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About The American. (Omaha, Nebraska) 1891-1899 | View Entire Issue (April 19, 1895)
THE AMERICAN 3 IN THE Clutch of Rome. (OorYHIOHTKlO BY "UONLALES." CHAPTKU XVII Continued. A DAStiEKOL'SCONKk'riSOK. The eyes of the young priest fell at length on the form of the girl before him, with the glow of tin-fire failing on her light, chestnut hair, and showing the blue veins in her thin Lands; and he noted with sorrow the thinner of her cheek, which, Jrom the formation of her face, should have b- en round. "Flora," he said very gently, "do you remember our conversation at the fair9" She had evidently Iieen deep in thought. She looked up at hiui with something of reproach in her eyes. "Do I remember, Father? Do you think I can forget that you, a holy man, as far above me as the bright sun, told me that you drew inspiration from my voice at the singing of the mass?" Fabio was startled. Was this young, imaginative girl making a saint of him? "It's very natural that the impressive words of the Sacrifice should be render ed more impressive when a voice, with Mich depth of feeling in it asyour's pos sesses, sings it. I said other things to you, Miss Flora; I told you that I must have the meaning of your sad words and altered looks, explained." "You told me, Father, that the church could help me. She has helped me, for you are a part of the church, and if my singing inspires you "Flora," the priest interrupted, "you attach too much importance to those words of mine." "Did you not mean them, Father," he asked very earnestly. "Yes, my daughter, from the very bottom of my heart, but I do not want you to give undue Importance to them, and I want you to tell me what it is that makes you unlike other girls of your ago. Remember, I do not ask from idle curiosity, but as your pastor." The girl's head dropped and her face grew crimson. "IIdo not think I know just what it is, your Reverence." The priest looked at her attentively & few minutes. This girl and her trouble, whatever it was, required the most delicate handling. Of one thing the young priest felt certain; no guilt, as the world knew the meaning of the word, had a place in the girl's heart. ''How ,do you occupy your time, Flora," he asked abruptly, "during your eister'e absence?" The girl glad at a change in the con versation, grew voluable. "Oh, I . am never idle, Father, I rise early and prepare our breakfast, then 1 do house work, next I practice my sing ing for am hour, I also paint. Two days out of the week, I go out and take a les son in einfflne and painting. Then in the evening we sew or read. Some times we go to a place of amusement." "Alwajs wdthyour sister?" "Always, your Reverence. I would never think of going out ic the evening without her." "That is one of your paintings, I sup pose," said the priest, pointing to a painting on an etwel. "Oh, yes, Fatter, all the pictures -you see in the room are my work. Would you care to go into my studio, rather?-' The priest arose. -"It would give me great pleasure." Flora led the way through the hall nd the 6mall dining room, with its aimpe, refined appointments, and push ing aside thecrimson folds of a portiere, they entered a fair-sized room, one sUle of whieih was almost entirely of glass. This .room Margaret had built for a conservatory, but when her young sis ter had hown unmistakable talent as an artist, she had converted it into a etudio. The floor was covered with India matting, with here and there a pretty rug. The walls and ceiling were done in pale blue and pearl, as was also the woodwork. The furniture was simple, and the room was devoted to artist materials. Some Narcissus were blooming in pots on a stand, and a great jar of terra cotta stDod in a corner with growing palms in it, whoso feathery fans swept the ceiling. Resting on easels or against the wall were flower pieces and landscapes, and many beautiful little creations of her own fancy; but Father St. John noticed with some surprise that the majority of her pieces were copies of Biblical scenes, c Father St. John was an ad mirer and also something of a critic, of art, and he was surprised at the unmis takable talent displayed by so young a girl, as he looked critically at a rose crowned St. Cecelia, and an exquisite copy of the Madonna and child. Finally, his attention was attracted to an easel in a distant corner, with a large canvas on It almost hid by a drapery of crim son silk. He walked up to it, saying: "What holy of holies do you keep hidden here?" With a bound the girl reached his side and laid her hand against the folds of the Bilk. Father St. John, with the instinct of a gentleman who would not Insist on the disclosure of what a lady wished to conceal, turned from the picture, saying: "I respect Its exclusiveness, Flora, show me something else." "Oh, your Il-'verenee, excuse my silly action. I thought perhaps, you might not like it. I really forgot about the picture b.