al DIRECTORY. s l'A Tic. .Silas Holcomb . K. E. Moore J. A. Piper “ ~ -tie .J. 8. Hartley ..Eugene Moore A. 8. Churclilll O. 11. Hassell H. K. Corbett | IliiilllillgS - p vte'univeksity. I.euvttt Burnham, >• 1|.il"'olV{nI£V*K,”P. Holmes, Hi it , Ainia., * i . ij-.il Kearney; M. J. Hull, : UiCSSfONAL. |r [.- Mnmlersou. of Omaha; MaUisi’H- , 1 ,,s i.’jrst District, J. HStrode . m. Krin. \.IV1)1CIART. ..Samuel Maxwell "judge Post and T. L. Norval M il JUDICIAL DISTRICT. ' M. P- Klnkatd, of O Neill .. J.J. King of O Neill " a Tj Bartow of Ghadron ..".a: l! Warrick, of O’Neill [t XI) OFFICES. O'NEILL. .. John A. Harmon. Elmer Williams. COUNTY. ..Geo McCutcheon istrict Court.I ...J. P. Mullen .Sam Howard . ..Bill Bethea .Mike MeCarthy elms Hamilton ....Clius O’Neill .W. H. Jackson Mrs. W. R. Jaokson .Dr. Trueblood ....M. F. Norton .H. E. Murphy . m. Class No. 3 (Chil< M' Mind-week services—Gener Thursday 7:30 p. m. All wl ‘iconic, especially strangers. E. E. HOSMAN, Pastor. POST, no. 86. The Gen. Joh H ost, No. b0, Department of N< K., will meet the first and thir 'Clung ot each month in Mason! 8. J. Smith, Com. It\ V ALLEY LODGE, I. O. O “.“every, Wednesday evening li ' ’ l8ltlnk brothers cordlall; ttend. N.U. C. L. Bright, Sec. IKLD MMonk,'’*'•■** "IUHa Sec- J. C. Haknish, H, P ^---HELMET LODGE, u. d. I i Si«!™7 Monday at 8 o'clock p. Invited? 8 r““‘- Vlsitln» brethern T. V. Golden, C. C. Invited. 2La«t». K.of h/andS.’ 4“ ENCAMPMENT NO an t acribe, Chas. Hriqht. daU«HTEH8 each m^.V^SBveiry l8t and M 'ellowd* " ** eachdonthinOdd'Feflowa’ HaU," -' • h H - Uenedict, W. M — !>* li* Oronin, Clerk ; « i va oecoi each mouth —__ • ^A^eft WORKMEN ( J ^*luuonth. Cr^ ®rsl a,,d th and thi i^^THE EAS PAClP.r, - —LiumjQ m ^''ieavesa.^u>“T line. " "“• ^r,1'-C8 P’euiiday. Arrives Monday|tyeis" cner,SgA rj^Thurtr^daya| o*sv, IlQ ®at. a ; t?"nd'ay. Wed'1* p*i>uflcK '^swsssS *&r* AN EASTER EPISODE. IT WAS SABBATH morning in a little eastern village in the year 186—. A tickle April sky, cloud less then, arched above a lit tle red-brick chapel wherein two lovers stood side by Bide, singing a sweet Easter anthem. tie wore a sol dier's uniform, and on the morrow he was to march south with his regiment, under the command of hts betrothed’s father, Col. Morton. The services usually Impressive at Eastertide were deeply affecting, for Esther Morton was not the only sweet heart who on the next day would have to part with her soldier lover. The village had offered up its chivalry at the altar of patriotism, and every heart In the small congregation was awed by the thought that for some of the brave men there assembled this was the last day of worship In the little church at home. They had known each other from childhood, Edward Allen and Esther Morton. Their homes adjoined. Until the war broke out It never occurred to either of them that they would ever separate. Their Joys and sorrows, even their ambitions, had been one from the beginning of their schooldays. As Esther grew to womanhood she developed a beautiful voice. Edward was gifted likewise, and they hoped great things for themselves In the fu ture. When Edward was fourteen years old he lost his mother, and ever since her death Esther Morton’s mother had been glad to counsel and befriend neighbor Allen’s boy. Monday came. Bravely the women of the village sped their heroes on their way, nor even when the last blue coat faded from sight did they quite give themselves to their grief. Edward and Esther parted. Both went to the fulfillment of their nearest duties, fearful, yet full of courage and hope. The battle of - saw Esther's father and lover In the very heart of carnage. Col. Morton fell at the close of the engagement. He was killed in stantly. Edward Allen was beside him, but before he fairly realized his friend's fate he was wounded himself and lost consciousness. When he regained his senses he found himself In a con federate prison. Many weary months he suffered Inconceivably In mind and body. He was not sure that Col. Mor ton was dead. Did they know his fate at home? He felt the awful certainty of Col. Morton’s death would be better for Esther and her mother than months of horrible silence and suspense such as he was passing through, and he thanked God that his own father had died before the horrors of the war. He wrote to Esther. No answer ever reached him. Anxiety told upon his health, and when he was at last ex changed he lay for weeks in a union hospital with a lingering fever. On his recovery he received an honor able discharge and, with an anxious heart, he made all possible haste home ward to Esther. The war had brought desolation to the little village. Few families but had lost father, husband brother or son. Stranger’s were In Esther’s home. They knew nothing of her whereabouts. All that he could ascertain after dili gent inquiry was that her father's death, and the foreclosure of a mort gage on the home had driven Esther and her mother away from