Evening Star Newspaper, March 17, 1929, Page 94

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C. MARCH 17. 1929—PART. 7. THE NEW LEA By Margaret Culkin Banning With Conviction That She Had Very Little That Made for Happiness, Daphne Walked Out on the Party of the Year. APHNE felt that to begin an- other year with a horn and paper hat was more than she could bear. It was nearly time now. Some one was announc- Ing that the favors were in the English room, and men and women were ture ing in that direction. It was the great moment when the dowager could be- | Instantly the people in the room all be- came self-conscious. They were a stray lot, but for the moment the past and future separated for them, as it was doing for every other conscious person. So far each of them had gone, with luck or without it, with | success, labor, help or failure. It jogged ! them all into a future, shot them back come Bo-Peep, the hour when false into kaleidoscopic pasts. the knife of mustaches and comedy spectacles de- | time cutting between what they had stroyed the dignities and inhibitions of | done and what they might do with age and wealth, fhe chance for the & sharp. merciless stroke. For the most | part, they pretended it did not matter, | q | as if realizing that there was something paper bonnet. Daphe saw Mrs. Ellery | Abnormal in passing in such lonely grabbing the last one of the drooping | {ashion from one vear to the next. The Rats with pale green plumes of cut Weary girl’s lips tightened, and Daphne | paper, and Hal Gayley tying the strings | Seemed to know that the girl saw noth- | Of a dunce-cap under the ehin of some | I8 Ahead but work and that there was girl. It seemed to her that she had |NC One to help her along. The fat man seen the same thing for a hundred 8Finned sardonically, as if he knew ex- | vears, although after all, since she was | 81y what you could graft or grab out | only 27, that was extreme hyperbole, |Of one year as well as another. The | But she was sure that she had seen it | U%0 Doys began to clang their spoons long enough. and sing. The street car conductor | Where her husband was, she had no |lifted his cup and said to one of the idea. The way to meet the new year, |00VS behind the counter, “Well, here's according to the traditions of Daphne's [TV first meal in the new year.” and Crowd, was with & hoot. Why she had | the other waiter smiled at Daphne and turned so viclously on tradition she did sald: “Happy New Year, miss! That's not know. Yet all day the new year the whistles, all right!” had been almost impersonated to socially lost soul to become coy an bold behind a paper parasol and frilles make some new friends. Easy enough to say, thought Blanche, but in a city where no circle every touches any other, how can a woman? Why should she? You couldn't do it. Why couldn’'t Bert be content? What was the use of always wanting things? “Who's that?” she asked suddenly. Her partner looked over his shoulder. “Queen Marie. I don't know. Anyway, 1 don't remember. I can remember just \ J 'one girl tonight, and I'm dancing with her.” “It must be that friend of Kathleen Kelly's. I thought she was younger. That_girl's certainly got some clothes Kathleen says she makes good money. Look at the heels of her slippers. They're solid rhinestones. Do you know what they cost set in silver?” - her own feet moving in perfect time to the indefatigable piano, as she observed. Then, seetng Bert beside the strange girl, her eyes darkened, and she con- centrated on the Albright man. She'd show Bert. She wouldn't go near him. She wouldn't speak to him. It was bad luck to begin the New Year like this. Fight on the first day and you'd fight all year. Maybe, if she had a dress like that friend of Kathleen Kelly's, she could break into society for him. o She had done what she wanted to = = |do—begun a new year in a novel way. Daphne. She saw it as grave, as qUes- | She looked at the young man next i | loning. Not as & quasi-cupid with no | B8 (0%t o he as getting on in a | clothes, not at all infantile. It Was 3 ey ‘era. This vear seemed G0, please | grading her on her past 12 months, of a Tew Vear |nim no better than the last. He was, | admonishing her as to the tasks before “I think this a a grand party.” Daphne told Bert. “Everybody's really having a good time. They're happy. Isn't that an awfully pretty girl in the rose chiffon? Who's she? She looks Cumming’s tie had been twisted around. saw every confusion of furniture, heard | the shrieks of laughter from the din- ing_room. “I told you what it would be like,” he | remarked to Daphne. “Can we go out there?" asked Daphne, pointing to the dining room. “I like it." It was a little dining room, a room And, by some miracle, Blanche kept | | frankly for family breakfast, lunch and dinner. The children’s high chairs had ' not been concealed, nor the salt and | pepper shakers taken off the sideboard. On the round table, pushed over to one side of the room, half-empty plates of sandwiches and bowls of salad still stood in case any one got hungry again. The sideboard showed an amateur row of | bottles, as if the members of the crowd | had all contributed what they had. Some one told Daphne sympathetical- ly that the Kellys had gone home. The word had been passed tnat this was