The News and Observer.
Volume LVI. No. 67.
Leads all Month Carolina Dailies in Mews Circulation
MBS. CORNELIA PHILLIPS SPENCER
If I wore asked lo name the person
of my acquaintance in North Carolina
vho had lived the longest life of men-*
tal, physical and moral activity, with
the exercise of all faculties on a
very high plane, excelling in many
lim s of work and failing in none, ex
erting a strong and wholesome in
fluence upon family, community and
State, upon religion, morality, educa
tion and literature, the person bust il
lustrating the power and the blessing
MRS, C. I*. SPENCER,
of the “nelus sana in corpore sano,” I
would name Mrs. Cornelia Phillips
Spencer.
My acquaintance with Mrs. Spencer
began in August, 1876 when I moved
to Chapel Hill as a young bride.
Mrs. Spencer was my nearest neigh
bor, and my own house had been her
lather’s x'esidence for over a third of
a century. She had spent most of her
life up to that time in the house where
l began my married life: and she was
greatly attached to the house, the yard,
the noble oak trees, the old garden,
with its quaint fig trees and old fash
ioned flowers and shrubs. So, chance
threw me near Mrs. Spencer; and it
was my greatest pleasure to be with
her, to hear her delightful conversation
her brilliant wit, her quick humor, her
rare and varied reminiscences of peo
ple and events, her wise views of life,
her pointed- and sane criticisms of
everybody and everything worth crit
icising and her minute knowledge even
of the humblest people and things in
our little community. Mrs. Spencer’s
life was an open book, She always
said what she thought, and she had
some Lnouglits about everything with
in her horizon. I was not long in
concluding, and I have not since
changed the conclusion, that Mrs.
Spencer was one of the most remark
able persons I have ever met.
Physically Miss Spencer is large,
strong and handsome, much above the
usual size, with an imposing figure and
presence. Her features, too, like her
body, are strong and striking; large
lustrous eyes, full broad massive brow,
firm, well-cut chin and a nose to Na
poleon’s taste. Her head and features
are masculine, but they do not appear
so, for a woman’s feeling gives a warm
glow and a sunny sweetness to her
face.
Mentally Miss Spencer combines the
intellect of a man with the intuition
of a woman. She can reason out the
most intricate and difficult problems
and she can also jump, and jump cor
rectly. at conclusions.
When Governor Vance was asked if
Mrs. Spencer was not the smartest
woman in North Carolina. “Yes,”
said he, "and the smartest man, too.”
Mrs. Spencer’s great intellectual pow
er was a case of inheritance. She and
her two brothers, Charles Phillips and
Samuel F. Phillips, possessed unusual
ly strong, active and fertile brains, very
similar in character, and inherited
from parents vigorous, sane, active
and intellectual. Their father was an
Englishman, who might have repre
sented the English race, and who for
this reason was called "John Bull’’ by |
the students of the University. Their
mother was an American of Dutch i
descent; very strong in character, in-!
dustnoua, domestic, well educated and!
literary. The three children were!
reared in the strictest school of do
mestic discipline, religious discipline,
educational discipline. Each grew up
in Chapel Hill, a country village, and
each became here a great force of
manhood or womaanhoood, capable of
doing good service to humanity any*
\\ here on the globe. Charles Phil
lips was for forty years professor in
the University, probably the most in
tellectual professor ever there; .Sam
uel Phillips was the leading legal ad
v sor, as Solicitor General of the
United States, of the National govern
ment for twelve years, under three dif
ferent administrations. Cornelia Phil
lips has surpassed both her brothers
m length of years, length of service,
and variety and versatility and bril
liancy of service.
hack of space forbids my dwelling
tally upon Mrs. Spencer’s services to
North Carolina. These were political
educational, religious and literary. She
was a Democrat, believing very thor
oughly in the people of North Caro
lina and their right and their capacity
to govern themselves. She despised
the carpet bagger. Her "Last Ninety
Days of the War” is a vivid and strong
picture of those awful times.
