Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / Jan. 11, 1895, edition 1 / Page 1
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$1.00 a ycarin advance. VOL. VI. PLYMOUTH, N. C, FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 1895, NO. 27.. 'FOR GOD. FOR COUNTRY AND FOR TRUTH" "WHEN SHE WAtt KiXTV lily- mother's heart tu honey, Her kiss wm Kweetest balm, aa though the world was fall of storm , Her Inn was full ot calm. Her arms and breast were filled with rest, Her smile was fall of joy, And life was dear when shi was near And I a little boy. CThe world is full of golden gifts, And yet mysplrit sighs (Between the gracious long-ago And happy by-and-byes. tlam a-weary of the onres That fill the lives of men I would Z were a little ohlld 'Within those arms again. Vor my mother's heart was honey. And her kiss was sweetest balm, Aid though the world was full ot storm Her lap was full of calm. Bar arms and breast were filled with rest, Her smtle was full of Joy, 'And life was dear when she was noar, And I a little boy. Nixoa Waterman. "Is Life Worth Livin;?" ORMAM BRO kaw stood ai his study win dow, looking out at the dying day. The w es tern sky was nil aglow with a warlike crimson, that, away above his head, softened 'into a rosy pink. Bat the Professor was not thinking of the sunset. His finely moulded features wore an expression of weariness and his intellectual blue eyes looked- out from under his luxu riant brown curls with a settled mel ancholy. He was young in fact, just twenty eix but his dress gave him the look of a much older man. His coat did not fit him and his whole attire was careless and old fashioned. Behind him stood his desk, from which he had just risen, covered with papers, pencils and ponderous volumes In many languages. In his hand he still held the Inst sheets of a thesis he had been writing when the sunlight had deserted him. It was entitled, "Is Life Worth Living?" and was de signed for a popular magazine that had requested something from his pen. In it he had proved conclusively, quoting freely from classic and Ger man authors, that this life of ours, taken all in all, is decidedly not worth ithe living. He felt quite satisfied with his effort. His arguments seemed to him soundly drawn and unanswerable. He read the last sentence over twice with evi dent . approval : "And love, the fairest bubble mortals chase, the soonest bursts and turns to nothing but a Tain deceit." He flattered himself that that was rather well put, and he jotted down some ideas in continuance of the thought, which he would' elaborate that evening. That he hastily donned his overcoat, and, as it looked like rain, grasped an umbrella unfashion ably large and went out to his dinner, which he took at a cafe near, j He ate his dinner in solitary silence, unheeding the laughter and jests of ir repressible students at tables all about him. They observed him with a re spectful stare, for they knew that this young Professor was already famous in the intellectual world and they felt a personal pride in the honorary de grees that other peoplo wrote aftez his nam, although he sever did. They knew that his pamphlet on "Phenonienality of Spirit" had been translated into fourteen different lan guages and had revolutionized modern thought on that subject. The Professor sat idly drumming with his fingers on the table, waiting for his dessert. He felt a half pity, half contempt, for people who could laugh foolishly in such an empty world. Strange sentiment for a young manl But Norman Brokaw's life had been a strange one. Early deprived of father and mother, he had been brought up by an uncle, a man di vorced from his wife. Proud of Norman's bright intellect his uncle had lavished money on his education, but the love and cherishing that are the inherent rights of child hood the boy had never known. After graduating and taking a master's de gree at Harvard he had gone' abroad and spent two years at a German uni versity, His life had been destitute of social pleasures. He had scarcely known a woman, save the old house keeper. His uncle, embittered by his own sad experience, had Warned him against the whole Bex as foes to man's happi ness. On his return to America he had been tendered a professorship in the large university where he now was. His uncle's death while he was abroad had left him an independent fortune, ma now, mt twenty-err, ncn, ramous and in perfect health, he found life only an immense an unnecessary afflic tion. , He . finished his dinner and strode out again into the chill November night, his fine figure and firm tread followed with admiring eyes by would oe aspirants ror college alnletlo hon ors. His abused muscles pleaded for exeroise to-night, and he