"IP VOL: XXViiL No. 30 OXFORD, NORTH CAROLINA. FRIDAY, JULY 10. 1903 One Dollar a Year GUAND LODGE OFFICBES. IJ. 1. CLARK .M. W, Graad Mastet V/. S. LIDDELL...... Deputy Grand Master FRANCIS D. WINSTON.-Senior GrandWarden S. M. GATTIS...... Junior Grand Warden WILLI.AM SIMPSON Grand Treasurer LEO D. HEARTT Assistant Treasurer JOHN C. DREWRY Grand Secretary NATHANIEL HARDING Grand Chaplain B.-W. HATCHER Grand Lecturer T. J. REED.. Senior Grand Deacon R. N. HACKETT Junior Grand Deacon E. F. LAMB..... Grand Marshal F, M, V/INCHESTER., Grand Sword Bearer V/. J. ROBERTS Grand Pursuivant W. B, McKOY ...L StewdB ROBERT H. BRADLEY Grand Tiler ASSISTANT GRAND LECTUREBS. C. F. BAHNSON. ........Farmington, N. T. R. CHRISTMAN.. New Berne, N.C BOARD OF DIRECTORS Oxford Orphan Asylum. H. I, CLARK, M. W. G. M., Ex o^sio Chairman. .ROSENTHAL r. SURRIN, C. W. TOMS, I W. GOTTEN. Secretary and Treaaaror N, B. BROUGHTON, DRED PEACOCK, J. N, RAMSAY, KEEN. ADV6S0RV BOARD, W. B. BALLOU, F. P. HOBGOOD, T. L. BOOTH. W, J. HICKS,Superintendent. if'S when he had given him his “month’s notice,” “but you see hov/ itis. I’ve got to help ’Liza’.s boy if I can. You’re i good hand, though, aad you won’t have any trouble in getting another place. I’ll speak a good word for you to anybody that comes along, but you don’t need it. Your best recommend is your work.” “If I’d on! thought Rod BY IDA RBP:d smith. The mowing machine drawn by two big horses clicked its way through the tall grass of the south meadow, leav ing a heavy swath of clover and tim othy in its wake. The sun-burned young fellow who manipulated the mow er and guided the horses was too intent upon his work to see another youth, as brown as himself, who leaned upon the fence next the road until hailed with: “Hello, there, Rod? Great summer for bay, isn’t it?” “Great’s no name for it,” answered the young mower. “We’ll cut fifty tons, easy. How’s yours turning Tl^^nt?” j “Ub, all rigni, i guess, 'no® careless answer. “I’d be cutting this moriug if I hadn’t more important bus- • iness.” Rodney Jennings glanced up at the cloudless blue skies. ‘ ’Must be a big thing if you can afford to use this kind of weather for it,” he remarked gathering up the reins and looking a little curiously at the young man on the other side of the fence. He wore his best clothes,a thing rare in the country during the season when all hands “make hay when the sun vshines,” and leave dressing up for rainy days and for Sundays. “ ’Tis, rather.” Loren Blair settled his tie complacently and flicked a dust mark from his coat-sleeve. “About as big as old Judge Roswell’s farm. That’s something to risk a load or two of hay for, I take it.” “What do you mean?” asked Rod, interested at once. He dropped the reins and stopped the “k’lk” to the horses before it was fairly begun. The Roswell farm was the best in the coun try, and the apple of the old Judge’s eye. “He wants a man to run it,” said Loren. “Moore, who’s there now, has bought a place up north of Ventuor. The Judge pays top-notch wages—more than I can make working on shares for father—and I’m going into town to persuade his Honor that I’m just the man he’s been looking for.” “What’ll your father do?” asked Rodney after a little. Mr. Biair had been ailing all the spring, and it was an open secret in the neighbor hood that he was straining every nerve to rid his farm of a “cut-throat” mort gage. He would be seriously handi capped if Loren left him, for help h hard to get through haying and har vest. “Do the best he can, I suppose.” wac the shortauswer. “I’m not tied to him. I was twenty-one last week. He’ll be rather cut up, but he can get a man somewhere, I guess. A chance like this doesn’t come every day in the week, and I propose to make the most of it, A fellow owes something to himself.” “It’s a good chance.” Rodney Jen nings spoke slowly as he gathered up the reins again. ‘’A fiist-rale chance- only—well, what a fellow owes himself isn’t always the first debt he should square up. But talk won’t cut this hay. K’lk! Get up, boys! Good luck to you, Lo. Let me know how you come out.” “Sure,” answered young Blair j runt- ily, as he started off whistling a strain of “Stripes and Stars.” Seated on his “chariot of industry,” Rodney drove the big horses across the field to the west woods, thlnktiig rather enviously of Loren’s chance at the Ros well farm. If only he had h'^ard oi it first! In another month he must give place to Farmer Kenton’s nephew, who had written that he must work out of doors or lose his health entirely. “I bate to have you go, Rod,” Mr. Kenton had said only that morning known this morning! Then, as a thought came to him, he laughed a little grimly and pushed the lever hard down to lift