Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / April 10, 1903, edition 1 / Page 1
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$i.oo a Year, In Advance. " FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY, AND FOR TRUTH." Single Copy, 5 Cets. VOL. XIV. PLYMOUTH, N. C, FRIDAY. APRIL 10, 1903. no; i. THE FOOTPATHS. IV MAIITHA TVOLCOTT niTCHCQCK. 1 'Aivay and .v,vay I nee them wind -whenever They are always to the ferry, the forge, t i.i. ..... - -. . furt,ni u i 4.".,4-..;. I. shut jiiv cv;.' . - Like delicate countless threads to bind our manifold destinies,'-'. For over the circling would they go where dominant man lias gone, ' And the. human" tide in its. ebb-and flpw .the way of its v.iil has worn. The risjid hishwaya' straightly pass by the fields .nm-'sconcid, ' 4 r But the wanton path over dimpling grass escapes like a joyona ehi'.d; . For nature tenderly decks the veay "that . leads to her secret heart As a mother would tempt her babe essay the first few stops apart. ' ' '"- ..- . . And the footpatln dance. over hilltops cool, dividing the golden broom, Lovingly nearing the peaceful pool and the humming clover bloom. ' Fcrii'-waves cleaving in woodland deeps (with the thruah and the vcerie '. near) W hero the lovely fugue of the wild flowers keeps its rhythm thvo'out the year. i. ' . .' -, . ;v . 1 I - Into 'a Fevertrickea Country. ; .,' Cy A. e. DUAfJE. . ' '. . : " I T is said that every 'man has a blind snot in. his eye. Sometimes T think that "I must have 'a blind "2"" spot in my brain, and that the dis asters and the sufferings of humanity get beforj it'. Floods and earthquakes and epidemics devastate the earth, but they make little impression upon jue. I road the headlines in the news papers, and when, a man asks me for a dollar for a sufferer" he generally gets it; but I lose no rest worrying over his sorrows. - It may have been an unconscious seeking after an antidote for my en tirely practical nature that attracted ine toward Julia Maitland. Julia was beautiful, young and romantic, and did not seem to desire any corrective for her disposition in the way of an alliance with me. I asked - her to marry me once, and when she declined I continued to visit at her home, with the full approval of her father, and wiih the full intention of asking her again. She told me when she did so that she respected me and liked me, but that she could never, under any circum stances, be happy with a man who could appreciate nothing but the sor did side of life. She said she had noticed that when I looked at a paint ing I always valued it, took into con sideration the reputation of the artist, .ami then gave my opinion upon it. it was .iust 10 o'clock when I left her house. I had time to go down' to the otik-e and finish up some correspond ence, which the "ui ought of a few kou.'S with her had made to seem of the .most trivial importance earlier in (he evening. We kept a light in the office all night. It looked a trille brighter than usual as it came peering over the transom, but -I' had a genuine start of surprise .as" I opened the doer with uly key. and found Iiansom, my bookkeeper, Kill busy, lie looked up as though he had had been expecting me. "Mr. Dunne," ho ?a:d, "here arc some letters that I think ought to be attend ed to at once." I sat ecwn and looked the letters -over. The matter was much more seri ous elian I had imagined it could be. After talking and writing, and talking again for an hour, we arrived at the conclusion that the only p-jfsihle vay to save the two or three thousand dol lars involved was for me to lnajie a trip to a city in the northern part o,f the State...- " .-'.- 'There' -is -a trahi-at miaighfer half-past; Why don't you take- t.Wf?'f Ransom suggested. . , , . . ; 'It deemed, the bes .passible, thing.. i5 Wo': I walked over 'to the .hotel where I 'lived, packed my satchel, and' in a n--othcr half hour was waiting in' the station for my train. I -took out some papers I had brought along with me, and went over them while I waited. After, "n proVqkiug delay tne train pulled; ut and soon I ' ordered my berth 1 de up and turned ii) for the night. ;x j It was 10 o'clock next day v.ifen I arose and dressed .myself. I didn't, think to look out of the window untlllmy toilet was j-ompleteeL I knew abeut where we would be at that Hour. AJ -eady the Jake breeze ought to be rushin, ; through the car, and yet il seemed still ry. I talked out In search of f4miebody Luc iniiif- ui L-iic clausing i-auiuiy d gate, . Or the .market town up over the hill,, or the fields 'where the milch cows wait; For.untfer the joy. that rnoves.ns so, like an ' 'innocent euil's'at pliry. 