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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 29, 1910)
. custom of ■ ’ btxting the New Year by b 4k lug ! ■ t pd. In liieorv • * Mart, rar'i pet ptmlrlo— ha', it or bcriiSr sin, m.::y be hack erywd. i*i-t .1 r-rtilaljr ii not et« ifc 'y rr'rgrt> d u> f 5 ti-itm of things furgcU*a or out aura. Souse lines New Year's day. wh*n a *jt . 1 raiment in the day's swirl •Sort time for tnowr’-t. there will be a baste ta' ins stock of th< »**r u»i i» got**. a namllai of .'tri end failure*. s silent prom Mr mat u. «r that will nut occur again. is. what ran it all cmount to after all. this •d • e as. of ruraaipibg thr -adbarc resolutions er aebs-Ui-s; is~w otu-j’ The cyalc will smile and my Jksl U lx all a st'ti- of effort, a flash In the jme. a kal-i-art'd gin* iag c i- f of mistai s by •ei • as none u«» afcmerr promise* of reform TW < -• : •« wlit t<a«e ht» little fling o cartoon wed »S>y f jy and jret He will gurgle with thf Wans .. g«w oi Hftoa Cuudfelkjw over the folly ad ewu‘* aud And In every rosofve new subject bar *ajg bar Krou. the .ilplt <« Sunday will 1 tt«» .:Mn<l.te of the minister an 1 the . sad ret upue them the stamp of livtne wi / ud whether the wry neer of »h. *1 stkfng grib of 1 he <ori*t, cr th dffpria* ng gpj’- «d lie mora'isl pro *bes> the fat ed ifc slam* and their maker, it will b*- tru that • that most enmrt ?ar.» impute** towar Mtter Sixg' win nut be entirely waited. U e at. a time wma. .n the itvple faith pus set ium ta black nod white »oa’ !e or better Oa thw drat page * . a »«*r.y Ouiirtwia* jmveit, you »ret* ts ier k-t: SyncrruB band -we knew nor, better u those days eorrethiug like Uiir- ‘It.' *«g t*u* pt*r I rtmnlre net to lorn* my tempi - »w; «c be rtunry at Imtae ng i> put off ..'line •be uvrs dislike; to p ad try Uiiie e*cr» .lay isre ■ oadiug blows were slw cm 'he chain eed d H • Irwtlia; of a quick t«*ti. >- r . wb-b -wty gear • Hi r ter. gue. proTetisatiui’. rad «waU*.»i. '*r- . jg -1. ltd i loce>l dnens. list a.*,. w see t- .IB t; Mb reek « J,t_ Hrc b*T I" -I was srr.bb? ag earnest iy ~t ,rr> ms- myseif r, to hi 'ate for dtawer. cut to forjet to wash n. Meet aef cur- not to s* It: Mi to father for my aP« w.afcor. and not 10 talar hwohey a «fBg' **) • ** rv.-urse y*»-j f-. '.i bMh you aud j«« X -r- ir mat* 4tm: • !l» *« • jr..t 4 *•£• 1 w Cft* aa-l iKfJurt.rt'iC *4 tetter fc*4 k-.«rr>-i ter'f ,ate> uifi-,;-' artita: VapUBli Hal Ite rf teal alio«rlterr •Mate*#. ^a* Uwr>- tar Var«r Ute «.» tt| ui -Jrjt* r it*-a :.j*4 «arr 'JMl *wa 1 uttererr ax i * wt *a attar. a* a- ,".«i (j/ - »-• _ «• *te»- mm h.5 gnar ate Y«*r’c ntem "Tte **»• *»» ukc eja-n a da*-* wt oui-kral ter roe jJ —»r*'-T-r~ ’tetij * -« « *m' lateia t» %r« I Itr - urs a date » '■* r*“n*am :al. ■te* 4 ■» > a la* tat ■d" *t- a <a *•« «s»- !&-*■** «» •**«•» Mb* *4 thf JHf **»*»■ ***»4 Utrr tfc*t %a4 u. <»l a* •rif* th* fr»ii ft,*. •*“ ‘i** •* * a iruMujJ. ti*- jar* uf ***’ f;-* •■* ■aSSeml un ■r»«r *y In** Cu- *r. ’*»** «.* Rh)K3M| **15 **** i -iripni"i-iiMtil»l>— far —*'» <•*y «»r* I «u** r * i *ef» not mi * *- ' £>i* «■**!»■**» — - i* eoaii; (to lotinl of iL* :r toe. <• rs lo totp rron trier foot t... -\t-.4f 1 .'r-4, **.1 dp; roo tt-j.j, lit .. Sen —■ i-P re*_»iht*i tot the reeandcUry t*to:«>r * .-• gase •«.!.■» >«aj ineenwptrwoaelj to- tto to-! brio*. nit.!• a m.-a.-t.-t tVw «f to fair to' '•«*. and non- of the di-.tog room toeue.. Tfesd H was there unj ia fat! work ** ■*' ' **•» rtUmref hi * k*-**a sense ot oarH K noa j. *tfs *r*»t fan o» •* J r up and be jeine*iu»l rtofcnr* ctr—S ok ikh>u oe»r- to And out mho were to to at tony- ami* eias were not. A basset tod to the •to* fcr.ofc elth tear rod rfktoe t aid. for at. tto mM to hear: "We are not rreeiting U An* " If >m wtf a hoy and f <rts. later th •be dtaraat run thole up on th- xiep to p*e, to and dtot-rer. hjr the umute-r • f ear.la with tat *h« M.etltta pup*.