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BANK. HAniLTON, Montana. DIRECTORS. W. W. McCeugkin, President, T. A. Chaffin, Vice-President, J. Y. Harten berger, Cashier, John A. Summers, R. A. O' HAHA General Banking Business Transacted OFFICIAL DIRECTORY. STATE OFFICIALS. . Governor. Joseph K. Toole. Lieutenant Govern >r. Pratak Higgins. Secretary of State, . o M. Hays. State Aoditbr.'.». H.-Calderh«ad. State Treasurer, A. H. Barret.. Attorney General tames Donne • Superintendent of Public Instructs 'v. W. Welch. J U8t | ce •Theodore Brantley. Associate Justices, W. T. Plgott and Geo. R. Holloway. _ ■ _. . Clerk of Supreme Court. H. G. Rickarts. Representative in Congress, Caldwell Ed wards. ■ Cnited States Senators, W. A. Clark and Paris Gibson. COUNTY OFFICIALS. District Judge, Frederick O. Webster. Sheriff, Joshua Pond. County Treasurer, Harvey L. Carter. County Clerk and Recorder. O. M. Johnson. Clerk of District Court, J. F. Cone. Assessor. Arthur Beckwith. County Attorney, W. P. Baker. Super) n tendent of Schools, Kitty Ostermeyer Coroner, F. M. Lockwood. Public Administrator, John Campbell. Surveyor, M. D. Kippen. County Commissioners, Henry Grover,. Geo. Satterlee, .1. B. Overturf. CiTY OFFICIALS. Mayor—Miles Romney. Treasurer—W. O. Fisk. Attorney—R. Lee McCulloch. Clerk— Richard C. Parmenter. Marshal—W. A. Strange. Night Officer— J. M. Higgins. Police Magistrate—Frank J. Morris. Aldermen First Ward—Louis Peterson, H. Aldermen Second Ward—Geo. H, Taylor, F. Aldermen Third Ward—E. A.Trosdahl. J J. Uowley. SOCIETIES. RAVALLI LODGE. No. 36, K. OFP., MEETS every Tuesday evening at Fonger's Hall, eor. Main and Third streets. AU Knights in good standing cordially invited to visit. J. M. Higgins, C. 0. O. M. Johnson, K. of R. and S. HAMILTON, LODGE, NO., 48. I. O. O. F. meets every Monday night at Odd Fel lows I all, South Second street. All Brothers good standing invited to visit. B.O. Black, N, G. T. L. Adair, R. S. BITTERROOT ENCAMPMENT, NO. 10, I.O. G. F., meets first and third Fridays at Odd Fellows hall. Visiting Brothers invited to attend. WM. ROMBOUGH, C. P. J. T. BOARDMAN. Scribe. IONIC LODGE NO. 38. A. F. & A M. MEETS first and third Saturdaysofeach month at Odd Fellows hall. Second street. Sojourning orethren invited to attend. ___ O.C. COOPER. W M. J. J. SOUTW1CK, Sec. HAMILTON LODGE NO, 30. A. O.D. W. meets every second and fourth Thursday at Odd Fellows Hall, at 8 p. m. F. J. MOi RIS. M. W. HENRY G ROVER, Rec. CHARITY LODGE, NO. 11. I. O. O F meets the second and Fourth Wednesdays of each month at Odd Fellows hall. MKB. M J. FLETCHER, N. G. MRS. ADA BURNS, Secretary. BIT TFR HOOT TENT K. O. T. M. meets 2nd and 4tli Friday evenings at Odd Fellows Hall. Visiting Knlghtsare cordially invited to attend. J. M. RE1NDEAU, Commander. MARTIN TINGLEY, Record Keeper. HAMILTON CAMP NO. 5604. MODERN Woodmen of America. Meets at Odd Fellows Hall every Tuesday evening. E. F. Rich Aims, Clerk. C. 0. Coulter, V. O PINE CCNE CAMP NO. 754 WOODMEN OF the World meets every Thursday evening In Fonger's hall, corner Main and Third streets O. C. Coulter. C. O L. J. Watson, Clerk BA MILTON FEDERAL UNION NO. 109. A. L. U, meets every Saturday except the last week of each month when it meets on Wednesday, at 8:C0 p. m. In Fonger's hull, corner Third and Main streets. WAI.TEH Wahren, President. Harry South, Recording Secretary. EVENING STAR. No. 58. I. O. O. F. MEETS every Saturday evening in Miles' Hall. Darby. All brothers in good standing in vited to attend. Chas. Lawrence, N. G. Acoust So i.i. euer, Sec. CORVALLIS LODGE No. 28. A. F. & A. M. meets every second fourth Saturday evenings in Masonic hall, Corvallis. Visit ing bretliern In good standing cordially in vited. R. K. Smithey, W. M. G. G. Lockwood, Sec. VICTOR SOCIETIES. Victor lodge No. 43 A.F. &A. M.,meets first and third Saturdays at Appolonio, Watters & Company's hall, Victor. A cordial invitation is extended to visiting members. T H. Hanbidgc.W.M.; M. D. Fulkerson, Secretary. Ravalli Lodge No, 71 I. O.O. F., meets every Friday at Appolonio. Watters & Co.'s hall. Visiting brothers cordially invited to attend. W, K. Rickman, N. G.; Jos. Appolonio. Sec. r Victor Tent No. 35 K. O. T. M.. meets first and third Tuesdays of each month at Appo lonio, Watters & Co.s' hull. Visiting Knights always welcome. J. E. Marvin. Com.; J. A. Barnhill. R. K. Victor ampNo. 