1
KV
a
1
s
$i.oo a Year, In Advance.
FOR QOD, FOR COUNTRY, AND FOR TRUTH."
filngle Copy, j ci
VOL. XIV.
PLYMOUTH, N. C, FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1903.
1M) ,A r .
111 Iff 3 111 III I v i 1.9 IT I I r I I " A I H 1-4 11 ItV -
OLD TIME-
THE 'WHIP -
BY HENBT
, Henry Van Dyke, the noted Presbyter
. fnre in Princeton University, was first rep
The Song-Sparrow," was printed, with a
' Do you remember, father
It seems so long ago
The day we fished together
Along the Pocono ?
ZAt dusk I waited for you,
Beside the lumber mill,
!And there I heard a hidden bird,
.itiat cnantea vwmp-poor-wiu." .
t ...
The place was all deserted; '
The mill-wheel hung at rest;
The lonely star of evening
Was quivering in the west;
Th3 veil of night was falling:
The winds were folded still;
And everywhere the trembling air
lie-echoed, "Whip-poor-will.
Hou seemed so long incoming,
1 felt so much alone;
The wide, dark world was round. me,
And life was all unknown ;
The hand of sorrow touched me.
And made my senses thrill
"With all the pain" that haunts the strain
Of mournful "whip-poor-will."
The Capitulation
ID I tell you that I had
asked auntie to come
here, Len?"
"No, you certainly did
"D
t not," replied Leonard Vancourt, bis
, .forehead lowering into a frown, as he
iielped himself to a second piece of
toast, i "Might" I inquire which of the
two is going to afford us the delirious
-delight of her . presence Clarissa the
saturnine, or Amelia the magpie imi
tator?" "Len!", The delicately traced eye
brows were raised in indignant expos
tulation. "I. think that it is particu
larly unkind of you to speak 'In that
manner of my relations. You used to
eay that Aunt Amelia was a shrewd
business woman."
"I would be the last to deny her that
qualification, "Celia," remarked Van
court, grimly. "It was positively a
stroke of genius the "way the old rep
tile ahem lady palmed off on to me
that property in Southwark. Fifteen
houses, my dear, -with only rudiment
ary drainage and a hungry County
CJouncil waiting on me to render the
same effective. Aunt Amelia ought to
have been a compauy promoter. Egad!
she would hare made her fortune at
"the game, my respected aunt-in-law,
has it in her bones. Where is the
-Daily Express?"
, Cella's lip commenced to quiver.
' I think that you are horrid, Len,"
he vouchsafed at length, glandng re
proachfully at her husband, who sud
denly became immersed in the money
market column of the paper -which he
tiad discovered under the table.
"I must say that I think you are
particularly unkind to speak of my
relations in the way you always do!
You should not forget, dear, that Aunt
Clarissa has been more than a mother
to me, and brought me up since I was
ra tiny tot; the first time you ever, met
me, Len, was at her house."
' "I know,", replied Vancourt casually.
""But if it hadn't .been for Gus Har-
'rington taking me to Rutland Gate I
should never have seen either of you.
I remember the evening well. I took
n Instinctive dislike to your respected,
more than a mother of an aunt! A
feeling incidentally which has intensi
fied ever since.",. . . :
"You used to say that you -were very
Tond of her before we "were married,
Xn." . ,
Vancourt coughed dryly.
' "I was diplomatic, Celia," he said
quietly, as, laying aside his paper, he
buttered a piece of toast. "You see, as
I could only see you in her house, I
:was obliged, in a sort of a way, to hold
the candle to the your aunt."
. "She was very fond of ; you, Len."
Celia Vancourt's eyes were tent re
proachfully on his. ,
"Ahem! That was very kind of her,
ilear. You see, Celia, I had shekels; in
Iondon society I was considered rather
a, decent match at the time I married
you." His accent was irrltatlngly sar
Jonic. "Do you mean to insinuate that Aunt
Clarissa liked you because you were
well off and lria' houie in Park
ILane?" deinande. Jclia, her face flush
lag an angry pkik .
