Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / Jan. 25, 1895, edition 1 / Page 1
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.'FOR GOD. FOR COUNTRY AND FOR TRUTH" $1.00 a, yearin advance. VOL. VI. PLYMOUTH, N. C, FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 1895. NO. 29. Roanoke Publishing Co. The population of the German Em pire is increasingat the rate of 500,000 year. - - Dr. Edward Everett Hale says that only eleven per cent, of the American people are illiterate. Termont has but five "cities,' Yer gennes, Burlington, Rutland, Montpe lier and Barre. The last two hare ust been created by special aot of the legislature. ..is' t - - f . A notable example of a big result produced by small means is found in the fact that lead pencil users have cedar trees in Europe, and the supply 01 wood suitable for lead pencils is practically exhausted in the Old World. An order has just been plaoed bv A TlfttAd flflrmnn firm nt nonnil makers with a California lumber com pany for a large quantity of sequoia wood, which is found to be th.9 best wood now available for pencils. Th3 sequoia is the big tree of California. It seems too bad to the New York Sun that the grand old giants should be sacrificed, and especially that their end should be lead pencil shavings. . , xne pension rolls probably reacnefl their maximum length in the fiscal year ended June 30, 1894, observes the New York Mail and Express. They then contained the names of 969,544 persons; which total was 3532 greater than that of the previous J une 30. It is interesting to know that at the end of the fiscal year thero were on the rolls the names of nine widows and three daughters of soldiers of the Eevolutionary War and of forty-five survivors of the War of 1812. The Ytnmltpr rif TiAnlinor olai'ma hoo An. creased more than 90,000, while the number added to the rolls was 39,685 and the number dropped was 37,951. Thfl"finiT9 finnfirm th bftl.Af fi.1rpn.r1v expressed that natural causes will coon perceptibly reduce the number xt pensioners and that the maximum Las been reached. The Japanese have undoubtedly il lustrated afresh the value of the sea power, writes Hon.. H. A. Herbert, Secretary of the United Statoa Navy, in the North American Eeview. This, of course, has been taught, time and time again, in lessons familiar to all. The most powerful faotor in the down fall, of Napoleon, one that operated all the time from 1805 to 1S14, was the absolute control of the sea by his arch enemy, England. He was shut oil from transportation by sea, compelled to rely on rand communications, and there was no point in tho circle of his conquests from the easternmost shores of Italy along the ooast3 of the Medi terranean to Gibraltar, and thence around the Atlantio and the Channel and the North Sea into the Baltic, where-the English could not assail him. The genins of the ' great con queror, and the wonderful impulse the revolution had given to his soldiery made him. master of continental Europe, but he could, not hold it. Wherever upon the sea there was n strategic point in hia conquered ter ritory there were English fleets, En glish diplomacy, and English allies, and these finally led first to the down fall at Paris and then to Waterloo. A more recent, possibly a more forceful, lesson , is to be drawn from our own Civil War. The Union fleets blockaded the Confederacy and almost starved it i. .ai.it mi 1 i. !L 1 t io ueatu. ..laBjbuuiu iu nom re cruits and supplies and munitions of war. They cut it in two by their fleets on the Mississippi, and pene trated its vitals along the lines ol other navigable streams. They hov ered around it, as England hovered around Napoleon and his satrapies, and assailed it wherever it was weak est. When the true history of the conquest of the Confederecy is writ ten it will undoubtedly appear that, in proportion to numbers engaged and expenses incurred, the navy of the United States was a far more' efficient factor in the final 'result than even the field. Japan is illustrating the same lesson.. By her command of the sea, Bhe outnumbered the Chinese at Ping Yang, and by the battle off the Yalu she Eeems now, at this writing, to have acquired such further dominion over the water as to justify her, in the opinion of her Emperor, in landing mrtn nn Chinpsfl soil and nndertak- 1 iug an invasion. EVENINO SONG. Oft, I am thinking of the current of coo water that Is swinging, The blossoms of the Miles in tho rill, And the mocking birds a-sining, ever sing ing, Mu?Ing, Ringing, In the boskot on tho border ol the hill. I am dreaming of my mother's faoe, th glory of my childhood. Anl my father