Educationally Mrs. Spencer perhaps
contributed more than any other per
son to the revival of the University in
1 875, after its overthrow by the car
pet baggers. She wrote and spoke and
prayed unceasingly for the overthrow
of the foul gang that were polluting
the University halls and the restora
tion of the University to its own. Her
labors, her prayers were answered.
She lived to see the day of triumph,
to decorate the college chape! with glad
garlands and to write the hymn of re
joicing that was sung at the re-open
ing exercises. Mrs. Spencer was al
ways an ardent and active friend and
supporter of education; in public
schools, in academies, i n Sunday
schools, in colleges, and especially in
the University.
In religion Mrs. Spencer is a true
blue, staunch Presbyterian, but she
By MRS. GEORGE T. WINSTON.
is not hidebound nor fanatical. She
has been a frequent attendant at
churches of other denominations. For
years she kept burning the fires of re
ligion on the altar of the little Pres
byterian church in Chapel Hill, almost
by her individual exertions; but she
found time always to bring a burning
torch of faith and enthusiasm to her
brethren elsewhere in the State by let
ters, by messages, by trumpet calls
through the columns of the North
Carolina Presbyteriana.
Mrs. Spencer’s literary work has
been varied and perhaps lacking in per
manence, but it did its work. She wrote
when and where and what was
needed in North Carolina; now relig
ious letters to newspapers; now hymns
and songs for University festivals; now
clarion calls to the people to throw off
th° political yoke; now songs of
triumph at the departure of human
vultures from sacred seats of learning;
now appeals to the young; now remi
niscences of the past with golden les
son of future warning; now spicy
sketches of men, women and events
shot with arrows’ot wit, humor and
pleasantry; now volleys of hard horse
sense, overthrowing whole battalions
of nonsense and folly in fashion, edu
cation, politics and religion.
It was as a neighbor and a friend;
as a housekeeper, a giver of bread to
the poor, a visitor of the sick and
needy, a lover of the wild woods, a
friend of everybody and everything in j
Chapel Hill and North Carolina that I j
knew Mrs. Spencer best and remember
hti most vividly. Early each spring we
would go out to seek the dog tooth
violets and late each fall to gather the
last lingering autumn leaves. She knew
every tree, bush, flower, stream and;
rock within miles of Chapel Hill. She
knew them for she loved them and
poured out her soul upon them in song
and pictures. Her skill as an artist
was very great, some of her sketches
in oil of the native wild‘flowers around
| Chapel Hill 1 now have before me. as
; fresh and beautiful as true to nature
almost as the originals. Her own
home was full of her beautiful handi
work, paintings cn canvas, on paper,
on china, on dies and on placques;
nothing meretricians, no fad nor fash
ionably frivolity, but everywhere the
genuineness, simplicity, sweetness and]
truthfulness of nature. Her love of,
heme was her strongest trait. She
loved the very floors and doors and
walls of her habitation. It was the
English and Dutch inheritance in her.
the basis of the strength and cf the
greatness cf these two wonderful races.
Mrs. Spencer was the most omnivorous
reader I ever knew. When Dr. Wood’s
library of several thousand volumes
of special scientific books was added to
the Univers ty library, Mrs. Spencer lit
erally “went through it,” and got what
] was in it. She knew almost by heart
I the great masters in English literature
j and read and reread them again and
again. She read plenty of trash, too;
| but like Macauley, did it quickly and
i seemed able almost to know intuit
| ively the contents of a trashy book.
Her mind is most virile and sane.
She judges for herself, and she has
a judgment that might represent the
average judgment, the final judgment
of her generation. North Carolina
owes to herself the honoring of its.
mest healthful, useful and noble type
of woman. The State has not yet
! placed in statuary hall at Washington
! the statues of her two most dislin
j guished children. Other States have
j placed there only men; typical men.
Let North Carolina place there her
most eminent typical man. Zezulon B.
