I ^Ntll/LBUSINESS DIRECTOR7
\ JA H. BENEDICT,
LAWYER.
I i 'Xbov In the Judge Roberta building, north
of O. O. Snvder’e lumber yard,
H 0 NEILL NRH.
f Ik R. DICKSON
* a,
ATTORNEY AT LAW
; M Neferenoe Firet National Bank
f _O'NEILL, NEB
y 3. 3. KING
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW AND NOTARY
-PUBLIC -
>y '
Office opposite U. 8. land office
O’NEILL, NEB.
t^ABNEY STEWART,
PRACTICAL AUCTIONEER.
Satisfaction guaranteed.
, Address, Page, Neb
P. J. FLYNN
-*f PHYCIAN AND SURGEON
Office over Corrigan’s, first door to right
Night calls promptly attended.
M. P. KINKAID
LAWYER
Office over Elkhorn Valley Bank.
’I
O’NEILL. NEB,
g^R. J. P. GtLLlGAN,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
Office in Holt County Bank building
1 Orders left at our drug store or at my
residence first street north and half
block east of stand pipe will receive
; prompt response, as I have telephone
connections.
O’NEILL, • NEB.
SCOTTISH SHARON,
OF GREYT'WER 153330,
1 Assisted by Imported KING TOM 171879.
Both prize-winning bulls of
i the Pan-American, heads the Ak-Sar
' Ben home herd of Shorthorns. Young
bulls for sale.
J. M. ALDERSON & SONS,
Chambers, - - - Nebraska.
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I C. L. BRIGHT |
| REAL ESTATE AND IN- j
SURANOE. \
[■— — ..r~r'rr I
* ■' Choice ranches, farms and town ;
\ lots for sale cheap and on easy 3
J •. terms. All kinds of land busi- 3
* * ness promptly attended to. 2
Represents some of the beat 3
j insurance companies doing bus 2
j lness in Nebraska. 3
r Mi -■ .. ii — n —... 4
| Notary Work Properly Executed ]
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* ^ SPECIATLIES:
e^e, Ear, nose and throat
Spectacles correctly fitted and Supplied.
O’NEILL. N LB.
F j D j s H N" ER
SUCCESSOR TO
A. B. NEWELL
REAL ESTATE II
^O’NEI L L. NEBRASKA |
Selling and leasing farms and ranches
Taxes paid aud lands inspected for non
residents. Parties desiring to buy or
rent land owned by non-residents give
me a call, will look up the owners and
procure the land for you.
O’Neill —
Abstracting Co
Compiles
Abstracts of Title
/
ONLY COMPLETE SET OF AB
STRACT BOOKS IN HOLT COUNTY
O’NKILU,, NEB.
HOTEL
v-JAVAN’S
i Enlarged
Refurnished
1 . Refitted
Only First-class Hotel
’ In &e City
I ' <”’* W. T. EVANS, Prop
I -
j The New Market [
3 Having leased the (?atz Market l
3 and thoroughly renovated the E
3 same we are now ready to sup- ;
4 ply you wiih choice Fresh and t
& 3 Salt Meats, Ham. Bacon, Fish. J
I 2 In fact everything to be found £
* in a flirst-olass market. We l
invite your patronage : : : l
I
B
►
Leek & Blackmer j
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Severe Attack Of Grip
Cured by One Bot tle of Chamberlain's
Cough Remedy.
“When I had an attack of the grip
last winter (the second one) I actually
cured myself with one bottle of Cham
berlain’s Cough Remedy,” says Frank
W. Perry, Editor of the Enterprise,
Shortsville, N. Y. “This is the hon
est truth. I at times kept from cough
ing myself to pieces by taking a tea
spoonful of this remedy, and when the
coughing spell would come on at night
I would take a dose and it seemed
that in the briefest interval the cough
would pass off and I would go to sleep
perfectly free from cough and its ac
companying pains. To say that the
remedy acted as a most agreeable sur
prise is putting it very mildly. I had
no idea that it would or could knock
out the grip, simply because I had
never tried it for such a purpose, but
it did, and it seemed with the second
attack of coughing the remedy caused
it to not onla be of less duration, but
the pains were far less severe, and I
had not used the contents of one bot
tle before Mr. Grip had bid me adieu.”
For sale by P. C. Corrigan.
Great Northern Railway
W. & S. F. RY.
Through daily service to Minneapo
lis and St. Paul with direct connec
tions for all points in Minnesota,
North Dakota and west to Pacific
Coast. Through sleeping car service.
Apply to any agent for rates, folders
and descriptive matter.
Fred Rogers,
Genl. Pass. Agt.