dear, so stalwart and so strong, And the little cabin home that he bulldei in ttte wild woo J, In the country ol fair weather and sweot song. Ob, the sky. I feel its wonder, and the sun, feel its splendor. And uaotnr-rich the waft adown the dell, While the lowing of the cattle sounds so far awny and tender, And the Meeting of the sheep along the fell. Long, long the way and weary that I've wandered from my mother And my father in the lowly oabln home ; Now I'm going back to see them, and our lips to one another Will bo batter than the honey Is the comb. Ob, mocking birds! fluto louder In th fringes of the wlldwood, I am coming, fast as dream can flow along, Across the lonely desert to the Eden of my childhood, In the country of fair waathsr and sweot song. Maurice Thompson, In Independent. THE R ECTOR OF 0RLEST0NE HE rector of Orle- stone sat in hit study gazing into the fire. He waj alone; he was al ways alone, t o x though he loved hi Jheep, and tended them, they were not companionable. He had lived alone now these many years how man v he sighed to remember. Once upon a time oh 1 but before the flood he had been young and strong and hopeful, and had loved a woman passionately; so passionately that honor and his plight ed word had become as nothing to him, and he had broken faith with a gentle girl he was engaged to marry. And then he had found out that hi passion's queen had not the least in tention of marrying him. As ha looked in the fire this October evening1 he remembered so well how she hat told him that on which he had staked his whole lifo's treasure could never1 be. "I must marry a rich man," she had eaid, "for my poor father's sake," ,ith tears and many kisses she had said it, and he, with kisses and the tears, the heart bleeds in solitude, had believed her. It was many years now since he had left behind him the world that held her, and had accepted the rectory of Orleston, with its miserable 150 a year. Aud still o' nights, when the curtains were drawn and the wind outside was wild in the laurels and cypresses, when the bare, thorny rose sprays tapped at the window like bony fingers, he sat by his fire and thought of the woman he had loved, and loved still. Ho had her portrait in the secret drawer of his shabby old writ ing desk the one that had been his father's. And sometimes he would take out the portrait the bright girlish face and look at it, sigh, and yet with a half gladness that the knife was still sharp in the old wound. Celia Eingwood, the woman who loved him. the woman he should have married, had told him that time would dull the pain. But time had not dulled it, and he was glad. He had given up ambition and friends and dreams, the old life and the old life's hopes to shut himself up alone with the daily plain duty and his love memory. And if the irenury had failed him, had grown di a, what would have been left of him ? Celia Bingwood in her little lonely house in the market town, thought there might be much. He came to see her once a week and talked about the parish. Once he had been used to talk of the other woman; he did not mean to be cruel ; she had taken his confession of unfaithfulness so calmly, aud so gently begged to be his friend, that he at once believed she had never cared for him. But such talk was over now. He had not spoken of her now for years. Celia began to think, almost to hope. Then she looked in the glass at her faded face, her pale hair, from which all youth's colors had gone; and she sighed a sigh that was half a shudder, put on her demure bonnet and cloak and went out through the rain to see a child who was ill, because that was her only ease for her heartache. Miss Celia Eingwood was washing up the breakfast things not, as all genteel people in Etories seem to do, in the parlar, but in a workmanlike manner in the back kitchen. She had just hung up the tea cloth, to dry, when her heart stood stil, and then begn to beat violently. At thirty eight one's heart . can beat just as quickly as it can at eighteen, and much more plainly, if one iears a, certain footstep on the threshold or a certain hand on tho door-knocker. ' "Good morning, Jfunes," she said) eedatcly. "This is an unusual and pleasant surprise." Some of the light still lingered on her face, but the rec tor did not observe it ; his own thin face was slightly flushed, and his gray eyes were shining. ; "May I come in?" he said. "I want to talk to you." She led him into the little parlor spotlessly neat. Miss Celia instinc-j tively turned the blind so that the sunshine should not fade the carpet,1 and said: "Well?" ; "You're always been suoh a true1 friend to me." he said