5696 M.W.A..meets second, and fourth Saturdays at A. W. & Co.'s hall S. H. Ault, V. C. M. M. Williams, Clerk. Victor Lodge No. 80 A. O, U, W., meets sec ond and fourth Saturdays at Workman hall. Henry McVey, M. W.; Wm. Tucker.Recorder Naomi Chapter No, 9 O. E. S,. meets first and third Weunesdaysof each month at A. W. & Co.'s hall. Mrs Louise Watters, W. M.; M. D. Fulkerson, Sec. Charity Lodge No. 6D. of H. meets second and fourt h Saturdays at Workman hall. Mrs. Amanda Vert. 0. II.; Mrs. Mary E. Gregory, Recorder. Biller Root Hive No. 40 L. O. T. M„ meets second and fourth Saturday afternoons at 8:30 p. m. Mrs. T. B. Ray, Commander; Mrs. Curtis Williams. R. K. A SPINSTER'S SECRET BY JOHN H. HAFTRBY. tattle Miss Sophie was an old maid, which means that she had passed 35 without either a serious courtship, an offer of marriage or the least indication that she would ever experience either. Once, indeed, when she was quite a child—only 24—there had been a young man, a very pious, well-mannered young clergyman, who—but that seemed like a dream to Miss Sophie now. She might have doubted whether he ever lived if he had not given her that little old Book of Common Prayer and the faded daguerreo type of himself in that little folding case in the corner of the "what not/ For four years now Miss Sophie had been "mothering" the two childien of her dead sister. Until Mattie grew old enough and strong enough to go to work Aunt Sophie had been hard put to it make ends meet in the little household. t>ue had sewed and mended, milked her own cow, tended her own chickens, cjoked, scoured and saved to keep Mattie and the boy, Harry, decently at Bchnol, She had even found time to db some plain sewing for the neighbors, and it was agreed on all sides that Aunt Sophie hadn't "a lazy bone in her body.'' Mattie's wages as a "machine girl" in the button fac tory Helped wonderfully in this small house hold, but it made the old maid's heart bleed to see her set off for the shop every morn ing, and poor Harry, who was 10, looked very disconsolate, loitering away to school without his sister. Mr. Kingsland, the button manufacturer, had been very kind to Miss Sophie and to Mattie. In fact, he had "made a place" for the' child, and had gone out of his way to advance her in the works, with a corre sponding increase of pay. But he was a practical business man for all that, and the hours were long, the work hard and the wages not over much. In little towns like Belltville everybody knows everybody, and Mr. Kingsland had special reasons for know ing Aunt Sophie. Her brotner had worked in the factory, and it seemed quite fair and natural that he should be kind to the or* phans. But this kind of interest hardly ex plained his first visit to the old maid's house, nor the repeated attentions which he showed them. He was forever asking her advice about the treatment of the girls at work in his factory, and Sunday seldom passed without a visit, long or short, from Mr. Kingsland. He was pleased to take tea with them once or twice, and he showed such an in terest in "her children," such a fatherly re gard for Mattie, such an amused friendship for little Harry, such a frank and generous desire tobe kind to everyone, that little Miss Sophie came to regard him as something less than a wealthy patron, something more than a mere acquaintance. There was no non sense about him, and hi6 presence in the house, though a cause of restraint at firBt for both Mattie and her brother, came to seem so natural that the cheerful little housekeeper always laid his plate for Sunday supper, and the girl and her brother always dressed in their finest and smiled their sweet est when thty knew he was coming. Sometimes when the children were not present he would sit in the veranda with Miss Sophie and tell her old stories of his past life—plain, unvarnished tales of his struggles for an education and a living—an unromantic story full of the grim realities of a poor boy's hopes and disappointments. He had never married. He had been too busy with the harsher affairs of life. "1 don't know that anyone would have me," he would laugh. "I'm 60 years old, a plain old bear; now, don't you think so, Miss Sophie?" And she would reply with some trite old sophistry, as "Handsome is as hnndsome îlocs," or "Never too late to mend." But when he was gone, a lonesome giant trudg ing away to his furnished room in the hotel, she would sit alone for hours after the chil dren were gone to bed and wonder if his visits, if his confidential manner and talk, if his extraordinary interest in tier and the little ones "meant anything." And if so? "Suppose," she would say, looking into her little mirror at her own round, cheerful, wholesome face, "suppose he should ? What ? Ask you to marry him. What would you say?" And she would smile a little doubtfully, as she shook her head, and, putting out the light, lay down to think it all over. There was nothing particularly romantic about Miss Sophie. She was a demure, modest lit tle soul, but, being a woman, she could not avoid pondering such a denouement for this persistent friendship of a man whom every body admired and respected. It was in such terms that she thougiit of him. lie was no hero in her eyes, for the little old maid didn't "go in" for heroes. She fancied that he would make a gentle, considerate, "safe" husband for any woman, and— "He's like a father to the children al ready," she caught herself saying one night. And after that she thought of Kingsland in a new light. What an advantage it would be for Mattie and Harry to have a guardian, a protector, a father like that? Mattie, poor child, was not fitted for such hard work. The