Nebraska Newspapers

    STATE.
Silas Holoomb
. .14. K. Moore
, ..''...j. A. Piper
IS .....J. S. Bartley
. ..Euzcne Moore
.■ ‘‘a. d. Churchill
„l .Corbett
|T, ..rATF. UNIVE14SITY.
I 1 :,U’oin; Leavitt Burnham,
; u E. P. Iloin.es.
■ihiilah'u. Kearney; M. J. Hull,
, XCIIKASIONAL.
H_ ],• Manderson, of Omaha;
* ,'.l Madison.
v.'s—l'irst nistrlot, J. B Strode
1 Mercer; Third Goo. D. MUel
j|, - Uainer; Fifth, ”• auu
. 11. M. Kent.
JUDICIARY.
Samuel Maxwell
■ "judge Post and T. L.Norval
JFNTH JUDICIAL mSTKI^
■ . J.J. King of O’Neill
.i t. Bartow of Chadrun
a! l. wSick. of O’Neill
[ LAND OFFICES.
O’NKIUL.
. John A. Harmon.
•• ' Blmer Williams.
COUNTY.
.Geo McCutcheon
’ District Court.•• ••Jo^klrvlng
.J. P. Mullen
.Sam Howard
.*******.Bill Bethea
. Mike McCarthy
. .Chas Hamilton
. .Chas O’Neill
; *:»• *.7777.. • • W. K. Jackson
0019. .Mrs. W. K. Jackson
..Dr. Trueblood
...7..M. F. Norton
. ‘7.......H. B. Murphy
SUPERVISORS.
.Frank Moore
...Wilson Brodle
. .W. F. Elsele
.George Eckley
. .L. B. Mabeu
..A. S. Eby
. .A. C. Purnell
.;;;;.d. g. kuii
. . .. .John Dickau
.V.H. B. Kelly
. .14. J. Hayes
....K. Slaymaker
.B. H.Murray
.S. L. Conger
.John Hodge
.Wm. Lull
' ".E. J. Mack
.......'. George Kennedy
.John Alts
.James Gregg
.F. W. Phillips
■ . .A. Oborle
..Hugh O’Neill
77.D. C. Blondin
.John Wert*
.H. O. Wine
■/„.T, E. Doolittle
.J. B. Donohoe
.G. H. Phelps
' " .J. E. White
.A. O. Mohr
ley.
C11T OF Of NEILL.
K>r. E. J. Mack; Justices, B. H.
indS.M. Wagors; Constables, Ed.
md Perkins Brooks.
JOUNCILMEN—FIRST WARD.
i years.—D. H. Cronin. For one
2. McEvony.
SECOND WARD.
years—Alexander Marlow. For
-Jake Pfund.
THIRD WARD.
years—Charles Davis. For one
ler Merriman.n
CITY OFFICERS.
0. F. Biglin; Clerk, N. Martin;
, John McHugh; City Engineer
risky; Police Judge, H. Kautzman;
Police, Charlie Hall; Attorney,
Ion; Weigh mas ter, Joe Miller.
RATTAN TOWNSHIP.
Bor, R. J. Hayes; Trearurer. Barney
r; Clerk, J. Sullivan; Assessor, Ben
Justices, M. Gastello and Chas.
loustables, John llorrisky and Ed.
Road overseer dist. 26, Allen Brown
i, John Enright.
7i.V RELIEF COMNISSION.
meeting first Monday In Febru
h year, and at such other times as
uecessary. ltobt. Gallagher, Page,
Win. llowen, O’Neill, secretary;
k Atkinson.
'HICK’S CATHODIC CHURCH,
cs every Sabbath at 10:30 o’clock.
• Cassidy, Postor. Sabbath school
•ly lollowing services.
■UUIST CHURCH. Sunday
rices-Preacliing 1U:30 a. m. and 7:<iO
fcss No. 1 9:30 A. m. Class No. 2 (Ed
•ague) 6:30 p.m. Class No. 3 (Child
I1’- m. Mind-week services—General
Meeting Thursday 7:30 p. m. All will
■welcome, especially strangers.
■ E. E. HOSMAN, Pastor.