nervously. "I've always fold you everything." "Yes," she said, ani her heart kaew his errand even before he spoke. "Celia, her husband is dead, and she has taken the Hall at Orlestone." Celia Bingwood held out her hand 'to him. The light went out suddenly in her face, but it left the kindly luouth and eyes as he had always seen them, and one who had IbvecThei would have noticed the change. "ODly last night," ho said, "it seemed to me there was nothing left in life but duty and the blessed faith In the life la come. But now oh, Celia ! I feel young again." "Shall yon ask her again to marry you?" There was a harsh note in her voice which she herself noted with dismay. But he did not perceive it. "Yes, of course," he said simply. Mi?s Bingwood bit her lip. "Yon are very poor," she said, "and .Lady Mountdew is very rich. People will say she might think " "You don't know Eva Mountdew," he said, proudly. Celia was ashamed of her words be fore he had answered them. She held his thin hand a moment between her soft palms and looked at him wistfully, "Whatever happens, " Hue said, "1 know you will not forget old friends." Her voice trembled a little as she said it. "Dear Celia," he answered and seme faint subconscious stirring of remorse made his voice very gentle and tender "Dear Celia, I am very selfish. You have been too patient with me ; you have spoiled mo." She laughed a little and took her hands away. "An old maid must have something to spoil," she said. "If it had not been you it would have been a cat or n canary bird. When shall you see her?" "This afternoon. She has asked mo to come up to tea. She has let the Ashford people furnish a few roora9 and she is camping out, as she calls it, till the rest of her furniture comes from Lor don." There was a pause. Then he got up suddenly, and began to walk up and down the narrow space between the door and the window, with knitted browj and hands clasped behind him. "Well?" said Miss Bingwood. "It isn't that I doubt her con stancy," he said, "but I don't know whether it's fair. I'm old, you see, and I have grown null. It is rather like offering her the dry husk of of " "Of what she threw away fifteen years ago." "You are unjust," he said. "No, no; I didn't mean it, James. Now you must go. I am very busy ; and be sure you come in and tell me about it. You nted not be afraid be cause your hair is gray. If she loved you well, good-by." He went off down the street with a new hopefulness in his step. When he was gone Miss Eingwood went up 'to her room ; she leaned her elbowa on the little white dressing table, among the prim wool mats and the little daily text-books, and looked again at herself in the glasm Her eyes were very sad, though no tears stood in them. Presently a smile etirred the corners of her mouth, where a dimple still lingered. "After all," she said to herself, "she is fifteen years older, too.'' Then she blushed at the two femin ine thoughts, aud the new color in her cheeks became her so that she turned away from the glass in confu sion.! , "But he is just the sort of man no1 to care how old any one was if he loved them." Then the pretty color faded quite away, and Mips Eingwood went slowly downstairs to cut out petticoats for the Dorcas meeting that afternoon. For four days Miss Bingwood looked hourly for the rector. He had brought his sorrows to her always ; surely he would bring his joy, too. Next morn ing there was a lettsr. It was not from him; she saw tnat while yet it was iu the postman's hands, for she had been watching at the window, and had to run to the door when she saw the postman cross the road. It was from his housekeeper. "Please forgive the liberty," it said, after it-cent heading of address, date and "Honored Madam" "but master is very bad, and he says 'No doctors.' He has been ailing these three days. If yon was to think fit to come over you might persuade him for his good. Your obedient command, Emma Well ings." "I'm going out," she cried to her little maid, "at once." The shortest way to the rectory lay tl rough the fields, and Miss Eingweod. took it. She hurried on through the keen, sweet air, devoured by a burn ing anxiety that consumed all self- consciousness, all personal doubts and dreams. When she saw the blue smoke curling from the red chimneys of the rectory above the laurels and cypresses she, quickened her paoe, stumbling a little now and then on the rough pasture. The housekeeper opened the door. "How is he?" Celia had to clear her throat twice beforo the wordB. would come. "But poorly," the womiin answered. "He was out up at the hall Tuesday; and all day Wednesday walking the wet woods, as