it, and made them dependent on themselves for sup port. Many thought they had sought, the advantages of a large city, where'Es ther’s musical ability might be useful In earning a living for mother and her self. Wherever music had a mission he w HE WAS KILLED INSTANTLY. looked for her sweet face, listened for her dear voice—In vain. * • • • • » * The choir at St. Chrysostom's, a fash ionable church In an eastern metropo lis, had ended the rehearsal of an elab orate service to be rendered the follow ing Sunday—Easter. As usual Mr. Andrews, the basso, es corted the two ladles. There was a chorus of “Good-nights,” and then the party separated. "Going my way, Allen?” asked Fred McDonald. Edward Allen threw his light over coat over his arm and started home. In company with the speaker. McDonald was the organist. As a member of the choir, Allen had been as sociated with him for several years. Their musical tastes were congenial, and a warm friendship had sprung up between them. When they reached the park, the place where their paths diverged, Mc Donald suggested that they sit down there and finish their cigars. Edward soon threw his away, and, absorbed In reverie, hummed snatches of the duet he had been practicing with the soprano. McDonald recalled him to a sense of his surroundings. “What's the matter, Allen? You seem sentimental to-night.” "The fact is, McDonald, that song re called the saddest and yet the sweetest memories of my life. The last time I sung It was with the girl who had promised to be my wife, the Sunday before I marched away to Join the forces of the union army at-—." “So you have had a romance. What became of your fiancee?” “That la what I would give every thing In life, except her love, to know. I loat all trace of her after the war. She Is still my Ideal of all that la beat In woman, and, though I may never meet her. I shall never cease to love her." “You deserve to find her, my boy. A man who can be true to the memory of a woman he has not seen for five years deserves more than he gets, even when he gets the woman. In moat cases.” “Don't be cynical,” said Allen. Then he smiled, for McDonald had spoken half jestingly. “No offense Intended, Allen; I may have had my romance. Some day I may return your confidence.” Easter dawned, a perfect day. Allen reached church In good season, but the other members of the choir were al ready In their places. As he was making his way to his ac customed seat Andrews tapped him on the shoulder. “Read this," he said, handing him a note. Edward opened It and read hastily: “My Dear Mr. McDonald; My physi cian has forbidden my leaving my room. Fortunately I am able to send you a substitute In the person—” The first notes of the organ an nounced the prelude to the anthem and Allen was forced to leave the rest of the message unread and hurry to his seat. He did not look at Miss Edmanson's substitute until a slender figure In mourning rose to sing with him and then a glance revealed to him the face of Esther Morton. By a mighty effort of the will he mas tered his emotion and began to sing. The joy of recognition was greater than the shock to her, dead though she had believed him. No song was ever sung more feeling ly than theirs, for their voices bore a welcome to each other, a welcome and a thanksoffering for the blessedness of this Easter reunion, the resurrection and fulfillment of their dead hopes. A BEAUTY'S ANGER. Onf of the Parisian Queens Creates a Great Sensation. The scene Is Mentone, a resort for consumptive people, but which becomes fashionable, since a few members of the light squadron of the army of beauty have decided that Cannes was stuck up, Nice, dusty and vulgar, Monte Carlo good enpassant only, and that Mentone would do better than any other place as the headquarters on the-blue coast. Llane de Pougy was the first to start the movement when she fitted up at Mentone the daintiest of the villas, which Is always en fete, and looks every evening like an enchanted bower. She felt like the queen of the place, and behaved as such till the day of the bat tle of the flowers came, when she ex pected to be crowned by her admiring subjects. She arrived last on the scene, so as not to mar the effect; she appeared standing, driving tandem, her carriage completely hidden under a thick bower of carnations, roses and hyacinths, she herself being got up as a bunch of lilacs of different shades, from the deep reddish Charles X. to the pal est Persian, and then pure white. A murmur of delight received her and her vanity was almost satisfied; but how It happened nobody knows, at the distri bution of banners she received the smallest and most insignificant one. The superb beauty took It with a grin; then, pulling from her hair a long dia mond pin, which held two bunches of lilac, she pricked the satin and tore a big hole in it, then handed the rag to her groom with a whisper. The man broke the golden handle In two and threw the whole on the ground. After