'ire the human , uoocnnd the human woe fEat walk. in tjie'paihs to-day. Bird and blossom, 'Jjave made them sweet- ' ' scent of the fragrant soil Cut each was carved bv the patient feet of age-iong aauy tou. Like leveled lances point the rays as the . bent forms come or go,. . Nor heed the hush of the dawning days, nor the peace of the evening glow. '."- Little can nature, mother dear, with her softest wile or play, . , The listless .brow of the toiler cheer who- has wrought from break of day. - ' But we,, we .follow, the pleasant way of . pains we have never borne, Eeapinc the joy of the footpaths gray that labor's feet have worn, The Criterion. : : cfncial and mot "the conductor. . -. "What train is this?"" I asked-him, rather excitedly. He looked at me in bewilderment. " "Ain't -you one of 'em';" : "One of what? Isn't this the train to Clinton? Where are we, anyway?" The conductor looked at me stu pidly. ; :- "You didn't offer no ticket," he said finally. "'"" "2so, I didn't.' I showed the porter my pass here it is and told him to tell you about it, or to take.it and show it to you, and let mo go to bed." "Oh, hini!" the conductor said, pluck ing at his beard. "He can't read. He supposed it was like all the rest they've all got 'em." "All got what?" I. fairly shouted at him. "What are ypu talking about?" "Young man," said the slow fellow, solemnly I found out afterward that he hael been chosen for this mission on account of his calm nature "you are on a special train, carrying nurses and doctors to the fever towns. You are in quarantined country now, and how you are going to get back I don't know." "Oh, I'll get back," I said, cheerfully. "Just let me off at the nest town, and I'll find my way back." "I wouldn't do anything rash, If I were j'ou," ho said. It was a very still little town where I stopped. There was only one other passenger for that place a slender girl, with a clever, face that looked too young for a nurse's. I walked briskly (.'.own the eripty pb.l'ferm, hot with femibhiue, and exudiug a strong smejl of rosin from the new pine boards. There was a black -sin over one of the clos3d doors with "Telegraph Oilee" in white letters. Inside there was a "click, click" of instruments, but the e'oor was locked. A negro lad came lounging round the corner. "You needn't try to get in thah," lie said, importantly. 'The operatah he's daid. Th' fevah's get him.-' "Isn't there anybody in tins town who can semi a message?' I inquired. . There was a touch on my arm. I turned, to see the girl. "I can," she said". "I am the volunteer operator who has come to take charge of this oince and send dispatches about the siate of things here." ... "Weren't you afraid?"' I asked her. She looked so young. "iXo," she said. "I have had the fever.- "New Orleans is my native city, jtivcl ;1 "liad it there years ago. I couldn't take this sort-they -haw, ,eo 'far north." iVwd'tteen. turning to the boy, she asked for the, key. .;-..' -. Ten. minutes later, he, had returned from the house.whcrp.the last operator, lay dead, with the big door key, and 'wo were let into the sweltering, dusty little bos of a room, which seemed to me as if it still held traces of the disease. I opened the . windows to make the girl comfortable, and sent the boy out after some ice water and some lemons. Then I remembered something. "Say," I called to him, anil I went outsitle and asked him where I could find the nearest bar. "Ovah thah in th' tavchn," pointing to a long, low, unpainted house. I ran across the street, followed leisurely by the boy, and found my way Into a bare room with a shelf across it, and perhaps a dozen bottles. A portly man, in soiled yellow linen, was dozing, in a chair. I awakened him..