Kathleen Kelly's guest, Miss Monahan, | | and Bert's rather elaborate explanations, which he had made ready to account | for Daphne’s presence, were not needed. | | Her appearance gave new impetus to everything. All the men wanted to | dance with her except Albright, who | had followed Blanche around. And she | did not object. watching Bert out of the tail of her eye. “Please don’t make yourself any more conspicuous with that man,” he man- aged to say, taking her aside. | “Why don’t you go home to bed?” she |asked him. “Try to sleep off that| | grouch.” |~ “What would you say if I told you—" Pri R IR ol T m Daphne saw, about Nick’s age, or pos- | her. She wanted to be docile and | rthy and begin it well. But a paper stume, a blaring horn, a random, onymous kiss when the lights went ~ut, as they would at midnight, | nat_the way. The crowd pbured past her. She| knew nearly every one, for the New Year's party at the club was a closed =ffair. Nice people, good people, very ubstantial ones, of enterprise and suc- silly women who had married d rich women, young mothers, old mothers, boys home from college, all 70 hilarious to care how heterogeneous he mix-up was. They were all bent on | 7= same thing, to make a cabaret out * £ the advent of the new year. And maybe they'd be dead before an- | ~‘her year came in, thought Daphne, <arkly suspecting tragedy. Wasn't there 1e in the lot who realized that life s serioy:? Of course, she knew what was affect- | =~z her point of view. Nick. He was | 1 her mind as a specific problem, as | -1l as a husband. He was in the same | 't she was; and, besides, he was flirt- | *g with Marcia Watts. When she had uggested to him that she wanted to 10w new people and different people, | > had mentioned the fact that he | inted to give a dinner to the clerks | *1 his office. | “I mean interesting people,” said “aphne—“people who struggle and | ve. “Those clerks struggle, believe me,” “nswered Nick; and Daphne, seeing 2at he didn’t understand, let it go. They had been celebrating the wesek s they had done for the past eight -ars, and much as both of them had ~Ine separately before that. They had cen out for dinner four times and 'ne to five dances. Even the per- ‘nnel around them hadn't changed eatly. There were a few new widows ~d widowers, a few social spaces made ~cant by bankruptcy or scandal, a ‘eat many babies in the young mar- * »d background; but, on the whole, life as cut and drying, if not completely “-led. At 27, and with a husband 33, | she saw herself approaching the time *hen, like Mrs. Ellery, she would grab “or the best paper hat and spend the r2xt afternoon at a bridge-table dis- «7158ing who was at the party and what ~as worn. No—it was too much to -ar, when she felt that elsewhere the cear was beginning in all sorts of ascinating ways, good or evil, but, av “-ast, not as stupidly as this. She wasn't =7ing to spend all her time with the ame old people—or, worse, with the :2me young people. Nick had said that = didn’t blame he: 1at she must be tired. But Daphne ew better. She was not tired. She had been up late, but she had been ~esting and walking every day. Rest- g and walking, to come to this sort performance in the evening! P 8 a clock somewhere struck 11:30 | she went to the dressing room, where & maid found her coat in the middle of racks of brocade and fur. Daphne drew it around her and es- raped. She did not have a formed destination, but she had a car key | of her own, and she determined not to | isten to the stroke of 12 in the usual way. She maneuvered the car from be- veen a gray limousine and & re- nlendent coupe and sped down the s'reet. The New Year was being cele- brated here and there. Groups of cars hefore private houses marked the rhosen places, and, as she reached the “iotel and business district, every pub- ‘ic place of amusement blazed with iights. There was no doubt in Daphne’s mind that interesting things were all around her. The difficulty was one of venetration. She couldn't go to a otel and crash in on a dance. Be- -ides, she didn’t want to dance. She didn't know what she wanted, except ‘0 declare her independence by enlarg- ‘ng the scope of her living at the very rink of the New Year. A lunchroom caught her eye and be- 7an to interest her. Who would begin ‘he mew year in a lunchroom, sitting ~n a stool and eating a ham sandwich? Tt was a respectable place, she knew, for, while she had never been there, she knew that decent crowds went in and out of it at noon. She parked the ~ar along the curb, looked coolly at a »oliceman who seemed to be more wor- ~ied about her than he was about the . ‘wo singing gentlemen coming down the street, and went in. Two boys in white coats were in the inclosure between the counters, serving -andwiches and refilling cups. Daphne hlazed against the door. She remem- bered, the moment she entered, that he was wearing in her hair the band of tourmalines Nick had given her for Christmas, because she was letting her hair grow. Tourmalines on shining hair, a munificence of silver fox and r a bit. and added |© | lett. sibly a little younger. And she decided | that his morbld manner and brooding | probably came from a quarrel with a {woman. It made her sorry for him and | e showed her sympathy in words. “May I have the sugar?” she asked. | When