--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Lillie, May E. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 27 number: 4 published: 1924-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "May E. Lillie, “Kelly,” *Improvement Era 27, no. 4 (February 1924)*: 320–322." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2704unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2704unse start_page: 320 end_page: 322 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1924-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2704unse publication_year: 1924 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1924, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Kelly KELLY By May E. Lillie We were sitting by the fireside Sunday evening, and mother was absently turning the pages of the second volume of Emerson. Kelly had underscored some passages which mother read aloud with great appreciation: My house stands in low land, with limited outlook, and on the skirt of the village. But I go with my friend to the shore of the little river, and with one stroke of the paddle, I leave the village politics and personalities, yes, and the world of villages and personalities, behind, and pass into a delicate realm of sunset and moonlight, too bright almost for spotted man to enter without noviciate and probation. We wondered if Emerson's friend was not Thoreau, of Walden Wood. The members of our household were strictly quiet, so mother turned the pages quickly and read about the beautiful Rhodora In May when sea winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals fallen in the pool; Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew, But in my simple ignorance, suppose The self same Power that brought me there, brought you. Mother looked over at Kelly thankfully, and asked him if he would mark some more passages from the essay on "Nature." She said she had always liked "Compensation" best, but since he had pointed out other beauties she was finding new charm in this second volume of Emerson. Kelly leaned back in the morris chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the firelight. We studied his features lovingly. He is a modest young man, with black hair, and eyes that look out half shyly from under his glasses. He spent three and a-half years in the interest of our Church in the South Sea Islands. A friend, not of our faith, said, in our presence, a short time ago: "What a waste of opportunity! Why did he not go to Europe among the culture and refinement of educated people? Why did he not learn a KELLY 321 popular language instead of the Tahitian, which will do him no earthly good!" Why, indeed! He was not thinking of his own gain, but of the advancement and salvation of others. It was an unselfish labor. Hall Caine tells us in one of his novels, of some people who "could speak in several languages, yet could not say a sensible thing in any language." Once we had a bush of beautiful roses, and we wouldn't allow the children to gather one. How soon those roses faded! Next year we gathered them in profusion, giving freely to the neighbors, and decorating our own living rooms, and those roses blossomed in sweet abundance, scattering fragrance and beauty far into the late summer. Kelly's service and unselfish devotion will be an everlasting joy to himself and others, and he gained and gave out culture just as surely as our rose-bush scattered fragrance. Today we have been reading over a package of his old letters. Will it be a breach of faith to disclose a few passages here and there to an appreciative public? He was twenty years old when he made the first entry in his journal: January 9, 1918. This date will mark our arrival in Tahiti. The first thing I noticed from the deck was the presence of birds, an indication that we were near land. Before noon my attention was called to a group of islands off the prow of the ship. After dinner Morea and Tahiti hove in sight. While myself and others were looking for land, a great wave dashed over the front of the ship and deluged us. I being against the railing, pinned in by the others, got the full benefit of the wave. We sneaked off like half-drowned rats. Late in the afternoon we sighted Tahiti. The view consists of two mountain peaks at either end, with a malformation in the middle called the "Diadem," on account of its resemblance to a crown. As the ship entered the coral harbor, the view I saw cannot be described, it was one marvelous riot of gorgeous color. Here and there white houses emerged from the palm trees and flowers. Trim, white sailing vessels were anchored in the harbor at short intervals, As the ship was towed into port the whole town, in holiday array, turned out to see us. The faces of these happy, simple-hearted natives I shall never forget. At first this young man was annoyed because mother called him Kelly. What had he done, he wondered, that she should give him such a title? His own letter explains the reason: Orovini, Papeete, Tahiti, Sunday, March 17, 1918. Sure an' it's St. Patrick's Day an' I haven't got a bit of the green to wear! Dad was born this day like the true Irishman that he is! The Emerald Isle was never so green as Tahiti is now. After I sail to Hikueru, it will be many a long day before I shall see velvety mountains, in the distance, and green foliage around me, for where I am going there is nothing but white sand and rock underfoot, with very little vegetation. The island at the highest point doesn't rise over eight feet out of the sea. What else could one have called this saucy young traveler but Kelly, after learning that his father was a "true Irishman?" The 322 IMPROVEMENT ERA name flowed from our pens as naturally as the "dew drips from the trees like rain," in Tahiti. Continuing his letter of March he said: This will probably be the last time I shall have the opportunity of writing to you from Papeete. We shall leave the "Pearl of the Pacific" for another island in a little schooner so narrow one can touch either side when stretching while reclining. Imagine living on such a vessel with an odor of gasoline, perspiring natives, aggravated by cocoanut oil in their hair, and sleeping with dark feet where one's pillow ought to be. This will be my program for days and days. In our volume of Emerson, (Trust Kelly for finding all the most beautiful gems in literature), he underlined the following: He who knows the most, he who knows that sweets and virtues are in {he ground, the waters, the plants, the heavens, and how to come to these enchantments is the rich and royal man. Kelly is like that, rarely he mentioned discomforts, his letters were dreams of beauty. While the snow was thick upon the ground and housetops here in Utah, he penned us the following letter: I wish it were possible to say all I would like to in one brief letter. It is like a sweet dream to live here. The scenery and customs, of course, are typically tropical; as far as one can see are beautiful flowering trees, palms outlined against the sky, a clear, sandy beach, with dark skinned natives digging their toes into the sand and dreamily watching the sailing vessels come and go. There is much fruit here. One can see natives coming and going with bunches of bananas, cocoanuts, mangoes, breadfruit, etc. After reading that letter we sat thinking of its poetic expressions. It sang itself into our minds, and taking up a pencil we changed a few words here, added a few others there, until, with scarcely an ef- fort, Kelly's letter was a poem: Tahiti Beautiful flowering trees, Palms outlined against the sky, A clear, sandy beach, Dark-skinned natives passing by. Sailing vessels come and go, Dreamily the natives stand ; Gazing at the sea, and oh, The tropic fruitage of the land! Mangoes, luscious fruits, are seen. Sweet pine apples, pleasing fare, Pawpaw's laden branches lean, Mingled odors scent the air. Cocoanuts, bananas sweet, Oranges our taste beguile, Breadfruit that we roast to eat. Over in the South Sea Isle. Salt Lake City.