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$l.oo. a Year, In Advance. FOR (JOP, FOR COUNTRY, AND 1 OR TRUTH." Single Copy, 3 Cent.
, PLYMOUTH. N, C, FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1904. NO, 33.
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FAIR
O saw ye not fair Ines? .
She's .gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun ia down,
And rob the world of rest;
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best.
With morning blushes on her cheek,
. , And; pearls, upon her breast.
O turn again, fair Inis,
Before the fall cf night,
For fear the moon should shine alone.
And stars unrivaled bright;
And blessed will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,
And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gayly by thy side,
And whispered thee so near! '
. Were there no bonny dames at home,
Or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear?
a y
v
BBEHSf
fi B CTTCD.DA H. S. RFIn Ha M Mr'
Km -at I N ball fa9
-?iOi4L 1 1 I j big, square, weather
4 m ft woru.. house looked in its
O I O silence and isolation like
f ft the relic of a long dead
7&Q past. Not the abandoned
relic, however, for the hand of a pains
taking florist and gardener was in evi
dence' in the little yard on which the
.house fronted. -
In spite of tte flowers, however,
there Was such an atmosphere of sa
cred quiet about the house that except
for the presence of a labby cat on the
fltep, it would have seemed to be unin
habited. But any urchin along the
street could have told you who lived
there; it was "Miss Phoebe," while the
question, "Ildw long has she lived
there?" would invariably have brought
the answer, "She's always lived there."
Just across tha road from Miss Phoe
be's residence stood a plain, grim, old
two-story building, whose front door
step abutted on the pavement. As of
the other house across the way, any
one in the neighborhood could have
told you who the occupant was, and
f him, too, would have said that he
had always lived there.
Certainly every morning for more
than twenty-five years Mr. Lortou had
been seen to issue from his front door
punctually at 7 o'clock, in order to
ride to the station in the old 'bus
which passed at that hour. And from
her window Mies Phoebe had watched
his departure each morning, and not
ed his return at evening, byvthe faint
glow of a light through the chinks of
the ever-closed blinds.
Thus had passed twenty-five years,
"when one morning there occurred an
unprecedented break in the chain
forged by long habit; the old 'bus
pnssed down on its 7 o'clock trip, and
Mr. Lorton failed to make his appear
ance. Naturally, Miss Phoebe was
moved from her wonted placidity, as
one planet in a system is disturbed by
the least erratic movement of another
in its orbit.
All through the long hours of the
morning she watched the door of the
house across the street for the appear
ance of its owner, but at last she was
forced to conclude that some import
ant engagement must have called him
forth before the fixed hour of his ris
ing: Late in the afternoon she went about
the garden attending the flowers with
her usual care. There was a small
square hole in the side of one of the
- gateposts, where a pair of the prettiest
of the blue-coated songsters had nest
ed every year, feeling secure from mo
lestation under Miss Phoebe's kind
ly protection.
From time to time Miss Phoebe
glanced at the closed house over the
way. It was silent and still. It was
not yet time foj the return of Mr.
, Iorlng, if he had gone away that
morning.
While Miss rhoebe was leaning
against the little gate, her spirit drift
ing with the gentle current of happy
memories, she was suddenlr startled
from her dreamland voyage by a
strange noise in the post at her side.
Quickly she glanced around, just in
time to see a rat leap from the little
square hole in the post, dragging with
It to the ground the debris of a blue
bird's nest of the season past. ( The
agile rodent tampered away among
the ground winging vines, and Miss
INES,
I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved Defore;
And gentle youth and maidens gay,
Ana snowy plumes they wore;
It would have been a beauteous dream
If it had been no more!
Alas, alas, fair Ines,
She went away with song,
With music waiting on-her steps,
And shoutings of the throng;
But some were sad and felt no mirth,
Iut only music's wrong,
! In sounds that sang farewell, farewell,
I To her you've loved so. long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines,
I That vessel never bore
1 So fair a lady on its deck,
I Nor danced so light before;
I Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore!
The smile that blessed one lover's heart
Has broken many more!
Thomas Hoodi (1798-1845).
o.! oy ft-Jw
V'il
Phoebe stooped down to pick up the
nest. It seemed the first time that the
little square hole had ever been emp
ty; and as she rose she stopped to
peer into the long-inhabited shelter of
the nesting birds, now cleared of its
little specimen of bird architecture.
As she glanced into the cavity, her eye
caught sight of some white object far
back in Its depths. After trying in vain
to make out what it was, she picked
up a little stick, and thrusting it into
the hole, encountered what? It
seemed only a piece of waste paper,
yet at the sight of it Miss Phoebo
straightened up and leaned forward
with one elbow placed on top of the
old fence post, while her breath came
and went in little ouick gasps.