IK "
FAVQ
POOR - WILL
VAN DYKE.
ian divine and professor of English litera
resented in this eeries when his noem.
sketch of his life.
What did I know of trouble?
An idle little lad,
I had not learned the lessons
That make men wise and sad.
I dreamed of grief and parting,
' And sometimes seemed to fill
My heart with tears, while in my ears
Resounded, Whip-poor-will." '
'Twas but a shadowy sadness,
That lightly passed away;
But I have known the substance
Of sorrow, since that day.
Por nevermore at twilight,
Beside the silent mill, .
I'll wait for you, in the falling dew,
1 And hear the whip-poor-will.
But if you still remember,
In that fair land of light.
The pains and fears that touch ua
Along this edge of night,
X think all earthly grieving,
And all our mortal ill,
To you must seem like a boy's sad dream,
Who hears the whip-poor-will.
A Love Story For
the Married.
"Aun,t Amelia did, anyway," smiled
vancourt unreeimgiy. "My spare
cash made her Southwark property
boom in a manner which brought a
smile to her face! She had me on
toasts Celia."
She rapped her knife impatiently on
the Immaculate damask. "Leonard,"
she remarked, with dignity," "I would
have you remember that you are
speaking of my relations,"
"I have no desire to rob you of their
ownership, dear," remarked Vancourt;
then added, ' as he commenced his
breakfast in real earnest, "I wish to
goodness that you would manage to
see that we got bacon for breakfast
that is not salty enough to skin the
Inside of one's mouth. I don't believe
that the tradesmen would dare to sell
such abominable meat to anybody else
but us."
Cella's face grew tearful-looking, as
she poured herself out a cup of tea;
then, glancing across the table at the
sombrely annoyed features of her hus
band, said, irritably:
." never met such a growling man
as you are in my life! The moment
anything puts you out you quarrel
with your food. Goodness knows, I
am fanciful enough, but I don't find
this bacon a bit salty."
"Of course not! It is quite sufficient
for me to say that it is for you to de
clare the contrary," said Vancourt,
angrily. "I never met such a contra
dictory woman as you- are in the whole
course of my existence. I am just
about sick of it!" .
"And I am tired to death of you and
your grumbling," retorted Celia, flush
ing with anger. "Everything that 1
do is wrong. I can't make out what on
earth made you marry me!"
"Because I was a victim of the throes
of driveling lunacy, that's why," said
Vancourt savagely. "I wish now that
I had never set eyes on you. Why,
ever since my marriage I have never
known what it is to have a decent
breakfast. If I don't get a high egg I
get salt bacon which a . sailor would
kick at, and if I get neither of those
two things I have a piece of fish which
would disgrace an East End cook-shop
put in front of me." , J
He sniffed indignantly, as, turning
in his'chalr, he picked up his discarded
paper and, flattening , it out angrily, j
commenced to read Its contents. ;. j
"Very well, Leonard," said Celia, dig
nity struggling with fears for mastery
in her voice. "Since you are as sorry
to have ever met me as I am to have
ever come across you I will ask Aunt
Clarissa when she comes here
"I tell you she Isn't coming here S"
interrupted Vancourt peremptorily. "I
won't have the old cat in the house
so there! I'm master here kladly re
member." -
"And I am mistrc
"Bo Aunt Clarissa
!" retorted Celia.
'1 come and "
"What?"
"And when ' she
her that how u:
and ask her tr
tinned Celia
heeding his
want to PC" '
OUr very
p.hall tell
with aa much dignity as he could as
sume. "As such is the case, and since
I am not allowed to be master of. my
own house, we had better separate
amicably. I, for one, shall be' very
pleased to be freed from . a nagging
woman!"
"And I, from a brute!" .
