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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 4, 1906)
The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed. And on the churchyard by the road, I know It falls as wirtte and noiselessly as snow 'Twas such a night two weary summers fled; The stars, as now. were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrl 1-lipped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericksburg; far off the heavens are red With sudden conflagration; on yon height Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their breath; A signal rocket pierces the dense night. Flings its spent stars upon the town be neath; Hark!—the artillery massing on the right. Hark!—the black squadrons wheeling down to death! —Thomas Bailey Aldrich. (Copyright. 1905. by Dally Story Pub. Co.) Allene was not a debutante, but this was the eve of her coming-out party. After she had been graduated from the fashionable finishing school she had spent two years abroad with her aunt and cousins as traveling com panions. So she had mingled but little in the society of her home city since she was a school girl. During these last four years, her heart had fluttered in many ways but flown in none, and she was still heart whole, though not exactly fancy free, i and she was looking forward with some curiosity as to • the men she would meet to-night. Among the many offerings of flow ers she had received in honor of the coming event, three boxes had partic ularly ^attracted her interest. One held the conventional, glorious American beauties, longstemmed and full blos somed. The box was accompanied by the visiting card, correct in every detail, of Mr. Schuyler Elton Van Rensler, whom she had first met while at school in New York. He had joined her aunt’s party once or twice in their travels, and by invitation he was to be present at her home-coming party. “The flowers and card are like him.” she thought—“the very best to be had —faultlessly faultless. American beau ties are, of course, beyond criticism, but dead perfection bores me—some times.” The next box held her favorite flow er, violets. Instead of a card, a note met her eye as she lifted the cover. She recognized the boyish scrawl with a -wlittle thrill of pleasure. Ned Holmes, four years her senior, had been her attendant back in the high school days. How- proud she had been to re ceive letters from a student, and a junior at that. She had been to his college town to see him play football, and had in consequence been the envy of her classmates. "You see I have not forgotten your favorite flower,” he wrote. “I trust that you are still loyal to your choice; also that you have not forgotten your friend of schoolday times.” It gave her pleasure now to recall those days, and of course, it was flat tering to have her tastes so well re membered. The third box! what a blissful day was recalled by the deli cate odor of the large bunch of wake robins reposing on their bed of moss! It was like the donor, she reflected, to enclose neither note nor card— simply a message from the woods— the reminder of one perfect, never-to be-forgotten day. It had been during a brief visit home in the spring of her last year at the city school when she was but eigh teen, and her head was filled with dreams of ideals. All her favorite heroes she likened unto Kenneth Al len, the son of their family physician. She had been called home on account of the illness of her mother. Dr. Allen, senior, was away from home, and his son, Kenneth, who had been practicing with his father for the past two years, was called in. His treat ment of the case and her mother’s speedy recovery uad shown that he was a competent and skillful doctor. Hitherto Allene had seen but little of Kenneth. He had been away at college, a year in a hospital in New York and a year in Berlin. He avoid ed all social functions and seemed shy with women. In her mother’s sickroom, however, there had sprung up one of ■ .l— Three boxes. those swift, strong friendships and perception of each other's thoughts that so rarely comes to one. When Mrs. Witherton was quite con valescent, Allene had followed the young doctor out onto the porch one day as he was departing. “My father returns to-day,” he said abruptly, “and I am going to give my self a holiday.” “Where are you going?” she asked. “In the wopds? Will you go with jjje? You need some out-door life, too.” That afternoon in the beautiful woods where they had gathered huge handsful of Wake robins always stood out as the threshold of her maiden j His eyes had spoken though his UP* had been silent. “I return to school to-morrow,” she had said wistfully, as they were'part ing. His eyes grew darker, but he had only bidden her a conventional good bye. “I hope Kenneth isn’t In love with Allene,” she had overheard her moth er say to her father that night. “Allene is a child,” had been the re assuring reply, and Kenneth is too