Mary Jones’ Key to Success

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Mary jones' key to happiness 22?

— stage parasite, dressed in his tinsel the fool of the foolish the jester of the wise; but a real human being, endowed with — all the passions, and heir to all the experiences of life an actor in God's court of men. For hours she seemed glued to the spot, her brief sixteen years passing before her on parade with all their pomp and glory. Then a voice brought her back to her daring entrance and the realization that she was an unbidden guest. She started forward, her lips forming an apology, but to her astonishment the people in the room seemed unaware of her presence, as they did that of the "central figure," who had so held her attention with his majestic air and who had so dazzled her eyes with the great light which seemed to radiate his face as he smiled, at the same time placing her a chair as though he were expecting her. Who was he, and why was she drawn to him? Why did she not leave? Why had she accepted the chair he placed for her? Moments passed before she could take her eyes from the face of this kingly personage,and when she did, she saw that which caused her to sit forward upon her chair in an attitude of awe and excitement. Could that be herself she was watching? Surely it looked like her— and the mother. How like her mother she was, except the lines were softer about the mouth; the voice had lost its sharp sound and she was clasping her in her arms. What did it mean? Surely, she could not be dreaming. Still she watched, unable to take her eyes from the scene. How happy she seemed as that other Mary. And with what joy she was dressing a Christmas tree, preparing for the morrow; her face aglow with happiness and her voice ringing with delight as each cheap gift was held up for the mother to see. "Mary, dear, how did you manage? Why, you haven't been able to save a penny, with my illness and household ex- penses." "Now don't you spoil that pretty face, mumsy dear, by one moment of worry. A piece of good luck jumped into my yard today, and, by being quick and a good runner, I caught him for vour Christmas. You will find him in your stocking tomorrow. Now don't ask questions, but run in to Mrs. Smith's and tell her she and Bobby are to be my guests tomorrow. And, mother, tell her of the Christmas tree. Tell her she can tell Bobby that Santa will call tonight—he received his letter. Oh! isn't it glori- ous, mother, and good to be alive?" So interested had she become in this scene, acted as it seemed bv another Mary Jones bearing the semblance to her

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very self, that she had forgotten, for the moment, the silent stranger with his kingly bearing and magnetic smile. The old loneliness was creeping over her. She must go and find her way back home. It must be days since she left, and what excuse would she give for her absence. At this moment the stranger appeared before her, offering her package wrapped in strange wrappings, carrying an odor of ages and bearing the stamp of the Orient. "Take it, child, weary with your burde nof gold — it holds the key to the door of life through which you would pass. With this key you can unlock the wonders of the endless stream, read their secrets and play your part." Then with a smile which brought joy to her being, and a flush of happiness to her cheeks, she knew she had been given that secret which money could not buy, nor kings demand the — gifts of the King of kings —the happiness which comes to those who serve their fellow men. Eagerly she clasped the package to her heart, for she had found herself and received her part in the drama of life, and as she left that room of dreams, it seemed she heard that stranger say: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Thus did Mary Jones meet the great Christmas spirit and learn the purpose of the endless stream.

What is Good? "What is the real good?" I ask in musing mood.

Order, said the law court; Knowledge, said the school; Truth, said the wise man; Pleasure, said the fool; Love, said a maiden; Beauty, said the page; Freedom, said the dreamer; Home, said the sage; Fame, said the soldier, Equity, the seer.

Spake my heart full sadly, "The answer is not here." Then, within my bosom, Softly this I heard: "Each heart holds the secret; Kindness is the word." — John Boyle O'Reilly.

The Undiscovered Country A Dissertation on Spiritual Themes By Orson F. Whitney, of the Council of the Twelve

II. —Do the Dead Return? Hamlet and the Ghost I had always thought it strange that a great Christian poet like Shakespeare, after portraying, as he does in "Hamlet," an interview between the Prince of Denmark and his father's Ghost, should refer to the Spirit World as "that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns." Had not the Ghost returned from that very "country" for the special purpose of this interview? But while deeming it contradictory, my admiration and reverence for the Immortal Bard induced me to minimize and even excuse the apparent inconsistency. In his behalf I argued that it was Hamlet, not Shakespeare, who interviewed the Ghost at Castle Elsinore; that it was the Prince and not the Poet who soliloquized relative to the non-returning "traveler." I took the ground that the play of "Hamlet," unlike Dickens' story of "David Copperfield," is not the autobiography of its author, and that Shakespeare should not be held responsible for the idiosyncrasies of "The Melancholy Dane;" he being mad, and mad people having the right to say what they please, no matter how much they contradict themselves or speak and act inconsistently.

A Better Defense But all the while there was a better defense for both Shake- — speare and Hamlet if a certain scholarly hypothesis be well founded, the supporters of which would have us believe that the famed soliloquy, "To be or not to be," wherein the allusion to the spirit "traveler" occurs, originally had place nearer the beginning of the play, and before Hamlet had seen the Ghost. Not Shakespeare, therefore, nor Hamlet, but some one who tampered with the mighty poet's masterpiece after his death, is to be held responsible for the inconsistency in question. Such is the suggestion put forth by literary savants whose opinions we

of the laity are in dutv bound to respect. Allowing it to be true, Shakespeare and the Bible are thus reconciled, and Hamlet is no