."That is a question of opinion," re
marked Vancourt easily. "I have been
asked by Carstairs to go for a cruise,
and as his yacht leaves Southampton
the day after to-morrow I may as well
go with him until I have decided what
I will do. Of course, I shall leave you
the house I will clear out." He
crossed the room to the door, adding,
as he opened it, VThere will be enough
money paid into your account to sat
isfy your requirements." Then, with
out awaiting .a reply, he closed the
door behind him, Celia gazing half dis
consolately, half defiantly, at the va
cant chair on the other side of the
table. .'
Vancourt had not been gone, long be
fore he returned, . dressed in faultless
style, a Raglan over his arm and a
bowler in his hand.
Well, I'll say goodby," he said light
ly, extending his hand to his wife.
"I've told Job to pack up my duds
and to bring them to me at the Carlton.
I sliall be stopping there till to-morrow
morning, when I shall leave for South
ampton," ' " , , " '
"I see.'
"We shall be cruising about the
Mediterranean for about two months,"
he continued, eyeing his wife covertly
as ne spose. "Alter wnicn 1 may go
to South Africa for a few months to
do some big game shooting."
"You will enjoy yourself, I hope,",
said Celia, placing her, slim hand in
his. "Of course, if we ever meet In
society we need not be dead cuts, need
we, Leonard?" ,
Her deep blue eyes were raised al
most' wistfully to his. " '
"Of course not," he said, with a
strained laugh, ' as, pressing her cold
hand to his, he went toward the door.
Addio, little woman; It, is a pity that
We should go our several ways, don't
you'think so?"
"Yes, it Is! Goodby." Her voice
faded away into a whisper, adding
quaveringly to herself as the door
-closed behind her husband, "he might
have kissed me before he went. I
don't think that he .minded leaving
me, and I I oh, I don't care!" she
cried angrily, dashing away the tears
which had gathered on her lashes. ,4If
he had tried to kiss me, I'd have
slapped his face for him! I hate
Leonard, and now that I am free I
shall be as happy as " s
The harsh clang of the hall door
below caused her to stop abruptly.
For a moment Celia stood silent, then,
sinking onto a sofa, she burled her
fluffy head amid a bevy of cushions,
and cried as if her heart would break.
"He's gone!" she muttered in a
strangled voice, broken by sobs. "And
I made sure that he would come-back."
Meanwhile, outside in the street,
Leonard Vancourt hailed a hansom.
and, stepping into it, was soon bowling
in the direction of the Carlton. "I am
afraid that I have made a fool of my
self," he soliloquized. "I made sure
that she would have stopped me before
Ileft the house; of course, it's all most
unearthly rot to think for a moment
that I could live without my little
Celia. A day would be bad enough,
but two months I have half a mind to
turn back and say that I was only
bluffing, only I should look such an
ass if I did. I might have kissed her
before I left, though! Poor little
girlie, she half raised her face to mine
when I said good-bye and oh, I am
going to chuck this fool's game and
shall toddle back, and she can stodge
me with high eggs and salt bacon as
much as she jolly' well likes if she will
only take me on again. Cabby, I "
His sentence was never finished, for.
as he pushed open the trapdoor above
his head the pole of a brewer's dray
crashed into the side of the hansom.
.
WBfen Leonard Vancourt came to his
senses it was to find himself swathed
la bandages lying in bed in a darkened
and familiar room, while curled up be-
side him on the immaculate counter
pane sat Celia, her slim fingers cooling
his fevered brow.
nullo, girlie!" he exclaimed, with a
weak attempt at hilarity. "I haven't
gone after all, you see."
Are you sorry, Len, that such is not
the case?" she queried gently, nestling
her tear-stained cheek against his.
"Would you mind, dearest I mean
Celia if I said tiat I was glad?" he
tasked, slowly, j'
V'Mlml! Oh, Len, you are the dearest
la all tic world!" sbo cried, im-
pulslvely. "I thought that, you would
have come back, but. when: I found
that you did hot I just sat down and
wrote to the Carlton to ask you to,
dear." .. : " " :
"And I hoped that you . would call me
back, Celia,' he , said,' delightedly.