With an effort she roused herself,
and this time dragged the little paper
from the hole. Perhaps the bluebirds
had carried it in, and, finding it un
available for their use, had pushed it
to the rear out of their way. At any
rate, it had evidently lain there for
many years, as the curves of the wa
ter marks were brown with age. Half
eagerly, half fearfully, she unfolded
the little sheet, and, although the twi
light was deepening, and Miss Phoe
be's eyes were not as strong as they
once were, she read on till the last
faded letter was deciphered. Then,
without a sound, she sank down and
buried her face in her hands.
It was almost dark when Miss Phoe
be finally dragged herself from the
damp grass and entered the house.
Once inside the stately old drawing
room, she drew the folded paper from
her bosom, and again read it over,
while tears coursed slowly down her
cheeks.
She approached an old brown cabi
net which stood in a corner of the
room, and, taking therefrom a little
rosewood casket, laid the scrap of pa
per within it.
Then she, turned out the light and
crept to the window, where she sat
looking out across the way. Evidently
she was still uneasy about her neigh
bor, for there was no light from his
window, nor did one appear while
Miss Phoebe watched, although it was
late when she retired.
The following morning she again
took her place by the window. But
the 'bus passed and Mr. Lorton had not
appeared.
During the day Miss Phoebe called
Dinah to her room.
"Dinah," she said, "I believe some
thing has happened to Mr. Lorton, or
he 111 over there in that house all
alone."
"I spec' you said it 'bout right. Miss
Phoebe." 'cause I ain' seen 'im to-day,
nor yistiddy, neither."
'Oh, Dinah, it would be awful if he
should die there all alone," and Miss
Phoebe turned away her head.
The afternoon wore away. At length
the shadows began to grow long and
the anxiety of Miss Phoebe's charit
able heart overcame her patience.
"Dinah," she said, as she passed
through the hall, "I am going to Mr.
Lorton's. I feel that it is ray duty, for
I am sure he must be ill; and thiak,
Dinah, if he should die there with no
one" surely the sweet voice trem
bled "with no one to hear his last
words."
Out in the yard she sought among
the late flowers until she found a sin
gle white rose re- dy to scatter Its pet
als. This sh plucked; then, passing
through the gateway, crossed the
street.
The Lorton house was an old-fashioned
one, with a street dcor at the
end of an open entrance. Through this
doorway Miss Phoebe entered. and ad
vanced along the passage, made dark
and gloomy by the dense, untrimmed
growth of shrubbery in the little side
yard.
Approaching the door of what was
probably Mr. Lorton's sleeping room,
she tapped gently upon the panel.
After a moment a weak voice from
within said, "Come in."
Miss Phoebe hesitated .'. moment,
while she felt the blood rush to her
temples; hen she firmly turned the
knob and entered.
At the scund of he? step the figure
turned, revealing the dazed, feever
brightened eyes of Mr. Lorton; then a
hand wandered toward a table that
stood at the head of the bed, and on
which rested a pitcher of water, a
goblet and, yes. Miss Phoebe drew a
long breath as she saw tnat the hand
was reaching for a little box in which
lay the long-seered petals of a once
red rose.
With a swift impulse Miss Phoebe
placed the white rose over the with
ered petals of the red one. Then lay
ing her cool hand on the hot fingers of
the sick man, she said gently:
"You are ill. Why didn't you send
for some one for for me?"
The eyes of the sick man met hers
with a half-dazed expression. Then
he turned to the wall.
"I know you," he muttered. '"You
seem real, but you're not you with
your white rose "
"Listen," she said. "I'm going to
send for a doctor now at once and
then I will come back and take care
of you."
Again the fevered eyes turned to
hers, and again they sought the wall.
"No use," murmured the hoarse
voice, "no use to live; no future no
one who cares only red roses red
roses "
But his visitor, her soft gray eyes
misted with tears, was already hurry
ing across the road; and, although it
was dark, Dinah was dispatched at
once for a doctor, while Miss Phoebe,
hastily gathering from her stores such
remedies as she thought might relieve
the sick man, hastened back to his
bedside.
For more than a fortnight Mr. Lor
ing lay in the grip of the fever, attend
ed daily by the physician, and hourly
by a gray-haired little woman, who
always wore in the folds of her dark
gown a single white rose.
