100 Years Ago

Thursday, July 8, 1920
Constable Frank Ashford brought two prisoners to jail on Tuesday morning from Squire Hudson’s court at Durbin. One was a woodsman named John Paugh, who is charged with robbing a Mrs. Barkley of $92, and the other was Frank Harr, charged with beating his wife. Paugh was held to the grand jury under $1,000 bond, and Harr under $1,500 bond. Neither could give bail.

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James Workman, of Burnside, was a visitor at this office last Friday, and told us of the success he has had in the bee business. A year ago this month, he bought a hive of bees through L. O. Simmons, and when he left home that morning, he had a dozen thriving colonies, and is looking for more swarms every day. Some of the hives have made already as much as 80 pound of honey over and above the amount required to winter them.  With the white linn just coming into bloom, and a large acreage of buckwheat in most communities, the real honey month is still before us. At least that was the old way of thinking. Mr. Workman says his bees gathered much honey dew this season. It was heavier than was ever known before, the leaves fairly dripping with it. Mr. Workman believes honey dew forms on leaves from the atmosphere although he is familiar with the fact that many people contend that it is the secretion of an insect. He says bees do store away as honey the secretion of an insect or insects, but the honey dew in the woods about him is much too plentiful to have been put there by any bug. Mr. Workman says that in a few years the cutover woods, if fire is kept out, will make better bee pastures than the original growth. Around every linn stump shoots put up and in a surprising short time are thrifty saplings with a heavy load of flowers.

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In the first place, we arise to remark that the nomination of Harding and Coolidge by the Republican convention at Chicago is the first nomination of the kind that we can remember that gave universal satisfaction. At least the Republicans were pleased and the Democrats were overjoyed. The Democrats felt that the Chicago cohorts had breathed the breath of life into their party once more and all that they had to do was to march on to victory.

It so happened that the American Federation of Labor was in session at Montreal and they let out a howl of anguish which reached to the uttermost boundary of the United States. They felt that the Senate had treated them with contempt and that Coolidge, as governor of Massachusetts, had ruled over them like a tyrant.

No one knows how wise the Democratic representatives will prove to be at San Francisco. If they fail to rise to the occasion, a third party will spring up that will play a great part in the election to be held this year.

We had a very attractive invitation to go to San Francisco, but did not have the time, money or clothes. Besides, we did not know whether we could mingle with politicians that long and be able to preserve our Christian integrity…


“Grass is the forgiveness of nature – her constant benediction. Fields trampled with battle, saturated with blood, torn with the ruts of cannon, grow green again with grass, and carnage is forgotten.

Streets abandoned by traffic become grass-grown like rural lanes and are obliterated; forests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal.

Beleaguered by the sullen hosts of winter, it withdraws into the impregnable fortress of its subterranean vitality and emerges upon the solicitation of spring. Sown by the winds, by wandering birds, propagated by the subtle horticulture of the elements, which are its ministers and servants, it softens the rude outline of the world. Its tenacious fibers hold the earth in place, and prevent its soluble components from washing into the sea. It invades the solitudes of deserts, climbs the inaccessible slops and forbidding pinnacles of mountains, modifies climates and determines the history, character and destiny of nations.

Unobtrusive and patient, it has immortal vigor and aggression. Banished from the thoroughfare or the field, it bides its time to return and when vigilance is relaxed, or the dynasty has perished, it silently resumes its throne, from which it has been expelled but which it never abdicates.

It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the senses with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue is more enchanting than the lily or the rose. It yields no fruit in earth or air, and yet should its harvest fail for a single year, famine would depopulate the world.”

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