Btruck out into a brisk walk down one of the quiet streets. Olouds had been gather ins while he was at dinner, and soon org rain drops began to rail. He nur riedly opened his wide spreading um brella. Just then an exclamation of dismay fell on his ears. He turned and saw, crossing the itreet. in the full irlare of the eleotrie light, a young lady in the prettiest of fall costumes. She had no umbrella and the rain was beating ruthlessly down on her large velvet hat with its moss of waving plumes. As she caught siaht of the Professor her lace bright ened, and with an impulsive bound she stood beside him under the um brella. She raised appealingly a face so captivating in its girlish freshness that even the Professor's grave features, shaded by the umbrella, soft ened into a smile. Long lashes veiled a pair of the loveliest hazel eyes that ever lighted up a veritable rosebud , face. Perhaps the features were not quite regular the nose had a little independent style of its own, but the lips were very red, and the little anburn curls just showing under the) wide hat brim completed a tout en semble that was bewitching. The Professor suddenly recollected himself and stammered : "Certainly of course I shall be very glad." "Thanks awfully; you're bo kind," returned the young lady, walking along beside him. "I did hate to ruin my new dress and hat. I just got them from home yesterday. I'm a university student," she explained, "but I live in New York. I suppose anybody else would have got com pletely drenched before they'd havo sked to share you umbrella without beino: introduced, but I thought you wouldn't mind. You're sure you don't?" "Quite sure," said the Professor, laughing. This was rather amnsiDg. Liftingthe umbrella a little more over her, ho asked, with fatherly patron age: "May I ask what work you are pur suing at the university?" "I? Ob, I pursue Greek aud Eng lish and history and French, etc. 'm going to take philosophy next term." "Under whom?" queried the Pro fessor, with interest. "Under Professor Brokaw. He's awfuliy clever, but they say he's just as cranky as he can be. " "Indeed 1" was all the astounded Professor could ejaculate. Yes; gets himself up like a scare crow. It's a pity, too, for he'd be real handsome if he only knew it. I watched him in chapel yesterday. He has beautiful eyes, so large and dreamy, and the loveliest hair ! But be always looks as if he'd lost his last friend. Perhaps you know him?" "Slightly," replied the Professor, for the first time in his honorable career stooping to dissimulation. "TLcy say he bates women," she continued. "He's never had any in his classes, but some of us are going to beard the lion next term. Well, here we are at my house.. I'm so much obliged to you. Good night. " And before the Professor could re gain his senses she had slipped from under the umbrella and was gone. Divided between indignation and amusement, the young professor strods home. So that was what people said of him he was a crank and he hated women. It was s new experience hav ing such things Baid to him, aud he didn't like it. But "his eyes were lovely" were they? Ha had actually blushed in the darkness when she said that, and he found it soothing now to his wounded vanity. Would it be believed that the first thing the learned professor did on reaching his rooms was to walk straight to the mirror over the grate and study himself with all the interest of a freshman? For the first time he noted that his coat was shabby, and a firm resolve shone in his eyes. His hair wasn't bad, perhaps, and his eyes again the swift color came into his face and with a boyish laugh ho turned away from the mirror. His thesis still lay on his desk. "I don't feel like that any more to night," he said, and he thrust it into a Bmall drawer and threw himself into an easy chair to read. Professor Brokaw had just begun his lecture on the first day of the next term when the door opened and in walked six very demure young ladies, headed by his acquaintance of the rain storm. They seated themselves se dately near the door, unheeding the chairs placed at their disposal by as many gallant young men. Fore warned is forearmed. The Professor merely included them in a general bow of recognition aud proceeded with his discourse. At the close of the hour the stu dents came forward for enrollment. As the Professor took the card from the fair sharer of his umbrella he looked her bravely in the face, won dering if she would recognize him, but she only blushed slightly and dropped her eyes. "Grace what is the last name?" he asked, scrawling her name in his book. "Hamilton," she said, and he thought that a pretty name for such a cruel young woman. The Professor had apprehended dire and