Orphans’ Frie
Price, $1 a year.)
OXFORD, N. C., SEPTEMBER 21,1883.
(V0L.IX.no 18,
MASONEY.
BY W. C5. OAPEBS.
Three thousand years’ haver>lled
away,
Upon the tide of time :
Since Masonry began her march,
Of nolle deeds sublime.
And thtf the angry storms of war,
iiave swept the earth with fire,
Her temple stands unscathed, un
hurt,
With sunlight on its spire.
‘I’ll break down his grape
vine swing--I’ll tear it all to
pieces!’ cried Phi in a rage.
‘What’s the mattei, my
boy?’said grandfather gently
but quickly catching a hand
and holding it with a firm
grasp as Phil tried to rush
past him.
‘He’s been spiting me, and
Old Empires, being the praise of I’l] spite him. Let go, grand-
father-^tee’—Phil struggled
to free his hand.
‘But let me hear something
about it first, Phil. Sit down
here with me. Whom do you
want to spite and why? There
will be plenty ot time to do
it then, you know!’
It was very hard for the
angiy little boy to wait, but
grandfather wsis too good a
a friend to have his wishes
disregarded.
‘Why, sir, I made a dam
out in the little creek where
Harry Dantorth and I play—
and I made a little water
wheel and put it in and it
worked beautifully--you just
ought to have seen it!—and
now Harry’s been and broke
up my dam and carried off
the wheel’
‘Are you sure Harry did
men.
Have faded from the earth;
Kings with their thrones have pass
ed away
Since Masonry had birth.
The sceptered monarch in his pride
Has long since met his doom,
And nought is left of his domains
But solitude and gloom.
Pioud Egypt, with its wondrous
arts—
Her mysteries of old.
Has slept beneatli he tide of time,
^ As swift his current loll’d,
And Greece, with all her ancient
wealth.
Of genius and of fame,
Scsxce heeds amid Lhe nations now,
The honor of a name.
The glittering towers of Troy, to
which
The foes of Priam came,
To meet a welcome for their dcetls
From lips of Spartan dame.
Have long since toppled f.om their
base
And moulder’d to decay;
The glory of that mighty race,
With them has passed away.
Amid the ravages that swept
The cities of the plain—
‘Mid • rumbling of imperial thrones-
' The fall of tower and fane:
Fair Masonry has still survived
A beacon ’mid the night of years,
To gild the clouds of gloom.
Thro’ every age, stem bigo ry
Has sought to crush her form;
But, unsubdued, she bravely met
The temnest and the storm.
The cloud of persecution fled
Before her steady ray.
As shades of deepest night before
The orient orb of day.
Ten thousand widows in their weeds
Have blest her advent here;
And many a homeless orphan’s
heart
Has owned her tender care.
Full many a frail and erring son,
To disipation given, ,,
Has heard her warniag voice and ^^j^tever
turned ’ ’ ’
His wayward thoughts to Heaven.
Loug
may her beauteous temple
stand,
To light this darkened sphere:
To gild the gloom of error’s night,
And dry the falling tear,
And when the iffial winds of time,
Khali sweep this reeling ball,
Oh, may its glittering spires be
The last on earth to fall.
Sai-"K is
New York Observer.
AIT&EE AND ENVY.
BY SYDNEY DAYBE.
it?
‘Why—yes, sir. No one
but he and I play^ there.’
■Did you see him do it?’
‘No, but I know he did,
and I’m bound to break down
his vine swing to pay him
up, and teach him to let my
things alone.*
‘Spiting is a very poor
business, Phil, I tried it once
myself when I was a boy.
Indeed, 1 suppose I tried it
more than once, but that one
time I remember so well I
think it was the last, for I
never lorgot the lesson it
tauglit me.’