, .POST,NO. 80. The Gen. John
lost, No. 86, Department of Ne
r A. it., will meet the first and third
f evening of each month in Masonio
S. J. Smith, Com.
l,'”x VALLEY LODGE, I. O. O.
Wednesday evening in
battend’ Visiting brothers cordially
(* N- 0. L. Bright, Sec.
f'ELD C1IAPTEB, B. A. M
|M«Sc“mllt'llrdThUr8<lai' of eaoh
r0UKS Sec. j. c. Hashish, H, P
^.-helmet lodge, u. d,
t j Monday at 8 o'olook p,
finvfted? 6aU- Vi8ltl“tf brethera
W^n-.K.ofRaVndG8°LI)EN' CC’
)LP n£A5IPMEST N<>. 30.1,
Df each6™ evS*7 8e°ond and fourth
ach month in Odd Fellows’ Hall
ftcrlbe. Ohas. Hhioiit.
[KhGKKAHiS»V’ OAUGHTKB
\ ^ ATntCTo^’ SS£.;
SeSr80"' N- «•
l— vc- L. H. Benedict, W. M.
•*S on'i.hVurst°and"t n’ OF A
Tue8d^ 1
A— ’ • V’ ]1- H. Cronin, Clerl
P fourth TuiLdav ^,9’ M?et9 Beoon
f«ic hau. UHy of each month 1
t'lIT, Hec. T V
»- x‘ v • Golden, m. w.
tejSSB
!Sec.*”’ S1cCl-tChan, I
POSTOf'VlCEDlRCETOR,
Arrival of Mall.
j“f,s;iiyR-H-rao^iHE :
^[■-leaves line.
leaves Arrive
r ^.Sunday.*M’ Arrive
P Monday)wJiND c,hE'-8*a.
f Friday
P Monday11^!; *rtND Haddock
( ^daj-Th^MFrtday
tTlondayL\v^D Niobhara
I 'W*d.aMFrid«*t
THE DANCING MASTER
GAINST the lllao
walls ot the room
the white dresses ot
the Kiris made blots
ot lisht.
The old dancing
master walked
slowly up and down
the room surveying
the girls. He held
his kit and bow-ten
derly under his left
arm, pressed Judiciously to his side.
With his right hand he alternately
stroked and tweaked at his chin, which
was always a sign that the teacher was
perplexed.
Each time that he came to one of the
two long windows that lit the room he
paused and looked out through the
naked branches of the plane tree at the
river, as If he hoped to get some encour
agement from Its ceaseless flow. And
each time he turned away from the river
view with the same look of disappoint
ment upon his smooth, neat, elderly
face. The great clock at the other end
of the room—the clock that had counted
off so many lessons—seemed all of a'
sudden to tick with unwonted loudness,
as If it, like the girls, were impatient
for the master to stop his promenade
and say or do something.
Perhaps the appeal of the clock had
Its effect. Perhaps In the stillness the
master could catch faintly the sound
of all those girlish hearts fluttering tim
idly together. He stopped for an In
stant and looked at the long line of ex
pectant faces.
"Young ladles, you can go.”
Then as the girls, relieved from their
suspense, moved eagerly forward to
the adjoining room, where their be
longings lay, the professor reached
out his thin, line white hand and
touched one of the girls upon the
shoulder.
^ome back," he said, "I want to
Speak with you.”
The girl looked up In his face with a
little start. Then she went Into the
anteroom with the rest.
When she returned In her everyday
dress, with her hat and tippet on and
her dancing shoes neatly put away In
the reticule that hung on her mittened
arm, the master was standing at the
Window again, drumming nervously on
the pane. He had put his kit and bow
down on the gilded table between the
two windows, the gilded table that al
ways seemed to the girl the emblem of
ineffable luxury and repose.
The master heard her come In, but
for a moment he did not turn, and the
girl stood watching him, her pale,
plalnlsh face paler than ever with ex
pectation, and her dark eyes shining
In the twilight. The master turned
and walked abruptly up to her.
“You will never make a dancer,” he
said. ,
The girl looked back at him with an
expression on her face as If he had
struck her. He saw the expression
and spoke quickly and sharply to hide
his pity.