Daphne asked a man for any- | thing, from sugar up, he was always flattered. This one, hearing her voice, looked up instantly and reached for the | sugar bowl. | She smiled and thanked him and wished him a happy New Year. “Thank you” he answered gravely, “and I hope you're going to like yours.” “I'm determined to like mine,” said Daphne, deliberately dragging him into con;emfion. “You're not getting off to a very good start,” he suggested. “Yes, I am. I'm beginning a new year in a fresh way. I said I'd turn over a new leaf, and it's turned over.” “Well,” he said, “I only refused to begin it in the old way.” “Did you walk out on your party?” she asked. “Well,” he said, “you guessed it. I did walk out on it. Did you?” She nodded. “I couldn't stand ft. Last year's party all over again.” “Same old jokes and the same people.” “There's something about New Year eve that makes you think,” she sug- gested vaguely. “IMore coffee?” asked the boy behind the counter. The young man looked at Daphne. Only more coffee could give them an ex- cuse for lingering. They both took some. “Won't they be missing you?" “They’ll never notice that I'm gone,” said Daphne. He was watching her now, wondering about her, and she was tremendously set up by being mysterious. It was delight- ful to be talking at midnight to a man who was quite ignorant of the fact that she was Mrs. Nicholas Jelliffe, who lived at the corner of Burbank avenue and Second street in the Italian house that a famous architect had designed. “So you're sick of riots, too,” said Daphne. “Aren't they deadly?” } “Two-by-four ones, anyway. I don't| suppose I'd mind a geod one. Out at the Valley Club, maybe, iit’s different.” Daphne look at him askance, wonder- ing if he did know who she was, but he was innocently stirring his coffee. She thought that, out at the Valley Club, | Mrs. Ellery was now wearing the green hat, and perhaps Nick had begun to sing “Annie Laurie.” It was his one big act, as he thought, and New Year's eve usually brought it out. “Why would it be different there?” she asked. “Oh, I suppose they do things in kind f a big wi Every one says it's a whale of an affair. And the people count. At least, they stand for some- thing.” He spoke with a kind of drive and thwarted eagerness in his voice that took the edge off what might have been snobbishness. “No doubt, they're dull,” said Daphne. “People who are trying to get on are twice as interesting, I think.” “You should have seen the party I ‘That was full of comers.” “You should have seen the one at the Valley Club,” she told him pointedly. gle glanced at her, closely and grew red. “I might have guessed that,” he said, “but I didn’t. What I sald must have sounded pretty cheap.” * ok K K 'HE boy behind the counter began to rub the marble slabs close to them, with an intensity that indicated a grow- ing interest in their talk. Daphne, look- ing up, became aware of being watched. A tremor of fear went through her. The fear challenged her, and she turned to her quasi-companion, who also seemed to have noticed the glances. “Can’t I take you back?” he asked, under his breath. “You can take me almost anywhere else,” said Daphne, in the same kind of whisper, and the tourmalines in her hair sparkled afresh as she got down from her high stool and walked to the door. “You forgot your check. lady,” called the boy, waving the small yellow stub, but the young man reached out his hand. “T'll take it,” he said abruptly. Daphne protested at the desk. “I have a purse,” she said, producing a scrap of gold brocade. However, the young man had already given the cashier the money. ‘They emerged from the restaurant, and Daphne made her mind up rapidly. “Have you a car?” she asked the young man. “No—I was walking.” “Let's try each other’s parties. You think you'd like mine, and I know I'd like yours. Come on. Let's go.” She crossed to where her car stood. “Come along.” she said impatiently. He told her, sitting beside her as she shifted gears, that his name was Clark —Bert, Clark. “Why do men snip off their names in that abominable fashion?” she sighed. | interesting.” | he began, revelations about Daphne on “She's my wife,” answered Bert, with | his tongu a queer jumble of feelings in his voiee.| “You can'l There was Blanche making herself ab- | wife pertly. “I've heard enough of your surd and cheap with that fellow who | sermons to last me through Lent.” wasn't anything and never would be. | LB sl‘g?"'t she any pride? Hadn't she any | QLOWLY the emptiness in Daphne’s y? | “Your wife must be awfully young,” heart began to define itself, to take n shape and then face. It was half sai@ Daphne, somewhat jolted. o Twenty-three.” said " Bert bluntly. | pegt 2 now, getting on toward 3. What “We married youpg. We have two chil 11 me anything.” said his | | | =old brocade, make an ensemble that | requires poise, when it has no other { >scort | Daphne mounted a stool, and with a | little backward thought at the jam at | ‘he club, which was no doubt going | hrough its usual antics. began to en- | oy herself as she looked at the menu | n the wall and at the people about her They varied and except for one Weary- inoking girl in the corner they were all | men. A street car conductor was still ; in uniform; a rather well dressed and . unpleasant-looking