proud to tell a rich man's daughter of his love.” Her heart had only been touched, not stirred. Many times during her prolonged absence she had thought of him, but now the flowers had smote nil1 yr| His flowers. the chord of memory sharply and she vividly recalled that summer after noon. “Which flowers shall I carry to night?” she debated, "the roses are really the most appropriate, but I don’t want to encourage Schuyler yet. I love violets, but if i carry them it will be a rebuff to Schuyler and—the wild flowers, well! They are out of the question. They would wilt instantly, and it would be cruel to kill their love liness in a ballroom.” When Kenneth Allen was wending his unwonted way to the party, all his thoughts were of Allene. "1 almost dread to see her,” he mused. “Will she be as lovely and unspoiled as she was then, and will she have remembered me? I am in a position now where it would not be so presuming to win her love as it would have been then. I wonder whose flowers she will carry to night?” He had been at the express office when Van Rensler had called to see if his roses had arrived, and he had also chanced in at the florist’s when Ned was ordering the violets. “Anyway, she wouldn't carry those wild flowers, and I did not mean she should. I wonder if she will know who sent them?” He came into the reception room, and again the fairest face in the world was raised to his. She gave him a cordial greeting, but his jealous eyes could detect no difference in her man ner of meeting others present. She carried no flowers. He saw the roses in a vase and the violets in a bowl, but no wake robins were in sight, nor did she refer to them in any way. He se cured a dance with her, but not a word was spoken. Then followed a moment or two In the conservatory, but she did not allude to the flowers nor former days, and he was too proud to do anything but follow her lead. She was surrounded by a little knot of friends throughout the evening and he did not see her again until he went to bid her good night. She drew him one side. “I found a little picture in one of the studios in Paris that I know you will like,” she said. “At what hour to-morrow can you come and see it?” “Any hour—the earliest you can re ceive me.” “Eleven o’clock, then,” she said. He went home with his heart torn with the conflict of hope and doubt. When he called the next morning, he found her in her own special morn ing room. She was fair and dainty in a white linen gown. In a blue bowl on the table were his flowers. His heart gave a wild leap. “They are not just the fashionable flowers for a ballroom,” he said with a smile. “That was not the reason I did not carry them.” she replied. “What was the reason?” he demand ed. “I will toll you—sometime.” That time came quicker than she ex pected. In fact, an hour later when she had promised to be his wife. “Won’t j'ou tell me why you did not carry the flowers?” he persisted. “They were too lovely to carry into a heated room, but in any event *1 would not have carried your flowers until I knew that the thought I had of you was merely a young girl's fancy, or a deeper feeling. As soon as I saw you come into the room last night my heart told me what I have told you— and so I was glad I had kept my flow ers and thoir message for to-day.” A “pedagog” will never sound as well or be as sweet as a “teacher.” NO REAL REASON' FOR WORRY. Philosopher Was Making Deductions Without the Facts. Dancing school was out and as the lashing lights of glittering equipages blinked down one of the principal thorough fares, homeward bound, the amateur philosopher, standing on a corner, remarked to a friend: “After all, sometimes I’m glad my brood is being reared in moderate circumstances. Those little ones, snuggled in those luxurious carriages behind the proud, cold, aristocratic coachmen, look very comfortable. They’re expensively and beautifully dressed, but—” “If there are going to be many chap ters of this I hope they’ll end pleasant ly,” interrupted the friend. “I’ve just read a book in which the heroine, after page on page of poignant, rest less life, took chloral, and I’m ner vous.” “I was going to say,” continued the philosopher, undisturbed, “that one night last winter I was watching this procession of varnished vehicles. It was a wild tempestuous night; the snow was caught up in gusets and hurled against defenseless pedestri ans. Ahead of me was a boy, poorly clad, his hand in his father’s, beating against the blast. At first the con trast between him and those sheltered children pained me. Then I reflected that they missed much in life that he enjoyed. He could play in the dirt and sand and romp with all kinds of boys and girls, while they had to mind their manners and their governesses and could never soil their clothes.” '‘You’d make me snuffle if you were right,” again broke in the matter-of fact friend. “Those rich children can have everything they 'want. If they ask for ponies and automobi'es they get them; and if they cry for mud pies they get mud pies. They’re as happy as larks. It’s well enough to have emotions; but when you let go of them you should chart out your course properly and not drift around aimless ly. You’ve been moulting and taking on over nothing.”