dreadful things from that class in 'philosophy, but he was, happily, not doomed to experience them. He was a gentleman and he treated the young ladies courteously. That being all they wanted, they smiled on him ami ably in return and said he was "quite nice. " There were, nevertheless, not want ing revelations for him. He at first charitably refrained from "quizzing" the young ladies, under the impres sion that their minds were unadapted to grapple with the abstractions of philosophy. What was his amaze ment to disoover on the first examina tion, that one of the two candidates for highest marks was a young wo man, and that one Grace Hamilton. He was none the less gratified and the next time he met her he stopped and told her how pleased he was with her work. And he was glad that he had done bo when he saw the pretty flush or pleasure it brought to Her face. So interested did the Professor be come in this bright pupil of his that ho would frequently bring her books from his private library to shed light on dark problems, and he was sur prised to find how quickly an hour or two would slip away while he was ex plaining things to her. During those winter months the young Professor was passing through some strange phases of life. He was be ginning to disoover that with all his knowledge some things he had yet to learn. Not Kant nor Schopenhauer had ever told him what a charming thing a sweet young woman oan be, nor had all his mathematics taught him to es timate the face value of a smile. He seemed to be entering into a new world in these latter days. He won dered that he had never noticed before how bright the sun shone and. how blue the sky was. With all this revolution taking place under the Professor's brown curls there had come about a complete met amorphosis in his external appearance. He no longer wore Bhabby clothes, but walked the streets in the most stylish suits that a city tailor could devise. He had never, with all bis erudi tion, taken a course in the science of love, and it was long before he could interpret to himself these new sensa tions of his. When at length it it dawned upon him that he was ac tually in love with Grace Hamilton he was appalled at his audacity. All this time the weeks were Blip ping by one by one and at last there came a bright day in June when the Professor realized that J commence ment was only two days away. He wandered about aimlessly all day try ing to face the misery of not seeing Grace Hamilton all summer. By evening he could endure it no longer. He yielded to the promptings of his heart and turned into the street that led to her house. He found her alone on the vine-cowered side veranda, looking like a pic ture in a dainty white dress, with a blue fringed soarf thrown over her shoulders. ... "I know I am selfish tola'ie up your lime in these last days, Hiss Hamilton," began the Professor apol ogetically, "You have so many other friends who have a better claim on you." "Oh, no, indeed," declared the young lady. "I think dragging me safely through the profundities of philosophy all winter ought to con stitute a claim if anything coui 1. We girls were saying to-day we thought you'd been wonderfully good to us." "You didn't find me as bad as you expected, did you?" said the Professor, smiling. "Why, we didn't expeot " she be gan, and then stopped in confusion. "Oh, yes, pardon me, but you did expect to encounter something terri ble when you ventured into Professor Brokaw's class. I had it from your wn lips." "From mine!" "Yes. Let me tell you something. Do you i emembei being caught in a rainstorm one night last fall and walk ing home under a stranger's umbrel la? You will reoall that you said some very plain and uncomfortable things about Professor Brokaw. Well, do you know who that stranger was?" Grace Hamilton's face had grown scarlet while he was speaking. "Oh, Professor Brokaw!" she stam mered, penitently. "I was in hopes you'd never know ! I knew you when I heard you Bpeak in class, but I thought you didn't know me. It was o dark that night. I've always felt so sorry about it. " "You said I was cranky and that I hated women," he continued, teas ingly. "Plesse don't!' she begged. 