<ar Ir of v Inge tnnhi* and anal'una tVhi • \ t the door larked the tonh-t *«o knew the* Ukind the Hra-:; thft a as the soft {tor of rahjira or ! Clare of css. jmur winstitute tor . li jo aaiabi) kinder to d corn. Jo-| a !r,*e pa- — ' that la each turn an' at) to trafllag rartat at of lsarhgr'«m<. tfc-r* eaniiid hr reacted the »me*- seen-w. nt# the l*T-„t door (hat open- J at the first aari o', the l e t passed a Bue^ dating *tr« am •sf own in Mdtfi ' attire There *< r— elderly annas a ptoti In hmn l-ioil tha* arms brushed aa tto pnhn; of p rfansw. smart <uuag dan ton. sfswiteg the p-n eat fashion in ties, ■sin: beginner* ' *4 oaite uo-d to tfc« rsjfl of their frork ««■(•—« - railed them riant A bens In the dais arton New rears •caMa • < re sa ruga - t: f a sprtakilug of sab sis.— htoilneas tar-w •>a»4::« betBzgf m tto ♦ «ilihk-J easts:ea of ami-tv. Every aa»v trhat »a* rcjltoly to "oar town” pal-I hi gerudri to the torwxia; year by Taking ihe -— of 14* t Heeds' bosses fjto* inside, ti»*rr ws* th - c-at en!f or toetwr K'itr to rtoft* tto eztler's card mbd *»> htj» with •tr'-rtwel. hat .and ease.mad tfim • 4t»‘ t r hi* hastens and her d ■•*!:!■« acj ^pe. - #tiier tto efcasdetoga with tto prism A f±-UCriSATJSfC S77?fArf OfrtfSfMrtOUnAY Jt? j/jx& *ir* H. N< .v Year " resounded on all •' li- ’ cc-.-.r.-v of the afternoon the in lefatigabV had seen ail their friends, had - ••:<>■( : :!» c nicest types of Christmas bak - :. - i tot-.-te,i again and again the New Year i' punch of .ary :ig strength and pungency, or suhs'irute 1 c«.ff.-e in homes where temperance tr s wore popular. They had said pret ty thing-- >. popular dairies in the sUn'iulaling atmosphere of l-ullj an.l green wreaths, and :d n . t'-hed wits with fascinating damsels in lie dangerous vicinity of mistletoe that still boasted some berries. It was all very gay. ■ ery it lomial. arid very homey. At no other ’.me or on n<> other occasion did the holiday hilarity reach so high a pitch. "I d like to do it all over again." is the tes timony of one stately lady, whose home twenty years ago »a- the scene of yearly New Year's reteptiourv "No other social function on my calendar »: uch fun for the grn-sts and so ■•tile trouble for the hostess. The decorating had been dune a wi-ek b>-ture. anii a few fresh flow rs were ail that were needed. Given or gbt lights a ioz-ei pretty girls to help en tertain, the simi.lest cak.-s an.l plenty of mild '•* exhilarating punch made from a recipe that my Kentucky grandfather declared harmless, and success was assur-d. When six o'clock came you had seen all the nice men of vour acquaintance undisturbed by the usual influx of .eh'-r women, and had .-i*nt them away at. l«-ac- with the world in general and full of The spirit of neighborliness." Meanwhile, upstairs in the library wiudow sea-r curled the family small fry. watching the l«roc. -sion is if pa-se-i. commenting with Ju ■ iratikn-ss on the toilets of the callers, counting he visitors as they came, listening vastairo. the girls hug c _ ■ < »••. If' the sash, the bays making daring J -'.ears to "p.- k through the balustrade, re ruing to r-!*>rt wiiat young ladies were sit •; ic on the st--ps with what young men. and • -m in sot. e cases, what they were saying. 1- ::-:r tiptoeing prowls, down the back stairs to the lair a friendly cook, led to quick and hunt returns with offerings of cake and c ..---t cup. wherewith the hours might be he Gft£A T FUJt 70 MJtDFR JJ UP AMD DOWN TUT fVZ'MaPAL PtOiDFMCT JTFFFa} gulled omI six. when twinklius street lights warned the callers to retreat. Not a serious way to start the New Year' No hut a friendly cue, that left hostesses and callers with a glow of human friendliness to hist as wansth for many a .lay. And if seriousness were lacking, the same denude that enjoyed New Year's call ing found Use!