Vance, and her most eminent typical
woman, Cornelia Phillips Spencer, life
long friends and patriots and co-labor
ers for the redemption of their State
from its greatest thralldom and for
! its everlasting peace, happiness and
1 prosperity.
Raleigh, N. C., Nov. 22.
SOME THANKFUL SENTIMENTS
I.
I reckon we’re feelin’ thankful—l
reckon we ought tQ be,
Fer the good we’ve had to the Pres
ent —fer the future we can’t see;
Fer things that we call our blessings—
fer the sorrows an’ tlie sighs;
But fer all the preaehin’ an’ prayin’,
there’s a mist there, 'round the
eyes!
11.
Yes, I reckon were feelin’ thankful
fer the life an’ light we know —
Fer the little love that’s left us, an’
the love that's under the snow;
Fer the hope the last will greet us
somewhere on a golden shore,
But in lonesome winter shadows we
sigh fer it more an’ more!
111.
I Some of us ate divided —some have
drifted away:
! An’ the stars are not so beautiful:
there's less lieht in the day!
! There’s a roof that gives us shelter —a
table with pienty spread,
] But the vacant chairs bring heartache
when we break our daily bread!
IV.
But I reckon we’re feelin’ thankful, on
the hills—in the flowerless dells.
For the little light that's left us—for
the music of the bells;
An’ maybe we’ll all see clearer when
tne clouds are swept away.
An’ the weary winter is no more, an’
we reach eternal May.
—F. L. STANTON.
Duty.
She wore her duty as a crown.
And in her passing up and down
One came who laughed to see her
wear
Such trifle with so grand an air.
She took it off. "One cannot be
A laughing-stock for such as he.”
Behold, her feet, once swift to go,
Move now reluctantly and slow.
She walks a prisoner, 100 "u.WiMlown
At that which binds her limbs iii7|? in -
Who wears not duty%s a crown’V
Must drag it as a chain.
—Good Housekeeping.
Business.
lie—l told your father that I just
dote on you.
she —And what did he sav'^
He-That I had better find an anti
dote.—New York Mai!.
WOMAN’S EDITION—THANKSGIVING DAY-SECTION One-Pages I to 8.
RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA, THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 24, 1904.
WHY I AM A BACHELOR MAID.
This question, which f have been (
asking myself for some years, and j
which I feel quite sure my various |
friends and relatives have frequently!
asked each other, is a difficult one I
to answer. If I was only an histori- !
cal character, I might look myself up j
in an Encyclopedia or a History for j
Ready Reierence, and find the ques- !
tion answered clearly and succinctly I
in half a column, ami 1 should refer ;
/a
i. & \ 4 fJU The pastry Jetters on the biggest 1
seV’ril tveeKs. ‘Read plain: Nineteen r ought .four!
Although our oVen’ slbeen~ptum ▼ Day
For Mary — that’s my tvife— has an idee i S' I li Yv For note/.. .atila^st?fhe^timefo.eatfhas
A yeast is Jist about ten times enough. 1 J l\ \ come.
r \1 » ’Bill’s family'sphere,land ?Sister_J one’s
minced and beat.\ I l They’Ve seen the pantryZshelVes?but.
My! all the filin’ s^she*has±mijeed I \ do their best. y *
and chopped /' I They’ll never i clearj ate/ay zthatX load
If * CuV’ncr 1 Jones &hadjtchanged Land f if * ofXpies.
chose nejet J V ‘‘
I.b’lieVc she I An’'so to-morrote/ te/e'll be eattng pies,
dropped.' ww* LiKete/ise a tong day after that. I fear;
. f An’ ts/hen: I^thinK.fotvidryJLthc±last
The' pies.ioficQurse.zairZtheZbig job Jo / *ones git • !
~ "I /'m glad thelLordiain’t%t hanked fbut
There’s cranb’ry? punfkjns,, apples, I once fa f year.
custard.q creams* I I ,
Squashesf and minces?) an’ f r I sot that I’m blamin’ Mary .understand.
some ■’more;. ■ 'll She* must sdo liKe /the i.rest,\of.^course.