‘Tell me about it, please,
grandfather—I mean tell the
story.*
‘1 had a boy friend with
whom I played as much as
you play with Harry Dan-
forth. Our homes were near
together and we were fond of
sharing with each other
From Oriental climes she came,
To bless the Western world :
And I’ear her temples ’neath the
flag
That liberty unfurled. ouanug
FairFreedom’weIc medtC’ourshores whatever we had which could
This maid of heavenly birth; be shared.
While thousands of our humble ‘We were both very fond
poor of gardening and kept up a
Now own her generous worth. friendly rivalry as to who
should be able to show the
finest roses and v iolets and
marigolds ai.'d poppies—we
had very few geraniums or
verbenas in those days, and
what you call pansies now
we used to call Johnny-jump-
ups. We always divided
whatever seeds or slips we
bad, and it was a great thing
when either of us got hold of
anything new which only
camo about through some one
giving us something, for there
were fewer green-houses then
and people were not so much
given to spending money for
eveiything. Neighbors used
to exchange among each oth
er what they had.
‘Well, I was greatly sur
prised one day going over to
Robs, to find he had two
fuchsias. They were rare
flowers then—some one had
sent them to him from quite a
distance—and how we both
admired the graceful, droops
toms are tne nrst ^ ing stems, the shining leaves,
the’one or two buds
which gave promise of future
beauty. He was much elated
at having the only ones in the
neighborhood; but I fully ex
pected him to give one of them
to me. You may imagine,
then, that X felt angry and
astonished at his seeming to
have no thought of anything
of t!ie kind, although I had
only the day before given
him more than half I had of
some white peony bulbs,
which were considered very
choice indeed.
‘I thought the fuch das the
most beautiful things I had
ever seen, as they bloomed
on with their lovely clusters
of scarlet bells, and every
time I saw them I felt crosser
at Rob for keeping both him
self.
‘I did not stop to consider
thst I had really no right to
expect it of him, but allowed
my feelings of envy and anger
to grow in my heart in a way
which many have found the
sore trouble. Try, my dear
boy, never to let such feel
ings get the upper hand of
you. Stamp them down and
cast them out, for if you do
not master them they will
master you. 1 got pretty
well punished for harboring
them as I did, ljut not per
haps as severely as I deserved.
‘I got sullen and could not
play or work harmoniously
wifh Rob any longer, so I was
glad when I was sent to spend
two or three weeks with m}'
uncle who lived a few miles
distant. I walked back home
on the morning of my birth
day, and, passing by where
Rob lived, stopped before the
gate to see if I could got a
glimpse of the fuchsias. I
could only see one under a
tree where Rob had placed it
for shade, and I was amazed
to see how it had grown and
what a beauty it was in this
its full perfection of June
bloom.
But the ugly, covetous
feeling within me arose so
strongly that I only felt more
and more angry that Rob
should have a thing so much
finer than anything I had.
Hardly thinking what I did,
to give, vent to my spite I
picked up a little stone and
flung towards it. I eimed
truer than I expected, and
the next moment the glorious
plant lay over on its side, the
stalk broken short off not far
from the root.
‘I shrank away in dismay.
No one, I was almost sure,
had seen me, but if the whole
world had been looking on 1
could not have felt more bib
terly ashamed. I reached
home and found it hard to
put on a decent face to answer
all the kind wishes for my
birtliday and to seem pleased
with my presents. Rob was
there with the brightest face
among them. I couldn’t bear
to look at him, but he didn’t
stop to notice how I tried to
avoid him.
‘Come into the garden,’ he
said, as soon as the others had
said their say. I could not
refuse to go, but in my shame
and confusion I hardly under
stood his eager chatter.
‘I’ve been keeping it for j
birtliday present,’ the dear
fellow was saying. ‘It’s
been all I could do, 1
tell you, to wait so long—I
used to have to bite my
tongue to keep from saying,
‘Here, Jack, of course this is
for you.’ I picked out the
prettiest for you—ain’t they
just splendid though.^
‘There in the centre of a
round bed in my garden, with
a decoration around it of
moss he had brought from
the woods, was the other fu-^
chsia, larger and more laden
with bloom than the one I had
ruined for him.
