$1.00 a Year, in Advance. . " FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY, AND FOR TRUTH." Single Copy, 5 Cents.
VOL. XIV. PLYMOUTH, N. C., FRIDAY. MARCH 11, 1904. ;U ; :S04;- NO. 51.
A RATTLED
She talked to mo long ago on the Ego of
Thought
A pretty philosopher s..e,
Who needed to speak buc one sentence to
make
A fervent disciple of me;
The fathomless depths of acumen she
reached,
And heights by no wing ever sought,
While glad and enraptured I listened, as
she
Discoursed on the Ego of Thought.
-2 HEN Aunt Eliza began to
m cr' IIe!en never could
I o stand that, so she tried her
4 best to check her aunt's
W flowing tears.
What was it all about? A trifle?
People generally do disagree over
trifles. This cause of difference, how
ever, between Helen and her aunt was
$20,000, which had been left to Helen
by a relative. Helen declared the
money did not belong to her.
Helen Ileeve was a young widow.
She looked very pretty as she stood
before her aunt in her half gown of
mourning, her wavy black hair combed
back from a broad, low forehead, and
coiled with an unruly knot at the nape
of her neck. Aunt Eliza was not in
clined to find fault with the fate that
caused her to be the companion of such
a charming young woman.
. "Not belong to you!" cried Aunt
Eliza. "What on earth do you mean?''
"I mean," said Helen, "that this sum
will just pay the last of poor Jack's
debts, and I am going to pay them."
"There is only one way to 'settle,' "
said her aunt, "and that is for you t
take this money and be thankful to
the good Lord that it has been thrown
your way, and not act so ungrateful to
Providence for your good luck."
l tmniv, . saiu neien, 1 see wuat
Providence meant me to do with it.
When dear Jack died I know the thing
that worried him most during his last
l:.sys was the money he owed his old
friend, Mr. Bethune. Mr. Bethune was
ruined, aunty. The greatest happiness
that this money brings to me is the
thought that I can do him and his
family some good. The poor man is
blind. They live down near the river
somewhei-e, and are very poor."
Aunt Eliza looked obstinate, but
their talk ended in an agreement to
see old Mr. Carruthers, the lawyer,
lie was consulted and would Dot deny
that there was .justice in Helen's de
termination, although he did not con
sider her called upon to carry it out.
But she did. Fifteen thousand dol
lars was paid to Mr. Bethune. A letter
that she received at this time had
the effect of closing Aunt Eliza's
mouth, no matter what her inner re
flections might ' be. It was from a
daughter of Mr. Bethune, and gave
Helen such thanks as made her heart
feel.warni and her cheeks to glow with
delight.
, Now there remained ?3000 mo:e. The
other creditor, Mr. Clarence Bartlett,
was a rich man. Battles began again
between Helen and Aunt Elizli.
"I have never forgotten what I heard
he said about Jack, and he shall have
his due if it be only for the opportun
ity of expressing my feelings. I want
Jack's name cleared from every impu
tation of dishonesty."
"There pever was any on it," said
Aunt Eliza. ' "Everybody knew that if
ho had lived he would have suecess--fully
caried out his business."
"Mr. Bartlett said differently."
"I declare, Helen, you make me ill.
I manased to set along with the first
affair; that turned out a mercy, to be
Kure, for that poor blind man, but this!
Why. I never heard of anything so un
called for."
But Helen was determined, and in
Kpite of Aunt Eliza the money, was
ordered to be paid. Then Helen wrote
a letter in which she expressed her
pleasure in being able to settle the
debt, and gave Mr. Clarence Bartlett
a rap for having expressed an opinion
derogatory to her young husband, sign
jug if'very truly yours," in the most
dignified manner.
To Helen's boundless indignation
there came a letter from Mr. Bartlett,
in which he informed her that she was
mistaken as to his ever having blamed
tier husband, and coolly informed her
; How Jack's
Debts Were Paid
J& By A. B. SCUDDER,
CONVERT.
The sober light grew in her wonderful
eyes; .
I watched the rose glow on her cheek;
That's all. I remember about the dis
course, Though more such I'd willingly seek;
She talked to me long on the Ego of
Thought
(I make this confession to you)
I understand naught of it all but I'll
swear
.That every word of it was true!
San Francisco Bulletin.
that although he approved f her wish
to settle her husband's debts,; she could
not do so where he was concerned;
that he had always considered her hus
band a personal friend; that he would
not have troubled her with this letter,
but for the reason that he felt it due
to himself to refute the misrepresenta
tions which had evidently been so
deeply impressed upon her mind.