There'
seems? X ' To^ fight^.the^fashions.•> I
f/!J I \ \ ejcpect\ i
1 The~chicken''pfe'is\in}the~cVen : nobt/, K U \MW \ 1 proud i?as * is K ofAthemjt.rctt/s
I—l hrr'r I ■ >I II f l J 1 I'J
you to that. But. as lam not known
to history or to fame, I shall have
to consult the tablets of my memory
and tell you what I And there. I con
fess that i find there, that in the in
tervals, between the meetings of the
half dozen clubs, to whlcn 1 belong,
I have sometimes puzzled over the
question as to whether ni/ present
status was due to some fault in my
self or to some fault in that not im
possible he. When I tnink of my mod
erate good looks, and modest attain
ments, of the way I have forced my
eloquent dissertations on literature
and the arts upon the unwilling ears
of some poor unfortunate, whose only
interests were the current price of to
bacco or cotton, of the energy with
which I have striven to train men up
willy nilly, in the way they should
go, of the degree to which I have pol
ished the petmetar of my wit, at the
mere sign of a man’s .approach, I am
constrained to acknowledge that I am
to blame for the present state of af
fairs. But. when I think of the long
line of not impossible lies that have
approached me (I am honest. I say
Approached, not courted), of the en
erjV*tic homely man who hadn’t an
idea' in regard to art and literature, of
the h.^ ndsome languishing rnan, who
was as a spider, of the brilliant
society v ' ho madt ‘ lovv to half a
dozen girls hlL an evening, ol the wid
By MISS ELIZABETH HAVEN HILLIARD.
( ower, who entertained me, by recount
j ing the perfections of his first wife, of
| the old bachelor who regaled me with
j romantic tales of his ante-deluvntn
| sweethearts, of the pusillanimous man, ;
| who in an encounter of wits went |
I down at the first thrust, never rising i
; again to give me the pleasure of a j
| second encounter, of the politic man, !
! who to avail opposition to his matri- j
I monk;l projects waited for his whole |
family to die before Tie took it upon
himseif to offer me his heart and
hand, of the men of forty, who ad
mired nie at twenty, and the boys of
twenty who persisted in admiring me
at various stages of my baehelordom.
then 1 am persuaded that the fault
lies with the men and their pervers
ity .
The truth of the matter is, I con
sider tlie courtships of Diana Vernon
and Frank Osbaldistone, with its frank
interchange of thought and opinion,
an ideal one, and I have not yet found
a man, vs ho cared to listen to my
opinions, or was willing to trust me
with his.
•Ys I said this question of “Why I
am a Bachelor Maid” is a very dii’fi
cuit one to answer, hut if you would
just put the question to me, in a lit
tle different way, ask me “Why I En
joy being a Bachelor Maid,’ I could
answer it very easily and quickly, in
what remams to me of the thousand
words, which I am allowed.
In the first place, I enjoy telling
the truth, once in a while. A mar
ried woman never feels that it is safe
for her to do this, because she is
afraid of jarring the tender sensibili
ties of her husband <>r some one of
his many relations. Then, I prefer to
spend mv eloqtienoe on more impor
tant matters, than try in- to persuade
Dicky to wash his hands when there
is company to dinner or striving to j
impress Polly with the fact that her j
svviss muslin with pink ribbons is j
not a suitable dress ror her to wear j
to her kindergarten on a wet morn- j
! ing. In the afternoon, I enjoy enter- |
taining my friends in leisurely sash- j
j ion, without being constantly inter- ,
I rupted by the incursions of Polly and ;
Dicky, or having an uncomfortable |
] feeling that a hungry husband adorns i
the back door step awaiting with im
patience the departure of my guests.
Then after tea I occasionally like to
speak above a whisper in my own
house and allow my guests to do the
same, without feeling- that it is incum
bent upon me to interrupt a friend in
the midst of a brilliant story, with a
"sh—don’t wake Polly.” I also enjoy
a quiet game of whist with my friends,
without feeiing that at various inter
vals, during the game, I must dash
madly upstairs to see that Polly has
not choked with the croup, or Dicky
broken his neck, by rolling out of
bed.