Danger of Colds and Grip.
The greatest danger from colds and
grip is their resulting in pneumonia.
If reasonable care is used, however,
and Chamberlain’s Cough Remedy
taken, all danger will avoided.
Among the tens of thousands who
have used this remedy for these dis
eases we have yet to learn of a single
case having resulted in pneumonia,
which shows conclusively that it is a
certain preventive of that dangerous
disease. It will cure a cold or an at
tack of the grip in less time than any
other treatment. It is pleasant and
safe to toke. For sale by P. Cj Corri
gan.
^vaammmmaamam
In every town
and village
may be had
the . |
'vrmmm?
Ma,i<- 1 that makes your t
l»v B - r
Standard B li/yrc' /■*.' rrln/1 '$
Oil Cn. B JlOlisC^ £>12(1. g|
Shorthorn Bulls :nd Heifers.
SCOTCh tops on best BATES fami
lies, 35 BULLS 14 to 26 mo. old. 20
HEIFERS and 10 COWS bred to our
tine Scotch bull MISSIES PRINCE
75402. Over 200 head in heard to select
from. These are the cattle for western
men,as they are acclimated. Come and
see them or write for prices.
THE BROOK FARM CO.,
J. R. Thomas, foreman,O’Neil I, Holt Co.,Neb.
H
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Purchase Tickets and Consign youi
Freight via the
F.,E.& M.V. Railroad
TRAIKS DEPART:
GOING EAST. *
Passenger east, No. 4, 9:57 a. >i
Freight east. No. 24, 12:01 P. ai
Freight east, No. 28, 4 00 p. m
GOING VVEHT.
Passenger west, No. 3, 10:0G p. u
Freight west, No. 27, 5:32 p. m
R’roio-ht Mo, 23 Local 2:5C P. m
E. R. Adams, Agent
Trade Marks
Designs
Copyrights <&c.
Anyone sending a sketch and description may
quit ;<ly ascertain our opinion free whether an
invention is probably patentable. Communica
tions strict ly confidential. Handbook on Patents
sent free. Oldest agency for securing patents.
Patents taken through Munn A Co. receive
special notice, without charge, in the
Scientific American.
A handsomely illustrated weekly. Largest dr
cniation of any scientific Journal. Terms, IS a
year; four months, |L Sold by all newsdealer*.
MUNN & Co.36,Broadwa> New Ywk
Branch Office. 626 I St., Washington. D. C.
Scapegoat
0 Night Wind, wuu ut-ii oieat about my
way,
Be thou the scapegoat of my misspent
de y.
For ill Fve done, for good let by.
1 put my hands upon the buoyant air,
To thee transfer my guilt, commit my
cure.
And bid thee to the desert fly.
Seek thou some waste bespread of sand
or snow.
Where men dwell not, nor birds; nor
flowers grow;
Where winds themselves to silence die.
Or find some deaf-walled, sightless cave,
Molded of ancient Are or hewn by wave,
And there my past transgressions cry.
So shall I rise, when next the Great High
Priest
Shall light the day's burnt offering in tho
East,
To strive again—facing the sky.
—John Finley, in Century.
ooooooooooooo
The narrow, hot, stifling concert
hail was tilled to overflowing with
the class of people who follow in the
wake cf the song-and-danee girl in
the far West, paying lavishly for the
entertainment furnished by a weak,
unmusical voice singing to the ac
companiment of a wheezy piano or a
discordant, fiddle called by courtesy
a violin. On this occasion tho audi
ence, composed mostly of miners and
cowboys, were treated to a surprise,
for the girl who sung and danced was
both young and pretty, with less
rouge and more natural charms than
any of her predecessors in the con
cert hall stage.
She could sing, too, and that with
out straining her voice into a dis
cordance, and she danced the most
difficult fancy dances with a grace
and intelligence that showed not only
superior training but an artistic con
ception of its value. And her stage
by-play and side coquetries were as
effusive and harmless as those of a
child. The too vivid color of her yel
low hair was undoubtedly due to
chemicals, but it was one strong con
cession to the tastes of her audience.
She was billed as “The Girl With the
Yellow Hair,” and tried faithfully to
live up to her reputatiou.
She was singing, with quaint
humor that had a serious side to it,
a popular travesty, dancing down the
rude platform stage between tho
lines:
"Any old place under my hat
Is home, sweet home, to me.”