"The most impertinent letter I ever
read in my life," she declared to Aunt
Eliza. But her aunt would not see it
that way
"I will go and see Mr. Carruthers this
very day," cried Helen.
Aunt Eliza could not trust herself
to answer. Silence was her onlj- safe
guard. Down to Mr. Carruthers' office rushed
Helen, but she had to be content with
his saying:
"Very well, Mrs. Reeve, I will do my
best." .
The days went on, and Mr. Carruth
ers said that Mr. Bartlett was out of
town, so nothing could be done with
the money which awaited him.
Summer came, and Aunt Eliza de
cided that after their worry they
needed a change. Aunt Eliza was
neither a tyrant nor a miser. She
cared little whether Helen had a penny
or not; she had plenty for both. But
she had chosen to be delighted when
Helen's fortune came to her, for she
had been left with little and had a
great love for beautiful things, and
this money would make her feel inde
pendent in the gratification of her de
sires. "I am sure I am thankful that we
have anything left," said Aunt Eliza,
and she gave a sigh of relief, as if
there had been a time -" when she
thought that Helen was in a fair way
to give away not only her own money,
but her aunt's, also.
They decided to visit the Yosemite,
and Aunt Eliza was in her element.
She would arrange and rearrange
finery for herself and Helen; refuse to
buy a ribbon because they must econ
omize, and next day purchase some
article not at all needed, and pay a
most extravagant price with smiling
satisfaction.
Every one knows the almost impos
sible roads by stage to "Clark's" in go
ing down the Yosemite Valley. Helen
and her aunt had gone as far as pos
sible by rail, and were now in the last
stages of their journey behind six
horses in the. lumbering six-seated
coach usually used to finish this trip
and convey patrons to their final desti
nation.' There were two ladies besides
Ileleu and her aunt, and on the rear
seat the brother of the ladies and irn
other gentleman.
Helen was enjoying the ride and
paying no attention to the fears and
complaints of the others over the
roughness of the road. There were
magnificent views, and as they went
higher the ladies grasped the sides of
the vehicle and held on to it in fear
nd trembling, as they looked down the
dangerous mountainside.
Helen had well balanced nerves, and
thought of on danger; but suddenly she
was conscious of a crash, a fall, one
horrible shriek from the other ladies,
then it seemed to her that she was
rolling on, on into eternity. She stopped
at last and lay stil. Was this death?
But after a moment the inconveni
ence of supporting a weight that lay
across her convinced her that she was
much alive. She managed to turn
partly over and crawl out from under
the debris. She was not much hurt.
"Aunt Eliza! Aunt Eliza!" called
Helen.
All was silence. She looked about
her, but could see only wreckage. A
little way up the hill a man lay still
and motionless, his white face turned
upward in the sunlight. Sudden fear
made her turn away, .lust then a man
came from behind a clump of bushes,
pale, and with his right arm hanging
helplessly.
"Thank God, somebody is alive!"
cried Helen.
"It is a miracle," he faintly an
swered. "Where r.re the others?"
"Oh, I can't tell. I fear they are all
under the wagon."
"What shall we do?"
He looked down helplessly at his arm
and Helen asked pityingly:
"Broken?"
"Never mind," he said, "we can't
lament over that until we know there
is nothing worse."
Just then several men appeared, whe
had been driving in sight of the acci
dent. They first released the ladies un
der the coach and then placed them
gently in a wagon. Finally every one
was disposed of but Helen and the
gentleman with the broken arm.
"I have a one-seated buck not far
from here," one of the mountaineers
suggested.
The gentleman looked dolefully at
his arm.
"Oh, I can drive, if tbxt's all," said
Helen. "Let's go. It's only a short
distance. You are suffering terribly,"
as she saw him growing pale.
"I believe I am," he answered.
They drove off, and after the first
few minutes began to talk:
"It seemed to me that we rolled over
and over for an endless time," said
Helen.
"You did turn a complete somersault.
I was thrown off at the first lurch. The
elderly lady I do not think is much
hurt. Your aunt, you called her?"
. "Yes, my aunt."
"Are you frightened?" he asked sud
denly, looking at her curiously.
"I don't know," said Helen, "I feel
rather wild."
"Few young ladies have as service
able nerves as yours." 1
Helen did. not answer at once, but
cried, as a turn of the road brought a
house in view:
"Oh, there is the hotel! I am so
glad."
An hour later she was watching by
her aunt's bedside. She felt relieved
at the physician's assurance that Aunt
Eliza was not seriously hurt. For two
or three days she was kept a prisoner,
but Aunt Eliza was not one to pet ail
ments, and. was soon about.