“It Is no use for you to come here any
more,” he said. “You will never make
a dancer.”
“But I must,” the girl answered, with
tears In her eyes, while her right hand
pulled nervously at the fingers of her
left.
“Never, never, never!” he insisted.
“It’s no use deceiving yourself and I—
look you, I cannot deceive myself.
Please do not come here any more.”
"Oh, but, sir!” the girl lifted her
clasped hands toward him. He shook
his head angrily.
“I know what I know, and I say what
I know. I cannot have you here any
more. Could you ever do the ‘Pas de
Zephlr?’ Never. Can you do the ‘Fou
ette’ or the ‘Ballone?’ Bah! You will
never know the difference between a
‘coup’ and a ‘Jette.’ Go away, please.
We have finished. You will never make
a dancer.”
There was a firmness In his voice
which showed that his decision was
final. The girl made no further attempt
YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME.
to contest the decree. It was like the
Judgment of the gods; absolute, irre
vocable. She turned silently, and went
out of the room very quietly. But when
the door closed behind her the strained
sensibilities of the master could hear
the stealthy sobbing, which she tried
to stifle as she slipped downstairs and
into the gaunt hall. He heard her close
the door, and for one moment he was
tempted to go to the window and call
her back. But he shook his head. “Bet
ter sooner than later,” he said to him
self. “She could never make a dancer."
Then he sat down to the harpsichord
and played over a gavotte of Lully's
until he had played the plain, awkward
girl out of his memory.
It was summer, and very warm. The
master sat at his window in the same
long lilac-room. It was very pleasant
to sit there and watch the river and
the wherries and barges, and to reflect
in its prosperous, peaceful evening up
on the events of a painstaking, success
ful life. The master did not smoke—it
was a custom he abominated—but there
was a flask of white wine near to his
hand, and a glass half-full of the yel
low Juice, from which ever and anon
he took a self-satisfied sip. He seldom
gave lessons now, for his daughter had
married, and his son-in-law carried on
the teaching admirably, knowing Ram
eau almost as well as the old teacher,
whom he adored. But the master liked
to sit in the dancing-room of an after
noon after dinner, and dream over old
experiences.
Just now, however, he was thinking.
not of the past, but of the present; for
he had laid down a news sheet In which
there was talk of a dancer at the opera
who was setting the town wild, a dancer
who had conquered European capital
after European capital, and was now
making London playgoers mad with de
llsht. He was old and liked his ease,
but a vague fancy came Into his mind
that he would go to the opera and see
this pearl. It would be a treat for his
son and daughter.
A carriage came slowly down the river
road, where carriages did not often
come. The master looked at It with
languid surprise, and lifted*his glass
to his lips. But It stopped at his own
door, and he set the glass down again
In surprise. A gilded footman got down
and opened the carriage door and a very
beautiful lady got out. The footman
pushed back the Iron gateway of the
little front garden and the splendid lady
came In, waved her hand and laughed,
and then she ran up the steps and out of
his sight, and he could hear the muffled
thunder of a knocking at the door.
He had scarcely risen to his feet,
slowly trying to recall the face that had
Just laughed at him, when the door ot
the dancing-room opened and a splendid
lady came In, bringing a blase of color
Into the quiet room. The master bowed
but the lady ran rapidly across the
room, and before he was well aware of It
she had kissed him on both cheeks.
“You do not know me,” she said. "I
am—” and then she gave him the name
of the dancer who had become the talk
of the town.
The master took a pinch of snuff and
bowed again, while he murmured some
thing about the honor In a tone that Im
plied a question.
“You don't remember me?” she said
again. "Ah, I remember you,” and she
mentioned this time another name—the
name of a little girl whom he had sent
away from his class because she was so
Incapable.
The man sought in his memory over a
spaoe of nearly ten years; then he re
membered, bowed again, and again
took snuff.
The splendid lady would take no de
nial; he must needs come that very
evening and see his old pupil dance at
the opera. She had got the noblest box
in the house for him.