I like, once in a while, to express
my own opinion, without thinking it
necessary to bolster it up by contin
ually asseverating that Mr. X. (spo
ken with bated breath) agreed with
me.
I enjoy looking at things in the
light of clear reason, and not looking
at them through a haze of sentiment. I
rejoice to feel that because a man sits
opposite me at the table, I do not.
forsooth, have to endow- him with all
the possible and impossible virtues.
Another cause for rejoicing is that
when I have the toothache, I can be
comfortably cross, without being se
verely reminded, by the Ladies Home
Journal in the person of-" Miss Ruth
Ashmore” or the "Lady from Phila
(Continued on Page Five.)
REAL DARKEY AND HIS REAL ERIENfo,
It is a beautiful Indian summer
; day, and I am sitting on the porch
jof my new house in town, but ” m V
heart and my eyes are full as 1 think”
j of the old life on the farm,
j I know the fields are full of pea
! pickers to-day, and I am wondering.
! who will weigh iheir peas for them
j this evening. Bless their hearts,
i they used to tell me they loved ror
i me to do it, for they knew they would
get all that “was coming” to them
and more besides. I wonder if Moses
and Joshua are there. I could never
find it in my heart to scold Moses as
his mother did, when he did not eret
as much as his twin brother Joshua,
because I knew he was constitution
ally lazy. Tom is there. I know, tell
ing everybody to hurry un. and mak
ing himself unpopular by fi°*dinsr up
to the gaze of the overseer the halt
picked vines. Dear old Sam must be
there too with his ’possum dogs, and
his wife and the baby that went with
out a name for a whole month because
I wasn’t there to name him.
An especially big lumr comes in
my throat when I think of all of his
love and tenderness for me and mine.
He was always careful to put the
scales in a sheltered -lace so that I
might not take cold, and would se
verely rebuke any little ’’nigger” who
so far forgot himself as to speak in
my presence. . _ ...
Os all my black friends, I believe,
Sam is my oldest arttl best. He stood
ready to open the big gate for me
when i came a poor homesick little
teacher to the farm —then when 1
came back a bride, he was at the
train, with a broad grin of welcome
on his black face, ready to put my
trunk on the "kvart.” He was my
house boy for years and was riding
horse for all of my six children.
TON I’RETLOW.
By MRS. SUE EA
Price Ten Cents.
As far as I know the only blot on
his stainless reputation was when the
new darkey from the North beguiled
him into taking me pig. That was a
long time ago, and the whole family
agreed with the baby when she said
•‘he wouldn’t have taken it, if he had
thought father needed it.”
It was this way. One evening late,
when 1 returned from town, I found
all the children in tears, and the
father looking very solemn. Sam had
stolen one of the pigs, had been ar
rested by order of the over zealous
butcher, who, poor man, was laboring
under the delusion that he was doing
the family a favor, and securing a
life long customer, when in fact the
children did not forgive him for years.
They set up a wail when their fath
er explained that he could not take
the law in his hands and release Sam,
but in spite of his protests, which I
must admit were rather weak, that he
could not encourage crime, by openly
sympathizing with Sam, a cart was
sent down in the darkness, to the jail,
carrying enough hot and blan
kets for a good sized family. We (the
children and I) never knew exactly
how justice was satisfied, but I wilt
never forget the look of the proces
sion that filed across the back yard
early the next morning. First came
my husband, tall and stately, with the
big smoke house key in his hand, then
followed poor crestfallen Sam with the
pig on his shoulder, close behind him
came the three little boys, with their
handkerchiefs to their eyes. The pig
was put in the smoke house with his
companions, and though it was hog
killing time, Sam had eggs for his
breakfast, because the children an-
I nounced that he had said he never
wanted to see another piece of pig as
! long as he lived.