-ing here. Come and look at it, Father," she flung hack the silk with a quick, resolute movement. Thus ad monished. Father St. John went hack to the picture. It was a painting of St. Michael. The warlike angel stood mail clad, with a sword in one hand and holding a shield with a red cross upon it in front of him. Flis foldei wings, perfect was the work of the young artist, had a silvery plcam upon them. On the bottom of the edetal, on which he stood, she had painted in small violet letters, "jShi Tuhln Mirhtuli,l'nx in T(rra,luc in IVIm." (Neath St. Michael's is given. I'eaco on earih, and peace In Heaven.) The face of the angel was a perfect likeness of Father St. John. The priest looked at the girl standing before him, pale and drooping as a lily wilted by a hot sun, waiting his verdict of the right or wrong of her work, and he turned sick at heart. Could the words of Ida Olney be true? Did this young inno cent and gifted girl love him with the love of a woman for a man? Hanish the thought; she was only a child. His face had taken her artistic fancy, and she had given it to her angel, as she would iiavo given it the face of any chance stranger that had taken her fancy. In her childish awe of him as a priest, she had been afraid of his dis pleasure. He plaoed hit hand in brotherly way on her shoulder, and said, laughingly: "You have done me a great honor, Miss Flora, and if our worthy St. Michael of blessed memory be not of fended, I have no cause to be." Like a drooping lily refreshed by drops of dew, she lifted her head under the light touch of the priest's hand and his reassuring words. "Miss Flora," he said, as he turned from the picture, "this is a pleasant place to linger in, but my time is about up; come, will you not tell me why you veiled that picture?" "I hardly know, Father, unless, it was not quite dry, for 1 only finished it this morning." The most truthful of all women will prevaricate, when .questions touching ever so lightly on her love secrets, are asked. In the .painting of St. Michael, iFlora had known all the pleasure, and had forgotten all the pain of her love idyl. To a chance observer, the pic ture was a copy of a paint ne of an his torical saint, with an inscription from an old latin hymn under it. To the girl, it was the man he ljved and idealized, and she had thrown the eilken veil over it, with the instinctive seoretlveness of love. The parlor regained, the priest did not resume his seat by the fire, but re mained standing near ihe mantel, and ho had become all the priest again. "My daughter, I have not urged your confidence toJay, I think your trouble is of a more serious nature than I at first thought. Is your sister in your confidence? Does she ever remark on your altered appcaram e?" 'U, yes, Father; she really at times annoys me -with her anxious question ings, but I always protest there is any thing wrong with me: and indeod,your Reverence, I am better than I was. I think my unhappiness was half Imag inary. I pray, Oh, so earnestly, to the holv virgin to keep my heart pure within, and to heal the infirmities of my body aod soul, and you know ehe al ways helps those mho supplicate her." "The virgin is, indeed, a harbor of sa ety in the troubled waters of life," said the priest. "Hut tell me how lorg It is since you have been to confession." "Not for more than a year, Father St. John." Father St. Joh'i shook his head in stern disapproval. "How old were you then?" "Not quite sixteen." "Then you are aow?" "I was sev intern last month." "Tell me, Fieri, why you have neg lected to perform this most sacred duty? Do you not knov that in ignoring this great command of the church, you are sinning very deeply?"' Like the child she was, she knelt at the priest's feet, and iu trembling tones that expressed the agony of her heart, she said: "O, Father St. John, forgive me. You would if yoi only knew." The priest raised her, and in brother ly tenderness held her two hands in his, and said eanestly: ' My daughter, so far as it lies in my power to forgbe, I do, with all my heart. I begin to fear that some great matter that netds a close investigation has entered lnt your life. Promise me to come tomoncw a'ternoon to confes sion." I A gray pallor settled in the face of the girl, and slie withdrew her hands from the tender grasp of the priest. Is it possible for me to avoid this command, Father?" "It is impossible, my daughter. The sacrament of confession is instituted by divine commaid, and it is absolutelv necessarv to four salvation. Come to the footstool o! God, as you would go to a tender mothtr. I might have better said, with tenbld more assurance than you would go to a mother, for it seems you cannot tel the seen, ts of your heart to your sister who is the only mother you have knorvn." I "Ah, my cister. If you only knew her pure womanly life. I think she has her sorrows, too, for sometimes she is sad, but her religion dotmnot ask her to confess her secrets, and she taught me, when I was a little child, that UoJ could read our hearts as wo can read an oH-n boolt. And