That evening the old dancing-mastet
sat In the opera house in the noblest box
in the theater. He sat between his son
in-law and his daughter, with his eyes
fixed upon the stage. The great theatei
was packed, and when at length the
time came for the ballet and the ourtain
drawing up revealed the adored dancer,
the house raved at her. Only the mas
ter, in his sober black and white, sat
with his hands folded on the front of the
box and waited.
The dance began. It was marvelous.
The dancer's body was plastic, supple,
exquisite. She danced a strange dance,
in which she dtd wonders with a long
silken scarf, moving hither and thither
like some figure from a Grecian vase,
from a Pompeiian wall. When it ended,
and the house raged for more, she did
a Spanish dance, in which, to the click*
Ing of her castanets, she expressed,
hurriedly, triumphantly, all the passion
of the south. When it was over the
house rained flowers upon the stage, and
a thousand hands thundered an ap
plause that brought the woman again
and again before the curtain.
When it was over a servant of the
theater came to the box to beg that the
master would come to the dancer’t
dressing-room. He bade his children go
home and followed the messenger be
hind the scenes to the dancer's room.
A crowd of men were waiting outside it.
He alone was admitted. She was chang
ing her dress behind the screen, but soon
came out again, clasped him by the
hand, kissed him on both cheeks and
thanked him for coming. Then she
talked volubly of all tfie*places she'had
seen, and showed him trophies of her
triumphs, wreaths of gold, wreaths o(
silver and rare jewels, and finally she
asked him if he would come out to sup
per with her and some friends, and she
mentioned some great names. The old
man declined with his polite bow, and
would have withdrawn, but she insisted
upon his staying and seeing her to he<
coach. So presently the impatient young
men and the Impatient old men waiting
outside had the surprise of seeing thelf
idol come out in all her splendor leaning
on the arm of a little gentleman in
bjack, who showed traces of snuff on
the ruffle of his shirt.
Through the crowd there the mastet
escorted the dancer to the stage door,
and through the crowd outside the stag<
door he conducted her to her coach. As
he still declined to accompany her she
leaned out of the window, waving aside
as she did so, the throng of her admirers
and the handsome gentleman who was
waiting to take his place at her side.
"Well,” she said with a bright laugh,
“you see you were wrong after all. Say
that you are sorry and I will forgive
you.”
But the master shook his head.
"I do not think I was wrong,” he said,
very gravely. "You will never make a
dancer.”
Then raising his hat politely he turned
and moved slowly down the street.—
Lloyd’s Weekly Sun.
Klnd-Heartedne*s to Children.
Blessed be the hand that prepares a
pleasure for a child, for there is no say
ing when and where It may again
bloom forth. Does not almost every
body remember some kind-hearted man
who showed him a kindness in the
happy days of childhood? The writei
of this recollects, when a barefooted lad.
he stood at the wooden fence of a lit
tle garden in his native village, while
with longing eyes he gazed on the flow
ers which were blooming there in the
brightness of a Sunday morning. Theil
owner came forth from his little cot
tage. He was a wood-cutter, and spent
the whole week at work In the woods
He had come into the garden to gath
er flowers to place in the button-hole ot
his coat when he went to church. He
saw the boy and breaking off the
most beautiful of his carna
tions, he gave it to him. Netthej
the giver nor the receiver spoke a
word, and with a bounding steps, the
boy ran home. And now here, at a vast
distance from that home, after so many
years, the feeling of gratitude which
agitated the breast of that boy ex
presses itself on paper. The carnation
has long since withered, but now II
blooms afresh.
You may depend upon it that he is a
good man whose Intimate friends are
gc-od, and whose enemies are characters
decidedly bad.
EXTINCTION OP THE BISON.
Only Two Hundred Wild Buffalo BtlU
Alive In America.