the cutter-bar over a rock. “I’m a good one to be lecturing Lo!’’he .said aloud. “It doetn’t matter. I shouldn’t have left this hay if I had known. A fellow’s got to be fair all around, and take the consequence, I guess. Maybe, if Lo gets the Roswell farm, I can get a job with Mr. Blair.” “Still the thought was not entirely satisfactory. What young man of spirit likes to take second-best when there is a possibility of having first? Meanwhile Loren, untroubled by any scruples about fairness or neglected hay, whistled his way into town and up- the stairs to the Judge’s office, where he made application for the place, and underwent a searching examination on subsoil plowing, rotation of crops, care of stock, pruning fruit trees, trimming grape vines and a doz;n other branches of the science of agriculture. “Oh, he put me through my paces in great shape,” Loren told Rodney that afternoon on his way home, “but I answered him glib as you please, thanks to father’s being full of the same notions and bound to talk them morning, noon and night. I get sick and tired of it. But I guess it's served me a good turn. I could see the old Judge was mightily impressed with the store of information I carry under my hat.” “Didyou get the place?” asked Rod, rather disgusted at his friend’s conceit and thinking to get away from it by driving off. Only a narrow strip of the meadow remained uncut, and he was anxious to finish it before sunset. “Well, I’ve as good as nailed it down,” was the answer, “though we didn’t close the bargain. He told me to com-c in vSiturday, Well, good-by, Rod. Guess I’ll jog along home. Its too late ’•o cut any grass to-day, but there*'® It may not be as good as this,” Rod. uey could not help saying as he drove off. But Loren only laughed. “Don’t croak,” he called after him. Anyway. I’ve done a good day’s work for Loren Blair.” “And left your father’s hiy to spoil in the field, or I'm no weather proph et,” growled Rod, with a glance at the southern sky, where the clouds were piling up one upon another in great fleecy masses. The rest of the week was “catchy weat’aer,” bad for hay and the temper of those who make it. Sunny morn ings, clouds by noon, sharp showers and gusts of v/ind, made haying slow ork. On .Saturday the Blair meadow was in no coudiliou to leave, but Loren hurried up to town to meet bis appoint, ment with the Judge. He entered the office with a brisk step and a confident air which, for some reason, seemed to auger the gruff old gentleman who sat at,a big desk littered with papers. “No, sir, no, sir! I’ve no bargain to make with you,” he exclaimed with a wave of his hand before Loren had time to say a word, “I’ve read your certifi cate, and it won’t answer. You’re not the man for me.” Loren gazed at the irate old Judge, fairly dumfounded. “Read my certifi cate!” he exclaimed. What could he mean? Had someone been playing an underhanded trick? Surprised and an gry, he stood his ground in spite of the wave of dismissal. “I—I don’t understand,” he said,try ing hard to keep his voice steady, “I haven’t any certificate. I didn’t know it was necessary. If you’ve seen one it’s a forgery, and I can prove it if you’ll give me the chance.” The Judge looked up from the brief on which he was working, and some thing he saw in Loren’s face made him decide to spend a little more time upon bis case. Re leaned back in his chair and rested his elbow.s on the arms, bringing the tips of his fingers together in a way the lawyers of his circuit had learned to dread. “You have a certificate,young man,” he answered grimly, “and it’s no for gery. You wrote it yourself, and I read it yesterday af .ernoon. It’s written all over your father’s farm, and it’s no credit to you, sir. Now do yor\ under stand?” “No,” said Loren Blair, dully, “I don’t.” Just then the only fact that he understood clearly was that he had lost the Roswell farm and the Judge’s top- notch -wages. “I think,” said Judge Roswell con sulting a large gold watch, “that I can spare you just five minutes for further explanation. Yesterday afternoon I drove out your way in the rain and looked around. Your meadow was in bad shape. The mowing machine stood there uncovered. The sulky rake was in the barn-yard, its teeth red -with, rust. Your hoe was leaning against the fence in the potato field. ‘Careless with tools’ you had written with your I own hand, sir. “On your east feuce there are a doz in boards missing. A hammer and a handful of nails would have made them fast when they first came loose. Two lengths of fence are down next the woods. Yoir neglected to put them up when you hauled the wood last v/inter. Your gates all sag on the hinges be cause you drag them shut rather than lift them a little. That spells ‘Slack,* sir, or I’m no judge -of a farmer’s hand writing. “There are other items—worms’ nests in the apple-trees, yellowed trees in the peach orchard, and your wind mill squealing for grease—but the word written largest in your certificate is ‘selfish.