I well know by the state his boots was iu. And then he couglis all night, he does, and the next morning he sends out his break fast, and so it's gone on ; and he won't let me send fpr the doctor and well, yes ; p'raps it 'ud be better for you to see him at once." Celia clenched her hands as she went in. He did 'not hear her open the door. He was sitting gazing into th fire with his head on his hand and hit elbow on his study table. His head was bowed, and Celia realized for the first time that hb was no longer young. He looked, indeed, an old man. She laid "her hand on his arm and he started and locked at her with a look of sudden joy and tenderness she had never hoped to see. But it faded at once. "He did not know who it was; he thought it was some one else," she said to herself, but not bit terly. "You are ill, and you never sentfoi me. And you never came as you promised," the said, with only the gentlest reproach. "I could not," ho spoke hoarsely, and then a fit of coughing took him and he sank back in his chair. "Eut you are ill," she said. "I must send for a -loctor at once.' "But he could do me no good. What nonsense it is!" he went on ir ritably. "'Who told you I was ill? I'm all right, only very tired." "I've brought you some beef tea and things." His brows contracted. "Now, Celia, I will hot have it. There is nothing the matter with me." The grieved look in her eyes stopped him. "You always trusted me before. "I did I do I will ! Celia, I went to see her. It is all over. I have wasted all my life on a shadow. She never did care, I think. She did not even know me at first. She only wanted to see the parson about her pew, and sent for him as she sends for anything else she wants ! She did not know me at first, and when she did, 1 have thrown away life, and youth, and hope, and love, everything, every thing, for the sake of a woman who never was at ail, except in my dreams and my fancy. And there is nothing left in life." Toor James !" she said. She had taken off her prim bonnet and seated herself near him. "But all oar pool people ; you still have them to live for." "That's what I keep saying to my self, but all the sunshine is gone and it looks such a long way to the end. " "But it is better to know the truth," she said, rather lamely. "I don't know ; I didn't realize be fore and tliat is wny 1 eouldn't come to you. Oh, Celia, you don't know I didn't know till just now all that you've been to me all these years, and but for my own folly and madness you might have been with me, close at my Bide all these long, long yearp, for yon did love me onco, didn't you, Celia?" She was silent. "At least," he went on hesitatingly, "if you had been my wife you would have learned to lovo me." "Learned to love you! Oh, my dear !" Her tone thrilled him to the soul. Her head was down on the arm of his chair, nvd. his hand very gently and uncertainly touched her smooth, faded hair. "You didn't mean why, Celia, my dear, ray dear !" For her arms were round his neck, and her face against his, and for that one good minute the, long years of sor row seemed not too heavy a price. "And now," said Miss Bingwood, lifting from his shoulder a face that had grown young and pretty again "and now perhaps you will take the beef tea!" Quiver. The First .Postage Stamp. Parisian stamp collectors have been discussing the question whether the English stamp of 1840, called the Bowland Hill stamp, is really the old est in existence, and the conclusion arrived at is opposed to this view. They claim that the first French stamp dates from nearly two centuries earlier, in 1653. In that year people used to buy at the Palais de Justice, in Paris, "billets de port paye," or carriage-paid tickets, with which the carriage of letters for anyplace within the capital could be prepaid. One cf these tickets is said to be in the pos session of M. Feuillet de Conches. It was used by Pellisson, the famous Minister and academician, on a letter addressed by him to Mile. Scudery, the no less famous romance writer, London News, FARM AND GABDEX. THE DRAUGHT HOBSE WANTED. Horse buyers go from Europe ano the United States and Canada to fine a good Clyde or Shire weighing no. under 1500 pounds from three to seven years old, good head, well shaped neck set upon full shoulders, large girt or full heart, barrel round, .and straight, heavy quarters, heavy bone flat, wide and cordy ; short in pasterns, hoofs good size, well shaped and kind, and a good walker. For animals of this kind the de mand is considerable. The prices' paid range from $150 to 8200 in the1 local markets, and to the first cost of animal must be added the expense of