- . , "Have you any tonic?" I said. "Who's got it now?" he asked, with a start. . - "Got what?" ' v "The fevah. Ye, sah, I've got plen ty, sah;" and ho went into another room, and brought out two greenish botties of touie. "It's the best medicine thah is. fur it. Who's got.it?. The., misses bring down tonic, but it's no sich ..brand as this?" "No. I suppose not," I said; and then I asked after ice, but I found that be yond' the supply held by the "nusses," there wasn't any in the town. I took the bottles and went back across the street,. followed presently by the boy with the water. "I can cool it," -the girl said, and she sent the boy back after an earthen jar of water.She wrapped it in wet cloths; put the bottles in it, and set the whole in the, winelo.w. "What's that message ..of. yours?" she asked. I found she had already intro duced herself to the other otlices along the line. I sent a telegram to Iiansom, telling him in the otfice;. cipher -of my plight, and tiT.ccr'g .hkn to make sciu'e ai-raL-i-eiric:: about" getting iuc cut of the "fix I was in; without saying anything nboxit- it. I waited to : sneak tya.ek without: being quarantiiKul. ' ,v "'''"What is your iianie?y".I .asked th 10 girl. . . . "Fanny Martin;'' she said.. ."Well;' I am going to nave the answer to my message sent to you.. I am not anxious to havC "people.. talking about my being down here." "Don't 'want ' your right hand to know, eh ?" '; But I . made - n'o esplnna tions. Suddenly Iiss Martin came running down the path.' "Come -in here, quick," she said, anel went back 'ahead of me. I fol lowed her into." an oldrfashioueel square house, with a wjiee'.pilclothed halj, ;and thin balustraded stairs, which, she light ly mounted. In the room was an old man who had fallen back on his pillow, dead, his face drawn and yellow-with the scourge. Standing by his side was a tall, sallow woman, who I am ashamed to confess even in that mo ment presented herself as a familiar figure. I had seen her counterpart on the stage hundreds of times as the tj'pic'al spinster. There were even the glasses and the keys, and the bunches ;.of skimpy curls behind the ears. She was looking down at her father in a hard sort of dumbness. "The servants have gone,". Miss Mar tin f-aid. '"There is nobody to do anj--thing. ' It is lucky j-ou are here.." I did not stop W contradict her, but set to work "for humanity's sake to do what I could. ., , One of the sorrows of those times was that the "dead must .be buried so quickly. . I took a lantern,, went out t the burying ground, and hunted up the family lot. With- the assistance of a negro nvin, whom- Miss Martin Iiscov: crcd, I dug a grave. We went back to "the town and found a eofiin, and in the early summer morning we buried the tlead man. " . . As wo came out of the graveyard 1 stopped Fanny' Martin. . -: "Have you hi en to the oScc?" 1 asked. : -,,v ::: ,' sr . .. :'' 'er. indce-dV' "Well, where is my message?" "There wasn't any." "The deuce'" I said, and walked on back with her.' The spinster lady lin gered by her father's grave. Miss Mar tin seemed inclined to stay, but I knew she could do no good there. I took her by the arm and led her back to. the tel egraph olilce, anel dictated some mes sages that would bring answers. . I left her clicking off a locg mes'sa'ge. to somebod3. , "It was; almost, dark w.hch'a knock 'came on my lqor. and. the grayish negro bey put-his head in and followed it . by the restof his: bctiy,' carrying -a yellow envelope. It "was from the superintendent, telling me he would do what he could for me, but he feared I should Ve stopped, as' quarantine Was very strict., . . ' ' ."If I don't get out, any way you will be sure to get your tonic," I. said to Fanny Martin.' We had grown to be famous friends. She was a smart, clever little thing, with a shrewd way of looking at life, and ,a keen sensV of humor. She' had' made excursions round about during the day, riding on horseback. There were very few eases left, and they were going to move on to the next town. "The reports are exaggerated," ; she said ' "but then that's what sells the papers. It's all in the, day's work.' Now, suppose you tell me what brought you . down here?" "The nurses' train." I "Yes, but before that. Had you a secret sorrow? Had your wife died, 01 your sweetheart jilted you, that you valued life so lightly?" "My sweetheart had jilted me, or re fused to marry me, the night