, however, brought her a telegram and a great box of flowers from Bramley, and she went through the day in that state of self-sati tion which comes to a girl able to >w her world the fruits of mascu line interest. I suppose you'll marry him ances Loring sniffed when her some of the flowe ugh for you fhat's perfectly old woman. WUl you do if you marry a poor man “I'm not thinkir one.” “All gl 3 Aunt Lucie toc “He" teful,” she told g of marrying any s are. Do you love this flor- He isn't a florist.” “He sends flowers as if he were one How old is he? “About 35 but he's very young for his years.” “They always are,” said enigmatically. “Did you know | that Roger Hallam {s in Judge Wake. man’'s office?”’ she inquired as if the query made no jump in her thought. “Is h “Why don't you a “I won't,” Lucie from the room * *x X QHE could not own inquisition, k him over?” cried, and rushed however, escape her even though sh elf trying to do what in helping her moth morning. She did not | flung he could {through the h she realized that the other |lence might mean th inating her from her | Roger because o | night before, and under the suspicion, ‘I think T'll walk down the street to the village,” she told Charlotts. 1t was nearly noon when she came she girls’ si- plans grew restless 1 | | to the main street, and she watched YJudge Wakeman's oftice building in the hope that Roger would come out, but he did not appear. With a desire for solitude, she took the road which led up around the lake to the hill overlooking the town. It had been a walk which she and Roger had been wont to take in the days of last Summer before his anger at her had cut off their friendship, and she trod it with mingled thoughts of remembrance and regret. “I won't run after him,” she told herself. Then, suddenly, on the turn of the path just below Doanes’, she came face to face with him. He stopped, as confused as she by the meeting. “I brought some papers up to Mrs. Doane from the office,” he explained. “Is Cara home?” she had to ask. “Yes,” he said. “She sent for them. She’s quite—executive, isn’t she?"” “Going to be home all Summer?"” There was more than polite interest in his voice, but she hardly dared accept its import. “I don’t know."” He fell into step beside her. They passed the gate into Doanes’ and kept on to the low hill which had so often been their destination. As they went there came to the girl a great con- tentment. All the worried intensity which had been the undercurrent of her social triumphs fell away from her under the spell of the mte aft- swinging back to the state of mind of the girl she had been before she had striven to make herself part of the scheme of Doanes and Wisharts and Spencers. It was only when they turned to go back that a shadow fell between them. “Miss Doane told me you're going " Hallam said. want me to go with them.” “I should think you'd like it,” he said. ““Are you going to come to see me?" she demanded as he bade her good- Y. “That's for you to her. “Why not you?" “Don’t you know?" “Know what?" “Know that I care for you too much to let you drag me around unless you care fof me?” “I've nevet dragged you around.” “Qh, yoS ¥oU have' he sld. sa he - told Aunt Frances | “I haven't decided,” she told him.| ar from Cara through the duy, and | she was elim- | bout | her attitude of the| g that, if her mother was willing, | { ernoon and Roger's presence. Without |at the factory., My mother isn't well. pretense she et herself be happy,!It'll be hard on them to have me go, | this | thought, dwelling un “You've had me for second fiddle ever nce you began to play with the wd at the lake. 1 didn't realize 1t myselt until last Summer. Then T saw It was a chofce between them and me. [ put it up to you, and you chose them. That's why I don't | come any more, Lucie.” “Youre unfalr,” she told him. “Those girly ure ray friends. I've gone 1o school with them. They're the only ones in town I know any more. Why should they wreck our friendship?” “They wouldn't,” he satd, “if you weren't willing to let them.” But you told Cara Doane you'd call on her “That's different. 1'm not letting that call come between you and me, if you want me not to go. “I¢ doesn’t matter to me.” “That's 1t,” he said, his own voice growing hot. u know what you an to You know that er sinc n children I've! wanted to work for you, to win you, | to love you. I thought till last year that I had a chance. That's why 1 worked so hard. Then you made me see that you couldn’'t wait for me, that you wanted the things I can't give you for a long, long time, if I ever can. You chose more than Cara’s dance that night vou went there. You chose a different way of life. T had sense enough to see ft. That's the way it stood then. That's the way it stands now. I'm not com- ing to’you unless you're ready to come to me.” You're a brute,” she flung at him. ow're a bully. T thought you were I thought you'd be tender. You You're cruel.” he said, “but I'm honest. s no use in my trailing you it ing to keep on pacing with this crowd. 