fat man, a violinist | from some orchestra she had heard ! somewhere, and the tired girl ranged “My name is Daphne. The rest of it I'm | getting along without tonight. Where | are we going?” “Anywhere,” he said. “Then let's try your party. Can you get me in?” “That's easy enough. But it will be dreadful—" “Which way do I turn?” she asked, | reaching the corner. * x kK | LANCHE CLARK was dancing with | the Albright man. The rugs had plano was furious with music. been rolled into a corner and the player | They | dren,” he added, as if in extenuation of his wife's childish appearance. Daphne's eyes followed the rose chif- rather defiant bit of dancing in the doorway. But Bert was gazing at the room with distaste. He saw the way Bill JOHN L. COONTZ. ODAY, the 1,519th anniversary | of his birth, finds dear old “St. Pat” at last cleared of the mythical cobwebs which have for so many centuries obscured | his real identity. Fragmentary documental evidence concerning three Patricks who labored long and heroically to Christianize the Emerald Isle and who furnish rather contradictory dates, are responsible for the misunderstanding. For centuries the activities of these three missionaries have been credited to a single Patrick, namely, the patron saint of Ireland. | And even he at times has been declared | to be a “dear old myth.” [ But now his personality has fought | its way through 4ll the incredulit; d, | in true Irish style, has won the d St. Patrick’s day—to be forever undis- | uted. P'St. ‘Patrick's valuale cohorts in the | battle to extract hi 1f from the | mythical realm have been certain scholars who hied themselves to Erin and to ancient, crumbling manuscripts there. They discovered that certain other true missionaries, who were also blessed with the name of Patrick, have been the cause of all the saint's troubles. One of these, Dr. P. G. Smith, recently published an enlightening sketch of the three St. Patricks in a Catholic maga- zin e. With strangely similar careers, de- clares Dr. Smith, it is but natural that a single personality has come down through the centuries and, with dates sometimes entirely at ance, it is no small wonder that an army of doubters has arisen to shout “myth’” at the popu- lar saint. Patrick Palladius, who is now called Patrick I, was of Greek origin and was supposed to have been born in the south of France. In 430 A.D. he was consecrated by Pope Celestine and sent to the Scots, who believed in Christ, as:: their first bishop (an honor hitherto- accredited to St. Patrick). So say the chronicles of St. Prosper of Aquitaine, the name of “Scots” being’ that gen- erally given by outsiders to the people of Ireland and the Jrish colonists in Scotland and Wales. He received the title of patricius of primate, and la- bored long and earnestly in the new ecclesiastical province. After a lone and perilous voyage past the bleak country of the Moghaidh, on the coast of Scotland, he reached the country of the Picts, now Kincardine- shire, in the north of Scotland. Here, with missionary zeal still burning, he founded the Church of Fordum, where he died and was buried and where his memory is locally preserved in the “Paddy church fair.” In 1494 his bones were disinterred and placed in a silver shrine, the folk believing that he was the true and only St. Patrick. R | A' P born in South Wales about 372 AD, of a prominent family, whose | heads once ruled in Angleasea and whose ancestor, Britte Maen, gave to the country the title “Britain.” Patrick Maen attended the celebrated college, Cor Tewdws in Gower, sald to be founded in 368 by Theodosius, father of the emperor of that name. While he was a student here, according to the “Chronicles of Sigebert,” a band of pirates from Ireland made a descent | upon South Wales and carried off Pat- | rick and other students and sold them | for slaves. After four years of bondage, it is related, Patrick had a celestial vis- | itor who told him of a certain house to which he must go. Here he was again | sold for 30 pleces of silver to some mariners, who took him with them on a | voyage—a voyage destined to see him released through the good offices of a | Christian fellow voyager. Patrick landed in France, and all along the French coast to Bordeaux, and at Tours, are to be found memorials | of that visit. In the little village of St. Patrick, an hour’s ride from Tours, a handsome church, eloguent with time, still stands; while a mile distant, in the forest, St. Patrick’s white thorn is said to blossom in Midwinter. Here, after eight years in the mon- + TRICK MAEN, Patrick II, was| | bought him and the lad was taken | into the county of Antrim. Here he | six years—until he was 22—when he kind of a fool had Nick made of him- self? Was he waiting for the car? “Perhaps we'd better go now,” she fon as it did an excessively modern and | said to Bert. “Any time."” “My party isn't as good as yours, but come and have a look.” —Patrick IIT—and Patrick Maen — Patrick II—became confused during the centuries. The dates of their lives overlap, and there is a striking similar- ity in their romantic and adventurous lives, to say nothing of the cause in which they labored. As was the case with the second Patrick, Patrick Suc- cath was carried away by pirates, who swooped down upon his