As she danced to the edge of the
stage she stopped singing and for a
moment stood poised motionless on
the tips of her slim, well formed feet,
her face rigid like a mask, a quick
look of terror in her eyes. A man,
roughly dressed, with his trousers
tucked into his boots, had just enter
ed the place. He carried a buggy
whip in his hand, and was greeted
with cries of “Sit down!” “Stop inter
ruptin’ the Bingin’,” and thankful for
the diversion of this criticism, “Ths
Girl With the Yellow Hair” started
her song anew and sung with so
much spirit and Charm that she was
wildly applauded and danced oft the
stage kissing her hand with inimita
ble grace to her fascinated audience,
who encored her rudely and loudly,
only to be told by the manager that
she would not appear again.
She had retreated to the back of
the hall to an alcove that served as
a dressing-room, where the man who
had disturbed her singing found her.
A sudden pallor had settled on her
face when she turned to meet him.
“What brings you here, John Dem
ining?” she asked with constraint
and impatience. “I knew if you dis
covered who I was you would be
angry with me for coming to this
place—where—where—oh, how could
- imwiTTiTn-:
Both young and pretty,
you make it so hard for me, when
I too, was learning to forget?"
‘‘I’m not here of my own free will,
ilosa, you may feel sure of that,
when we two parted we parted for
keeps, and I haven’t any claim on
you. It’s some one else.”
“Elizabeth?” gasped the girl, her
lips whitening; “has anything hap
pened to Elizabeth? Oh, I will never
forgive you in this world or In the
noxt if—’*
“Come with mo then if you want
to see her alive," 'said the man. Ho
was not purposely brutal, but his
tones were hard and even—hard as
uails. The woman caught his arm.
“Elizabeth dying, my Ellzaboth!
Oh. God, my punishment has come
too suo.and I have worked so hard
and lived only for her. Take me to
her a* once.”
She had caught up a beflowered
hat with much lace falling in festoons
from the brim, and woud have rushed
from the place, but the man stopped
her.
"Not In that rig. Hose, for God’s
sake Something to cover you from
prying eyes, from Elizabeth, who
does not know. Quick! isn’t this a
cloak? Wrap It round you and threw
the hood over your head. Now come.”
His buggy was at the door and he
swung her into It and drove away,
as he had dono so many times in the
past when she had the first right to
his care. As they rode rapidly over
the four miles between them and the
farmhouse where her child lay dying
she had time for a severe and scourg
ing retrospoct. She had never meant
to abandon Elizabeth, but the law of
the state had given the child to the
father, and the step she had taken In
a fit of foolish jealousy had become
Irrevocable. John Demoting hpd not
I
“What brings you here, John Deming.”
been an unkind husband so far as
words or deeds wert, but he believed
that any woman who had a roof pro
vided to cover her head and three
meals daily .should bo happy. An ab
sence of unklndness was his sole
claim to tenderness. The woman at
his side fleeing through the night
could feel the granite of his nature in
the touch of his rigid arm as ho
drove—he was more like cast iron
than flesh and blood.
Even so it was not from that she
had run away. In the two years
since she had not heard from him or
of him. She groaned aloud as the
thought of her child and the awful
renunciation to which the law had
compelled her. The man sitting be
side her was no longer her husband,
she asked.
“Who has cared for Elizabeth?”
"A good woman—a nurse, and the
child was fond of her, but she has
always wanted you. It really is
strange that she can remember. She
has asked for you often, but I hoped!
she would forget and be happy.”
"I am not afraid to see her.” She
straightened herself proudly. “My
innocent child will know her mother
has done no wrong. I was driven to
tlie step I look. People have said no
harm of me, but they talked of you
and Rachel Dowries until my heart
broke. I dare say I was foolish to be
lieve them.”
She waited to hear him deny or
affirm, but when he spoke again it
was to his horse, and soon they were
at the farmhouse.
“Go in,” he said more gently than
he had yet spoken. “She is in the
south bedroom down stairs.”
She threw off her cloak as she
passed through the narrow entry,
and, unmindful of what she wore,
stood by the bed on which a little
girl lay, transparently thin and wan,
reaching up wasted arms to this
radiant figure at her bedside.
“My beauty mamma; my angel
mamma,” and they were in each
other’s arms. “I knew you would
come to take mo away with you—
with you, mamma. You look just like
you do when you come to seo mo
every night, but papa said it wasn't
you. As if Elizabeth didn’t know.”
The nurse, a pleasant-faced, silent
woman, hovered near, and John Dem
ining, coming in, stood at the head
of the bed with his arms crossed on
his breast. The little girl fixed her
dark, sunken eyes on her mother's
face, on the nimbus of yellow hair, on
the despised tawdriness that her
father wanted concealed, and a heav
enly smile broke over her thin feat
ures.