—Providence Jour nal. CHECK HAD NOT REACHED HIM. And for That Reason, Possibly, It Was Still Tarveling. Ex-Senator Lake Jones, of Wayne county, Ohio, who is known all over Ohio as the “hound pup statesman,” rrom his passionate love of fox-hunting, was talking with a party of old-time friends in the lobby of a Columbus hotel recently. “I have an aunt,” said Jones, “who has most pronounced ideas of right and wrong, and a rather exaggerated sense of justice. Nearly thirty years ago she bought a piece of property from her brother in St. Louis. “In a dozen years the property had quadrupled in value. To-day it is worth ten or fifteen times what she paid for it. As the value advanced her worry increased. Finally she mailed him a check for $15,000, explaining that she felt that she had not paid him what the property was really worth. “He promptly returned it, saying she had paid him all he asked for it, and all it was worth at the time of the' sale. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and sent it back to him. "Now, don't you know,” laughed Jones, “that check has been passing back and forth through the mails be tween our families for the past fifteen years.” “Did it ever fall into your hands, I*ake?” asked Major Robert Eddy, Jones’ friend of a lifetime, smiling meaningly. “No,” admitted Jones, half sadly, “not yet.”—Philadelphia Ledger. His Compliment. A New York publisher has a reputa tion for employing the homliest sten ographers and typewriters in the city. Efficiency rather than beauty is what he wants, and he knows the prettiest ones are not the most efficient.. Just the same, it is said of him, that he doesn't know a pretty woman when he sees one. Still his wife is an unusual ly handsome woman. Not long ago she came into his of fice, where she appears only at rare intervals, and only when it is abso lutely necessary. She was met by an office boy, a bright Irish lad, who had never seen her. She asked for Mr. Blank. “Who shall I say wants to see him, mem?” he Inquired. "His wife,” she replied. He looked at her in open-eyed sur prise and genuine admiration. “Sure, mem, and I’ll tell him,” he said, starting off, "and bad cess to thim that says he has no taste in la dles, mum.” To Start a Balky Horae. The account of a driver’s brutality to a balking horse in a recent issue leads me to write you the following: Some years ago in Cincinnati, dur ing the noon hour in one of the busi est streets, a horse attached to an ex press wagon became balky. Many remedies were tried without effect. Presently one of Cincinnati's best known horsemen came along. When he saw the trouble he smilingly ask ed for a stone, which was given to him. Then he asked the driver to lift up one foot of the horse and with the stone he struck the shoe a num ber of times. “Now,” he said to the driver, “get up on your seat and drive off.” This the driver did, amid cheers of the bystanders. The horseman said he had no idea why this made a balky horse go, but he had found it an un failing remedy.—Letter in New York Times. “Mike’s” Ability Questioned. When “Jim” Bresnahan was boss on that section of the Boston and Maine railroad between Peabody and Salem he had in his employ his nep hew “Mike,” a recent arrival from the Emerald isle. One morning on join ing his men he remarked the absence of “Mike,” and. after inquiry, was told that “Mike" has gone to oil the hand-car. “What-at! Gone to lie th’ hanl-car!” exclaimed Bresnahan. in astonish ment. “You goa rolght afther him. an. take that lie can rolght awa.r ,'rum him! Sure what do he know about Bein’ machlr/Mt-ree'" I BACK FROM THE FROZEN NORTH I i - l « Long Given Up for Dead. Massachusetts Man Return swith Stories of £ J Marvelous Adventures. J Out of the grim ice world, back fi midnight sun, after six years of incn from the little island of Martha’s Vit “George Cleveland?” old residen ingly as they try to place him, “Geors dead.” In the more than half a decs almost forgotten him. So many m< tlement in Buzzard’s Bay in the wha more drops out he is spoken of for But none who has returned to tl the tale to relate which George Cleve reaches his home port again. At present Cleveland is in Dundee, Scotland, the first port he was able to make after being rescued from his life among the fur-clad little people of the northland. It is seven years ago now that Cleveland left his home by the blue waters of Buzzard’s Bay and went to New Bedford to join a northern bound whaler. The schooner was the Francis Al lyn, and Cleveland had been selected by her owners to establish a fishing and whaling station on the shore of Hudson Bay. Left Alone by Companion*. The voyage