* aiso at one with the cus tom of wsick-night service. For. In "our town.” as in yours, mayhap. It was the thing to spend the closing hours of the old year i-r the quiet -=■ riousness of prayer and sacred song. Children had their share in this, for fathers and mothers had not in that simpler time learned to fear the giving of definite religious instruction to their sons and daughters. It wa.s clear and plain that a child must be trained in the way he should go, and watch night was a part of that train ing. And. indeed, no youngster ever tried to beg off. There was first of all the joy of doing the unusual and the fun of sitting up i>ast his bedtime. So you hied yourself to the nursery couch or the sitting-room lounge, after a hot supper, an old fashioned winter supper of sau sage and fried potatoes or scalloped oysters and muffins, and took a long, long nap. At half-past tea, father waked you, tucked you into cap and overcoat, and the family party started out under the cold stars, snow crunch lag under foot, to the nearby church. Not so very long ago the writer came across an old chronio, of the sort that looks, in a dim and favorable light, like a fairly de cent oil painting. In its day it had doubtless been the chief ornament of a well-furnished, comfortable parlor. Now it cluttered the win dow of a second-hand shop, dingy and out of sorts with fate. But even in the unflattering light of a dusty show window, it had a certain charm for the one who found it. It was the picture of a watch-night service, such as she had once known so well. Bright moonlight flooded the scene, bringing out In sharpened detail the snow-laden boughs of droopiug elms and the Gothic spire of a small stone church. Front stained glass windows and opened door came streaming the warm glow of shaded gas jets. From village streets flocked men and women and children, stopping to say a word of greeting as they passed into the vestibule. The spell of the picture took her. with the speed of the magic carpet or of the seven-leagued boots, back to the New Year's eves of her girl hood. So she had walked with father and mother aud a sleepy small brother. Just so the tree-' had looked in the frosty moonlight. And just as warm and softly glowing had been the stone church, through whose open doors came the resonant strains of the great organ. She remembered with acting vividness the faces of those who hail filled the pews, especially that of one man. the governor of the state, whose aquiline profile, flashing eyes all.! straight, glossy black hair formed a never-to-be-forgot ten personality. Watch-night hymns have a j personality of their own. as those of Christmas or Easter, if net so widely known. They are naturally serious and a bit fore boding, with a touch of (he mel ancholy :list is associated with the rapid flight of time. The year Is gene, tu vend recall With all its hopes anil fears. With all Its bright and gladdening smiles. With all its mourners' tears, is an old Latin hymn to a com mon meter tune that illustrates the tendency of this branch of hymnology. Charles Wesley has been most prolific in voicing this thought Wisdom ascribe, and might, and ! praise. To God who leuth-ns out our days; ] Who spares us yet another year. And makes us see his goodness j here, is an oid favorite. Often just on the stroke of midnight anoth er of his \ oiced the feelings of the congregation, that begin ning : Join, all ve ransomed sons of grace. The holy joy prolong. And shout to the It -deem -r*s praise. A sol -mn midnight song. A hit more joyful is the sphn !i>l. quaintly Irregular. Crnne. let us anew <v.r Journey jHirmte. Roll rouud with the year. Ami never stand s!;'! t.*: t: - Master appear. It was easy after this to go home filled with loftiest aspirations, ready to begin the new diary with ambitious resolves that were bound to oYrleap themselves because of their very loftiness. There was me watch night wh< n there drifted into the ken of the chiid the poem that has since meant to her. as it does to many, the very spirit ot this day. Front the choir gallery, just before the midnight hour, came the softened chorus of a strange melody. Then into the silence of the vaulted church rose a wonderful message in a voice that bore con victlon to the listeners. It sang to the organ and the hushed accompaniment of the choir: Ring out. Wild bells, to the wild skies. The Hying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying, in the night; Ring out. wild h;Us. and let 1dm die. Through the whole of the splendid poem it swept, on to the triumphant conclusion: "Ring in the Christ that is to he." To the child the most dramatic moment of the