I started, but I can hardly say that I Valued life much the less. I am going back to try it over agaUn" "What is the matter with you?" Fan ny Martin asked. "You seem like a very respectable person. The Presi dent of the C. A. & S. seemed to think you 'were a reliable man.". "I am. I ani too respectable. She sa3-s I am 'practical.' For example, she says that all I see in a 3'cllow fever epidemic is its effect, on trade." "And you came down here, to nurse and show her better?" "Not by a great deal!" said I em phatically. And then I told her exact ly how it all happened. "And she wants a romantic lover?" "I suppose so." "Ah:" said Fanny Martin. V: ' It seemed to me that men looked at me oddly, and shook hands with me mare heartily, than 'usual.' My friends are serious, hard .headed fellows, 'a good dead like myself, not m.uch given to effusive expression; but one of them actually called me a hero. It is very seldom ihat ladies visit my office, but as I went iii:fP saw. a gleam of summery apparel.. A mo ment later there- was a rush and a'sob, "Aha Julia,, 'actually Julia, ' was in my ,'arms. . . . .v.." . .: ".My.-dnrjins girl!". I said. . ..."What is the matter?' ,1s' your father' ill? Is anything' wrong?" ' '"No!- No f Oil, suppose ycii'Md died! And it was all my faulN-I should have driven you to that dreadful death.! Oh, I know, you saved hundreds of lives, but what would that have mat tered to me!" "Julia,, my child," I said, "will yon tell me what is the. matter?" "I know you didn't want anybody to know it, and I'-am rightly punished for having driven you to it, by all this publicity. I attusp prOud of you!" And Ju;ia, Julia .who had scorned me, ac tually put ; her tear-stained cheek against my own, and then kissed me. I turned to Ransom. "Now tell me," said I, "what all this is about." tIIe put his pen between his teeth, and took down a copy of a New York paper of the Sunday before which had. just reached our town. He turned to a head-lined page, pointed out an ar ticle, and went back to work. I sat down and read it. It narrated the experiences of one of the paper's young women correspond-. ents, who had volunteered to go as telegraph operator to the yellow fever Infected district. Kale. the letter was taken up with the noble self-sacrifice of the young millionaire "business man from Ohio, Alfred, Duane, who .bad brought not only his personal serving and sympathy, but his wealth and in fluence to aid the sufferers. lie had buried the dead with his own hands, and that spinster became at the tcnich of this pen a beautiful girl;" supported In' her grief by Alfred Duane! And then of a strong ma'n'with a broken bofvt; hiding -liis own worxGs by minis tering to others, risking the'' Ii'fe he no longer valued because the woman he loved had denied h'.m his heart's de sire! .The letter '.was signed "Fanny Martin." New York News. ' - C3iino?o Cnrcful Uuycrs. Of one thing the American manufac turer should .in particular beware, namely, of the delusion, .that it is possi ble to. pass off a spurious article on the Chyipso as the real, thing. The, Chinese iv very careful in. sampling the . gooebj'-' thoj' b'.viy, and they take nothlug;-fov'grant?d on receiving the goods; but are exceedingly patient .in examining thorn to find" ouf if'thev aro according to contract. There has been a tendency on the' part of American exporters to the empire to ignore that fact. The first thing an occidental merchant needs to get into his head i in dealing Avith the Chinese merchants is that he is dealing with a class of people fully his .equal in, business as tuteness. The Chinaman knows what he wants,-and he" is no more disposed to take what ho do.es r.o.t. vaut tiw: anyone eJsD.r-Wol mV-J: Cotton' Re porter. . ' ( nis Motto. The stock broker's motto is: "If at first you i-Mlon't succeed, buy, buy again." ailadelphia Record, . ' f v BIRDS WITH CDfruWAYS. ... . 