birthplace, and was sold as a slave. An Ulster chieftain minded the sheep and dreamed dreams of bringing the Christ he prayed to to the people of that country. He served escaped and returned to his own people. In his “Confessions,” which are still extant, Patrick relates his experiences with the voices and visions that be- sought him, as they did his namesake, | Patrick II Educated in a Europcan monastery, Patrick returned to Ireland to fulfill his BERT, STANDING BY DAPHNE AND WATCHING WHAT WAS GOING ON. ‘Ml THE WRONG MAN THIS TIM LOOKED RATHER WHITE. BLANCHE HAD PICKED UP E AND SPILLED THE BEANS. | | “Where are you going?” asked|saw the mixed look in Bert's eyes and | she felt as if she might be going to cr: Blanche, seeing them in the hall. | “Miss Monahan,” said Bert, adopting | the name, “is going on to another | party.” “Won't be much left of it,” suggested | Blanche, “at this time of night.” “That's what I'm afraid of.” “I'm taking her there,” explained Bert. “I won't be long.” the living room. It was Daphne who Patrick Freed From Old Myths One Thousand Five Hundred and Nineteenth Anniversary of Birth of Ireland's Patron Saint Finds Him Untang]ed From Lives of Two Other Patricks of His Time and Calling. Strangely Simi/lar Careers of Three Great Leaders in Emerald Isle. ST. PATRICK. Reproduced from an old engraving. rick IIT—St. Patrick—died in 493, hav- ing “found Ireland pagan and left it Christian.” * ok ok ok IT is not known—and perhaps never will be—which of the three Patricks fmmortalized the shamrock as the em- blem of Erin, but the story is a pretty one. While instructing one of the princes of Ireland and his family in the principles of the Christian faith, the doctrine of the Trinity loomed ug as particularly incomprehensible to thi Irish chief. Patrick and the prince were walking among the hills where the zentle and unassuming trefoil was grow- ing amid kindred plants of red and white clover. Plucking one of the sham- rocks, the missionary demonstrated to the prince how the three leaves proceed- ed from one stalk or stem as do the Three Persons from the Godhead— Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Out of another of the Patrick leg- Blanche shrugged and turned back to | along the side opposite Daphne. Near her were two young men and a man with a foreign look. Also, there was the gloomy young man next to Daphne Possibly it was because he was 50 ob- viously sad and paid no attention to her that Daphne instinctively chose the place beside him. He had his coat col- lar turned up, but she could tell that he was wearing evening clothes. She also had an idea that he didn't care m_ch about eating, but, like herself, was killing time, GHE decided to have a_cheese sand- % wich on toast and coffee. Just after the boy brought it the whistle blew and the clock above the door, jerked to 12. o danced in the living room and out into | the dining room, through the archway and back again, and out again. The Kellys had gone home, but every one else was going streng, including the Al- bright man. Blanche didn’t like him much, but she was sore at Bert for having been such a stick all evening, and so she was flirting to the tempo of this desperate music. 1If it was rhythmic enough, the thing in her mind was drowned out, the thing that was there, under all her gayety. Bert was fed up. He'd been crabby all day, \ | mission. laboring there under “Old Patrick”—Patrick II—to make the land blossom under “true light.” But St. Patrick, unlike the other missionaries of that name, was not con- tent with preaching and converting in one locality; he began to wander here and there, to the west, rolling up more followers, which included Druid priest- islands. esses and kings. The port of Wicklow Patrick Succath, today identified as|proved an inhospitable one, and he was | the missionary canonized as St. Patrick, | greeted with stones and lost four teeth. and endeared to the world as the patron | Local tradition says that St. Patrick saint of Ireland, was born in 410 A.D.|then hurled upon Wicklow the maledic- In that year Rome was sacked by the | tion that the making of a priest should astery of the barefoot hermit monks, known as “the People of God,” Patrick was ordained a priest and later sent to preach the Gospel and bring the pagan Druids within the Christian fold. Today Mount Croagh Patrick remains as a witness of his 40 days’ retreat and fast, and is one of the chief places of church pilgrimages in the British and tonight he'd been horrid to every one, all their friends. He'd told her privately he wouldn't stand that crowd apy longer, n’. he thought she might | Goths and civilization was at a low ebb | never come to it, and the oldest in- | in_Britain. | habitant there will tell you today that 1t is easy to see how Patl.i:k Succath | the spell has never been broken. Pat- ends has arisen the representation of the patron saint of Ireland, with miter in hand and snakes fleeing before him. Every one who has visited Ireland-— John McCormack loves to sing about— hills and soft lakes and dells engraven on his heart, And one is apt 1o re- mark upon the fact that there are no snakes or venomous reptiles in all that green country. And then one is sure to hear—perhaps from one of the old fisher folk upon the coast, or maybe by a pair of