the trip and the cost of transporta tion. It would seem that our farmers might make money by raising such itock. New York World. INSECT3 ON TREES IN WINTER. A few winter days may be very profitably employed in thoroughly cleansing fruit and shade trees. The fruit and shade may thus be saved, and the appearance of the trees during the next summer will be improved. The aim should be in all cases to hare clean, healthy, well-fed trees, as these are the least susceptible to insect at tacks. Feeble or infested twigs or branches should always be cut out promptly as soon as noticed, and in all cases these should be burned to kill any larvn which they may con tain. It will pay to scrub the bark of all kinds of trees each winter with a stiff brush and the suds of whale oil or other soap, to remove harboring mosses, fungus growths, or other par asitic plant life and to kill the insects wintering in the crevices. American Agriculturist A FUTURE FOB MUTTON. There is no doubt that the mutton sheep has a great future before it. If, despite free trade and high rents, the English farmer can find money in the, industry, the American, with his un rivaled natural and political advan tages, ought to be able to. It is not true that the English sheep-raiser has any idea of going out of business. The number of sheep in that country has declined, owing to last year's great drouth, but at this year's au tumn sales at the shetp fairs high prices have prevailed. A Lincoln ram was sold for $760, and nineteen others of the same breed averaged $150 each. Another lot of twenty averaged $140 each. At a Scotch ram sale one Border Leicester ram brought nearly $600, and the two others $500 each. Th same breeder sold thirty-two rams tJ an average of over $200. To be able to pay these prices farm ers must not only have made inonev heretofore, but they must be satisfied that there is still money to be made, and that it is to be obtained only by the use of the finest rams procurable. The importance of breeding only the best has been too much overlooked in Amerioa. We are only slowly realiz ing that it is quality rather than quantity that counts. While we may find that one good animal may cost more than scrubs, it will also bring considerably, more when marketed, and meantime the greater expense of maintaining two animals must be set off against the original cost. Col man's Bural World. RIMED? FOR SHEEP TICKS. This pernicious insect will soon spread through a flock, and ever ad dition to it of purchased sheep should be quarantined, so to speak, with the greatest care, to free it from ticks. When these pests have once taken possession of a flock, no time should be lost in clearing the sheep of them before the winter. Cases have been known in which nearly all the spring lambs have been tormented and bled to death by tioks, for it may easily be that a hundred of them may be found on one animal, the quantity of blood thus lost, not counting the loss of vi tality by the intolerable annoyance and pain of the bites by such a num ber, may well be imagined as beyond the endurance of a weak animal like a sheep. Doubtless this infliction is the cause of tho flock not doing well, and the oply remedy is to get rid oi the pests immediately. A common method is to pour buttermilk along the baok of the sheep, and carefully guide it down the flanks by the hand, bo that it reaches every part of the skin. The kerosene emulsion is also an excellent remedy. It is made by dissolving soft or other soap in hot water and adding one-fourth the quan tity of kerosene to it ; the mixture is well shaken, and kept fot use. When used, it is diluted with five times the quantity of water and well shaken then used as mentioned for the butter milk. Or the kerosene may be added to the buttermilk, one part to twenty, and the mixture applied as described after a thorough shaking. New York Times. CULTIVATION OF THE ARTICHOKE. ... The common American, although often erroneously called Jerusalem ar tichoke, is not raised from seed, but from the tubers, these being planted whole or cut into pieces, as frequently practised with potatoes. As the tubers are very hardy, theyinay.be planted in the fall or early spring, and for the first season the cult- itiou should be the same as with potatoes. It will re- ; quire from six to eight ' bushels of tubers to plant an acre. ' The longer J tubers may be cat np into three oi four pieces, 'dropping tbem in drills ; every fifteen to twenty inches. Tbf rows or drills should be almost font ; feet apart to admit of cultivation wits ' horse and cultivator during the sum-' mer. There should be no cutting ' down of the stalks