evening came just on ihe stroke of the in coming year. While outside whistles blew and giant crackers exploded, bells clashed and clanged, inside hands clasped bauds while to gether they sang the good old standby. "Hies: ; he the tie that hinds." before the hush of tip benediction and the glad chorus of “Happy New Year’s" that concluded the service. There is another sort of quiet ushering it of the baby year that is conducive to ihe good resolve that counts so easily under favorable conditions. There were those in the old days, as there are in these, who felt that after the gala afternoon the happiest way of all was to sit quietly about the tin', chatting with fiaJf „ I dozen congenial spirits, singing a hit- if the spirit moved, reminiscing as old times came1 back in the hush, and ending with the silent toast and the dash of sentiment that makes "Auld naug Syne" the fitting song for such a moment. That some such happy hour may begin little lDll’s first appearance is the best wish one can offer io friends. ^f.et the auspicious morning he expressed With a white stone distinguished from the rest. So the stately Dry den has put the same thought. May it bo t”ae of us all. Birds Build Incubator U4-,t'«« t«tac*’»eec* *•*.*’*• by tb« Mowe* Boeder*" to Huy* «r-bird* .-n deport frerr • e , -hit of ffc.* r 'tap oaf b«14 t»rn f&~» re «rd« *« hotels ’bet.- t«* aritMtet the Jr wliV of bravi-J-R Tho -B-[ OoildonT deposit their ecus a ^ More |dr ''poplied <f dirt d* -d toorpr dry xt^d* ted otter <5* fcr:» i tf the woods. Seeing one for the ' it r*ne in a Malayan forest, the *r:..«- .»r takes It for a asere heap of ruM. >!.. i :>d is surprised when his i'.*e guide preceeJs to burrow Into ! in q; of eggs But when the hit her . ' r n moving the top lay • ri .:»< overs a clutch of eggs or a •■'e rhii K. fully feat! ered and jo • !.e secret i.. out. The » i brushwood pile must surely be an In- i I cubator. These birds have surely “builded better than they knew.” It is easy j for us to see that the mound acts 'ike a gardener's hotbed. The slow fermentation of the vegetable rubbish heats It from within; the tropical sun from without. The climate of their habitat is equable; the difference be tween the night and day tempera tures is small. The vapcration that follows a heavy fall of rain reduces ; t-v temperature considerably even in the tropics. But the birds lay only in the dry season. The mound is loosely put together Thus air is ad mitted to ventilate the eggs, and light enough to put the newly-born chicken on the track of the outside world. The mound is. in fact, an in cubator in the rough, practically adapted to the needs of birds living in a warm climate. Hotel Keeper and Robber. A remarkable exhibition of presence of mind stands to the credit of James Dennis, an Australian hotel keeper. whose death was recently reported. One day be found himself behind his own counter looking down the muzzle of a revolver held by a villainous-look ing fellow who was requesting him to put up his hands. He raised them, but protested, “Surely it doesn't take two of you to 1 bail me up.” The robber, who had come alone, turned hts head to see who the other man might be. In a flash Dennis's own revolver was out and the rascal's opportunity was gone.—Westminster Gazette. Her Mother's Economy By CLARA INEZ DEACON Eunice always dreaded the coming of spring because there was always the distressing thought that Just when all the living world was putting on its bravest and best she must go forth as usual wearing that old black leg horn hat. Eunice's mother uad bought the hr.t which was the best of its kind to be had because it was always her rule to i get the best or go without. In vain Eunice begged for cheaper things and the privilege of having them changed occasionally. Mrs. Lys was English and obdurate. As she had been dressed she dressed her own daughter. The leghorn hat had been turned and twisted and coaxed into some semblance to pre vailing modes until Eunice was ashamed to take it to Miss Adams, who was too conscientious to spoil it and thus make necessary the buy ing of new head-gear. This season the styles