this the tandem was turned around and the offended beauty drove home. Till now the story is not extraordinary, but the point comes with the worthy mayor of Mentone, at the same time president of the committee of the battle, who a few minutes later drove to the enchant ed bower, insisted on seeing the fairy of the place and actually asked to be forgiven for an Involuntary and much deplored error, but the bunches of lilac nodded mercilessly and said “No," and the fair Llane, after having shown the door to the inconsolable dignitary, de clared that she was leaving Mentone on the morrow. After that the banquet of the committee turned out to be a fail ure and almost a battlefield, the mem bers putting the fault on one another's back, and Mentone seriously thinks of rebuking the authorities who have stu pidly offended and driven away such a superb signboard from their sleepy hole. NOTHINO BUT FEET, Allowed on the Sidewalk* Down In At* lanta, an. They have a new ordinance in Atlan ta, Ga., absolutely forbidding overhang ing signs. The shopkeepers don't like It a bit. The grocers are Inclined to sar casm. They have. In a quiet way, had their little revenge and have, inciden tally, amused the public in doing so. As every one knows, the ordinance Is a sweeping one, providing that no sign shall hang over the street. This word over has been interpreted to refer not alone to signs that hang across the street, but over It. This means a whole sale taking down of signs. The ordi nance also prohibits the placing of goods on the street beyond a certain distance for display. I notice, says a writer In the Atlanta Constitution, that some of the merchants have complied with the law, and one or two grocers have put up in conspicuous places about their places of business sarcastic signs concerning the new law. One of these, printed on a yellow piece of board Id lampblack characters, read: “This sidewalk for carriages.” Others read: "See our signs In the cellar.” “Keep oft the sidewalk." “Nothing but feet allowed on this sidewalk." Influence of Paternalism. General Simon B. Buckner, the con federate veteran. Is one of the most enthusiastic advocates of good roads In Kentucky. On his big farm in Hart county he has constructed ten miles ot macadamised highways, but' his exam ple seems to be thrown away on his neighbors, for he says: "Though I talk to them about building Bueh roads, they won't do It. It’s the insidious In-, fluence of the paternal system. They all want the government to do things for them.” HIS PORTRAIT IN HER ARMS. —— -f Widow Bohnltser Ended Her Life to Be with Her Deed Hoeband. Mary Bchnltcer, a lonely wllow, took her life In New York city the other night, "to go to her husband" she wrote to her mother and friend*. She wn* 34 year* old. She died hugging her hus band's portrait and smiling as happily %s on the day they were married, four teen years ago. There never was a cou ple more truly one than they. Perhaps the fact that the woman was childless contributes to It. One baby came to them, but It died very you-ig. After that they lived for each other only. He was a tin roofer, doing a good business. She made her home attractive to him. It Is as cheery as any one would wish to see any home, but the woman was not cheery. A year ago hjr husband sickened and after months of suffering he died at Christmas. She could hardly be dragged away from his corpse. She has Bpoken of nothing but death since. Her one desire was to Join her hus band. Once or twice she attempted sui cide, but her courage failed or she thought of her mother and sister. A week ago she made up her mind. She spent the afternoon writing letters to her mother and friends bidding thorn good-bye and telling them she was go ing to her husband. She mailed them In the evening and locked heninlf In. The neighbors did not see or hear her after that. The delivery of the first mall brought all her friends to her house out of breath with excitement. They mount ed the stairs and knocked at her door. It was locked, but they smelled leaking gas and summoned help. Officer Hidd en went up and burst In the door. On the bed, dressed In olean clothing, lay Mrs. Schnltzer, hugging her husband's picture to her heart. She was dead. She had stretched herself on what was to be her bier and turned on the gas. ” i.ere was a smile on her lips as If the had found In death her husband she could not live without. WALKINQ LEAVES. n»w • Current Huperltltlon Had Its Origin. Almost everybody has heard of the wonderful walking leaves of Australia. For a long time after the discovery of that island many people believed that the leaves of a certain tree which flourishes there could and did walk about on the ground. The story arose In this way. Some English sailors land ed upon the coast one day, and, after roaming until they were tired, they sat down under a tree to rest themselves. A gust of wind came along and blew a shower of leaves from .the tree, which, after