The next day but one after the acci
dent Helen's driving companion sent to
ask after her health, and she was ap
palled by the name on the card: "Mr.
Clarence Bartlett."
Axint Eliza laughed heartily at the
absurd situation.
"I think it is very impertinent of
him," said Helen.
"To get his arm broken?"
"To inquire after us."
"Perhaps he does not know who we
are," said Aunt Eliza.
"I think I would perhaps like to
leave here to-morrow," was Helen's
only reply.
Aunt Helen did not argue, as she
knew that it would only increase Hel
en's prejudice, but she proposed to stay
where she was.
It was not long before Helen and he
met. She was on an upper piazza early
one evening, and came face to face
with him. His arm was in a sling, and
he looked pale and worn, but was evi
dently pleased to see her again.
He held out his hand.
"I cm glad to have made your ac
quaintance, Mrs. Iteeve. You will in
troduce me to your aunt, will you
not? Your husband and I were good
friends. I was also a friend of your
father, although I was young at the
time."
She could not refuse, and he talked
so pleasantly that Helen could not help
forgetting her prejudice, and did not
see her way clear to bringing up the
money question. Aunt Eliza was de
lighted, but shrewdly held her peace.
Such a first meeting as they had had
naturally caused their acquaintance to
grow rapidly. Mr. Bartlett was most
agreeable, and all his efforts tended to
make Helen's days happy. They stayed
six weeks at the hotel, and it was the
evening before they were to go. Helen
and be were on tne piazza enjoying the
sunset, when Aunt Eliza came up with
a letter.
"For you, Helen."
She stood and chatted a few mo
ments and then said she must be off
and finish packing. Helen still held the
letter in her hand, turning it over and
over in embarrassment, for she recog
nized the writing of Mr. Carruthers.
She was nervously fumbling at the
clasp of the bag at her side, to put
the letter out of sight, when Mr. Bart
lett said:
"Pray, read your letter."
"It is of no consequence," Helen an
swered. "I am not so sure of that," he re
turned in an odd voice. "At all events,
read it, or you will be thinking about
it all the evening."
Helen opened the letter and read the
crabbed handwriting in great haste.
Mr. Carruthers wrote to say that Mr.
Bartlett refused to take the money and
"wished to hear no more about it."
She flushed and glanced at her com
panion. He was looking at her with a quiet
smile.
"I think I know whom your letter Is
from," and he laughed.
"Please don't," she said, coloring
more brightij, but determined to speak
now. "Mr. Bartlett, I want to talk
with you about this. I want you to do
me a favor, but first promise " she
hesitated. f
"You don't want mo to promise unti'
I have heard what it is, do you?"
"Only that tiresome money. I want
you to take it."
"Oh, he answered slowly and gravely.
"Yes, say you will. It will make me
so much happier."
He waited a moment, and then said:
"I will take it on one condition."
Something in is voice made her eyes
drop suddenly.
"That I may take you with it," he
whispered, as he leaned over her.
"May I, Helen?". He held her hand
now and it was not withdrawn.
Waverley Magazine.
A Cereal Story
The refreshing part of a story which
the New- York Times recounts is not
the stupidity of man in his domestic
aspect. The particular man concerned
is an actor whose wife an actress is
an earnest advocate of the theory that
food should fit the consumer rather
than the reverse. Consequently there
are periods when milk flows incessant
ly through the household menu. Again
it is hot water, and at other times
nuts, fruits and grains alone are relied
upon to nourish genius to its finest
flower.
Once, in the grain age, the wife was
called away to a, rehearsal that was
likely to last well into the afternoon.
She told her husband that he would
have to get his own luncheon, and he
cheerfully consented to do it.'
"I had a fine meal on your new cer
eal," he said, when she returned.
"What do you mean?" she inquired.
"I haven'tr . any new cereal in the
house."
"Why, that nutty sort of stuff you
left on the dining-room . table."
The wife sat down suddenly. "You've
eaten up my windov." garden!" she
wailed. "All my petunia, nasturtium
and pansy seeds!"
Woman in Masculine Gaib.
Since Dr. Mary Walker introduced
the idea of women wearing the mascu
line habit, she has won recognition in
a startling way. The male garb is not
donned by women for its comforts, but
tc conceal identity, bury a past, and
divert to one side the uudesired admir
ation and attentions of men.
In the present year alone there have
been five recorded cases where fromen
have risen to man's commercial and
professional stature merely by the aid
of his garments. At home the disguise
would be doffed, and the prudent, mod
est housewife and decorous mother
would blossom forth. The scorn of
men and also their flattery is avoided
by a mere change of garments. Wo
men suffragists have long been looking
for emancipation from the tyranny of
man. Where else can freedom be
found so easily as in the robes of mas
culine dignity? Boston Advertiser.