nor pasturing, ar . this would check the growth of tubers. Late in the fall turn in the hogs, and they will soon discover the tubers buf will not eat the leaves and stalks. If is a good plan to have a movable fenci in order to prevent the hogs from mn' ning all over the; field, digging a few tubers here and there, and not taking them out clean as they go. On rick soil artichokes yield enormously, and one acre will fatten twenty-five oi thirty hogs, with a few bushels of con to harden up their flesh at the close of the season. In; localities where the ground does not freeze hard in wai ter, afield of artichokes will be found most excellent food for pigs and swin that are to be kept over as stock ani- ' mals. The artichokes will not spread into adjoining fields, and if you giy the hogs a chance at them you will . not need to resort to other means for killing out the : plants. The tuben can usually be obtained at seed storei if orders are sent in early or durinj the winter months. New York Sun, CONSTRUCTION OF A FIT. From a lady skilled in floriculture,, writes M. W. Early to Home not Farm, I have obtained the following reliable directions for the construe- tion of a pit. "Having successfully 1 tested the virtue , and economy ol having a pit, says she, "I would aug.- gest to others' the advisability of try-V ing the same. No one need be ap palled by a fear of any very great expense. I venture to say that the sum of $15 will secure good pit, pro vided a few necessary precautions are taken in the structure. Six feet is amply deep. Choose a warm, sunny, unot as little shaded bv trees as roe-' Bible, on the southern side of the lot.' Begin by laying off the ground, nine feet by fourteen. These dimensions . will furnish a pit large enough to hold more flowers than one person can attend to out of a pit, and leaves.. ,; room for any vegetable which you may wish to start either by slip or" seed earlier than a oold frare or hot ' bed would enable vou to do. Indeed.' there is no safer aud more convenient plan for having early tomato plants v than to raise them in a pit. They are) . far more forward than, any you at-- fomnt fn Tfti'sn in ill A TmTIRft- And it 111 -1' - "w - 1 ,. a great saving of. trouble to have , them in the pit." After the pit is dug it is a good plan to dig a little hole or well, three feet ' deep and three feet square, to hold the 1 water which rises after rains or snows, and which is apt., to produce ". mould or mildew in the flowerr. especially those on the lower tiers. ' This hole being dry, the next thing is ' lha fro m a nf ArkrivnrV unil t.hia M. WUW TT I I I n if .W IT VMM. W nnlrea nhnnt m. rtava wnrV from ft ear penter. The frame should be tnree or four feet above ground at the back, and should have a slop of at least two feet' from top to bottom. Be very carefal to have the plankr tight and close. ' Have a double casing of the frame made after the four posts ro secureu iu uuo ourueis uubuu nailed to the outside. An inside casing will give a neater finish to the job . and keep out any little cold which might force its way in. It is an ex cellent plan to fill up the casing mtn saw dust Be 7ery careful to see that the frame for the sashes of glass is ai tight a fit as possible. FARM AND GARDEN NOTES. Go into winter quarters with ai many young bees as possible. .. ; Most garden vegetables are gross feeders, for whom the soil can hardly be made too rich. . To know what to do and to do it in ' time, after the hive is selected, is to succeed in beekeeping. r Florida trackers whose crops wer . destroyed by the storms are turntng their attention to planting strawber ries. 4 Opening a farrow so as to drain off water into the nearest ditch will save many plants being thrown out by the frost. - Lettuoe plants in the greenhouse, should now be making good growth. Prevent the appearance of green fly by the free use of tobacoo dust while the plants are yet small. , . ' It is said that the colors in dried flowers may be preserved by pressing the plants between paper previbusly saturated with a one per cent, oxalie acid solution and then dried. It is said that if cabbages are pnt close together,- with the roots- deep in the ground, and a furrow of earth turned over them, they will ke bet ter than when the heads are t arned down. A mess of cooked turnips given onea a day is said to be excellent in in creasing the growth of young animals. The turnips are not very nutritious, , but they are appetising and form a change from the usual dry food.
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Jan. 25, 1895, edition 1
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