THE PINEHURST OUTLOOK
TOE HMEMUEST
OTLQQK
Published Every Saturday Morning, During
the Season, November May, at
Pinehurst, North Carolina
Conducted by Italph IV. Pag-e
Edwin A. Denham, Business Manager
11 West 32d Street, New York
One
Dollar Annually, Five Cents a Copy
Foreign Subscriptions, Fifty Cents
Additional
The Editor is always glad to consider contribu
tions. Good photographs are especially desired.
Editorial Rooms over the Department Store.
Hours 9 to 5. In telephoning ask central for
Outlook Office.
Advertising rate card and circulation state
ment on request.
Entered as second class matter at Post Office
at Pinehurst, Moore, County, North Carolina.
Saturday, December IS, 1015
Our Contributors
In the division of labor under our per
fect economic system several marvels
stand forth as a sign to mankind that the
age of miracles is not passed. This is a
grand free country, of equal opportunity.
Men may select their vocations and their
professions voluntarily and without ukase.
And yet there are still found those hardy
enough, or foolish enough, to fill those
two dire posts those of the umpire and
the editor. Miserable men. In a world
where the utmost approach any human
being can come to truth is a fair prepond
erance of doubt, they must pretend to in
fallibility and omniscience.
For the editor there is only one way
out. That is a frank confession that in
stead of conducting an oracle he is merely
manager of a forum. That he is only a
willing first substitute for the man that
knows. That he puts his own trade mark
on events only for lack of the standard
brand.
This resolves itself into not only a
willing, but an urgent personal invita
tion. We run this paper for you if you
are reading it. If it doesn't state facts
within your realm of information cor
rectly, all you have to do to become editor
of that department is to get your foun
tain pen to paper. We will give you the
space. If our opinion on the state of the
roads, or of National Defence is a gross
and palpable error, or our taste in drivers
an obvious solecism, or our literary style
a very bane to the nervous system, it is
your fault.
It is our utmost ambition that every
one of our neighbors you my friend, that
lives in the mansion-over the way, and you
Mr. Tennis Player, whose raquet we called
a sieve should send in his direct honest
opinion to The Outlook. We will print
it if it is the last act. Don 't abandon us
as hopeless, or pass our errors over in
languid charity. Write us a letter, or
come after the manner of Bob Fitzsim
mons for salubrious correction.
Of course, if during your cheerful
progress through the neighborhood you
find some bright and lovely spot we have
failed to picture, or some happy prophet
whom we do not heed, or Simon the Jester,
disguised as a caddy, filling the whole
course with laughter you need not leave
that out.
Elsewhere in the paper will be found a
directory of the Village. This is a per
sonal invitation to each of these, our
neighbors, individually to write or drop
into the office with their suggestions, criti
cisms and annotations. The invitation
extends quite as cordially to every soul in
the town, or in this cosy little cosmos,
who may ever be here.
Advntur in Conf ntnint
If I lived on the water side of Beacon
Street, where the lights are all lit along
the shore, or at the end of the Manhattan
Tube, or within sound of the hammers
ringing out automobiles in Detroit, and
had a mind to dodge Henry Fitz, the
Hippodrome or the off shore wintery
breeze, and being a wise man made for
the environs of Pinehurst, N. C, what do
you think I'd do? I mean when I got
there, beside reading The Outlook?
I should do what one Puritan lady did
do. She walked up to the first man she
saw and addressed him as follows:
"My friend, good morrow. This is
the hospitable South, is it not, where men
get their music from the dreamy heart of
Africa, their traditions from the legends
of veterans, their history from a rich and
varied imagination, and their vivid char
acter from the luxurious songs of the
mocking bird and the tropical silences
along mellow and ancient by-ways,
charged with sweet memories of the elu
sive splendor of sun, and air, and scent,
and sound?
' ' I spec it is, ' ' said the man.
' ' Well then, I want to see these things.
First I want to see "
THE SPIRIT OF THE SOUTH
But you know what she wanted to see.
She didn 't want to see at all. She wanted
to feel. To feel as one feels by a friendly
camp fire, with the moon upon rippling
waters, and the crickets humming in the
pines. The peace and contentment of still
and comforting retreats, where the only
fellow conducting business is the wood
pecker, and the only architecture that
succeeding the glacial period. To hear a
song a story a laugh to dream and
ruminate in the presence of that vague
but immortal thing, the spirit of the
South.