1 can't compete against trips to the West Indes in Winter and the A in the Summer.” L one wants ou to,” she . and left him. ok % % 1L miserable night, and even letter trom Mark Bramley the next day could not al- leviate the hurt to her pride which Roger's words had inflicted. — She sent Mark a letter, however, thank him for the flowers and intima: that Luc 2've good-by to Mark and his money his money! The inevitable assoc of the two ideas made her shudder at herself, but the attitude of both Wish arts and_Spencers toward her made her grit her teeth into determination that she should make them regret their patronage. She still had not yet decided when at 11 they went downstairs, to find Mark waiting to take Lucle home. In the Wishart motor he wrapped her coat about her. “I might as well get used to taking care of you,” he said, and with his eves dared her to protest She sank back iIn the corner of the car, thrilling If she mar. ried Mark she would have cars like se like the one on sland, go to hotels ltke the York wher i sald |an spent & g0 Jewels, . ment of the thought ¢ possessions, but opened the as Bramley bent to kiss her. “Don't,'" she sald, with a sw ¢ having been unfaithful Don't!" But he held her close, to struggle. her_cold “You're going to be mine little girl?” he pleaded. She drew back in dl ack of respor than with his ardor. “You're coming with us, aren't you he went on e me the ch make you really love me. Out the moonlight and the starligh a long material u suddenly and he = iz Nevertheless might accompany party thward. 1f I'm going to marry him, they'll take me as their guest’ she rea- soned. “I can accept it then, and pad won't_ have to pay anything out for me. Itll cost him less than having me_home.” The telegram announcing that the Bramleys were leaving Nev York and would arrive at the Wishart's re next day failed, though, to find Lucie determined upon her course She had not seen Roger since the evening of their quarrel, but she heard of him occasionally from Cara, who seemed to take malicious de- light in recounting the details of his call and of her maneuvered meetings with him. “If he only weren't so rotten | proud,” Cara said once, “I'd have a lot more fun with him. But then I shouldn’t like him nearly so well as I do." How much doe ‘Hands oft” C: Mark coming? “Tomorrow.” “You must she ne kiss left gust with her here, in . you'll r had drawn up and Lucie moved to rise. “Don’t go in yet,” Hramle won't let you go until you From the veranda her suddenly rose. the gate ather's v “Is that you, Lucie? “What's the matter? springing out past Bram “Your mother. She's sick. We've sent for'the doctor. vaiting. ‘Isn’t there anvthing Bram demanded. thing? Go for some one? “There's nothing.” Burton told him “I'll telephone you in the morning,” Lucie sald s he like you?” can do? 1 warned. When's have got that from ves in | | vift sense | then to Roger. | he ceased | nurse ren’t you, | iveness rather | i satd. I | was just going to telephone for vou.” | I get some- |t | she buy 20, 1926—PART 5. “I'll be over,” he told her. She followed her father into the house and up to Charlotte's room. Looking down on her mother, she real- ized how desperately ill she was, and her heart seemed to cease beating as she walted with her father for the doc- tor. He came at last, only to intensify Lucie’'s fear. “With car he said, rest, ghe'll pull through “What can I do?"” sh Make her stop wor n,” he said. “She's s to ave 1o g Shall T send a nv . and he went on: ve to take the full burden ponsibility away from 1 you do tha sald ack to her mother's room » her father while CF Iness which pa e when “and utter asked him. rying, if you Leen living on cep this house going. good nursing now. e’ e that k a non-essential—th them both from nstairs p in th : n to bed an sat down across from her father. T don't know what we're going to do,” he sald wearily. “T suppose you'd etter get some one in to look afte he place. I'm going said “Your mother said away, ught, tom, it se strippec enn ery sendin| They Luci to look after she were going 1t France: 1 do it His voice echoed s good stuff in y American. I guess. 1 have to caught a gre vou You'll pioneer i Th serly. “It's better to have it in your spirit an in your drawing rooms. Dad.” urged him, “if we need nd we do, why don't we sell the La yette silver? I know some one who'd the idea f Adelaide hasn't even coming to me. Isn't| at are you going to headquarters. mentioned thei she cagey? W tell_him, Lucie? “Hail and farewell, I suppose.” “Don’'t be a fool. Go on W them. You can be ready in a day. I'll give you my big wool coat. You can have the red hat, too, if you like gt She rattled on a list of her raiment which Lucie might take on the jour- ney, and the thought of Greeks bear- ing gifts came to Lucle. Why was Cara so eager to get her out of town Summer? Was it because of Roger? “I don't e what they do,” she ppily upon the irony of Roger accepting Cara for himself when he objected to her as | an associate for the girl he sald he loved. “I'll take them if I go,” was all she said to Cara's offers. Mark Bramley came to town the next day to find her no more de- cided in her course. An oldish young man, verging already toward stout- ness, he beamed