1 did,"t know you, or I couldn't have said such things. I take them all back." "But you said I had beautiful eyes. Do you take that back, too?" She looked up and met something in the beautiful eyes that made her drop her own and blush. The Pro fessor blushed a little, too. Then they both laughed. "No, I won't take that back," she paid audaciously. "They are beau liful." Something in the downcast, blush . ing face inspired the Professor with a sudden boldness. "Grace," he said, impulsively, 'I Know it's a great deal to ask you, but do you think you could ever oome to care enough for your stupid Professor to make his whole life glad for him? Could you ever think of being my wife, Grace?" The long lashe? quivered as they drooped over the hazel eyes, and the little fluttering leaves of the wood bine and the trumpet-creeper near Btood still, waiting, with the Profes sor's heart, for the answer, that oame in a low, tremulous voice : "I might if you asked me." Two hours later Professor Brokaw came dashing up the stairs to his rooms, two steps at a time, humming a lively tune. He turned up the gas and be an hastily to finish packing tne con tents of his desk, for he was to leave day after to-morrow. The grate was already filled high with waste papers, to which he added others, and touched a match to them. Opening one drawer he came across a partly finished manuscript. Looking at the first pajje he saw that it was that old thesis he had once written on "Is Life Worth Living!" and he sat down od the table and read it through. . He finished and sat looking out into the moonlight for a moment, with a dreamy look in his eyes. "What a fool I was!" he said, at last, with a happy laugh, and he tossed the thesis into the grate. Chicago News. A blanket mortgage furnishes but a poor house-warming, Puck, A FROG STICKER, THE AGILE II ATRAC HI ANS ABB DIFFICULT TO CATCH. A Talk With One Who Hakes a Busi ness of Supplying Brokers and Bankers With Their Favorite ' lid-Bit A Frox's Paradise. FROG culture in Philadelphia oentres in the Neck, that region so fertile in truck farms and piggeries. The low, marshy ground and the shallow ditches which drain the surplus water into the two rivers make it a veritable frog's paradise. These meadows, most of them the property of the Girard and other large estates, are open to any one who may desire to hunt or fish on them. Professional frog catchers, therefore, ply their trade without fear of molestation. These men make a regular business of catching frogs. Many of them have made as careful a study of it as a carpenter or other mechanic would of his trade. The local leader of this queer in dustry is one George W. White. He has been catching frogs for twenty nine years. During that time, Sun days excepted, he has not missed a day from his work. Every morning, summer and winter, rain or shine, he may be seen tramping over the mead ows with his bag slung across his thoulder and his frog-catching outfit in his hand. He has no other busi ness. That is his trade. He supplies one of the leading game dealers in the city with frogs. "Do I know anything about frogs?" said White the other day. "Well, I ought to. Pre been catch ing them long enough. Yes, there are lots of them hereabouts. They are to be found in the 'Neck' princi pally. I work along the river from Girard Point to Broad street. Frogs are thicker there than anywhere else. I find more in the ditches and marshes bordering the river than on the banks of the river proper. They are not hard to discover in warm weather, but in the winter time they bury them seves between the mud and trash in the bottom of the ponds and ditches and I have to rake around until I strike them. "There are four varieties of frogs in the country about Philadelphia; the bull-frog, which is the largest, measuring full-grown, eight or ten inches in length; the grass-frog, which is not quite so large ; the yel-low-throater and the yellow-legger. The bnll-frog and yellow-throater are found all the year round, but the grass-frog is caught only in the spring, and the yellow-legger prin cipally in the fall of the year. The medium-sized frogs are the best for eating. The old fellows are not so tender and sweet as the younger ones. "Some frogs live to be ten or twelve years old. I have caught bull frogs which I judged to be at least ten years old. They were big ones, too. A frog four or five years of age makes the best eating. Under that they are most too small. Few people know that a frog is a year and a half a tadpole before his tail drops off, and he gets in its stead a set of legs which enable him to jump about on land as well as swim in the water. There is a general idea that frogs are not clean. That is not so. They live on bugs and insects which they catch in the water, and do not touch filth of any sort. Sometimes they catch a bird in the marshes and make short work of it. "I have seen a big bull-frcg get awry with a young duck. He swal lcT.'ed it feathers, legs and all. Frogs ale very strong for their - size and have powerful jaws with sharp teeth. Some of the larger ones live on craw fish. During the winter they do not eat, lying in a torpid state. One crawfish will last a frog all winter. Many of them have already eaten a good, hearty meal and gone to the bottom for their winter's sleep. They Will lie there until May. The first thunderstorm in May always brings them up again, good and hungTy, roady to eat the first bug or insect they get their blinking eye upon. "Although the frogs are out of sight in winter, I do not stop my work. Early in October I go all over the ground and make note of where I they are settling. Then I have oona- A! .. 