In a wild state, the American bison,
or buffalo. Is practically, thought not
■ Quite wholly, extinct. At the present)
moment there are about two hundred
wild buffaloes alive and on foot In tho
United States. To obtain these high
figures we Include the one hundred and
fifty Individuals that white head-hun
ters and red meat-hunters have thus
far left alive In the Yellowstone pnrk,
posed to be protected from slaughter. |
Besides these, there are only two other
bunches: one of about twenty head In
Lost park, Colorado, protected by state
laws; and another, containing between
thirty and forty head. In Val Verda
county, Texas, between Devil's river
and the Rio Orande. Four years ago
there were over three hundred head
In the Yellowstone park, thriving and
Increasing quite satisfactorily. Through
them we fondly hoped the species would
even yet be saved from absolute ex
tinction. But, alas! we were reckoning
without the poachers. Congress pro
vides pay for Just one Solitary scout to
guard In winter 8,675 square miles of
rugged mountain country against the
horde of lawless white men and In
dians who surround the park on all
sl'des, eager to kill the last, buffalo!
The poachers have been hard at work,
and as a result our park herd has re
centely decreased more than one
half In number. It Is a burning
shame that formerly, through lack of
congressional law adequately to punish
Buch poachers as the wretch who was
actually caught red-handed In January,
1894, while skinning seven dead buffa
loes! and now, through lack of a paltry
fl,800 a year to pay four more scouts,
the park buffaloes are all doomed to
certain and speedy destruction. Be
sides the places mentioned, there Is only
one other spot In fell North America that
contains wild buffaloes. Immediately
southweBtward of Oreat Slave lake
there lies a vast wilderness of swamps
and stunted pines. Into which no white
man has ever penetrated tar, ana
where the red man still reigns supreme.
It 1b bounded on the north by the Liard
and Mackensie rivers, on the east by the
Slave river, on the south by the Peace
river, and on the west by the Rocky
mountains. Mr. Warburton Pike says
It Is now the greatest beaver country
In the world, and that It also contains
a few bands of the so-called wood
buffalo. "Sometimes they are heard of
at Forts Smith and Vermillion, some
times at Fort St. John, on the Peace
river, and occasionally at Fort Nelson,
on the Liard; . . . but It is Impossi
ble to say anything about their num
bers.” At all events, In February, 1890,
Mr. Pike found eight buffaloes only four
days’ travel from Fort Resolution, on
Great Slave lake, and succeeded In kill
ing one. The Canadian authorities es
timate the tota.1 number In that region
at three hundred.
DANQER FROM LIGHTN1NO.
Is It Increased or Diminished by the
Presence of Many Telegraph Wires T
There Is a somewhat widespread Im
pression that the use of so much wire
for telephone and other electrical pur
poses in cities and towns largely In
creases the danger of lightning strokes.
The notion Is based upon the concentra
tion within certain limits of a great
quantity of conducting material, which,
It Is assumed, attracts the electricity
and thereby increases the danger of It.
While It is true that the Increase of
conducting material Increases the at
traction, It Is not true that It Increases
the danger. As a ifatter of fact. It
decreases the danger, for the more sur
face electricity has over which to
spread, the more readily and quickly
it is carried to the earth. A house with
a metal roof Is not often struck by
lightning, for, while the metal may at
tract the electricity, it also gives It
room to spread out, and Its force Is thus
dissipated. This fact was demonstrat
ed by Franklin with his kite long ago,
and lightning rods are put on buildings
to give storm clouds a means of dis
charging their electricity Into the earth.
This discharge takes place without the
report that we call thunder, for elec
tricity makes no noise unless It meets
some resisting medium. It Is a well
known fact that there Is less danger
from lightning In cities than in the
country, and this Is due to the general
use of iron, steel and other metals In
city buildings. The buildings are tall
and would seem, therefore, to be spe
cially attractive to the lightning; In
deed, they are often struck, but the
metal In them dissipates the force of
the fluid and. carries It harmlessly and
quietly to the earth. The effect of tele
phone wires upon atmospheric electric
ity has been under official Investiga
tion by the German department of
telegraphs, and statistics from 900 cit
ies show that the danger from lightning
strokes is four times as great in towns
that do not have the telephone as in
those that have It. The conclusion of
the whole matter, therefore, Is that an
abundance of wires gives protection
from lightning. Instead of Increasing
the danger.
A Novelty In Bicycles,
A novelty In bicycles went up Broad
way last week, says the New York Sun.
A young colored man rode it and
showed off Its fine points in a way that
attracted a great deal of attention. In
stead of being stationary the handle
bar could be moved backward and for
ward. Every time the rider pulled the
bar back the bicycle shot forward In a
way that showed that it had some sort
of a rowing machine attachment which
worked in conjunction with the pedals.