“My mamma—my beauty mamma,”
she said with a sigh of ineffable sat
isfaction, and with that sigh the lit
tle Elizabeth had passed beyond the
lines of contention. John Detnming,
forgetting for tho moment everything
but that Rose was the mother of his
dead child, held out his hands to her
In her great anguish, but before she
rould respond the nurse said quietly:
“Your wife wants you, Mr. Dem
ining.”
She was looking at some one in the
loorway beyond Rose—a bold-looking
foung woman with snapping black
syes and defiant manner who carried
ierself with the air of one who felt
it home. It was she who had been
Stachel Downes.—Mrs. M. L. Rayne
n Chicago Record-Herald.
Statue of French Queen Found.
In cutting a canal at Bordeaux, a
juried statue has been discovered of
*.nne of Austria, queen of Louis XIII.,
vho died at Paris in 1666.
When Betty Bakes the Caked.
When Betty bakes the buckwheat cakes
My bosom swells with pride;
I then forget my life's mistakes
And smile, well satisfied.
The chilling wind outside the pane
To discord vainly wakes,
It cannot move me to complain
When Betty bakes the cakes.
Now, some there be whoso broidering
Is ladylike and fine;
And some most daintily do sing
Or write In phrases lino.
But, though my admiration stirs,
My loyalty ne’er shakes.
Their cleverness is naught to hera
When Betty bakes tho cakes.
The syrup in a golden line
Sets forth to trace her name;
The coffee steam, an Incense fine,
Arises to her fame.
And though the sunshine for a whllt
Tho wintry morn forsakes,
I ask no radiance save her smile,
When Betty bakes tho cakes.
q<k><kkk:-o^kkk>o
0 How a. Woman X
X* Found Her Hero V
dhoooooo ooo-o-oo
"Are you quite sure that you aro
really happy, dear—very happy?”
And he leaned over the table deux
and touched her fingers behind tho
friendly selter of the roses. Forget
ful of tho ubiquitous waiter, of every
thing but the earnest-faced man bo
fore her, tho girl Impulsively stretch
ed out both hands to him and said
with shining eyes:
"So happy, dear, happier than I
ever hoped to bo—and to think that
at. last the dream of my life is going
to ho realized—1 shall go home, homo
to dear England again. I was very
little when mamma and Grace and I
loft tho old homo after papa’s death.
But America lias never seemed so
beautiful to mo as our dear home in
Surrey.” A look of sadness crept
Into tho glowing eyes and she did not
notice that the man moved uneasily
in his chair and that a gloomy, wor
ried expression overshadowed the
bright hopefulness of a moment be
fore.
"We shall go back just as soon as
we are married, shall we not, Dick?
Dear old Dink, I am so glad that you
and not any ono else are to give me
my dearest wish. Aren’t you glad—
you don't look uproariously happy—
what Is it., dear?"
“May, would you mind so awfully
If we—well, if we didn't go back to
England, after all?”
“Would 1 mind? Dick are you
crazy? Oh, you know 1 have hoped
and waited for that all my life. It
used to seem as If It would never
come true—till I met you and you
told me you loved me. And since then
1 have thought of it, waited for It day
and night.”
Dick looked at her questlonlngly
for a moment and then said, a little
bitter!}': “Do you know, little girl,
that at times I have been tempted to
think that you loved the thought of
going back homo better than you did
me.”
Her face crimsoned painfully, and
his heart smote him.
“There, there, little one; that
wasn’t fair. I was a beast to say It
to you—more of a beast because you
are going to be put to the test.”
“Why, Dick, what do you mean?”
“Just tills, Maysie, girlie; we can
not go back to England—at least I
cannot.”
“You cannot go back, Dick? Surely
surely you have not committed some
crime which prevents you from going
back. It Isn’t that? Say It Isn’t!”
“Well, I’m not exactly a criminal,
little girl,but I might just as well be,"
he said bitterly. I should be treated
like one if 1 went back, and every
one believes me to be the most des
picable wretch on the face of tho
green earth.”
A nameless fear grew in the girl’s
eyes. •
“For heaven’s sake, Dick, tell me
what you mean.”
“I mean just this: If I went back
to England to-morrow my own rela
tives would in all possibility cut mo
dead. The fellows at tho cubs—In
the park—on the street, would pass
me with a cold nod; if I offered them
my hand not a mother s son of them
but would quietly and coldly Ignore
12 1
)r ' llfl1 ijl iii| ""
“Are you quite sure that you are really
happy, dear—very happy?"
It. My God, child, you don’t know
whut it meant to me. I went through
it once, but not even for you could
I go through that hell a second time.”
“But, why, Dick; tell me why—
what have you done?”