‘As he tenderly laid his
hand under a cluster of the
flowQis, lifting them up for
me fo see, I threw myself on
the ground and cried with all
ray might.'’
Phil drew a sigh to relieve
the pent-up feelings with
which he had listened to
grandfather’s story.
‘I am glad I wasn’t you,
grandfather/ he energetically
remarked. ‘J wouldn’t as
been you for anything! What
did you do?’
‘Well, / did about the only
thing, I suppose, wliich a boy
who ordinarily aimed to be
a decent boy could do—told
Rob all ai out it. Of course
he forgave me at once. He
came over to our house the
next morning to tell me his
broken fuchsia would sprout
again from the root and af
ter awhile be as good as ever.
And I thought and still think
it was most generous in him
to consent when I begged
him to let me have the bro~
ken plant^and give back the
perfect one.’
‘/ think so too,-', said Phil
“Now, little boy, long af-
t r grandfather has gone to
wheie anger and envy never
enter, I want you to remem
ber how he counselled you
never to take offence without
good cause. And if you find
you liave good cause, do not
give way to anger, but try to
overcome, by the help of the
dear Lord who says; ‘Do
good to them which despite-
fully use you.’ It is noble
andmaali to cultivate Christ’s
spirit of forgiveness—’
‘There’s Harry, now! ’ cried
Phil, as a bright little boy-
face peeped through the fence
pickets “Wait a minute,
grand/tfaer, I just want to see
what he’s doing with that piece
of my wheel.*
Harr}' came up to the piaz
za. ■
‘See what our Pont did,
Phil!’ ho said, with a face of
concern, holding up the frag**
ment.
‘Did Ponto do it?’
‘Yes, I found him playing
with this, and Mike saw'^him
in the water near your dam.
Mike says he^s a water dog.
Papa says he^s a great over^
grown pup that must be shut
up if be does any more mis^
chief.’
‘Let’s go down and build
another dam. Harry-^come
ou.’
Both went off on a run.
But Phil presently dashed
back to whisper to Ijis grand^
father:
‘I’m awful glad I didn’t
spoil his grape swing. And
I’m going to remember all
about the anger'-and things.
F. C. Vaughan, Warrenton. N. C.,
says : “Brown’s Iron Bitters guickly
stopped the chills with which I sufler-
ed.”
HISTORY OP PETROLEUM.
Perhaps never in the world's
history has there oocurred a ease
in which an article known from
time immemorial, aud counted
as being of too small vabo to
have any i ifiuence whatever, has
all at once become one of the
forces which sway the commerce,
and almost the destinies of na
tions, to an extent t'o wonderful
as is actually true in regard to
petroleum. Forty yea’-s ago the
word petroleum had no existence
in current language. It is a com
pound term meaning simply rock
oil; it was in the dictionaries,
but it was not known to people
in general. And yet the article
at that time was on sale in the
large cities, and occasionally in
smaller places. But it was in
very small quantities, and was
disposed of by the ounce. Those
who are old enough to remem
her as far back as 1840 can pos
sibly recall a very bad smelling
medicine to which they were
perhaps subjected. It was called
Seneca Oil, and was “dredful
good for the rhonmatiz," being
fortunately, in most instances,
used externally, though not al
ways. It was understood to bo
brought from the “Seneca Na
tion/’ in the southwestern part
of the State of New York; hence
its name. Seneca oil was simply
crude petroleum, aud it is on the
instance recognized that it came
fr^ m the immediate vicinity, the
very border of the region which
hii'. within these later years rev
olutionized the world with its
oil wells.
But in going back to Seneca
oil do we touch the early days of
po^roleum.^ Not at all: and we
shall never touch them. No glim
mering light shines back so far.