There were the ordinary pedals on the
bicycle, and the rider used these the
greater part of the time, but every now
and then when the rider got In a tick
lish position among the trucks, cable
cars and other vehicles he would give
the handle bar a yank backward and
the wheel would dart ahead.
Uses of the Lichen.
The lichen’s most important function
seems to be to beautify the landscape,
though some tiny ones are utilized by
mother humming bird to cover the out
side of her nest. In order to conceal it
as much as possible. In Iceland the
lichen called Iceland moss Is gathered
every year by the boys and girls. It Is
boiled In milk and eaten. Fanny Ber
gen, In her little book on "Plant Lire,”
tells us that the Indians guided them
selves through the trackless forests by
observing on which side of the trees the
lichens grew thickest, those being the
northern sides.
DANCINQ HORSES OP SYBARIS.
4 Ruse bjr Which the Crotonlates Con
quered Their Enemies
In the st. Nicholas. James Baldwin
tells of the decline of the. Greek colony
of Sybaris, after the Inhabitants had
given themselves up wholly to pleas
ure. Of the battle In which they were
Anally oonquered, Mr. Baldwin writes:
When a spy reported to the Crotontaton
that he had seen all the horses In
Sybaris dancing to the music of a plpo,
the Croton general saw his opportunity
at once. He sent into the Sybnrlte ter
ritories a large company ol' shopherdH
and lifers armed with nothing but
flutes and shepherds' pipes, while n
little way behind them marched" the
rank and file of the Crotonlato army.
When the Sybarites heard that the
enemy's forces were coming, they mar
shaled their cavalry—the finest In the
world at that time—and sallied forth
to meet them. They thought It would
be line sport to send the Crotonlates
scampering back across the Helds Into
their own country; and half of Sybaris
went out to Bee the fun. What an odd
sight It must have been—a thousand
fancifully dressed horsemen, splendidly
mounted, riding out to meet an army
of unarmed shepherds and a handful of
ragged foot-soldiers! The Sybarite
ladles wave their handkerchlofs and
oheer their champions to the charge.
The horsemen sit proudly In their sad
dles, ready at a word to make the grand
dash—when, hark! A thousand pipes
begin to play—not “Yankee Doodle” nor
“Rule Britannia”—but the national air
of Croton, whatever that may have
been. The order Is given to charge; the
Sybarites shout and drive their spurs
Into their borseB' flanks—what fine
sport It Is going to be! But the war
steeds hear nothing, care for nothing,
but the music. They lift their slender
hoofs In unison with the Inspiring
strains. And now the armed Croton
lates appear on the Held; but the pipers
still pipe, and the horses still dance—
they caper, curvet, caracole, pirouette, ■
waits, trip the light fantastic hoof, for
getful of everything but the delight
ful harmony. The Sybarite riders have
been so sure of the victory that they
have taken more trouble to ornament
than to arm themselves. Some of them
are pulled from their dancing horses
by the Crotonlate footmen—others slip
to the ground and run as faBt as their
nerveless legs will carry them back to
the shelter of the city walls. The shep
herds and lifers retreat slowly toward
Croton, still piping merrily, and the
sprightly horses follow them keeping
step with the music. The dancing
horses cross the boundary lino between
the two countries, they waltz across
the Crotonlate nelds, they caracole gay
ly through the Croton gates, and when
the lifers cease their playing the streets
of Crotona are full of fine war-horsesl
Thus It was that the Sybarites lost the
line cavalry of which they had been so
proud. The complete overthrow of their
power and the conquest of their city
by the Crotonlates followed soon after
ward—for how, between so Idle and so
Industrious a community, could It have
been otherwise?
INTELLIGENT SWALLOWS.
Observations of an Ornithologist on the
Actions of the Bird.