were varied and bewilderingly beautiful. Day after day Eunice lingered betore the enticing plate glass windows of Miss Adams' millinery parlors w hence long ago the black leghorn had come to admire and yearn and choose with that sickening sense of futility which hurts to the very soul. She knew ex actly the kind of hat she wanted—r white horsehair with a froth of wil iow plume about the crown. Miss Adams had just such a hat and it was marked ?20. Eunice had not seen th* price, but Edith Benns had. In fact. Edith had tried on the wonderful hat. “And, oh. it’s the swellest thing, really, Eunice!" Edith said. “And I looked—well, of course, it's out of the question for me. My mother can't afford $20 hats, but your mother can. You ought to have it since you want it so badly. And anyway it’s time you had a new hat. You must be deathly sick of that old leghorn." “I am.” admitted Eunce. faintly, swallowing at a sob. "Well.” said Edith conclusively, "all 1 can say is, if you don’t have one you re Desperation Had Lent Her Skill. needr.'t expect Ward Royee to pay you much attention." Eunice knew that. Her throat ached so miserably that she cou!d not an swer. ' 1 saw him with Belle White yes terday." Edith went on with the frank cruelty of youth and personal inex perience. "She was dressed to kill— everything new. You know that big black hat we both liked so much one of the first Miss Adams showed? Well, she had on that hat. And she looked stunning.” Stiil Eunice did not answer. She went home helplessly unhappy to find her mother sitting in the cheerful company of an overflowing work- i basket. • I'm making over the sleeves or ' your shirtwaists, dear." she said. ' I've found that by using a smaller pattern 1 can cut out all the worn places. The waists will wear for a good while yet And 1 find." went on Mrs. I.yS bright ly. as if she were imparting'the most pleasing information, “that I can turn your plaid skirt. It Isn't faded a par tide on the under side. That comes of buying the best material. Alwavs remember that. dear. The plaid skirt will do very nicely to wear with vour shirtwaists all summer.” Eunice's lips quivered. Ward would never look at her again. Men thought so much of a girl s being well dressed I suppose.' she said, making des perately one last appeal, "that if I am to wear that old skirt and all those old waists. I can have a new hat to go with them. can’t I. mother?*’ Mrs. Lys looked at her daughter in franK amazement. "Whv. child!" she said. "Why, I expect that hat to do you for two seasons yet. Eunice was silent. But that nlS“‘ after she had gone to her roomi s sat a long time by the window, thin* I ing and crying. | "I won’t.” said Eunce to hcrseit. softly, for her mother slept on tho other side of the wall, "but befo.® sleep I’ll have a session with that hat. I’ll never again take it to Miss Ad.inis^ to have her city trimmer laugh at it Eunice had never trimmed a hat in her life. She felt a fierce pleasur ■ now in stripping the faded pink roses • ror" the black leghorn, and she wb die the limp brim to assume Bta'> i'ty. Then she applied some ribbon ai d her best belt buckle after a manner * dch she had observed in Miss Adams win dow. She was amazed at her own achievement. Desperation bad lent her skill. She tried it on before the glass. It was not unbecoming. Then she crept into bed. She showed the hat to her mother next morning. “It looks well.” was Mrs. Lys’ only comment. “I’m sure." Eunice said, speaking of that new resolution which had come to her w ith her success, “I could learn to trim hats for other people. I should like to know how to earn money.” Mrs. Lys looked pained. "Why, my dear child, why should you wish to earn money?” she asked. “There is no need. You have enough of everything now ” Eunice was disappointed. She knew how her mother felt, but if only her mother had known how she felt! ' That afternoon Edith Benns came ' i running in. “Oh. Eunice, come with ' us!” she said. “WeTe going on the river—Hal and Kitty and I. and we want you. Do hurry. They're waiting now, down on the bank.” “Put on a hat. dear,” said Mrs. Lys. Eunice put on the leghorn. After