Queer Articles of Trade.
Most of the people nowadays hear a
lot about the conservation of waste,
but looking through the catalogue of
traders of various kinds it is astound
ing what a number of eccentric com
modities are utilized for trade pur
poses. The skins of millions of eels
are tanned and used as leather for
bootlaces; frogskin has become one of
the most beautiful and useful articles
known to the binders of fancy books
and the makers of fans; walrus whis
kers provide the most elegant tooth
picks known to the modern man of
fashion; and beetles of a certain kind
are exported by the hundred weight for
use on theatrical dresses.
The annual report of. the Western
Union Telegraph Company, just issued,
shows SO.OOO messages transmitted,
$20,000,000 earned; net revenue,, $8,
000,000. and a surplus of $13,000,000.
THE TROUBLES WE NEVER HAVS
The youth that Jies so far away,
That seemed to end so long ago,
Might still be sweetly claimed to-daj
By many a man whose step is slow
If, somehow, he might borrow back
The days his foolish 'fears made sad.
The days through which he sighed, "Alackl
O'er troubles that he never had.
As careless prodigals we waste '
The years through which youth blithely
skips,
And many a bifcicr dose ve taste
That never comes to tcuch our lips.
Before our time, we droop and die
And learn the ficenes that were so sadj
Despoiled and fooled and broken by
The troubles we have never had.
S. E. Kiser, in Chicago Record-Herald.
"You must not monopolize all of tha
conversation, Gertie." "When shall
I be old enough to, mamma?" Yon
kers Statesman. .
from the monkey?" "Some descend
ed," answered Miss Cayenne, "and
tome merely dress differently."
Washington Star.
He "Did you ever notice what small
feet Miss Fetcham has?" She "No,
but I've observed WLtt small shoe, she
.wears.'" Cincinnati Tribune.
O'Eyan "Strange that after reach
ing the top of the ladder he should fall
o suddenly. "O'Bryan "There was a
woman at the bottom of it." The Gael
The boy stood in the crowded car;
He couldn't turn hi neck:
He groaned before he traveled far.
"For me the burning deck!"
Cleveland Plain Dealer.
She had called to see him on a wat
te. of business. "He is engaged," said
the office boy. "What, of it?" she re
torted. "I don't want to marry him.
Chicago Post.
"He's a gay dog; likes all women,
but isn't engaged to any particular
on." "I should think not. What par
ticular woman would have him?"
Brooklyn Life. .
"Don't place too much confidence ia.
a man's opinion of himself," says the
Mariayunk Philosopher. "The ass can
make as much noise as the lion."
Philadelphia Record.
"lou will have to admit that women
are better at driving bargains than
men are." "Not invariably. Suppose
the bargain is a pound of nails?"
Kansas City Journal.
The man who studied questions deep
Was in oblivion left to sleep.
The man whose name the public notes
Is he who hustled round for votes.
Washington Star.
Small Tommy "The teacher 'wanted
to box my ears this morning." Grand
ma "How do you know she did?'
Small Tommy "'Cause he couldn't
have boAd 'em if he hadn't wanted
;c." Chicago Journal. .
Harvey "I touched pop for twenty,
to-day t6 buy a camera. Think I'll
touch him again to-morrow to get
some plates." Harold "Better be
careful, old" chap. Retouching is not
always so easy in photography." Chi
cago News.
"I'd like to know," began the little
Eden street boy. "Well, what would
you like to know?" asked his mother.
"I'd like to know why sweetbreads
haven't any bread in 'em and sweet
meats haven't any meat in 'em." Bal
timore American.
"But, you know," persisted the wife
who was trying to work her husband
for a new outfit, "that all women are
slaves to fashion." "True, my dear,'
replied the heartless husband, "but I'm
not the man to give up money for the
purpose of encouraging slavery in an
form." Chicago News.
Jenkins "Whajt's the matter, old
man? You loo sore." Fbeeder "So
I am. I wish the Government wouldf
exterminate these sparrows that over
run the country." Jenkins "How do
they bother you?" Pheeder "Theyj
give me indigestion every time I eat
reed birds at a restaurant." Philadel
phia Ledger.
Cape t Cairo. '
The great Cape to Cairo Railway, the
dream of Cecil Rhodes, is1 gradually,
nearin g completion. It has now reached
a point within sixty mil?s of the Vic
toria Falls., and the engineers'hope to
get tc the falls by March. As soon a
the falls are reached work will begin,
to harness thera after the fashion off
Niagara.