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: : ugust 6, 1915, NORTH: SHORE - BREEZE ond ‘Renthider £49 
y ee ; es | King Coel and Constantinople 
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b ‘ae | By G. HUBERT RAND 
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. 
BEYOND a latent regard for old tradition, a brief sur- 
"vey of the last few centuries revels the ever truthful 
_ > phrase. that “History repeats itself.” 
So surely as the 
present epoch develops wonderful achievements in assist- 
‘ing human progress, so indisputably has the present 
period unfolded and grown as an historical evidence. 
Here and there we see a rude and simple people ad- 
‘mitting gradually the advantages and embellishments 
which knowledge, industry, and commerce confer, yet 
“reasoning retrogressively that the generations of two or 
three, hundred years ago existed in a state of absolute 
barbarism. 
And yet, today, nations are adopting fearful, worse 
than ancient methods, in their fight for some sort of a 
‘supremacy, each side grinding supinely under heel, the 
outcome of years and years of effort in progress. Eng- 
land once the bitter enemy of France is now singularly 
allied with that power in an effort to subjugate after an 
auterval of nearly five centuries, the execrable race of 
Turks in the City of Constantinople. 
~.. Many centuries ago, before the light of the fore- 
going advance dawned upon us, there was born in Eng- 
land, in the ancient town of Colchester, a plebian King 
who under shadowy circumstances bore the title “King 
Coel” or “Kayr Coel.” Of his court too much is known 
to necessitate further argument; but yet historians in 
America err when writing the name of this “merry old 
soul.” “The “Oath Book” an ancient record of the town of 
Colchester in which he was born, clearly gives the follow- 
ing entry: “A. D. 297. Coel Rex Britonium obiit Coloces- 
tria Mense 2do.” ‘Therefore why is the common error 
made of metamorphosing the original record to that of 
Cole. 
As the years winged their flight, a happy event came 
to this ancient King. A daughter was born, one Helena, 
who was destined to be the mother of one of the greatest 
and noblest men in history. His name was Constantine 
subsequently named the Great. Out from that antiquated 
past arises a strange unfolding of circumstances. Eng- 
land today is fighting tooth and nail to enter the city 
named after one of. her ancient and most honored sons. 
Strange is it not, that Italy, too, another ally forced by 
evil circumstances to enter once more the bloody field of 
battle, gave to England in that mighty ancient day, Con- 
stantius Chlorus, father of the God-fearing, virtuous 
Constantine ? 
Hence it happens that historical events pursue their 
wonderfully relative courses from generation to gener- 
ation, through century after century from an almost for- 
gotten age. 
A few weeks ago, during a German air raid on the 
east coast of England, a bomb fell into a garden not a 
hundred yards from the last resting place of old “King 
Coel.” ‘There is no massive column to designate the spot 
where he liés buried. Just a rude signboard on which is 
inscribed “King Coel’s Kitchen.” Here the. searcher 
after “bygone things” is directed to that haunt of ancient 
peace now a fast decaying memory. In the far away 
ages that jovial monarch sat here, troubled with naught 
‘save sublunary musings and when evening came on with 
‘its weird spectral shadows, he would summon the ‘“‘fid- 
‘dlefs three’ and mingled with flowing wine from the 
goblets, their music lighted a fire in his old heart and a 
merry twinkle in his eye, Then there were the oysters 
too, a wonted course with the merry monarch, for ancient 
‘Colchester then abounded with that luxury, 
Constan- 
tinople, (or New Rome) too, was famous for its fish at 
that period, and in consequence the early Greeks named 
the harbour from which they ‘obtained such weaith the 
“Golden Horn.” . 
Regarding Constantine the Great, it is not necessary 
to reiterate the many valiant deeds he performed. Let 
it suffice to bear in mind that the beautiful ancient city 
which bears his name, now trembles before the rumbling 
onslaughts of a warring continent. What the result will 
be Constantine will never know His ashes rest undis- 
turbed in the peaceful valley of Achyon near Nicomedia. 
Alike, old King Coel and Constantine the Great, trod in 
a relative “path of glory which led but to the grave.” 
They do not see rising’ rank upon rank the quenchless 
gieed for supremacy, the maintenance of a seeming his- 
torical essentiality, the ruthless treading under heel of 
higher things. Today there are loud echoes of bygone 
barbarities making themselves heard in the present 
European Conflict. Only a slender thread preserves the 
dignity of the whole affair. One may be thankful that 
in this far distant land of smiling contentment little re- 
gard is paid to the honors due the gods of war, and per- 
haps it would not be too hazardous to infer that a perfect 
political system, benignant, invariable, and efficacious, 
leaves no room for those exploits of brilliant violence 
and ruffian heroism. 
Major Robert P. Johnston of Manchester, N. H., has 
taken the Gate Lodge at Eastern Point for the season, 
and his family is now located there. 
The sea! the sea! the open sea! 
The blue, the fresh, the ever free! 
Without a mark, without a botnd, 
It runneth the earth’s wide regions round ; 
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies, 
Or like a cradled creature lies. 
“Before engaging rooms in your house,” said. the 
bachelor, “I want to know if there are any families with 
crying babies staying here.” 
“I’m afraid there is,” 
) 
replied the landlady, “but 
we 
“Well, I was just going to say,” continued the other, 
“that if there are, | want you to put me in the room next 
to theirs. I want to wake up in the night and hear their 
trouble, so that I can congratulate myself again that I’m 
not married.” 
Tirep oF Him 
He—I always pay as I go. 
She (yawning)—I don’t think you'll ever become ‘a 
bankrupt.—Judge. 
Caller—Pardon me, sir, but is-there another artist in 
this building? | 
Artist—There is not. ‘There is, however, a man on 
the fourth floor who paints——Philadelphia Public Ledger, 
Blox—Bilkins has the clearest head of any man | 
know. , ' 
Knox—I see where you are right. 
lutely nothing in it, 
There is abso- 