'u Barrowins; Owls, Ostriches, and Mound Kuilrierg. Of course all birds Jive in more or less close relation to the earth, but some are peculiarly,. associated with it, or depend upon it more, especially fo;" certain requirements. . Net the least interesting of these are the burrowing owls. These, unlike their tree or tower haunting relatives, make their home underground, digging their tunnels to gether, and layjng their eggs at the farther end. Here in the darkness the little owlets arc hatched, and here they are fed on f&t grasslioppers and mice until they are able to climb up and look upon the world for themselves. It is curious that these owls, which of all their family would seem to have the best practice in. their youth for learn ing to use their eyes ijne., dark, are not nocturnal, but. .dig their furrows, cateh their food and 'do' their' courting In' broad daylight. " Ostriches, may be mentionoKas types of birds which. have, found i.so good for them to spend' their life.ln running that they are wlth'ouf' the pcfiver of flight, and are nev.er..a?)lt; rise above the ground "wingedjcvoature'' of the earth, not the "air."'; ' : The' bird wh'icli,'fe''pVer'inIii(fatly of the-..earth-;earthy . llijf! wrrfjjer anti podesAustralia ; and thee .Philippine Islands. It is the" megapocle or mound buildier, ami has theZiilousv'lif;bit-of burying - its eggs -.in: :th:&rouii: or in a mound of h?ajves nd dirt,. leaving them reptile-like to" hatch from tho heat generated 'in theJpire of hecaying vegetation." It is 'thought jtliat the parents- never .see the1l;9ffsprin..- which are. fully fpathereel when they leave the egg and able to dig out and fly at once. " This "unusual development at birth is made possible by .the grea't amount of nourishing. yolk in the eggs, which are very large in proportion to the size of the bird. Think of a mem ber of this class of birds; 'uUde to spend its life partly in the air, -"batching in a tightly packed, damp .mound of earth six feet below the surface! We cannot censure the parents 'for "shirk ing the responsibilities of incubation when we think of the enormous amount of work necessary to. .collect such masses of rubbish, which- measure sometimes 50 feet in circumference and fourteen feet in height Of course, this Is not collected in, one year, but it is a great undertaking for, birds' ntr larger than our common groifse. ' -Thus we see man cannot take the credit of hav ing first used an artificial jncuba tor to hatch the eggs of birds. C. William Beebe, Curator of Ornithology, New York Zoological Society. .. .::v. .K A Bird That Tnrr.ed. For an hour or more Baby Florence had been walking in the 'woodlands with her mamma; they hAcF:gnthered. many beautifully colored leaves and (he floor of the forest beneajh their fc.ft -glowed richly Avith a chffierof red fe'.-e. Winter had. kir.scd -te trees and the rushes and the weeds and they 0.9.5 ted brilliant pinions .of rainbow tmt. ' . , 1. ,. , li Baby Florence had said nothing for quite a While, so busy had - she been with romping along in advance of her mother, but the change in the irest Bcemed suddenly to impress ber. "Mamma," she said, "why areall the -lea vis yellow and reel? Wheniyxe came put last time they were greem;' 1 "Winter, causes it, Flo,"p replied the mo the;' "leaves always turn' red at this - time" of tlie year." .'i'i They had -.gone a dozen yards further when the child's eyes detected an tin usually bright 'flash of color among the trees". It was a red breasted Sfr'd that sat" a-lilt amid the.-branciB.- s "Look, mamma, look," cried, the little girl eagerly, "there is a birdie" that is beginning, to turn, too." New York Herald. ' :' - -: - 4 ., ' , Tlie First and the Last. A- cufiotis state'of a ffAii "lifted in Franklkr Collie, Indiana, siikfitra-tive cf the Biblical saying that -"the first shall be last and the last shall be first." In the class of '01 of that 'college the man who stood at the top wa-s William Henry Harrison McCoy, and thj man who was at the 'bottom was William Tceumseh Stott, " To-day Mr. Stott is president cf the college and Mr. McCoy is the janitor. Dr.- Stott was elected president of the college in 1ST2, in which year Mr. McCoy was made a . member of 'the board 'of tftist'ers.- In lS'Ji Mr. McCoy obtained tiie .Titular position of superintendent of buildings and grounds, but his work is really that of the janitor. Life Is either a coraedy or a tragedy, and largely 'of our own making. t
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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April 10, 1903, edition 1
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