upon the Burton household with a geniality which overlooked its shabbiness and found joy in its heirlooms, endearing himself to Charlotte by his praise of her early American furniture and glass. ome day he sald, his glance roving to Lucie, “I'm golng to have a house all early American. Nothing else in it. I've a fair start on the collection mow, but I'm_ golng in for it hard when I get back from Alaska. You don't know where T could find any around here?” he asked Charlotte “You're not likely to find any for le.” she said. “Nearly everything people have out here repre- sents some family epic. People weasure them for the spirit they signity more than for the beauty. Its only where an old family has dled out that the stuff gets on the market. @ur Lafayette silver—it' much older than his visit, really— goes to the eldest daughter of the family when she marries. “It1l be yours,” Bramley said to Lucie in a tone which trumpeted his intention that the silver would on day grace the home of Bramley. X % K % . HROUGH luncheon he talked Americana with Charlotte. After luncheon, led up to Aunt Frances Loring’s room, he talked it to the old lady, who surveyed him with ap- praising eyes, signaling to Lucle her opinion that he was better than her expectations of him. Then deftly he managed to get Lucie to himself. “Coming with u: he asked her, making his query inclusive of more than the journey. “T can’t decide.”” On the spur of the moment she felt that she owed him honest; 1y father's had a bad time that BY WILLIAM S. ODLIN NE hundred, and fifty yvears ago, on the morning of June 13, the good citizens of Willlamsburg, Va., —were awakening to the realization that their village had just been the scene of a determined stand against the tyranny of George III. But they could not have compre- hended the far-reaching results that were to accrue to that action—the adoption by the Virginia Convention, sitting there, of George Mason's Bill of Rights. Because of the fact that the Decla- ration of Independence was subscribed to by the patriots of all 13 colonies, that” document naturally in history overshadows the one which preceded it and represented only the senti- ments of Virginians. Nevertheless, George Mason of Gunston Hall ranks with Thomas Jefferson as one of the mightlest pens of the Revolution, and without detraction from the latter’s glorious achievement comparison of the texts of the two documents will show that many ofithe dominant phrases of Jefferson which have won an immortal place in history were de- rived from the production of George Mason. Many years ago there was a rather inept and half-hearted attempt to prove that Mason was not actually the author of the Bill of Rights, but the verdict of time, predicated upon all available evidence, is that he not only penned the bill that was adopted and I don't know that I should.” “But you can't stay with them for- ever,” he urged, “and I can't see that you'd do them much good by staying now. You're tired after your school year. Better come! “1 think that I—" “We don't go until noon tomorrow,” he said. “Don't decide till midnight. Let’s hold the books open till then.” “All right,” she promised. Through a day crowded with gayety attendant upon the Bramleys’ visit Lucle put off decision. Going up to the Wisharts' with Mark, she felt in Adelaide the hostility which Cara had foreseen. It was only Laura Bramley’ refusal to see that Adelaide wanted to g0 with them which kept the girl from jolning the party. Laura, always triendly, was, Lucie felt, playing her game for her. If she fell out of the running, though, Laura would include Adelaide, preferring her to any of the other girls whom Mark had squired with slight amendment, but also in his philanderings. Unless she went | drafted the first Constitution of Vir- With them fomorrow, ahe could sy sinis. | ir money, | “We won't yet. I'm beginning to see light at the plant, and if you can look after things here we'll pull through. Besides,” he went on, “I don't like the idea of selling one’s symbols. We don't realize till we get older how much they've done to build our character. Perhaps it's only junk, after all, but it keeps us reminded of what our people have done. Then when our own test comes we meet it with some thought of living up to their rec No guess we'll keep ft, Lucie.” We'll make the grade,” him. he was up at dawn about the house when rang the front-door Lell b s all rig she told and b T! doctors than nurses, her ter care {can | car | give, * she persisted t you let me help you in ft " she d. At eves she felt compunction for “I like vou too well » tell you the truth. I don't love e all will be t will be—sometim She felt, though, t ime was | far distant, as the day with its many he had gladness that she | had been forced to study domestic sclence at Shirley, and a relief that Aunt Frances Loring was held to her | room upstairs. It was evening before > had to go to her, but Aunt Fran- had saved her queries. ‘here’s that man?" she demand soon entered the duties wore on. forting thoughts as Lucie { “No, with the crowd. | “Has the Wishart girl gone”" “How did vou know about her?” HEART