“It’s not good hearing for innocent
ears like yours, little sweetheart; but
it is your right to know. I have told j
you that when I came into my money
at eighteen I kicked over all re
straints and went the pace till—well,
till I came the worst kind of a crop
per. You see, Margrave and two
or three others of the Oxford set
came into their money at the same
time*, and, like a lot of hot-het4«d
fools, we turned I.ondon upside down
hunting for pome new devilment Id
which to make ducks aud drakes of
It all. 1 wan the hottest-headed fool
of them all and soon found that I
had not only established an unen
viable reputation for wildness, hut
that I had run dangerously near the
end of my tether—things had arrived
at a stage where I could no longer
hold my own with the fellows—So I
mad, up my mind to pull up stakes
and goto one of the colonies with the
remalrffcor.”
He sat gloomily silent for a mo
ment, apparently lora in a retrospect
anything but pleasant. An Impatient
"Oh, go on, Dick, please go on," from
the girl brought him back to the pres
ent again.
“Just before I sailed for Australia
—the day before, I think it was—
Margrave camo to me and said:. ‘See
here, old chap, I’m in a devil of a
hole; I need two thousand pounds the
worst sort of a way and not another
sou can- 1 raise on the estate. I've
got to have it, or there’ll be a scandal
that will break the mater’s heart;
help mo out, for God’s sake.’
“Margrsifj's mother had been aw
fully geot to me when I was a lonely
little chap at Eton—used to have me
down for the holidays, and all that.
“See here, old chap, I’m in a devil of •
hole.”
you know—so the upshot of it all wm
that I promised to let him have tho
two thou.—and It was just half of
what I lmd left—and further, he got
mo to promise to take the check to
the party he was rowing with. I took
It, got a receipt for It and sailed the
next. day.
"For eight years In Australia I got
no word from tho home folks, but
thought that tho letters had gone
astray, as I was far up country, and
finally I went hack to England with
a nice .lttle pile and a big longing for
the society of my own kind again.
God, what a home-coming it was. Not
a welcome; black looks, veiled Insin
uations everywhere. One day I asked
a chap who hud refused my band,
what It all meant. He told me. Mar
grave’s trouble had been the worst
sort—low-down, dishonorable treat
ment of a woman we all
knew—conduct no gentleman could
ever forgive. I bad paid the
money with my own check—I had
left the country the next day—and he
—cad that he Is—let me bear the
shame of it all—so I came out to New
York and met you. 1 love you, dar
lihg, and you shall judge. Shall we
go back to England and straighten
things out? It shall be as you say,
little woman.”
"But, Dick, think what It would
mean to that other woman and those
children—Oh, I couldn’t, dear—and
yet,when I think of how you have suf
fered, I could do anything; dear, dear
Dick—”
She buried her face In her handB
for a moment, and the man watched
her eagerly, anxiously.
“Dick, there Is Just one thing In
the world I have always wanted more
even than to go home; and that Is to
marry a hero. We’ll stay here, dear,
and you shall forget the pain and the
hurt In my love.”—Vivian Clare How*
ard In Chicago Examiner.
A Religious Dream.
The sermon had been deplorably
long, there could be no disputing this,
and little girls are not supposed to
understand what Is being said, any
way. Even “ferown-ups” fidgeted In
their pews and the funny little man
with the white side whiskers was seen
to yawn behind his hand.
Little Miss Sunshine, in her crush
ing Sunday hat and her long cloak,
had finally given up—the heat and the
music and the never-ending sermon
as too much for her; entirely unknown
to any one she had leaned against
her mother’s arm and fallen off to
sleep.
“Ora, wake up, aren’t you ashamed?"
said her mother, who discovered the
child, and Little Sunshine was rudely
disturbed from slumber.
She straightened up, blinked her
eyes two or three times and whis
pered bo that all the people in the
pews around could hear her; “It was a
‘ligious dream, mamma,” she sobbed
in the defensive; “I thought a crowd
of angels came to our house from the
sewing society and you sent Nan down
to say that you were out.”
Her Thoughtfulness.
Dinah, the colored cook, was going
to be married and her mistress, who
had brought her from Virginia, mani
fested much interest In the prepara- a.
tions tor the important event. Dinah aal
proudly submitted the invitation* .ake
which she had written herself for her *p in
mistress’ inspection: !• flour
“Why, Dinah!” exclaimed the lady, iakes a
syping an envelope deeply borderedcMdren
with black, “you are not in mour*°° much
ing?” * we would
“No, ma’am,” replied Dinah wou^ ^ve
Jey is in mo’nin’ what I’m lendi"?^
nvitation to, an' It s up to me.tell.
em see I knows it.”