1!lH.' VI. .IU them. I - use a herdy-gerdy, or, combination rake and net on the end of a long pole. The' -rake is to clear away the rubbish in the bottom of tb ditch and at the same sweep the net picks up the frogs, if there are any there. I get more in the winter time than I do in warm weather, beoausa they are in a torpid state and can't get away so fast. 1 "The catch varies. Some days I get five dozen, others fifteen dozen. . I guess 1 catch on a average ten dozen a day. It is no trouble to sell them. One game dealer takes nearly all I' catch. I sell a good many 'live frogs to students for experimental pur poses. I also supply several private families. , ' , "After my morning's catch I sit down in the meadows and clean my frogs. The only implement I use i a pair of big shears. I cut the frog down his breast-bone, .beginning at the m juth, and peel' his skin off back toward his head. It comes 'off easily in one piece. Then I string them up in dozens and take them to my cus tomers." , , r The number of frogs consumed , in Philadelphia is enormous. One game dealer alone sells on an average 10,009 dozen a year. His trade is among the hotels, restaurants and many privats families. Philadelphia Times. nnt wAv... YtinrK ty . V tiff . nt i t t - r - - r length, attaining, according to Rum phins, in some instances a length of 1200 feet. The ordinary cane of com merce attains a length of 500 feet The bamboojnnst have been the bean stalk of legend, as it has been known to grow one foot in twenty-four hours in a Glasgow hothouse, and in' Chi nese jungles it often grows from two to two and a half feet in this time, the greatest increase being observed in the aieht. Some of the palms are giunAf, even their leaves being enormous. A leaf of the Raphia, a Brazilian palm, is seventy feet long and forty in diame ter. Another genup, Maximiliana re gia, has leaves fifty feet long, while a single leaf of the Talipai pahn of Cey lon is used as a tent, sometimes cover ing fifteen people. ' , ' But of all the leaves that strike us as being remarkable, that of the Vic toria regia is the ; most phenomenal. On New Year, 18371 Sir Robert Schom burg was sailing up the Berbioe RiTej when he discovered ' the famous lUy0 with leaves six and a half feet across, with a rim five inches high, bright, green above tand crimson beneath. Large birds are often seen standing . upon them, and one grown in hot house served as a raft for alittls eni&. New Orleans Picayune- Quaint Walsh names. 4 The ( Welsh have many pecnliar names in their nomenclature, or !os- ' nihlv a. rpMiliftr wav of usi nc names. as in the case of a Welsh storekeeper, who had on his sign it- names John Mary Williams. This is a relio of the old custom, when Maria was a name shared by both sexes, as Jean Maria 1 Farina. It appears that a Mr. Will iams, a man of position, had iu his household a woman servant named , Mary, who was known by her master's family name. When the woman mar ried she kept the names by which, she was best known, and added to them her husband's Christian name, a bit of diplomacy in the way of trade. Her husband was always alluled to as John Mary Williams. In ancient times the Welsh were known by personal peculiarities, as the American Indians are at the present time. Hook Nose, Black Beard, Crooked Tooth, and Fast Foot being the only cognomens bestowed on them. There is a quaint story told by Barrio of a child named Davy, who makes a brief appearance : in one of his novels, and takes much of the interest of the story with her when she goes. Fcr Davy is a girl. And this odd name was an accident at the christening; The minister looked sternly at the father and said: "Tha child's a boy is it not?' He had al- J 1 .. It. Itenuy ueeu given 1 paper wuu iua name written upon it, but when the confused father answered "yes" to the query as to sex, the, dominie reppcn l ed; "Then Ieonnot christen hira Liar garet so I will call him David." The .mother felt very badly,-but the only excuse her hushaud gave was that he dare not contradict the miniattr. Scottish American. ., , Worms never frequent tne eucalyp tus tree, nor &e earth to whiah. il parauveiy muv ixuuuau m $eni2g
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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Jan. 11, 1895, edition 1
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