is not her Cod our Cod?" "It is not for me to judge our sister or her religion, Flora. I believe her to bo a mh1, true woman; but you and I must obey the commands of Cod ac cording to the church to which wo both belong. AndalK)ve all, my child, re member that there is no trouble that can coino to you that ihe church cannot in snie manner cure or mediate." The girl looked up at him with clear, earn est eyes "I never thought of it in that way before, Father. " The closing of the front door startled thi priest and the Knltenta little, and Margaret came into the room. She ac knowledged the priest's salutation a little coldly. Flora hastened to relieve ho- sister of her lunch basket and wraps, and Father St. John, declining a rather formal invitation from Margaret to take dinner with them, left the cot tage. CHAPTER XVII I. HER LOVE FOR A I'll! EST. It was with an undefined feeling of reluctance that Father St. John enterod the confessional on the following after noon, to await his vounir penitent. His experience with the passions of the hu man heart was, owing to the short time of his pastorate, slight, but his keen in sight told him that he had to deal with no ordinary sinner. Flora, as the hour drew icar for her to go to the church, knelt before her crucifix with her rosary in her hand, and said many aves to the virgin. Then she went to her sleeping room, where she had carried St. Michael, and stood long In contemplation before it. She was going to a real St. Michael soon, and the lines of the hymn, as she read them over, gave a promise of peace. "Yes, 'neath St. Michael's watch is given peace on earth and peace in Heaven." True to her promise, at the appointed hour she entered the confes sional. It is not for us to pry into its secrecy. Sutlice it to say, under the careful questioning .of the priest, and by what she believed to be a duty to her Creator, she confessed to Father St. John that love for himself was the joy and piin of her life. Her confession filled the priest with dismay. He brought all the force of reason to bear upon the girl. He tried to show her in such strong terms as her delicate mind could bear, the sinfullnees and danger of her regarding him, a priest, with other love than that of a child for a father. "The knowledge that this love is sin ful and utterly hopeless is what is kill ing mo, Father. O, Father St. John, why do you and the church force this shameful confession from me? It was my secret, mine and the virgin's. I told her all, aod in time she would have helped me, I know, for my heart was beginning to grow lighter in my bosom: but now, O, Father. St. John, never again, I think, can I sing the mass, so covered with shame am I." You have washed away much of your sin, my child, by obeying and un burdening your heart to the church. I told you she would help you, and she will." And after a few comforting words, and the absolution for Father St. John felt that this young creature had, in her anguish of heart, suffered penance enough to expiate the sins of a dozen worldly women he pushed the slide down over the grating and left the con fessional. His first impulse was to wait for the girl, and assure her further of his friendship, and his respect for her secret. Then, judging her sensitive nature by his own, he hurried out of the church, purposely walking with heavy footfalls, that she might know when he had gone. Soon after, Flora left thechurch with her veil drawn closely over her face. Flora had learned to love the handsome young priest with a woman's love, try slow degrees; at fourteen, he was the God she worshiped at the altar in the ceremonies of the church; at seventeen, he was a God no longer, but the man whom she still worshiped as a being whom God Himself had sanctified, but whom she also loved alas! she well knew hopelessly with those undefined sensations, a mixture of absolute purity of thought and physical attraction, which a woman can never experience but once, and never after she has left her teem; love that is so hard to keep in subjection, because it has all the boldness of innocence. A love that is born with the individual and develops rapidly and silently, ready to burst forth at touch of a certain hand, or the glance of an eye, like a folded flower bud, that unconsciously waits for the ray of sunlight to unfold its fragrant petals. Flora had struggled hard with this love of hers, but she was too young to conquer her sweet and secret sin, which had become part of her life, though she was old enough to know that it was eat ing her life away, and was as absurd as it was sinful. After a while she grew calmer. She told herself she was better, after all, for her confession, for she no longer oore the burden alone. He knew, her real Saint Michael, and he would help her fiht and cony tier her sin. Father St. John had listened to the confession of Flora Hume and had tried, to the best of his ability, to shiw her the absurdity of allowing her life to be embittered by her girlish fancy for himself, lie