AS SHE SKIPPED A RECOGNIZED na she “I suppose so. “Huh,” the ol¢ “Will vou telephone to see Roger | want to make Cour will?" = as it she said, pompx d the giv! e face, see - sudden hurt | Mark, not | {ad A | crubbed, and swept, two com- | | zan to eny | Only when the honkin | Doane's motor horn broke th |tk a | w | re not * he whispered to her, “but oon. " 1 she said | to his ardent your Independence in Importance to Patriots. TON HALL, ON THE POTOMAC RIVER JUST BELOW MOUNT VERNON. IT WAS THE HOME O VIRGINIA BILL OF RIGHTS. . Virginia’s Bill of Rights Penned 150 Years Ago Immortal Document, Written by George Mason, Is Placed Beside the Declaration of That George Mason should bo destined to play the role he did would seem to have heen fated by his an- cestral background. On the score of birth, his position was of the high- est. His remote ancestor, who name he bore, was a member of Pa Hament in the refgn of Charles I and from the time of the landing in America of the first George Mason to come to this country the succeeding heads of the family had exerted a powerful influence in the - Virginia colony as members of the House of Burgesses and otherwise. George Mason's great-great-grand- father, flying from the fleld of Wor- cester, landed at Hampton Roads in 1651, soon followed by his family. He settled at Acohick Creek, on the Potomac, and began the creation of a plantation upon which he is buried. In 1676, in the year of Bacon’s re- bellion, he commanded a. force against marauding Indlans and the same year he represented Stafford County in the House of Burgesses. So the llne ran down to the George Mason of the BIll of Rights, who, as a prosperous Virginla planter, reared high on the banks of the Potomac just below Mount Vernon the mansion which is still standing and which he named Gunston Hall in honor of the seat of his materal ancestry in England. was the neighbor and intimate friend of Washington, who was, accordingly a frequent guest at Gunston Hail, scene of the colorful hospitality that distingulshed the homes of Virginia's aristocracy of that perfod. Physically, Mason was of striking agpmrnnu. Born in 1725, he was B0 ay the helght of his achievement He | and a cotemporary writer thus de- scribes him: “Though his once raven locks were touched with gray and he had just recovered from a smart shock of an heredity disease, gout, he appeared in the full vigor of manhood. He was nearly six feet high, of a large and sinewy frame and an active step and galt. The love of his gun and of the sports of the field kept his limbs in fine play. Exposure had deepened the tints of a light brown complexion, and it was impossible to behold his athletic form and his grave face lighted up by a black eye which burned with the brightness of youth without & feeling of respect approach- ing to awe. His beiring was in the highest degree courteous but lofty and he seemed at first sight to be- long to that class of which Washing- ton belonged, of such high and noble qualities and of such august presence as rather to command the admiration of the beholder than to quicken th gentler feelings of affection and love. George Mason's attainments as a speaker were operily recognized by Jefferson in the strongest terms, and an equally competent judge, who had often beheld his forensic efforts and who had encountered him in the greatest parliamentary discussion that age, the cool and critical Madi- son, pronounced him the ablest man in debate whom he had ever seen Although he had been active in conversation and with his pen at a much earlier period, such was the modesty of this eminent patriot, and such his love of domestic life, that it was with difficulty that he was persuaded to entex upon a publis of | 'vmwnr. He had never heen a member of the House of Burgesses, a 1 the meeting of wvention of July, ppeared in the public councils He became a member from Fairfax in the place of Washington, who had been deputed to Congress When the convention reass in 1776 he was made a member « committee of safety, and to his fell the task of drafting a declar of rights and plan of governm | after the Virginia delegates to Con gress had been instructed to prope independence of the mother ¢ The declaration, in the handwriting of Mason and now universaily accepted, as the product of his brain, fore the convention on June after discussion and some alte a opted on the 12th of . Thus came into be Mason's immortal Bl bled the George Rights. The words that flowed from Mason's quill have been called the quintessence of all the great principles and doc- trines_of freedom which had been wrought from carliest tlues, compara ble in its sphere with the Magna Charta. To have written such & pape: required the taste of a seholar, the wisdom of a statesma ind the i | spiration of a patriot. That it should | have been written by a planter lately summoned from his fields to take his place in the public councils only adds to the luster of the achievement Contrasting Mason's Bill of Rights with the Declaration of Independence that was to follow it less than a month later, Grigsby, the noted Revo- » (Countlnued on Bixth Page)