Dr. F. H. Knowlton of the Smithson
ian institution has published an ac
count of observations made on the hab
its of the common cave or cliff swallow,
which show that this bird possesses a
remarkable degree of Intelligence. Eave
swallows, as Is well known, usually se
lect the eaves of a building for their
nesting site, and sometimes as many
as a hundred nests may be observed
under one projection. Dr. Knowlton's
observations are as follows: Within my
collecting grounds is a shed open only
on one side, where for many years cliff
swallows have attached their nests to
the sleepers of the loft. In the spring
of 1878 they returned, as usual, and
soon began repairing old nests or build
ing new ones. One day it was noticed
that one bird remained In her half-fin
isnea nesi, ana aia noi appear to oe
much engaged. Sochi a neighbor, own
ing a neat a few feet away, arrived with
a fresh pellet of clay, and after adjust
ing It in a satisfactory manner flew
away for more. No sooner was she out
of sight than the quiet bird repaired to
the neighbor's nest, appropriated the
fresh clay and molded It to her own
nest! When the plundered bird returned
no notice was taken of the theft, which
was repeated as soon as she was again
out of sight. These movements were
repeated many times, with the result
that the nest of the stay-at-home bird
grew apace! In the same place a nest
remained undisturbed, and was occu
pied by probably the same pair of birds
for several seasons. One spring they re
turned and all appeared prosperous, un
til one day it was noticed that a num
ber of swallows were engaged in wall
ing up the entrance to this old nest.
This work, as well as the outline of a
new nest over the old, was soon com
pleted. The closed nest was then brok
en open and within was found the dead
body of a swallow. The bird had prob
ably died a natural death, and the
Friends, being unable to remove the body
and knowing that It would soon become
offensive, adopted this method of seal
ing it up.
Many Uses for Mushrooms.
Not only human beings, but cows,
sheep, squirrels, and many kinds of
birds are fond of mushrooms. In many
places mushrooms are dried Just as our
grandmothers once dried apples, strung
on strings, and hung from the celling
for winter use. Some European species
are used In coloring. One yields a yel
low dye, another an exquisite green
which colors the tree on which it grows;
and from this wood is manufactured
the celebrated Tunbridge ware. The
poor people of Fanconla, Germany, dry,
press, and stitch together a certain kind
of mushroom, which is then made Into
garments; and in Bohemia a large round
toadstool is dried and the inside re
moved; it is turned bottom upward,
fastened to the wall, and used to hold
a beautiful trailing vine, which grows
luxuriantly.
Dr. Price’s Cream Baking Powder
Awarded Gold Medal Midwinter Fair, San Francisco.
MANHOOD RESTORED!
fuarunWed to cure 8.1 nervous disease*, such ns Weak Memory, jLoss of Brain
'ower, Headache, Wakefulness, Host Manhood, Nightly Emissions, Nerveuo
nes.n.ull drains and loss of power in Generative Organs of eltber cez caused
bv over exertion, youthful errors, excessive use of tobacco, opium er stim
ulants, which loadto Infirmity, Consumption or insanity. Can be carried in
.vest pocket. 91 per box, IS for 95, by mall prepaid, with a order we
kive a written gnarantee to cure or refund the money. Sold by all
^druggist*. Ask for it, take no other. Write for free Medical Hook sent sealed
MHMLJt ASU aft em ituxu. lu plain wrapper. Aaaresj AKKVtstKD CO.. Muaouio Temple, COICAQO.
For tele In O’Neill, Neb., by MOUU1H jt CO., Orugtfista.
Heart Disease 30 Yrs!
Short Breath, Palpitation.
Mr. G. W. McKInsoy, postmaster of
Kokomo, Ind., and a bravo ex-soldier,
says: “I had boon severely troubled
with heart disease ever slnco leaving
the army at the close of the late war.
I was troubled with palpitation and
shortness of breath. I could not
sleep on my left side, and had pain
around my heart. I became so 111
that I was much alarmed, and for
tunately my attention was called to
Dr. Miles’ Heart Cure
I decided to try it The first bottle
mado a decided improvement in my
condition, and five Dottles havo com
pletely cured me.”
0. W. McKINSEY, P. M., Kokomo, Ind
Itlve *
iefit.
B, or
Via*
Ind.
Dr. Milos Heart On ro is Hold on a pas
jtbatthq first bottle will iwi
For Sale by all Druggist*.
READ.
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