turning over and over In the air, as leaves generally do, rested on the ground. As It was midsummer and everything appeared quite green, the circumstances puzzled the sailors con siderably; but their surprise was much greater, as you may well suppose, when, after a short time, they saw the leaves crawling along the ground toward the trunk of the tree. They at once ran to their vessel, without stopping to exam ine Into the case at all, and set sail from the land where everything seemed to be bewitched. One of the men said he “expected every moment to see the trees set to and dance a jig.” Subse quent explorations disclosed the fact that these walking leaves are small animals that live upon the trees. Their bodies are very thin and flat, their wings forming large and leaf-llke or gans. When disturbed, their legs are folded awy under their bodies, leaving their shape exactly like a leaf, with Its s^em and all complete. They are of a bright green color In summer, but grad ually change In the fall, with the leaves, to the brown of a frost vegetation. When shaken from the tree they He for a few minutes upon the ground as though dead, but soon begin to crawl along toward the tree, which they as cend again. They rarely use their wings, although pretty well supplied in ♦his respect. ELIZA’S WOODEN LEO. Belle Frlee Take* It Oil Daring a Fight and la Fined With Her Friends. The comic song, “All on Account of Eliza,” would have to be elongated to “All on Account of Eliza's Wooden Leg" were It to detail the Interesting story of Eliza Mansfield and her little wooden "limb.” In a peppery war of words several colored people poured this tale into Justice Foster's ears at the Harrison Street police station to-day, says Chicago Post. Last Sunday morn ing Eliza Mansfield, whose temper la as violent as her skin Is black, quarreled with Belle Price In the yard back of the tenement at 5201 Armour avenue. “You black hussy, you better hadn't tell me keep my engagement wld de clouds,” shouted Eliza in dulcet tones. "You Jes' shet yer mouf or you’ll want a doctor,” was Miss Price’s retort dis courteous. This was a challenge to battle, and neither was loath to fight, so the battle began. Miss Price brought some strat egy Into play and executed an African coup at the first move. She went at Eliza hard and low; she tackled her and threw her to the ground as easily as a' Yale halfback would down a runner. Then she grappled with Eliza and com menced to unfasten her wooden leg. Fi nally she got It off and threw It Into a neighbor's yard. Eliza called for help and then the colored colony In the vi cinity engaged in a general fight, which resulted In battered heads, bruised faces and wholesale arrests. Eliza, how ever, managed to hobble away from the gory scene and escaped without serious Injury. Her wooden leg was restored to her and she had the satisfaction of witnessing the discomfiture of her ene mies, who were fined $25 each. Sowing the Seeds of Envy. Mrs. Meekton was standing on the front doorstep when her husband came home. "Henry,” she said, In a loud tone, "here's your Income tax blank. You'd better fill It out right away.” “Great Scott, Marla!" he exclaimed, “what do I want with an income tax blank?" "Don't talk so loud,” was the admo nition, In a subdued but stern key; “it's a summons to serve on the Jury. The next door neighbors on both sides of us have been sitting behind closed win dow blinds waiting for you to come home, so they could find out what the officer was here for, and I’m Just glvln' their Imaginations a treat."—Washing ton St»e. BLACK BUTTONS. Worn by rounder* *■ a sign of FSlrU oil* Monro log. Within the last few weekii it has been noticed that hundred* of men and women in Chicago are wearing black badges with the numbers 1795-1898 printed on them in llguros of glisten ing white raetnl. They are becoming so numerous as to attract a good deal of attention and call for inquiry as to their significance. Only the wearers know nntii the matter is explained what they mean. Othor people scrnteli thoir heads and wonder. It has furthermore been observed that these sable emblems are to be seen only on the breasts of the Pol mulers, therefore, the question that comes up is, why should the citizens of that particular nationality thus distinguish themselves at this timet from every other class? lieing blaolt the badges arp evidently signs of mourning. Iiut why do the Polanders mourn? Who are they mourning for? No greatly distinguished son of the race has died recently. There is nothing new in the shape of a nation al calamity to call for expressions of grief. Max Drezmel cleared the mystery recently by saying that this year is one of universal sorrow among all good Polanders throughout the entire world who have any feelings of afTeo tion for their native land. It is the centennial anniversary of Poland’s complete obliteration as a distinct and self-governed kingdom. In ordet to make the sad event somewhat