curved red lips with a | roguish_smile lurking in the eye and ! a bit of heavenly brogue—the story of "how dear old vickw” lured away, by verily that “little bit o’ Heaven” that| goes away with the memory of its blue | called after her: “Come, too, Mrs. Clark, won't you?” | hat kind of a party are you going | “At a club—a said aphne. “All right,” agreed Blanche suddenly, largely because she had a quick sus- | picion that Bert did not quite want her to come, and it wasn't in the cards to please him tonight. Also she couldn't ! bear to be left without him. Secretly to’ | social club,” | D the magic of his music, all the pests of the islard, “and they were drowned |in the sea.” You will think that the | story sounds strangely familiar and [anxy recall the Pied Piper of childish | days, | Scarcely a locality in Ireland but has | some pretty and ofttimes humorous |story woven around the beloved name | ot St. Patrick. It matters not whether it originated 1!1! the territory of Pat- rick I, II or III—they are all St. Pat- rick to the Irish heart. Many and varied are the celebrations | that mark the approach of the beloved feast day, March 17, in the Emerald Isle. It is a day of festivity and jolly {good humor and—not infrequently— | head-cracking. | But to confine the love and venera- | tion of this goodly saint to his native shores would be like trying to confine Erin’s sons to Erin. Too many uniforms. Colonial buff and blue, Union blue and Confederate gray and “Buddie” khaki. have covered Irish hearts for kingly “Paddy” not to have a generous fol- lowing in America. Strange as it may seem, it was a group of Protestant Irish in Boston who met together for the first American celebration of the patron saint of their native land. On March 17, 1737, when young Edmund Burke was trotting to school to O'Halloran, these Protestant charitable Irish Society. The society is still in existence, meets always on St. Patrick's day, and numbers among its patrons members of the Protestant and Catholic faiths. It presents a beautiful tribute to the missionary whose deeds | of charity and kindness have been im- | mortalized in the anmals of the little | island. | x ok ok ok OLD Revolutionary records reveal that i St. Patrick's day was fervently and jovially observed in the American Army. | The British evacuation of Boston on St. Patrick's day, 1776, was hailed as a special intercession of St. Pat. When |the Americans marched in and took possession Gen. Washington authorized | as the parole for the day “Boston” and | the countersign “St., Patrick.” There |was also a notable celebration of St.| | Patrick’s day at Valley Forge in 1778. | The celebration was marked by som excitement. It appears that some trouble makers | in the Army sought to have a little fun | at the expense of the Irish by produc- ing a “stuffed Paddy.” This led to| | indignation in the camp and a general | | row ensued. | | Washington, when called upon the | scene, rebuked the trouble makers and | remarked, “I, too, am a lover of St. Patrick’s day.” He followed his word by the express act of ordering an extra is- sue of “‘grog” for the day. In 1781 the Friendly Sons of Ireland | unanimously adopted the general as a member of the society. Remembering | Irish heroism unon the battlefiel® and | Irish humor that lightened every camp, |1t is not to be wondered that the great | general responded thus: “Give me leave to assure you, gentle- men, that I shall ever cast eye upon this badge with which I am honored, but with grateful remembrance of the | | polite and affectionate manner in which | it was presented.” In 1793, when the Friendly Sons met on St. Patrick’s day in New York, there were numbered among the guests several members of the President’s cabinet— Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of State; Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury; Gen. Knox, Secretary of ‘War—together with Justice Wilson of the ‘Supreme Court. One zealous St. Patrick tpaster has gone on record with a toast which, al- though not in the spirit of the benevo- lent saint, perhaps, is at least consistent with the fame of the Irish wit. It runs: “Here to Erin. May its enemies never eat the bread or taste the whisky of it, but be tormented with itching without benefit of scratching.” St. Patrick is generally represented | and hailed as a pious, kindly soul, with | a_generous measure of joviality and tolerance in his make-up. But this pic- | ture must be purely a creation of what | he must be in order to fill the require- ments of Ireland’s patron saint; for there is not one word in the fervent and pious “Confessions,” which he left, writ- fen in Latin, to bear out the credit. These pages are filled with trials and | tribulations; his yearnings over the pagans and his passionate zeal for his calling; but in never a line can be| found a flash of the wit that so char- acterizés Ireland and the native Irish. When one remembers that not one of the three Patricks was a native Irish- man he begins to wonder if, perhaps, ! after all, the patron saint may not have ! been lacking a little in those humorous Y. ] “I did not. But it's a great lyric lost. ‘The Valley Club still blazed with |I've been wondering about you all eve- lights, though it was 3 o'clock. Its|ning and trying to keep Marcia