* Your father has been sick for six months and needs you sadly, yet you plan to leave him right in the thick of his work because you’ve turned twenty-one and feel that you can bet ter yourself. Have you no idea of com mon justice, sir? Is the perpendicular pronoun the only word In the English language? My advice to you, young niau, is to go home. Erase what you have written as soon as ever you can, and write a better certificate for your self before you dare hope to get a bet ter place.” He glanced at his watch. Five minutes, exactly. I hope I’ve made the letter plan?” Loren Blair’s face was j>ale. But from the wreck of his careless conceit a manlier spirit rose dauntlessly, and he answered with a steady voice: “Quite plain, Judge Roswell. And I thsnk you for it.” “H’m!” muttered the Judge as he turned to his work again. “H’m! He’s got good grit, anyway. Shouldn’t wonder if that five minutes was well spent.” “Careless—Slack—Selfish!” Down the village street and far along his homeward wa}' the fatal words of his certificate rang in Loren B!air’'s ears, but he met them with a finn resolution that they should be speedily erased, as the Judge had suggested. He would get the tools under cover and men.cl the feuce before be slept. Yes, and. the i windmill shouldn’t “squeal for grease” [ another day. As for his father, he’d sec 1 the farm clear of the mortgage before ! “Hello, Loren!” It was Rod calling \ from the top of a big load of hay. “What luck?” j Loren hesitated for a moment. Across i his mind there flashed two visfons cf * the future—the future as it might have j been but for the Judge’s warning, and as he now meant it to be. i “First-rate!” he called back cheer-’ fully. “But I didn’t get the place.”] Then, by way of giving the “largest J word” of his certificate a vigorous \ wipe, he added, “You try for it, Rod. I’ve an Idea your certificate will read | better than mine. That’s the last load » from the south meadow, isu’t it?”— , Y. P. Weekly. | Singing Class Letter. 1 Scotland Neck is the home of. Grand Master Clark, who is finisbiug his j second year as Grand Master, ■wl'iich,hy j custom is his last, but we are -going to ; elect him again (we orphans]. He ha?' | already won us. The truth is, he al ; ready bad our hearts by his personal j attractiveness, his genuine, natural ' hospitable demeanor. But whan, after ] the concert, he furnished eigihteen of ! us with tickets with which to get any- ' thing kept at the soda founta.ia (it ivS u prohibition town), we decided lo make him Grand Master again. It is true some of the smaller ones were skepti cal about receiving a bit of paper from a physician with directions to get it filled at a drug-store, but after it prov ed to call for so'<>d on page .S.} And yet Miss Horton didn’t seem to j mind them,” said Eleanor, as they walked towards home. I Mrs. Scott looked quickly at the girl 'by her side. “No, I don’t think she minded them. She was only happy ■ that they were having such a happy 1 time. What sort of a life would she Bernard was a little The Wint^ the boy who lived in the pifi0S, country. His h o m o was a huge brick house, built sajsny, many years ago. Close af one side of the house stood a great pine tree, and i.ts-J)ranches swept up to the windo-w of th.® where Bernard .slept. This room opened off the ^sitting- room. Bernard went to bed early, and in winter it was pleasant to lie and watph lha-ough the open door, the wood-fire f in 4he stone fireplace. He c;0.uld hear tfae6.ound of his parents* voices. Theo'’ was something else he could i3ea-r,;an.. that was the wind in the pine. Eernai>, [:^ loved tbs sound. He was able to tei* the different winds, and gradually the r tones grew into words—gentle, teud-t-i words. It was one autumnal evening whf n he first heard the wox'ds. That d{.y Bernard had gathered chestnuts. Wht u he heard the braxjches shake, he said k* himself: ‘ There will be gilenty of chestnuts waiting for me iu^the morning.’ “Yes, yes, plenty of them wind sang, in a glad voice. “This season brings plenty of all things. There will be plenty of golden and 'Crimson leaves thrown down where the [ children can reach them. I shall dance i and race tomorrow as I have to day. I Ah, Bernard, God is good to make the ' world so fair. Life is joy, joy, joy.” ! The triumphant tones rose a litth One winter evening when the snow rpreacl, white and glistening, over hio-hway and fields, Bernard lay look* iagontat the rudy, dancing flames. The song of the north wind in the pine ■■C.S loud that night, a strong bass voice. “I’m so glad to be busy, busy!’’ it ■ng. “Ob, the foul air I have swept 'way today, the snow I have piled •igb and the good timps I have had! have fl.ish'^’d routifl c>ieeks with deep- •st r-d, an 1 quickene I be footsteps of hose hastening homeward to keep jhristmas—onr S-*vifMir H day of birth -with loved oiu-s. Life is work— elpful. joyfnl work.” Tnere wns an an.s j ering note of joy in Beruard’.s hear . He had been at work hat day. Had «tu'a’eled paths, gather ed evergreens for wreaths, popped corn and cracked nu’s. “Yes, life is work. It is doing as He did to help others,” wa.a the Hule boy's last wak ng thought. Spriugtime came and brought its wealth of blossoms. One evening Ber nard was very tired. All the afterncon he had tramped through fields and woodland, seeking wild flowers. On the table by his bed was a great bunch of pale pink and waxy white wake robbins. Bernard was nearly asleep, when there was a rustle and a breath-stirring, active life in the pine tree. It was the east wind. “Winter is past, and summer, dear summer, is coming.’ he chanted. “The flowers are with us again. Once more their coming forth from the earth has taught us the lesson of the Easttr time, the lesson of our Lord’s resurec- tiou. All nature is glad, and the heayts of men are filled with the frui tion of hope. Life is hope, hope and trust, hope and trus,, ” Bernard smiled. He knew it was true. His heart joining in the song of “hope and trusty” he fell asleep. Qne summer evening the window .s(ood wide open. Without the branch es of the pine cast dense shadows on the grass. Bernard turned on his pil low, and as the south wind sung in the branches the shadows moved to an^ fro. ‘‘Summer, the crown of the year, has come.” In the musical voice theirfe was a sound of human gladness. “A^l is good. Life-true life-is love, love, love. Bernard was too happy to speak. He moved his head so that he could see his mother sitting in the next room. His heart echoed the song of the south wind, the sweetest song of all. “Life is love, love, love.” Bernard had heard and heeded the song of the wied in the pine. He is embodying in his life joy, work, hope, and love.—Hope Dering. In Harper’s Maga- Sand Hills pf zlne for July, Ernest Peru. C. Rost tells of the curious travelling sand crescents of Pieru which move across the desert: “After passing another ‘town’ of three or four mud huts, we en0r th^ famous desert of Islay, on which are what I consider the most remarkable natural curiosities to be seen on this globe,” says Mr. Rost; “for we are now among hundreds - nay, thousands—of piire-white sand crescents, on a plateau of 4500 feet above the level of the sea and 54 miles from the coast, where a)l else IS of a dark-red or chocolate color. V/heuce comes this sand, and why al ways' in a crescent shape? Professor Bailey, whom I afterwards met at Are- quipa, in charge of the Harvard Uni versity Observa'tory, told me that scientific men do not agree as to the reason why the sand always forms the same crescent shape, although it generally believed that the whlrhng eddies hereabouts are responsible^ some, however, argue that such is not the case, since each one of these cres cents has an opening toward the northeast. At any rate, the inner circle is an almost perpeudieular wall, .-.f finPRi pure-white sand, and from lippF^r. edges the crescents elope grodnally away on the outside They .av^rag' A i ' the west about 20 feet in height, the le having a diameter of eomc t «Uhr>5igh I have seen one at tTiiiFniid a half in diameter, ..jQ Fowever, not much higher ♦ha’’ > h'*' These crescents move, u ic <>Rtimatec!. it the rate of three twenty-four hours; and nn the slow journey, one; comes ©‘oa-f .the railroad, it becomes necessary the sand across the tracks, -f'-e’- whi^h it travels on, forming new cresoeoits-nr minging with some of the others.*’* Mica and isinglass are not at all the .same, though the names are sometimes confused. Mica is a transparent min eral, capable of being cleavtjd into elas- Uc plates of extreme thinness. It is transparent and is used like glass in lanterns and the doors of stoves. Its power of resisting heat makes it much better than glass for stove doors. Isin- giass is ft substance consisting chiefly of gelatin It is prepared from the sounds of air bladders of certain fresh water fishes. The best deposits of . mica in the United State8_ are in ifae i jaonutains of North Carolina. In the vUhigher. Bernard snuggled on his pd* gi ck Hills of Dakota mica is found I flow, and repeating softly, .-joy,” was soon asleep. “Joy, joy. < near tin ore, but its presence is P indica'.ion of gold.—Ex.