^V^hen the fires fell on the Cities
of the Plain, in the circuit of
Jordan, at the north end of the
Dead Sea, the combustible ma
terial which insured the destruc
tion of Sodom and Gomorrah
w'as crude petroleum, the “slime
pits” of the Vale of Siddim. La-
tor still petroleum, in its viscid
form, served to make watertight
the cradle of the baby Mosee,
But both these instances are rel
atively of modern date; for per
fectly untold ages before that
time petroleum had servedto aid
in preserving the Egyptian dead
from decomposition, for the very
oldest of all the mummies yet
brought to light reveal its pres
ence. And how early in the ex
perience of the human race its
remarkable proprieties were
brought into play we can only
conjecture, for nothing remains
to tell us.
Petroleum, therefore, has two
histories, and they may be said
to be as distinct from each other
as though they were of two sep
arate articles. The old reaches
back, so we have seen, to the
days of shadow and fable; the
now begins August 6, 1859, only
twenty-four years ago! And it
begins at Titusville, on Oil Creek,
a branch of the Alleghany Riv
er, ill Crawford county, Penn
sylvania. To such narrow limits
in both time and space wo are
able to concentrate our atten
tioii, and yet we are looking at
tliat which has become one of the
mighty factors in modern civili
zation.
Now once more we will see
what we can do in the work oi
bringing our ideas to a focus,a^
this time wo wid look at the
subject geographically. Petro
leum is found in various parts of
the world, in fact, almost in ev
ery country, to some extent.
There are,howover, certain points
of concentiatinn, and they are
not many. The islaud of Zaute,
the mainland opposite in Hun
gary; Gallicia, and Moldavia;
then, again, away oft' on tho
Irawaddy, but most of ail—ou
the Bastcra Continent—the
siiores of the Caspian, especially
near Baku; all of these produce
petroleum, aud the springs of
Baku yield more than all tho
others combined. But wo may
fairly set all of them—the entire
Eastern Conti/. ent—aside as be
ing of no great moment. It is
no more figure of spoech, it is not
rank boasting, to say ' that
petroleum, so far as the markets
of the world are concerned, is an
American product. Our regular
daily and monthly yield so far
surpasses all others that they
caEnot be counted arrivals in the
trade and its results.
Tbe springs of Baku yield about
500,000 barrels annuall); wo turn
out that amount in the space oi
a very few weeks at any time.
Tho records of 1879, not to speak
f f anything later, give the ex-
jKtrls only from the three ports
of Philadelphia, Baltimore and
Now York at 1,500,000 barrels.
Surely we may call petroleum, in
all its f eariugs, an American
product.
And does it vome from all
parts of America? Perhaps few
persons are aware how very much
restricted really ij the r g:on
which yields such incredi
ble- results. The fact is
that the “off centre,” that
from which peti oleum has been
pro luced in payhig quantities,
can all be comprised within a
space of thirty-nine and a half
square miles. It is wonderful.
We will look to it again.—
Soientijic American,
&00D-BYE, &E0E&E!”
Mr, Story, the sculptor, who
began active life as a lawyer,
tells a good story which iilua-
trotes the face that the empha*'
sis which punctuates has as
much to do with d termining
the sense of a sentence as the
meaning of the words:
Once, when he was called
upon to defend a woman ac
cused of murdering her hus-*
band, he adduced as one of
the proofs of her innocence
the face of her liaviug attend
ed him on his deatli bed, and
said to him, when he was dy
ing, ‘Grood-by-Greorge. ’
The counsel for the plaintiff
declared this ought rather to
be taken as a proof of her guilt
and that the words she had
used were, ‘Grood, by George!
IRISH WIT AN* IRlS BULLS,
In repartee Irishmen have
long been distinguished. The
joy of retaliation! is a marked
characteristic of the race- On
one occasion Judge Porter, a
popular Irish magistrate, itt ^
pronouning the sentence of
the court, said to notorious
drunkard: “You will be con*
fined in jail the longest period
tljelaw will allow, and I sin
cerely hope you will devote
some portion of the time to
cursing whiskey.” “By the
powers I will!” was the an-
l swer; “and Porter, too.”