"And when I found that you did not,
girlie, I thought that I would just
come back, and say that you might do
any mortal thing you jolly well liked,
if you would only take, me on again,
Celia.?
She passed her hand caressingly over
his cheek. , . . "
"Call me girlie," she whispered, hap
pily. "You know, dearest, how I hate
Celia."
"I don't," Vancourt replied, fondly.
"I love her better than the whole
world! Kiss me, girlie." New York
' " Preventive Medicine.
In looking over the history of the
search for a means of cure, one is
struck by the great value of the ounce
of prevention. Keeping the germs out
is in every way preferable to dealing
with the matter they have once entere'd
the body. This fact scientific medicine
is Impressing more and more deeply
on the minds of pufiric authorities and
the people, and their response in the
form of provisions for Improved public
and private sanitation's one of the
striking features of the social progress
of the present time. All the more .en
lightened nations, States and cities of
the world possess organized depart
ments of health which, with varying
degrees of thoroughness, deal with the
problems presented by the Infectious
diseases In the light of the latest disc
overies. .
Fifty years ago the term preventive
medicine was unknown. To-day it rep
resents a great body of weli-attested
and accepted principles. It has cleaned
'our streets, it has helped to build our
model tenements, it has purified our
food and our drinking water, it has
entered our homes and kept away dis
ease, it has prolonged our lives and it
has made the world a sweeter place in
which to live. Medical News.
' A Queer Centenarian. .
There died in New York the other
day a most remarkable woman, Mme.
Avon de - Vermond. This lady was
born in Germany on October 5, 1800.
At the age of thirty she married a
French soldier, who during the Na
poleonic wars, had been quartered in
her native town and who had seen
her as a little girl and loved her. Quite
romantic. Few men take the trouble to
go back after the lapse of fifteen or
twenty years. But th'e strange and re-
imarkable features of Mme. de Ver?
mond's case -were not. concerned with
her love story. The fact is that she,
being 102 years old, didn't die in a
poor house. Nor does it appear that
she had all her life been addicted to
the use of whisky and tobacco. It
may be difficult for the reader to be
lieve this, but the good old lady seems
;to have had exemplary habits, not
withstanding her great age; moreover
her declining years were passed with
members of her own family instead of
upon public charity. After this en
couraging case almost any of us may
be justified in endeavoring to live a
hundred years. Chicago Record-Herald.
Hall I the New Woman.
The Benchers tf Lincoln's Inn, sup
posedly the most conservative body of
men in England, have given way to
the onward march of woman. They
have granted permission to an Indian
woman, Miss Cornelia Sorabjl, to fre
quent their library and consult and use
the books therein. Miss Sorabji has
-passed the examination for the degree
of B. C. L. at Oxford and received the
certificate for intellectual fitness for
the degree, which is not yet granted to
women by the university. In Bombay
she obtained the university degree of
LL. B., and has been successful in
court work. She Is the only woman in
the world that can study in the Lln
coin's Inns Library.
The Archbishop as a Singer.
A story is told of the late Archbishop
of Canterbury one evening' dropping
in at a London church and taking a
back seat beside a bricklayer, who
proved to be as capable of blurting out
his thoughts as the Archbishop "him
Self, A hymn was announced which
happened to be a favorite with Br.
Temple, who sang with great enjoy
ment. The bricklayer stood it for a
verse or two, and then he said, "You'd
.better stow it; you're spilin' the ser
vice." The chKCS that begins at home 13
often so wciuthat it stays therfii
: . " )
.THE GREATEST THING OF ALL.-
That she Ads golden hair divine
'lo me is no great shakes, 1
But I bow doAvn before the fine
Plump wafHea that she makes.
Her classic ieatures that I see .
My thirst for beauty slakes;
'.Yet not so much are they to nie
. As are the cakes she bakes.