all she felt a shy pride in the fact that she b3d trimmed it herself. And she wanted to bear what Edith would say. What Edith said was character istic of her charmingly sarcastic self. “If long association is endearing you must be awfully attached to that hat,” she remarked. As for Hal Kinch. Edith's irrepres sible cousin, he had an appropriate conundrum: “What member of the vegetable kingdom does Eunice’s hat resemble?” The answer, of course, was “The live-forever.” He also warbled a song: “Shall good old leg horns be forgot-” to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. “Look. Eunice!” cried Kitty. "Look. Ede! There’s Royce and Elmer Brent out there in that canoe." It was. indeed, Ward and Elmer. And when they saw the quartet In the larger boat they shouted greeting and paddled toward them. At that mo ment Eunice thought—she was never sure—that she felt something touch her hat as if a pin was being stealth ily withdraw. But before she had time to lift her hand to her head a smart little breeze came ruffling over the water and whisked her hat from her head. She gave a little cry as sha saw it go. dipping and skimming on the current in the direction of the canoe. It was Ward Royce who rescued that hat finally at the risk of a good wetting. He handed it to Eunice drip ping. a hopelessly sodden thing. V Hal was weeping elaborately, with J one eye on Eunice, whose face was ■ scarlet. She felt joy and shame and relief all at once. The hat was a wreck. Surely she could never wear it again. Ward Royce detached Eunice from the others of the group and walked home with her that afternoon. Ha ■ arried the hat and pieced out Eu nice's explanation of the catastrophe :o her slightly surprised mother. “You couldn't have pinned It se curely,” Mrs. Lys said. “Well, you may go and get another hat dear. You shall choose for yourself this ■me. You are quite old enough. Or.lv get something handsoiie and wear able and remember I do not wirv *.a pay more than $15." Eunice bought the white horse iv’.r hat with the frothy willow pl*r;;.. And then because It was such a k i.id some hat that It put all Eunice's oth v belongings quite to shame Mrs. Lys decided that she must have a dainty lingerie frock to go with It. So It came about that Eunice was as charmingly clad that summer as even she could wish to be. And be cause she looked so sweet and was so sweet Ward Royce paid her that kind of extravagant attention which only ends in the one perfect way. though he maintained with the abso lute conviction of the man in love that he had learned to adore her not under the willow plume, but under the old black leghorn. He Didn’t Say Gentlemen. ' he began as he stood on the post office steps, “vou have a’l heard of Joseph Cannon, and it is needless to explain to vou that he has been speaker of the house of rep resontatives for many years past.” (Cheers and groans.) “He is called the tool of trusts by some and an angel by others." (Hurrah and hisses.) Just which It may be is not for me to say. Like other men. he has his good and bad points. There Is an Insurrection against him." (“Put him out:**) “It may prevail and It may not." ("Hurrah for Joe!") "At the coming session of congress he may be re-elected or be may not_" (“No! No! Yes. Yes.") “Some folks think he will and some think he won't." (“No! Yes!") ^“But as for me. gentlemen—as for •• (“Let 'er go!") "As for me, I have on this table | before me something that will cure a | case of jumping toothache in two min j utes or money refunded, and the price | is only—" Hut the two hundred had melted away. Cheruolni’s Advice. A young man with an extremely powerful voice was in doubt what branch of musical art to adopt. He went to the composer Cherubini for atfv.ce. ' Suppose you sing me a few bars," said the master. The young fe low sang so loud that the wall, ■airly shook. "Now." said ^ ~what do you tbtnk I am best fitted for-" I r^dUti^0neer” dry,y “M Cherubini— fid Farmers’ Almanac, 1882. Honesty. No man is thoroughly he discovers that honesty policy: that honesty Is trines for a selfish man. believes that honesty not honest.—Atchison (Kan.)