Three weeks from the night that his
neighbor made her first call he had
improved so rapidly that Miss Phoebe
ceased from her visits, though each
day she sent Dinah with little delica
cies and cordial inquiries. Finally,
one golden autumn evening, Mr. Lor
ing took his first walk down the road;
an occasion long remembered by the
neighbors, who remarked with delight
the old kindly smile and his wonted
pleasant though short bow of greet
ing. Miss Phoebe had no thought of his
return until she looked up and saw him
pausing before the gate.. As his eyes
met hers she flushed ever so slightly,
stammered some little phrase of pleas
ure for his recovery and then turned
toward the house.
"Phoebe," said Mr. Lorton.
"Well, John?"
He put out his hand, in whicn she
allowed her own to rest for a moment.
"Phoebe, it's twenty-five years since
since we used to stand and talk here
toother at sunset; but is the little
postoffice still open in the old gate
post?" "It is open now; but. oh. John!" ex
claimed Miss rkoebe. burying her face
in her hands, "I did not get your last
letter until the day before I found you
ill."
"Phoebe! Fhoebe!" cried Mr. Lorton,
gently drawing her hands away from
her face. The tears stood in her eyes,
and John thought them a gentle show
er that freshened the springtime beau
ty of her life.
"Have you got the letter now? Let
me see it?"
He drew open the gate and went in
side, while Miss Fhoebe took the lit
tle scrap cf paper from her bosom and
gave it to him.
The letter was undated and read:
"My Dear Phoebe You tell me you
are going away in the morning to be
gone a whole month, a length of time
that to me will seem a whole year. I
feel that I cannot let you go away with
out some tokenl I have tried to ex
press, not only in words, but in a thou
sand other ways, my consuming love
for you. Now, O Phoebe, blest angel
of my dreams! send me a simple token
before you go. Will you be my wife?
May I hope? If I may, then send me
a pure white rose; if I must no longer
hope, then send me the blood-red rose,
that I may see in it my own poor bleed
ing heart. Your ever devoted
"JOHN."
Mr. Lorton's hand which held the let
ter dropped to his knee.
"And, Phoebe, you sent me a red
rose that evening."
"Oh, John, how could I know? It
was by chance that I sent it as a tok
en of remembrance. Then for some
'reason we went away that night in
stead of the next day, so that I never
thought to look in the letter box. When
I came back a month later the blue
birds had settled there, and it was
only by accident that I ever received
your letter, twenty-five years after it
was written!"
Then, in a few broken phrases, she
told of how the long concealed bit of
paper had been discovered, and of how,
on the afternoon she found him ill, she
had covered the withered petals of the
red rose on his table with a fresh
white one.
But before she could finish Mr. Lor
ton was close at her side, his hand out
stretched. "Phoebe," he said hoarsely, "if if it
was for mere common charity you
brought me that rose, then give me
give me now the answer I've missed
all these years."
Without a word Miss rkoebe reached
out a trembling hand to a nearby rose
bush. Plucking the flower slowly,
carefully, she held it out still without
a word. Quite as silently the man
closed his fingers about that symbollic
blossom and about the hand that gave
it. And straightway in the face of
both there dawned the look of those
for whom the world had suddenly
turned back through twenty-five years,
and for whom the bluebirds sang with
all the ecstasy of long past springs.
New York News.
WONDERFUL NATURAL BRIDGE.'
Solid Arch O-er Three Hundred Feet
Wide Spanning a Utah Canyon.
Here, across a canyon measuring
three hundred and thirty-five feet
seven inches from wall to wall, na
ture has thrown a splendid arch of
solid sandstone, sixty feet thick in the
central part and forty feet wide, leav
ing underneath it a clear opening 357
feet in perpendicular height. The lat
eral walls of the arch rise perpendicu
larly nearly to the top of the bridge,
when they flare suddenly outward,
giving the effect of an immense coping
or cornice overhanging the main struc
ture fifteen or twenty feet on each side
and extending with the greatest regu
larity and symmetry the whole iength
of the bridge. A large rounded butte
at the edge of the canyon wall seems
partly to obstruct the approach to the
bridge at one end.
Here again the curving walls of the
canyon and the impossibility of bring
ing the, whole of the great structure
into the narrow field of the camera,
except from distant points of view,
render the photographs unsatisfactory
But the lightness and grace of the arciv
is brought out by the partial viovi
which Long obtained by climbing far
up the canyon wall and at some lisk
crawling out on an overhanging snelr.