I Some weeks afterwards, my husband
) and I, wanted to spend the day in
j town, we had been in the habit of
leaving everything in Sam’s charge In
our absence and decided to do it
again, so I called him to the back door
and said, ‘‘Sam, I am going to town
to-day, take eare of my children and
my house for me—here are the keys.”
I remember still his look of mingled
gratitude and pride as he said “Miss
Mary whoever lays de weight o’ dert
lingers on your children or your things
dis day, will have Sam to kill fust.”
I Sam finally fell in love with the
house girl and set up an establishment
; of his own.
i One day, one of the little boys found
; Sam in trouble, his wife nad nm
away and he had nobody to look after
him, his pigs or his chickens. The
little boy arranged it all, ‘‘father” was
j to buy the pigs, 1 would be glad to
' invest in the chickens, and as for Sam
* himself, nothing could be nicer than
| for him to live in the vacant room in
I the back yard. The arrangement be
ing satisfactory to us a’ll, the little
boys helped him to move that after
noon.
It almost broke my heart when I
I had to tell Sam and the other ser
| vants I was going to leave the farm.
I It was the day of the’last hog killing,
land even the youngest little hoy ct-uid
; not take an interest in his pig tails.
I was trying to be brave and not break
down when I would think that .naybe
I would never see some of the dear
old again. 1 had neVeil baa
the courage to tell them I was going
to leave them, but they had heard, it.
Sam and Tom waited until 1 was
alone in the big kitchen and then
they came together. Sam was spokes
man: ‘‘Miss Mary, we hears vou is
gwine to leave us, but we fuses to
’blieve it th’out you say so yourself.”
The crisis had come. I tried to talk
fast and explain that I wasn't going
far, just a mile, that they ad could
come to see me, that my grown sons
wanted me to go. etc., but before I
had finished Sam had drawn his red
bandana handkerchief out, Tom’s .coat
sleeve was to his eves, and I had buried
my face in my arms, and was sobbing
on the kitchen table. When we had
had our cry out together? Sam an
nounced that ‘‘their, boys” as he
called aw sons shouldn’t carry us
away, that Tom could move up in the
yard and they would take care of the
little children and of me. When I
still insisted that I must go. he said
he would go too, and, be It said to his
honor, in this money loving genera
tion. that he went, and worked for half
what he could have made on the farm.
He is very susceptible and soon suc
cumbed to the charms of a town dar
key. He took my advice and set up
house-keeping again on the farm,
where he has a corner in his “gyar
den” devoted to the cultivation of
“roasting years” for “Miss Mary.” He
feels much aggrieved if he isn’t sent
for on state occasions to wait on the
table. One day when we were enter
taining in a small wav. and I failed
to send for him. not thinking that the
occasion demanded his presence, im
agine my surprise when I looked up
in the midst of the dining, and be
held Sam, arrayed in my new butler’s
finery waiting on the table. He had
laid violent hands on the butler, on his
way to the kitchen, stripped him of
1 his apron and Jacket, and appeared
* in his stead.
r His specialty now is ’possum hunt
* ing, and the boys and girls of our lit
-1 tie town want no better fun than to
’ provide themselves with a chaperone
and lunch, get Sam and his dogs, and
have a moonlight scramble over the
' dear old farm after the ’possums.
i Out of the Mouths of Babes.
l
(Chicago News.)
i Teacher —Can vou tell me the dif
ference between “like” and “love?”
i Small Boy—Yes. ma’am. I like my
i papa and mamma, but I love pie.
! “Now, Johhy,” said the teacher, “if
[ I gave you three oranges and your
- mother gave you four and your aunt
> gave you five, how many oranges
» would you have?”
“I guess I’d have enough," answer
■. ed small Johnny.
1
i Tommy—Oh. mamma, the grocery
-3 man just gave me three sticks or
t candy! /
3 Mamma —Well, vou must be polite
3 and offer your little sister two of
/ them. /
r Tommy—All rifidit, mamma! but I
r wish you would teh her to be polite,
too, and only tak*j one.