had told hi r she was too joung 1 1 know the meaning of love as relating to the sexes; that she had nurs. d her imagination urtll it had become diseased: that he was no saint for any one to worship, lut a simple priest trylnir to impart the ilght he had received, irotn l leaven to tbo iimler his care. He had even suggested that she repaint the face of her Saint Michael. ' Don't ask me to do that, Father," she hail pleaded, "the real Saint Mictiael fought and conquered sin; you have piomised to help me light and conquer sin. Then, why ask mo to des troy that which will help mo to re member this?" Then he bade her do as sho pleased with her picture. In the semi darkness of the confessional, when the fluttering words of the girl, with all their dread meaning, fell on his ear, the image of Ida Olney seemed to stand before him and her words, "Your priestly career will bo ruined by a woman, yet," rang in his ears as he listened to what he feared to hear, and to what he vaguely felt it would l0 his sad fate to listen to, when he had bidden the girl open her heart to God. The next Sunday Father St. John listened for her bird like voice to re spond to him in the mass. Without an instant's delay, it rose clear and sweet, but with an earnest pleading in it that only ho heard. After the elevation, he glanced up to the choir gallery; he could not see her She had knelt in the shadow of the organ. Flora hud schooled herself to continue singing in the choir, but with what a bitter struggle only God and herself knew. Days sped on. Father St. John visited the sick and dying, and said masses; visited Mrs. Maxwell from time to time, according to his charge, and. had the assurance from her, that nothing on earth could again make her forget her duty to the church, and that by prayers and supplications she hoped to gain her husband's consent to have their union consecrated by the church; and she gave large sums of money from time to time for masses to be said for the soul of the abbess. The priest as sured her that without much doubt the unhappy condition ( f the abbess was much mediated by the exemplary life s!ie had led of late by the baptism of her children. The priest, also, had bade her hope with cerUinty for the climax of her reformation, and for the eternal happiness of the abbess. Fa ther St. John knew thai. Rome bad other arguments than prayers and sup plications to bring to bear on her hus band, to make him consent to almost anything the church might demand. Hut the salt had lost its savor. Fa therSt. John x;rformed the offices of his priesthood with the grim obedience of a slave under the eye of a master. The image of a young girl with truth ful violet eyes, light chestnut hair, and a bird-like voice, with small, deft fin gers that could prepare food, and per form household duties, and was proud of being able to work; and entering a dainty studio, could, with those same skillful fingers, bring into the sweet imagery of her mind, haunted the young father in all his in comings and out-goiDgs. At first he soughtto banish the ghost by calling up to his mind the daily duties of his life, and bv laving plans for future labors; but the ghost, with a of appealing look, would glide quietly among these thoughts and they would flee. Then he boldly took to reasoning with it. "You are nothing to me. I do not feel even a semblance by what you of the world call love, and which lam by solemn vows never to know. I have no regrets that I : m so bound. Paint your pictures and grow famous, or marry and devote those housewifely qualities of yours to making a husband's home happy. Bear children and teach them to fear the Lord, and to be faithful fol lowers of the true faith, and leave me, who have no wish to know aught of such a life, to my own." Then this persistent ghost would look at him with truthful, violet eyes, and his argument like a little mound of soft snow, would melt away. Then, he no longer struggled against It, but let it take full posse; sion of him, hoping to breed the contempt of familiarity. As he ate his meals, the pretty ghost sat opposite him, in dainty, morning robes or closely fitting, afternoon gowns of soft tints, and poured out his tea and coilee, with those small, gifted hands: then, when the labors of the day were over, his library walls melted away into a long room with filray,white draperies at the windows, and the floor was car peted with a thick, soft carpet with rich subdued tints in it; and the walls around him were decorated with the creations of a mind and body, which could neither conceive nor execute a semblance of guile; and the faint.sweet scents of heliotrope and mltrnonette came to him from their home in the embrasure of a window; and his leather covered chair was a dainty, wicker rocker, with pale blue ribbons woven in its meshes, and his head rested against a soft, blue velvet cushion: and the fire light fell on a girlish form, with a pale, wiH't face, framed In cbeilmit hair, sitting near him, on a low ottoman, In a childish