I Jove her eyes, whose limpid blue
Rivals Norwegian lakes;
iYet I forget them so would you''
When browsing on her steaks.
G:"rls, if you're pretty, nothing more,
'. ,ou are but arrant fakes. ,
A husband's love flies out the door
Whene'er his stomach aches. ''
. .. Tom Masson.
Jerrold "I took "Dolly .out in my auto
yesterday.", Harold "Of course you
proposed to her?"; Jerrold "No! Every
time I started to. I broke down." Puck.
4 Gladys-4"So he proposed in his auto
after a week's acquaintance? What
did, you fell him?" Dolly "Told him
he was exceeding the speed limit."
Puck.
She "I would prefer a quiet home
wedding, but father is opposed to it." .
He "I wonjfler why?" She "Oh he's
awfully deaf, you know." Clcago
News. '. ' !
Mrs. Fortey "He was pleased to say
I held my age very well." Mrs. Snappe
"Why shouldn't you? Think of the .
years of practice you've had." Phila
delphia Press.
"I hope you never talk back when,
uaughty boys call you bad names?"
"No, ma'am. I'm a little tongue tied.
I always hit 'em with a rock." Cleve
land Plain-Dealer.
"I had a mind to buy a steam vehi
cle." "You changed your mind?"
"Yes; I have now half a mind to buy a
gasollner and half a minio buy an
electric." Automobile Magazlnef
"Where are the songs of yesterday?" 1
Sings the. bard in a ballad of sorrow:
While the songs that are driving our sleep
away .
. Are the songs of to-day and to-morrow. .
New York Times.
City Friend "In this house occurred
New York's most famous murder mys
tery." Country Cousin "Indeed?
Which doVou mean?" City Friend-'
"The one the police solved." Judge.
Youngwed (on bridal tdur) "I would .
like rooms for myself and wife." Ho
tel Clerk "Suite, I suppose?" Young- t
wed "That's what. She's the sweet
est thing that ever happened." Chica
go News. . ,' , :,. ' ; i .
First Youth "That was a great trag
edy, wasn't it? Did you take your par
ents to see it?" Second Youth "Oh,!
no! They are too old for that sort of
thing. They went to a farce cbmedy.' t
-Life. .:. r: V
She "It was fortunate that you we,
such a fine French scholar. I supPj
when, you were in Paris you hSS
difliculty In making yourself undei-..
stood?" He "Not when I talked Eng.
lish." Boston Transcript,
A cook there was kneading her dough, j
When in at the door walked her bough, j
She said, "I am busy, ;
So don't make me dusy j
With love talk, but get up and gough: i
Baltimore American.
Squire (to rural lad) "Now, my boy,
tell me how do you know an old par
tridge from a young one?" Boy "By
teeth,- sir." Squlfe "Nonsense, boyt
You ought to know better. A partridge
hasn't got any teeth." Boy "No; sir;
but I have."r-Punh. , . , '
"I'm afraid. Bobby," said his mother,
"that when I tell your father wiat a
naughty. boy you've been he wll P-'V -ish
you, severely. "Have yi J
tell him?" asked Bobby, ( 'nestly.'
"Oh, yes, I shall tell him I. dlately
after dinner." The look of n oa
Bobby's face deepened. i'h' ath-'
er," said' he, "give him a be f tor dinner
than usual. You raisin de ' ;it rnurh
for me." Tit-Bits. I
What Paris loctor tarn
In Paris there are, according to the
London Lancet, 2000 medical practi
tioners; of these forty have
come of from $40,(XV t , 1
of $20,000, fifty f rom ? 1 '
200 hxmira from ?-v i .
'ross in-
0, fifty:
from fiOOO to $C v
ou an. averts ge ?T2." l
whole of. France ih,
cians'who gain on au
year gross.
170 cir:
,-. , In tl.e
1CO0 physi
The impecunious
like to chop up his f .
wood.
'rat wo:
: . ? t.r f :