to the bay was made without especial incident, and the hardy sailor landed at the point at Wager river with a year’s supplies. A comfortable hut was erected for his use by the ship’s crew, and when everything was done that could be done for his comfort, his companions bade him good-by and left him alone. Made Friends With Natives. For weeks he kept close to his base of supplies and never ventured forth without his rifle. By degrees, however, he managed to make friends with the natives, and before the long winter was half over the sign lan guage had given away to some un derstanding of their tongue. With the first days of spring Cleve land set about to do his duty by his company. Seals were caught, skinned and dressed, and now and then a huge bear venturing out after its long sleep fell before his trusty rifle. By the time the ice had broken up a little and it was time for the ar rival of the Francis Allyn he had secured quite a store and could look forward to having a good sum to his credit with the owners of the ves sel. Wa* He Forgotten. It was a long wait. Cleveland had watched the calendar closely and he knew that she was long overdue. Had they forgotten him? Sometimes he thought so and then «et the harder to work that he might not brood over his dread situation. But at last came the long expected sail. He watched It draw nearer and nearer and made it out to be the Allyn, carrying his friends and with a big stock of provisions for him should he care to remain another year. And provisions by this time Cleveland sorely needed. He had been She Knew Her Grammar. The judge's little daughter, al though she had talked several times through the telephone to her father, had never gone through the formali ties necessary in calling him up. The first time she tried it she took the re ceiver off the hook, as she had seen others do, placed her lips to the trans mitter and said: "Hello! I want to talk to papa.” "Number, please?” said Central. “Singular,” she answered, surprised at the question, but proud that she knew something of the rudiments of grammar.—Youth’s Companion. Not Inexorable. "Figures won’t lie,” remarked the man who is never original. “Maybe not,” replied the compiler of life insurance literature. “But you can sometimes coax them to prevaricate a little.” , Woman Designs Windows. Miss Mary Tillinghast, of New York, is one of the most successful designers of stained glass windows in AvaHca. ■om a living grave in the land of the idible adventures, has come a man leyard into civilization again. :s of Martha's Vineyard say wonder ;e Cleveland? Why, I thought he was ,de since he sailed away they have n have got away from the little set ling ships not to return that when one a day and then forgotten, rill his old-time companions has had ■land will be able to tell when he __ loo generous with his Esquimau friends, and by this time had little left in his larder but raw meat. The Ship on Fire. On the highest ice peak he watch ed the vessel draw nearer and nearer. Suddenly while the ship was still many miles away, the watcher’s heart seemed to stop beating. He saw a long thin flame shoot up from the deck of the Allyn, such a flame as no try-out pot ever made Then another and a larger flame. There was no doubt about it. The ships was on fire. Even while he looked the blaze spread until it en veloped the whole ship, but by the aid of his glass he could see the crew deserting her in the whaleboats. * Left Alone Again. He saw them row away from his point and peered after them until their boats were lost in the smoke and blurred with moving ice. Blank despair at first struck the lonely men dumb. He was out of provisions, his clothes were in tat ters, and he knew that it might be months before any other ship would be sent to inquire for him—he did not know that no such ship would ever oe sent, or he would have killed himself in the first frantic grief. To escape overland was impossible; :nere was nothing left but to accept his fate. Joined the Tribe. He had no wood for fuel, and the hut his shipmates had built for him had been rent by the winter storms to the extent that it would be unin habitable through another cold sea son without lumber to make repairs. It was then that the Esquimaux, appreciating his plight, asked him to join their tribe. There was no alter native but death, and soon the Massa chusetts man was one of them, dress ing in skins and furs, living in their snow houses, and drinking as eagerly as they the oil of the seal and of the occasional whale. Wandered With His Friends. It was a change which few men have ever experienced. All the food he had known all his life had been consumed, and he was forced to live upon what a year before he would have looked on with the greatest re pulsion. The tribe which he joined was no madic, lifting their few belongings upon a few dog sleds at a few hours’ Emperor Decoratea Woman. The Emperor of Japan has just conferred the highest