Watts stout ' Georgian bulk, extending for a |from weeping on my shoulder. I've had quarter of a block, had hardly a dark |an awful time. Until I met the world's window, except on the top floor, where | greatest dancer. You know my wife, some hermit or exhausted member was Irish met in Boston and formed the |be sore! He'd never had a better dance |trying to sleep. Automobiles, deserted {and only glowing with little red tail- | lights, were still lined up and down the street and avenue. Some of the bigger | ones had gone, Daphne saw, sliding her | car into its previous place and noting | that the gray limousine had disap peared. The Ottersons were doubtless | peacefully asleep, with their New Year | | favors on the bureau for_their grand | children tomorrow. But Marcia Watt Not while Nic Moniahan, this is the Valley Club, you | know.” The automobile had startied her, but this was too much. “That's where the party is” said Daphne. “I don't get it.” answered Blanche. “It's New Year eve. Take it on faith.” | “Well, I'm game for anything once.” | ‘They went in through a side entrance, | and Daphne showed Bert where to put | . There were no door tenders, except a sleepy house bpy, who spoke | respectfully to Daphne. Blanche heard | the music in the distance, saw the con- |fetti and favors scatfered about, and | | picked up a chimney sweep’s hat. |" “Lead me to it,” she said, a little ex- | aggeratedly. *E k% | ‘Tm:v were dancing steadily, young couples, young married people de- | termined not to show they were old- marrieds by going home early, college boys, debatantes. In the ballroom they changed part- ners now on impulse, but with no sense | of proj It was getting to be a_good |party, according to the standards. | Daphne had a queer feeling that she had been away a very long time, and | that it was rather fun to get back. She |looked down the hall and saw Nick | coming and wondered if “Annie Laurie™ | was out of his system yet. But Nick did | not get far enough to tell her. | Blanche on the way and when she |smiled at him, he was sure that this was their dance. ‘They danced every one else off the floor. Daphne, standing and watching, saw that he could not have done so well. He had always been the best dancer of their crowd, but this wisp of girl seemed to bring out every fragment of rhythm, every dancing idea in him. ‘The crowd made a circle, at length, beating their hands. and Blanche. in- toxicated by music, by the kind of or- chestra she hardly ever even heard, by the perfect form of her partner, danced as she had never danced before. The girls passed the word that she was va- riously a paid entertainer, Marcia Watts dressed up, and Charley Bascom’s flancee. The men all said they knew Blanche. They felt it entirely to their | credit. Only Bert, standing by Daphne and watching what was going on, looked rather white. Blanche had picked up the wrong man this time, and spilled the beans. Couldn't she have laid off Nick Jelliffe, anyway? He was ashamed of her conspicuousness, frightened by it; and yet his self-conscious mind and | vanity spread its wings and even crowed at length. His wife, dancing with Nick Jelliffe. Jelliffe would be sore, if he| got on to the fact that Bert and his wife had broken in like this. Let him i 1 than that. It showed what was in Blanche. If she had a chance. She'd felt pretty bad tonight when he got so sore and told her what he thought. Didn’t she realize that he liked the old crowd all right, but that, for her sake and the kids, he had to get them some- | thing better? | ‘The orchestra stopped. from sheer ex- haustion, and Blanche with all the self- | possession in the world walked with | Nick through the crowd toward Daphne, | toward Bert. Bert stiffened. He would | stand up to that fellow, if he was fired tomorrow! i “Where've you been, darling?” asked He met | f Nick had been at all tipsy | don't you?” He always assumed that Daphne knew every one, and she did not fail him as he fumbled for Blanche's name, which he did not know. “I know her a lot better than you do.” said Daphne, “but not as well as I want 0. And this is her husband.” “Why. hello, Bert,” said Nick Jelliffe heerfully. “You don’t mean to say this is your wife! And you've been keeping it to yourself. You're going to lose your ob, if you do things like that. It isn't fair to the firm. She's a great asset to Bert Clark grinned somewhat sheep- ishly. For Daphne and his wife were both giving him queer looks. Daphne was finding it rather trying to have the man she had romantically discovered turn out to be one of the clerks whom | Nick was_always talking about enter- taining. But Nick was really fine, she thought, watching him put Bert Clark at ease. Nick was always the same, and | suddeniy Daphne found that more com- | forting than annoying: a guard thrown |around this year and years to come. The orchestra, tipped off by some one, began to play “Annie Laurie,” Nick burst into song, and the New Year was no longer a stranger. * x ok * ! AT 5 o'clock the boy scouring tables 4X'in the little coffee-shop o the | avenue was amazed to see among the 18 |or 18 fashionable visitors who |in _after some dance, for waffles and coffee, the girl and the man of the night before. He wouldn't have been sure, he told his companion waiter, exeert