The majestic proportions of this
bridge, however, may be partly real
ized by a few comparisons. Thus its
height is more than- twice and its span
more than three times as great as those
of the famous natural bridge of Vir
ginia. Its buttresses are US feet fur
ther apart than those of the celebrated
masonry arch in the District of Colum
bia, known as Cabin John Bridge, a
few miles from Washington city,
which has the greatest span of any
masonry bridge on this continent. This
bridge would overspan the Capitol at
Washington and clear the top of the
dome by fifty-one feet. And if fclie
loftiest tree in the Calaveras Grove of
giant sequoia in-California stood in the
bottom of the canyon its topmost bough
would lack thirty-two feet of reaching
the under side of the arch.
This bridge is of white or very light
sandstone, and, as in the case of the
Caroline, filaments of green and or-ange-tiuted
lichens run here and there
over the mighty buttresses and along
the sheltered crevices under the lofty
cornice, giving warmth and color to
the wonderful picture. From W. W.
Dyar's "The Colossal Bridges of Utah,"
ia the Century. - -
THE BOY AGAIN.
The boy stood on the burning deck
And viewed with scorn the scene,.
Until he read his finish ia
The powder magazine.
Indianapolis Sun.
"You can't do two things successfully
at the same time." "I did." -What
did you do?" "Spent my money and
my vacation." Cleveland Plain Dealer.
A barytone singer out West
Was reckoned as good, as the best.
The tones that lie made
Were liquid, folks said,
Because they all came from the chest.
lie-"What, after all, induced yoa
to accept me?" She "Well, you pro
posed to me as if you sort o' had some
other girl in view." Cincinnati Trib
une. Mrs. Lonelee "Weren't yon sur
prised, uncle, to hear that poor Harry
had left me a Avidow?" "That's about
all I expected he would leave you."
Life.
"Ah, me!" exclaimed Hardup, "it's
very hard to be poor." "Nonsense!" re
plied Sinnick. "I find it the easiest
thing in the world." Philadelphia
Ledger.
"A man was buried the other day
to the tune of 'Bedelia,'" "Perhaps
he wanted it played at a time when he
couldn't hear it." Cleveland Plain
Dealer.
Edith "When I accepted Jack he
said he was in the seventh heaven of
happiness." Ethel "Quite likely
he's been engaged to six other girls this
season." Puck.
They lynched a young lady in Me
Whose face was so painfully pie.
That man from Augusta,
Said, "Lady you must V
Felt sure you were living in ve.
Giles (who has been rendering "first
aid" to wrecked motor cyclist) "Naw,
marm, I doan't think as 'e be a mar
ried man, 'cos 'e says this be the worst
thing wot 'as ever 'appened to n!"
Punch.
"Are you going to the seashore this
summer?" "No," answered the tired
looking man. "There's no use of goinff
myself. I can send the money every
week by registered letter." Washing
ton Star.
Shinestand Customer "Why do yon
charge only a nickel for a shine, my
lad?" Shinestand Kid "So that th'
guy wid only a dime t' spend will her
a nickel left fer a tip see?" Baltimore
American.
"Father," said tho small boy, what
is an investigation?" "An investiga
tion, my son, is usually an effort to lo
cate the responsibility for a disaster
after it's too late to make any differ
ence." Washington Star.
"Did Miss Gillington's wedding to
Count Graft de Swag turn out to be a
happy one?" "Yes, old Gillington said
it turned out better than any other
wedding of an American heiress and a
foreign nobleman he had heard about.
The count deserted her the day after
the wedding." Baltimore World.
Hicks "Pulling, the dentist, haa
brought suit against one of his patients
for damages caused by the extraction
of one of the patient's teeth." Wicks
''Guess you mean the patient has
brought sf it against the dentist."
Hicks "Moitn what I said. Dr. Pull
ing declares that he was over-persuaded
by his patient, and estimates if the
tooth had been left in it would be
worth at least a hundred and fifty
dollars to him keeping it in working
order." Boston Transcript.
Bessie "Do you know, I believe I'm
a half-fool and I guess Harry is the
other half." Kitty "Not very compli
mentary to either of you." Bessie "I
suppose not, but I mean it, all the
same. Harry was up to see me last
evening, and by some accident or other
the electric light got turned off. And,
if you will believe it, we sat there in
the dark for at least two hours, it
never occurring to either of us that It
could be turned on again in half a sec
ond." Boston Transcript.
The Fish and the Voice.
Fine voices, it is said, are seldom
found in a country where fish or meat
diet prevails. Those Italians who eat
the most fish (those of Naples and
Genoa) have few fine singers among
them. The swe?t voices are found in
the Irish women of the country, and
not of the towns. Norway is not a
country of singers, because they eat
too much fish; but Sweden is a coun
try of grain and song- The carnivorous
birds croak; grain-eati-ag birds sins. . .. j