decoration available for women—the sixth cla3S of the Order of the Crown—on Mrs. Teresa Richardson, whose new book, soon to be published, “In Japanese Hospitals During War Time,” ' gives a graphic account of her own experi ence during the war, and is written at the request of the Japanese author ities. Plan National Park. Colorado is discussing the plan to make a 1,000,000-acre national park of the White river plateau, one of the finest natural bits of country in the whole of Colorado. On the western slope of the divide, and as yet unset tled, it covers more than 3,000 square miles of snowcapped peaks and moun tain valleys whose scenery is un equaled in the entire west. In Society. Little Edith—“Mamma.” Mrs. Fashen—“Yes?” Little Edith—“Is papa in our set?”— fudge notice and going scampering over the snow in search of a new home. In the summer, with moss and heath, and occasional drift wood, the meat could usually be cooked, but in the winter the flesh, oftentimes ran cid, had to be eaten raw. Infrequently they came upon and were able to slay a reindeer. Then was a feast! That was the daintiest of food in that frozen region, and un til the last bone had been gnawed no one pretended to look for more. Yankee Wit at Work. Soon Cleveland became an adept in the erection of the snow houses, in troducing many ingenious Yankee ideas into their construction, and this caused him to be regarded as a bene factor. Finally Cleveland had an attack of fever, and the Esquimaux medicine man was summoned to cure him with his strange chants. The American grew steadily worse, however, and implored them to go for his medicine chest. Cured Himself. This they finally did, and a few doses of simple medicine restored him to himself in what seemed to his friends a miraculous manner. That was the end of the medicine man. He was dethroned and Cleve land made medicine man in his Btead. The years rolled on with dull mon otony. One day while Cleveland and his friends were out hunting the huge ice floe on which they were broke away and carried them out to sea. _ Driven by a fierce wind, the floe drifted farther and farther out, and to make matters worse a blizzard came on and raged for days. They had neither food nor water, and ac cording to a pocket thermometer Cleveland carried it was 45 degrees below zero. On the fifth day, when all were nearly dead, the floe ground ed on a point where they found frag ments of a dead whale, which was eagerly devoured by the starving men. Found Trading Post. But this was really the means of Cleveland ever escaping from the re gion. In their wandering to regain the tribe the party stumbled upon a trading post containing the first white men Cleveland had seen for five years, and there he arranged for his transportation to Dundee on a Scotch whaler. While waiting for the vessel to ar rive Cleveland made many valuable catches of seals, and with the aid of the friendly Esquimaux gathered about $2,000 worth of furs, which he sold to the company, so that when the vessel at last came he was in funds, and when he finally does see Martha’s Vineyard again he may be able to buy that little fishing smack he coveted, after all.—Boston Post. Heard in the Elevator. First Doctor—Good morning, doctor, What’s the good word? Second Doctor—The epidemic is spreading. Ten new vie—I mean pa tients, to-day. First Doctor—How are they? Second Doctor (smiling)—Pretty bad. First Doctor—Fine! Ground. floor—all out.—Portland Oregonian. Seeks to Reform Drunkards. Police Justice Pollard of St. Louts has for several years followed a rule with cases of drunkenness which has for its sole idea reformation instead of punishment. When men are brought before him for the first time he re quires them to sign a total abstinence pledge for a year or more and stays the sentence as long as the pledge is kept. Fated. What is this Poe amendment all about?” asked the curious stranger. “It’s about all in,” answered the wise citizen.—Baltimore American. GOT MUSIC THAT HE ~ENJOYED. Farmer Called for Popular AirSi and Leader Obeyed. Uncle Joe Rich of Guildhall Vt was a character. He was a well-to-do tarmer, and kept open house to his friends. Rotund and jovial, and dress ed in his Sunday suit, blue swallow tail coat with brass buttons, tuff v, -t and black silk hat, he was a notiro tile figure. He attended all the dan'- - could cut a pigeon wing to 'beat th. band,” and was a great favorite with the hoys. One fall after the crops were str red they invited him to take a week s trip to Boston to see the sights with them. One night after supper, which was washed down with a liberal supply of champagne, “Uncle Joe” was taken to the theatre, the party occupying a box. The old man was at his best. As he sat down anci looked the audience over the orchestra struck up an oper atic selection. He wanted to know what kind of a cussed tune” that was, anyway. This selection was fol lowed by another. He wiped his beaming face and bald head with a red silk bandanna which he pulled out of his silk tile, and walked around un easeily. finally' he could stand it no longer. Leaning over the box, he shou'ed, waving his hat: "Say. Mr. Fiddlers, if you've got those fiddles tuned give us ‘Fisher's Hornpipe’ or 'Devil's Dream.’ ” This brought down the house, and the band struck up the music the old man wanted. SONNETS OF THE JAPANESE. They Are In Appreciation of Vernal Loveliness of That Land. Japan’s feeling for beauty sets the wildcherry blossoms above the richly scented crimson rose, and finds in the white bloom of the plum, slight, frail with only the faintest perfume, a sym bol of moral purity and attractiveness, says Harper’s Weekly. The same del icate, hardly worldly appreciation for fine, remote touches of vernal li ve liness has created a school of verse m Japan, the like of which it would be hard to find throughout the writ ings of the world in ail time. This dainty delicate school of verse has en dured a thousand years now ami has from the beginning made for itself a form of verse, as delicate, as frail, as full of dainty charm as the finest Satsuma porcelain, or those wonder ful transparent sketches which, with three strokes of a soft brush, show the beautiful outline of Fujiyama. The most popular of these verse forms con tains only five lines of five or seien syllables—thirty-one syllables in all. and does, Indeed, bear to our most ponderous western sonnets somewhat the proportion of the cherry-blossom to the rose. It has no rhyme but pos sesses exceeding musical charm from the delicacy if its vowel combination, Japanese coming close to Italian in the quality of verbal melody. Our State. The Southland boasts Its teeming cane. The prairie West Its heavy grain And sunset’s radiant gates unfold On rising marts and sands of gold! Rough, bleak and hard, our little State Is scant of soil, of limits strait; Her yellow sands are sands alone. Her only mines are ice and stone! From Autumn frost to April rain. Too long her winter woods comp'ain; From budding flower to falling leaf. Her summertime is all too brief. Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands. And wintry hills, the schoolhouse stands; And what her rugged soil denies The harvest of the mind supplies. The riches of the commonwealth Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health; And more to her than gold or grain The cunning hand and cultured brain. For well she keeps her ancient stock. The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock: And still maintains, with milder laws. And clearer light, the Good Old Cause! Nor heeds the skeptic's puny hands. While near her school the church spire stands; Nor fears the blinded bigot’s rule. While near her church spire stands the school! —John Greenleaf Whittier Upset Clerical Dignity. The minister who had the reputation of never relaxing from his dignity was trying to prove to ,a few congenial friends that the reputation was not deserved. ’’Why, one day I laughed right out in the pulpit.” he said, "and I did not get over the disgrace of it for several weeks. But it was one of those times when my sense of humor got the better of my ministerial calm. “It was one hot summer day. and my church was very close to a house. The windows of the church were open, and we could hear distinctly the mur mur of voices next door. I had just offered prayer, and there was the in tense silence which always follows an invocation. In the solemn silence a woman’s harsh voice screamed: “‘John, where are the nails?’ And a gruff voice answered: “ ‘In the coffee pot, you fool. You put them there youself.’ ” Bad Company. A Glasgow holiday-maker wt.s brought up on a charge of drunk and disorderly. "What have you got to say for your self?” said the magistrate. "You look respectable and ought to be ashamed to stand there.” “I'm verra sorry, Blr, but I came up in bad company from Glesca," humbly replied the prisoner. “What sort of company?” “A lot of teetotalers,” was the startling response. “What, sir!' cried the bailie (a tee totaler) in rage, “do you mean to say that abstainers are bad company? I think they are the best of company for such as you, sir.” “Beggln’ your pardon.” answered the prisoner, “ye’re wrang, for I had a hale mutehkin of whusky an' I had to drink it a' misel.”—Birmingham Post. A Twentieth Century Sermon. Don’t hurry so. There's time, my friend, ■'10 get tne work all done; Before the wotld ernes to its end. Just take some time for fun. What's all our living worth, unless We’ve time enough for happiness. Don’t flurry so. Just wait, keep cool! Your plans are a I upset. Ah well the world whirls nn by rule. And things will straighten vet. Your flurry and your fret and ,uss Just make things hard for all of us. Don't worry so. It's sad, of course. But you and I and all Must with the better take the worse. And jump up when we fall— Ob wVqt s erf^e to r«». To-day's enough for ynu and »