opportunities for a girl, or even for a boy, were so small in the small town. Then they were such, pretty, imaginative, amia ble children. She, Aunt Sophie, had already determined to devote her life to them. Why not complete her devotion to them by "mar rying Kingsland"? Her reflections always came back to that. At last one night he .called a little later than usual, while Mattie and Harry were at the concert. Miss Sophie noticed that he was "dressed up," and she felt the fever of curiosity and fear come into her plump cheeks and bright eyes. She had let him into the little parlor, and was about to light the lamp, but he stopped her with: "Don't mind the light, Miss Sophie. I just want to say a few things. I feel more col lected, easier, in the dark." The scared little spinster wondered if she might faint, but sat down in the far corner with a queer little sigh. He went on, speak ing rapidly and very plainly: "1 am thinking of getting married, Miss Sophie. That is, within the next year or so. Meanwhile 1 want to do something for you—the children. I'd like to send Mattie to some good school. No, no! She needn't know anything about it. And Harry—I want Harry to keep on at school and take a ourseof manual training. It can be a secret between us—between you and me Will you agree to help me do this, Soph—Miss Sophie?" "Oh, yes, Mr. Kingsland. It is kind, so kind of you, but, but how are we to repay—it will cost so much." "Never mind that—now," he said. "I want Mattie for my wife—" "Mattie!" she whispered, choking down a sob, wondering at her own composure. "Yes, Miss Sophie, Mattie. 1 haven't said a word to her. I mean to give her a little more education—without her knowing, and then, if she will have me—what's the mat ter, Miss Sophie?" For the poor little woman was weeping. But she calmed herself directly and said: "But if she won't have you then?" "Oh, I'll think no less of her and—and— we'U keep this secret between us, Miss So phie."—Chicago Record-Herald. I I I I a ? as no he al in a at he of is, 1 it. at so a So A WARTIME MEETING "No," remarked an elderly, robust-looking man with the gilded braid around his slouch hat, "Washington doesn't look much like it did when 1 saw it the last time—in May 1865. "My dad brought me down here to Wash ington from Detroit to enter me at George town university in the year 1860. I was then a bit more than 16 years old. I liked the life at the Georgetown university u..til the war broke out. Then there were too many rol licking soldier boys camped aruumi in the neighborhood of Georgetown for me to pre serve my contentedness. They all looked to me as if they were enjoying a picnic, and I made up my mind that I'd have to get one of those blue uniforms on myself or shrivel up. , "Shortly after the beginning of the war I wrote home to my dad in Detroit—he was then organizing a Michigan regiment, which lie took all through the war, and it was cut to pieces several times, too—and told him ' that 1 thought I would like to join the army, Tne phrase wasn't in use then, but he wrote back something to the general effect tiiat 1 had another think or two a-comii.g. He wrote that I didn't know wuen i was well off, and said that, as he was getting together 1,000 men for the big conflict, he figured tiiat he could come pretty near doing all the soldiering necessary in our family. I remember thinking that this was pretty selfish on the old gentleman's part. " I re flected that he had been in the Mexican war, and that therefore in wishing to do all of the soldiering in the civil war, too, he cer tainly was showing a disposition to hog things. "However, I studied my lessons and went along all right at Georgetown university until early in 1861, and then I couldn't stand it any longer. So one afternoon 1 just cut out through the big gate, made for the rail road station and established connections with a freight car tacked on to a freight train that I found was booked to go to west ern New York. Inside of three or four days I was incontinentally dropped at Lockport, N. Y. "It didn't take me long there to fall into the hands of a substitute broker, and two days after I arrived at Lockport I was duly togged out in a government straight uni form that, as I remember it, was the baldest kind of a joke as a fit. Somehow 1 didn't feel half so cheerful over the prospect of a rollicking military career when, with about 100 other young gossoous, I was herded in a corner of an old storehouse, near the rail road, and kept there under guard until the train was ready to take us to the front. "Naturally enough, I was pretty curious to find out to what part of tne 'front' we were going, but never u line of information could 1 get from anybody about it until we were well past Baltimore. 