attitude, with downcast eyes and i-las-d hands, or knelt at hi feet, asking In anguish of heart, for his for glvei ess fur neglcetlng thj commands of the church. Then again, he would follow the dainty form, and she would hold aside the folds ofacrhu-Hin curtain, and he would find himself In an artistic studio, looding at a likeness of iilmvlf In the guise of a saint, with his sweet young worshler by his side. Very often now, the ghost sat in the fire light, smiling and happy, with checks round and pink, and the look those leaiitiful eyes gave him, was not that of a penitent, nor a girl struggling to keep down a hueless love, but the honest, all su file Ing HlTecliou, which never comes from any eyes, lie they ever so lieatitlful, but thosf of a loved, loving and honored wife; ami with that look the neglected breviary would fall from the priest's hands on to the Moor, with a dull thud, the drowsy flro would Hare up a warn ing, and the dream would vanish; and the substance of tills spirit, which was playing such havoc in the priest's life, still performed herduinty tasks, painted her pictures, practiced her singing, prayed to the virgin, as sho had leon taught; but the last thing her eyes res ed on at night before she put out her Ilght, and the first thing they rested on when she opened them in the morn ing, was Saint Michael, and the refrain of all her prayers was the consoling words of tho hymn. (To bo Continued.) "IN THE CLUTCH OF ROME," is iiiililUlied in book form, paper cover. ami run he hail l)v Hendlni; 'i't rent Iti rash to tho AMKIlll AN I'll III. IHIIINI1 ('(IHI'ANV. MAKI V MONK. The Nun Who KmchH'I From the Hotel Kirn, Montreal, Canada. Fresh De velopments. In the winter of 1 8!HI and 1801 tho celebrated Chas. Chiniquy, commonly called Father Chiniquy, and now proba bly the most famous ex-prlest in the world was In Washington, D. C. Here he delivered a courso of nineteen lec tures on Romanism. Ho was then In his Blind year, being now I8U5, he would be 8(i years old.- It fell to my lot to serve as his assist ant and I was with him daily for about three weeks. Heing one day alone with him in his room, I asked whether he knew anything about the story of Maria Monk and her famous book, Awful Dis closures. Chiniquy was about 21 years old at the time of Miss Monk's escape, in 18115; and I knew that he had been much in Montreal where the Hotel Die is si uated. lie replied that he did, and that one occasion, when ho had hoconm too ill to continue his arduous labors as a priest and "AKistloof Temperance as he was often called, his bishop sent him to that very hotel to take some needed re.-t, saving to him: "The sisters will give you a room, and nurse you tenderly, und you will soon recover you usual health." While ho was there very old nun often came Into his room to minister to his wants; and one day he asked her whether she, knew any thing of the slory of Maria Monk. She replied that she was well informed on that subi'-ct, and had read her lnxik "Awful Disclosures." "Well now, "say Chiniquy "were you here during th time whin she clalmes to l ave bee here?" "Yes," she said, "I was her and I Knew her well. "then, say he, "I wish you would tell me whether the awful statements she has made of deeds done in this nunnery were true Lpon this question, the old nun as grea'ly agitat d and begged to be ex cused from ainswerintj; but on beinir pressed for an answer, consented, pro vided he would promise never to revea anything she said until after her death He promls 'd, and she then stated that Miss Monk's statements iu that book were tru ; and says she, "I have seen worse things done hero than anything that she Las told." My attention was again turned to the Maria Monk affair, by seeing a little phamphlet recently published in Lon don, Eng., by a Catholic house, endeav oring to prove that Miss Monk's Aw ful Disclosures were a fraud. I read the phamphlet through; but it does not seem to me to disprove any part of her story. Besides, this statement of the Rev. Chiniquy is a direct confirmation of tho truth of Miss Monks story, new evidence, which I have never before seen published. Rut I have just received, most un expectedly, some very interesting and very reliable statements from another source. While Friend Traynor, State Presi dent of the A. P. A., was in this city recently, he gave me the name of a Rev. gentleman nowlivingin New YorkCity from whom valuable information con cerning Miss Monk might be obtained. I wrote to him, and received substanti ally the following: That it was his mother, who first protected Miss Monk, when she arrived in that city after her escape trorn Montreal in me year lSSo. He says: "It was extremely difiicult to select a reiuge with any promise of safety, as spies were alert and numer ous, and danger of discovery was in creasing. Ihe name ot this protectrix was Mrs. Same W. Reeves, famous for her beauty, breadth of mind, dauntless courage, ana sublimity of character, combined with mich lovable trait and womanly