FOLLOWING JUNE
It was following this suggestion that I
first wondered down the Lumbeo River.
Came a pleasant fellow in a devil wagon,
known to the six counties as June, and
says, "Les take a few days off.' It
proved to be a few days on. Many a
successful old voyager looking back from
the twilight over the thorny path, finds
his trail principally blazed by those
casual few days off.
Leaving Pinehurst by the Aberdeen
road we boiled down by Keyser into a
country of dogwood and holly, and memo
rial pines, and tangles of jasmine and
luxuriant jungle into a dilapidated old
road, smelling of 1832, and suggestive of
molasses barrels rolled to market before
the days of the application of the Cornish
pump to transportation. Beyond a sturdy
old bridge, whose loose planks rendered
a tune beneath us, after the manner of
the ziliphone, we turned into a thicket of
little pines and pretty soon came upon a
camp on the margin of a dark and swiftly
eddying stream.
Here the hand of the true woodsman had
left its indelible mark. Canoes lay snug
under shelter, and the cache revealed all
the necessities of life such as salt and
tobacco, matches and coffee and not so
much as one unnecessary ounce or sug
gestion of the superfluous. Night was
drawing nigh. A bed of coals, a skillet,
a singing coffee pot, a plaintive air on the
double "harp," a dive into the mysteri
ous waters, and we were about ready for
dinner, when lo, enters, back center, Mr.
Local Color, and the God of Things as
they were.
ENTER THE VETERAN
He was old and tough, and knotty, and
whiskered, impervious to weather, impervi
ous to time. Bone and leather skin and
wardrobe had long since been reduced to
the least common denominator. His name
was Ferguson, and he came out of his
magnificent ancestral estate, the Piny
Woods, to provision the expedition with
the products of his dairy and his
chicken yard.
The sun went down and the stars came
out, wonderful to behold. Deep shadows
settled on the whispering wilderness, and
we squatted in the little red picture frame
made by the fire, and lit the pipe of peace
and listened to his Iliad.
He had lived there always. The old
road ran from Rockingham, the ancient
seat of government, to the Cape Fear at
Fayetteville, and it was only yesterday
the ox teams and the autumn caravan
passed annually down through the corri
dors of virgin pine bearing produce to the
sea. Yessir, all the way from the moun
tains they came, singing and shouting and
heaping high the lightwood knots of an
evening planter and moonshiner and
nigger trader and the Little Shepherd of
Kingdom Come. They never come any
more that day was done. But it was as
good as any day, and perhaps "more
pleasanter ' ' than some.
Yes, he'd taken a right smart jaunt in
'64. They came up the old Cheraw road,
poor old Dixie 's bottom dollar, and passed
within a stone's throw of where wo sat,
more like a bread line than a brin-a.de.
I Didn 't think much about it at the time,
but reckoned it sure was a curious spec
tacle, that passage of Blue's Bridge.
Personally he headed for the old shanty
same one he is in now and the
"folks," and sat there telling the story
about the war until the inevitable crack
of the rifles told that the pickets along
Drowning Creek had picked up the van
guard of Sherman's army.
COMING OV THE YANKEES
One whole division of the invaders
passed over the bridge there, on just such
another night as this. For hours he could
hear the clatter of hoofs on the sounding
boards, and the swearing of corporals,
and the hollow tread of many feet. No,
he never went any further. He'd run as
far as he was going. He was plum wo'
out. The Yankees never messed with him.
All night he could hear shooting through
the woods, and directly here come a
Yankee captain a-horseback, and flung
open the door. No, he never done nothin'.
He was just as polite and nice as any
fellow. Wanted to know the main road
to Fayetteville, and where the soldiers
were. "We erive him a cur of cnffpR ami
(Continued on page twelve)
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WILMINGTON, DEL.
The Jewelry Shop
Large and Varied Stock of
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Silverware and Notions
From the Best Manufacturers Only
Repairing of Jewelry and Engraving: of
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MAY WE SERVE YOU?
THE PINE
t
CREST INN
to
A recent delightful addition
Plnehurst'g Hotels
MODERN THROUGHOUT.
Mrs. E. C. Bliss.
Dr. Ernest W. Bush
OSTEOPATH
Southern Pines, North Carolina
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