for the glass stuff in her hair. He looked at Daphne a little dublously as he set | down waffles before her. “Happy New Year,” she said, “again.” “She’s got another man this time,” re- ported the boy to the other waiter. “The | other one that she got the first time has | another girl now.” He couldn't make out quite what it | was all about. Nor did Nick, who was very sleepy when Daphne made a final reflection from her pillow, as the morn- |ing light drifted in through their win- | dows. She had just perfected plans for entertaining Nick's office force, but was | still wakeful. “You know, Nick—" ‘Sure—what——" ¥ id I was going to turn over & new | lea | “well, go ahead. darling. You do it in the mnl’nln%. That's time enough.” “But I did. nice clean leaf and | the print's larger and easier to read and understand, but there wasn't anything l0. it, except the things that were there | before.” “Me. for instance” remarked Nick, and fell asleep. (Copyright, 1929.) Energy In Storms. WHEN Old Sol gets busy and manu- factares a rainstorm, a tremendous amount of energy is expended. It has been estimated that between 5,000,000 and 10,000,000 horsepower hours are required to evaporate the amount of moisture in a square mile of cloud of average density, and this amount, even if it were precipitated as rain, would hardly more than wet the surface & little. To produce an inch of rainfall over a square mile would require 72,320 tons of moisture and a square mile is of little consequence in an area stricken with drought. When human rainmakers try to rival the sun and produce artificial clouds and rain, these figures indicate that they have their work cut out for them. Cab{ns for Ran;;ers. PROVIDING emergency quarters for rangers who might be caught in storms or by nightfall, a series of snow- shoe cabins have been established in Nick of Daphne, seeing her first. | “Did you sing ‘Annie Laurie’?” she | countered accusingly. | and where is the Irishman who will hand it to a¥Scot on “wit”? However, St. Patrick, whether imbued by nature or centuries of followers with every virtue, serious and merry, is cer- tainly secure in them today, and -“sure | & sorry time would one be havin’ trying | to down Paddy.” And as the years and | centuries pass his popularity grows and | he becomes not entirely the property of one church, but of all humanity; em- blematic of those simple, kindly quali- | ties that go to m: * qT. PATRICK is credited with found- *) ing 300 churches and baptizing 2,000 people in the Christian faith, but whether these figures were compiled | when the work of the three Patricks was credited to one man s not certain. Over 50 societies in America alon have sprung up in his honor, covering every fleld of activity from religious to social, and numbering membership from every creed. It would be impossible to state how many more might be found in the Emerald Isle, Great Britain and the far corners of the world. For wher- ever there are men there are Irishmen, and wherever there are Irishmen there is a breath of the Emerald Isle and a bit of shamrock once a year to remind of its glories. And if St. Patrick was a Scotchman there is enough generosity in Irish blood to credit him with all the gay and happy virtues of true Irish de- scent. Just why the engineers at the Uni- versity of Missouri chose St. Patrick for the patron saint will, perhaps, never be known. Suffice it to say that the 17th of March never comes around on the campus of “Old Mizzou” but that the engineers are out in force singing be- ake friends. e | i | i | qualities with which he is credited. A Scotchman by birth was St. Patrick, | neath those stately ivied columns “St. Patrick was ap engineer , - Glacier National Park. They are built at the edge of timbered land and are 11 feet high to prevent their being buried by snowdrifts. They are all pro- visioned with unfreezable supplies to add to their value for emergency use. Even the 11-foot height, however, does not always mean that the cabins are available. During the heavy snows of | recent weeks one ranger seeking this haven could not find the cabin, which was completely buried. and he had to cover double distance to find a stopping place. e Oklahoma Asphalt. \ STUDY of Oklahoma asphalt has been undertaken by the Depart- ment of Commerce at the Bureau of Mines experimental station at Bartles- ville. The study was undertaken with the co-operation of Oklahoma officials to segregate the asphalt deposits from other similar material which has been found -unsuited for highway work. It is expected that the results of the study will give much material to throw light on the origin of petroleum and under- ground conditions causing accumuiations of petroleum. e g et L Prison Population. STEADY decrease in prison popula- tion in South Carolina was shown | in a survey conducted by the Depart- | ment of Commerce, giving the figures for January 1, 1910, down to 1928. On the first of January, 1910, 848 prisoners were in the State Penitentiary, repre- senting 56 per 100,000 of population. This figure declined steadily, the figure | for 1923 being 30.2, with 29.1 in 1926, 27.5 in 1927 and 24.1 in 1928. Texas showed a decrease from Jan- uary 1, 1910, of 90.4 per 100,000, to 58.8 in 1927, but 1928 took a leap upward, with the final figure 70.9, |