graces at oommeniKid her for this charge in a time of great x-ril Her love of j istiee, hatred of wrong and unfaltering devotion to humanity decided the question, and watchman Hogan seized a favorable opiortunity, and secretly hurried Maria Monk to Mr. Reeve's residence where she and Mrs. Hogan welcomed her atmidnlght. She was Immediately secreted on the top floor, previoiiily prepared fur her, which she occupied for months, where) when restored to health and strength, she wrote her famous hook, Awful Dis closures," "The truths It contained were ter ribly cinphasi.ed by the subsequent excitement, and flood of vituperation with malignant jstrsecution, coupled with th rents of assassination." "It is Idle folly to attempt todiscredlt her book In tho face of the venomous fury aroused, and the consternation which forced the leading minds of tho Roman Catholic church into tho con troversy." "Maria Monk at length tired of her captivity, and one day Incautiously ap proached a window, and wub recog nized." "That night a mob bosolgod tho house, demanding her immediate, sur render." "They wore dispersed, and another mob apoarod tho next day." "The third day, Fifth street from Avenue 1) to Avenue C was filled by a frenzied mob of howling fanatics (Ro man Catholics), who threatened to raze tho house to the ground, unless Miss Monk was surrendered at once. Mrs. Reeve preferred to take chances rather than surrender. So tho neighbors ral lied and guarded tho house until Miss Monk was safely conducted to other quarters three days later. My mother often nqieatod this story, but had I received your inquiry live weeks sooner, I could have given some start- ling details," for bis mother died just five weeks ago. "The words quoted are as 1 1 received them from the son of this herolcmother. If Miss MonK was not an escaped nun, why did tho priests stln-up Romish mobs to recapture her? And If thoso convents are not places of lewdness and wickedness, why did Pope Innocent VIII. publish a bull demanding refor mation in monasteries and other relig ious places, and declare that "members of monasteries and other "religious houses lead a lascivious and truly dis solute life." Why is it that all escaped nuns tell the same story of those prisons? For my part, I should doem It truly wonderful that these escaped women should all agree so well, though wholly unknown o each other, and living In widely different times and far remote from ono another. Every lawyer ac customed to sift and weigh evidence, knows well that witnesses cannot so agree in all the essentials of a story as these escaped nuns do, unless they are telling the truth. This book should bo in every family in tho world. The boy or girl who has read it, will not bo likely to be beguiled into tho dens of Romanism. Yours truly. Ohask Roys, ;:n F St N. W. Washington, I). C. Maria Monk's Hook can be had by sending a postal or express order for 50 cents o the AMKIUCAN l'LBU.SHINU Co., Omaha, Neb , or, Chicago. III., or, Kansas City, Mo. Order from the office nearest your place of residence. EtFREE HEAT! LB I Tfc Ume thnr V, labia nur Haw JV I will II K AT It 1 you uw c r FALLS HEATER, f ym Hint) awnrtln Ji-wl of wtex .il;t Mri-h Pit ikk i n;. m 3 MMIi P,ut "onion, Ih . Fifty Years -1.-Church of Romer Bt REV. CHAS. CIIIMyCY. This I it otandard work on Konmtilsiu and luowrot 'orklnits. written Uvoiih who ought to know. The story nf the iuishnsI nation of Abraham Lincoln by the paid Uxdn of lb Kiniian Catholic C hurch Is tuld In a clear and convincinn manner. It also re!ate ruo facta regarding the practices of prlet and nuns in the convent and monasteries. It has S.I4 12mo. pages, and la sent postpaid on receipt of $2.00. by A.MKKICAN HUHLISH INU CO.. IrtIS Howard Street, Omaha Neb. or. Cor. Clark and Randolph. Chicago, 111, THE PRIEST, THE WOMAN, 2 CONFESSIONAL. Bt HKV. CHAS. CHINICjCY. Thl i ork deal! entirely with the practiCM of the Confeaslonal uoi. ana should be read by ail Froteatanta an well aa by Koman Cath olics themselves. The errors of the Confess ional are clearly pointed nut. Price, in cloth. $1.00, sent postpaid. Bold by AMERICAN PUBLISHING CO., 1615 Howard Street, OMAHA, NEB or. Cor Ksndolph and Clark. Chicago. Ill I AN EXTRAORDINARY OFFER!! 0 Wewstnt hui mure artiv- n'iits bfor m k July 1st. We w ili ttuiirautt'f J.n tii$ai jwr dy i cau 1 tMily iiiKiit'ln anyUvAiitv; mrKHis sell tliinseIvtM ; o furnish a .rm roll of i. samples eimrf ly r K r r. ami allow 60 pt cen. rttmmisainii on ail sftles. ?t'ml to-i:iy A for full i4rtirulr, or we will send with A w Siimo a X: uahl s;impU' of our ko.hU iu W a Solid silver upon rvUt of 10 routs in L T silver or trim P-. Ftbhshtl In ,. i drfv., M MKI MLl.KUAlU; i T CO.. Itimtoii. Msh. f r a T H M U ... ,.r . , PRACTICAL PLATING DYNAMO.Tn! i:. ii Mr u 'i. il lit i: flClOtl.l ?4w mtiry. wa,r?, hioTi-if aui iO UiriU; liiOt-rriit ifr; aiwt.M rvfclt; DO bUrTT; 09 wt; am irTiiKWi no itutit to i'inua ilr l: rrvftl rrwvnea- n.akr P. HANSON a CO, Clerk No. 16, Columbus. Ohio. A