1 don't sup pose any of the others knew any more than I did. "When we got beyond Baltimore, how ever, I found out, all right, whither we were bound, and the news made me almost wither up. " 'WeTe going to Giesboro' Point !' one of the young officers announced when the train got outside of Baltimore. Now, only a few days before I'd jumped the Georgetown uni versity I'd received a letter front my dad in Detroit, saying that he'd be over to the university to see me presently, as his regi ment was going to be stationed only a little distance away from Washing.on—at Gies boro' Point! None of the teirors of battle or sudden death looked half so fierce to me in prospect as my dad's discovering me in a misfit uniform, and right in his own camp, too, after he'd so expressly forbidden me to have anything to do witii soldiering. "I well remember the night we were dumped at Giesboro' Point, the little place down the Potomac a bit on the Maryland side—I drove over there yesterday to have a look at the old grounds. 1 made up my mind that the best thing for me to do would be to look up the old gentleman the very first thing on the following morning and take iny medicine—I was too tired to think of anything but rolling up in a blanket on the first night we got in. "I found my dad in his tent along toward 10 o'clock on the next morning He had no idea, of course, that I wasn't right over the river at Georgetown conjugating Latin verbs, and on that very day, in fact, he was intending to cross over to Georgetown to look me up. " 'Hello, pop,' said I, strolling into his tent and endeavoring to look as rakish as I could. 'How art they all at home?' "Well, the old gentleman looked at me steadily for a good three minutes before he said a word or before 1 knew what was going to happen to me. 1 put in the time shifting from one leg to the other. Then my dad's countenance broke into a grin. " 'That's a queer-looking uniform, son,' he said. 'You'll have to be looking up your company tailor to have it whittled down to your proportions.' "That was all. He didn't roast me at all, and I had been expecting him to swoop upon me like a thousand of bricks. Not a ques tion did he ask me as to why I'd disobeyed him and jumped the university. I'm not cer tain that the old gentleman wasn't just a bit tickled inwardly that one of his cubs had taken the bit in his teeth in that way. "Well, pretty nigh four years after that, in the month of March, before Appomattox, I was dumped, along with many scores of others that had been pretty badly hit, into a boat on the James river bound from there to a Washington hospital. I had got mine in a skirmish, and yet it was a bad enough piece of work for a man to have got in the biggest pitched battle of the war. Down the James and up the Potomac was the course of the boat, and when I came to I found myself on a cot in an institution called Campbell's hospital. "I was still there when Lincoln was a;* sassinated, and I can remember how I pitched and tossed around in a hostile humor because I wasn't in shape to get up for the grand review of the army. My dad, who'd been through the entire war with his Michi gan outfit, came to see me at the hospital — I hadn't clapped an eye on him since leav ing Giesboro' Point, nearly four years be fore—and he inquired of me which appealed to me the more—the life of a soldier or a student? He got me out of that place when I was just able to walk, and, with a lot of back pay and the like in my rags, back to Detroit 1 went with him—and that's the last I ever saw of Washington until about four days ago. I'd like to have brought the old gentleman along, but he stood his last inspection and muster long years ago. That 's how near I came to getting what you call 'a college eddication.' My chance was gone, of course, when I got back from the war— things weren't so prosperous as they had been, and it was up to me to go to work. "But, all the same, when I take a look at Washington, the miraculously changed and the marvelously beautiful Washington, as it is to-day—well, I dunno but what I have a tendency to sort o' swell up over the re flection that I chose to be one of the no matter how infinitesimal units that helped to keep the little old place together at a time when it looked like a fair even money bet that the capital might go out of busi ness."—Washington Star. LUMBER DEPARTMENT. Mill and Wholesale Offices At Hamilton, Montana O UR mill is one of the most complete in the West. It is fitted with modern machinery in all departments. Our planing mill und eash and door factory are complete, and we guarantee satisfaction on all classes of work, from mining tim bers to fine ijferior finish 75 W E operate the only logging railroad in Montana. Our logs are delivered to the mill clean and dry. This method of loggiing makes it possible for us to till orders for special lengths and sizes on 2-1 hours' notice. Special attention given to this class of work. Manufacturers of Band= LUMBER, Sashes and Doors, Cedar Shingles and Cedar Posts Estimates Promptly Furnished on all Classes of Building. Our Large Stock or Seasoned Lumber Makes it Possible for us to fill Large Orders with Promptness. We are Prepared to Give Quick Service on Special Orders. Correspondence Solicited. Yard and Local Offices at Hamilton, Anaconda and Butte.