memorable native Poles, wherevei they may be found, have agreed tc live the twelve months of 1893 as a period of lament This means that they intend to deny themselves all the frivolous aqd gay pleasures they have pledged themselves, says Mr. Drezmel, to abstain from festivals, dancing, picnics, theaters; in fact amusements and pleasurable enter tainments of every kind. PHILOSOPHY PROM A DEBTOR. Showing Row He Wni Vela able to the I'erelatent BUI Oolleotor. A collector of unpaid bills has a hard time of itt but one met a pliolosophi cal debtoi recently who convinced him of some astonishing facts, says the Amusement Journal. The collector said that he had been ohasing the philosophical debtor for about six months and was getting tired of 1L It was always “Come around to-mor* row,” or “Haven't got It now.” “Say,” he said, when he had made his last trip, “are you ever going te pay this bill?” “Why, yes, some day,” the philoso pher replied. “But look here, young man, I want to show you a thing or two. How many bills have you In that pack?” “About forty,” said the collector. “How long does it take you to visit all these people?” the philosopher in quired. “About a day.” “What if all paid up promptly?” “Why, that would be great" "Would it? What would you do for a living if all these debtors paid up in a day?” The collector looked blank for a moment “Great Jerusalem! I'd be out of a job.” “Well, then, don’: be so anxious to collect every penny that is due to your people. One bill a day is enough. As for me, come around some time next week and I may do something for you,” and the philosopher faded »way._ STOOD ALL TESTS. The 1 roly Good Man Haa Bean at Last DlicoTered. Manifold essays, treatises and poems have been written, with more or less success, to describe the qual ities which make up a “just” man, a. “religious” man and a “sympathetic” man. Moralists und philosophers have managed to give a pretty /air definition of these terms, but fell short of the reality when they came to limn a “good" man. Where Plato and Seneca and Boetius failed, a ves tryman of Battersea named Tumor has triumphantly succeeded, as the following dialogue proves: An officer, about whose conduct some question arose, was asked: “Did you not swear at the child who opened the door to you?” / “No,” was the reply, “I never swear at any time.” “Not when you knock your head against a door?” asked Mr. Turnor. “No.” answered the officer. “Then you must be a good man,” said Mr. Turnor; and the guardians, feeling that it would be waste of time to improve upon this philosophy, shortly afterward adjourned. 8a»U Marriage Fee. Probably the smallest marriage fee ever offered In Bourbon county, Ken tucky, was recently tendered by an im pecunious bridegroom when he offered a magistrate ten cents for performing the ceremony. It was all he had left after paying for the license. This same magistrate was offered twenty-five cents after performing another wedding ceremony recently._ The Law of Compensation. The muscles of the hand reach their highest perfection in man; no other animal has a true hand; the muscles of the eyes, ears, and nose show that several groups, which in the lower animals are very highly developed, iu man are in an almost rudimentary condition. Dr. Price's Cream Baking Powder Awarded Gold Medal Midwinter Fair. San Francisco. HEART DISEASEI Fluttering, No Appetite, Could Not Sleep, Wind on Stomach. “For a long tlmo I hud a terrible pain at my heart, which fluttered al most Incessantly. I had no appetite and could not sleep. I would be com pelled to alt up in bed and belch gas from my stomach until I thought that every minute would bo my lost, There waa a feeding of oppression about my heart, and I was afraid to draw a full breath. I could not sweep a room without resting. My hus band Induced me to try Dr. Miles' Heart Cure and am happy to say It has cured me. I now have a splendid appetite and sleep well Its effect was truly marvelous." HRS. HARRY E. STARR, PottivlUe, Pa. Dr. Mile. Heart Cure la aotd on a Dealt!rs i ran tee that the tint bottle will uepellt. druggists sell It attl, 6 bottles for fc, or SjTl it wi._ bjUie For Sal. by all Druggistr. READ* THE TRIBUNE For Telegraph, Local, General, State and ' Foreign News. Market complete -THE SIOUX CITY DAILY TRIBUNE $0 Per Year. GO Cents Per Month. QUICKEST AND BEST MAIL SERVICE Address: THE TKIRUNE. Sub. Dept. Sioux City, Iowa. OB b Pt 0 SC OB b •p 0 (A Purohaae Tiokata and ConaiRn * your Freight via tha F. E.&M.V.andS. C.&P RAILROADS. TRAINS DEPARTs OOIKO IA ST. Passenger east, Freight east. Freight east, 9:20 a. x 10:80 a. x ' 2:10 p. x. OOIKO WBST. Freight west, * • 2:10 P. x Passenger west, • 9:27 p. x Freight, - • 2:10 P. x. The Elkborn Line Is now running Reclining Chulr Cars dally, between Omaba and Dead* wood, jree to holders of flrat-class transpor tatlon Fer any information call on W, J. DOBBS, Agt. O’NEILL. NEB. 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