The presant [sic] time calls to us to look back and consider what has been done to achieve our presant [sic] prosperty, socially intellectually and financially. Turning back Forty-five years we remember that these fertile praires [sic] was the home of the buffalo and the sod house and the frisky coyote with his ever memorable sardonic evening serenade. I can hear him yet. The buffalo was a very important factor in settlement of Nebraska, I remember families that lived on buffalo meat and corn bread with an occasional piece of bacon and cup of coffee for Sunday (not every Sunday), there being no limit to buffalo steak. We soon had our sod houses occupied by hearty robust cheerful plainsman, whose barefooted decendants [sic] roamed the prairies without fear of cactus or rattlesnake.
     The buffalo and rattlesnakes are gone. The sod house has disappeared and have been replaced with fine large beautiful attractive residences. Large commodious well firnished [sic] barns have taken the place of the straw sheds that we used to protect our horses and cattle from the storm. Our people have changed from hunters and trapers [sic] to prosperous farmers. Small garages are to be

seen on many of our farms. The automobile has passed its luxury stage and is now a neccesity [sic] and our farmers have them. Made possible for the reason that we have the best farming land in the world. We believe in an over ruling power and a just God but his wisdom passes our

understanding why he should put all the best land in one place and call it Nebraska is more than I can explain. It has made other states jealous of us. They have called us the "Great American Desert." They call us bug eaters. But we don't care. We have the jackrabbit, cotton tail and prairie chickens with many other useful things and we are happy.

A Dream Land Complete

Dreaming, I pictured a wonderful valley.
A home-making valley few known
    could compare,
When Lo! from the bluffs over-looking
    Wood River
I saw my dream-picture, my valley
    lies there. --

S. C. Bassett
Gibbon, Nebr.

    In secret societies the Masons, Odd Fellows, Knights of Pythias, Modern Woodmen of America, and Royal Neighbors are represented,
    The town also has two banks, one being presided over by F. D. Brown and Ross Brown and the other by Nels Maddox . and C. E. Milhouse. The conbined [sic] deposits of the two banks in their last report August 1, 1917, amounted in round numbers to $250.985.54, thus showing that the citizens of the community have faith in their home institutions.
     One of the big industries of Miller is the chicken ranch owned and conducted by A. C. Andrews and Mrs. Andrews. They specialize in the Buff and White Orpington and have gained much notoriety among: the breeders of this strain all over the country. They have shipped chickens and eggs to practically every state in the union as well as in Canada, thus advertising the little town of Miller in a way all over the world. Mr. Andrews is secretary of the National Orpington Club, and the work attached to this, as well as looking after his flocks, make him a busy man.
    The people of Miller are congenial in every sense of the word and do all in their power to make it pleasant for the visiting stranger. The business men are a live up to-date bunch of congenial fellows

who are making rapid strides in the work of making a bigger and better Miller.
    Farm lands can be bought for $20 and up and town property is increasing in value very rapidly. Homeseekers would do well to investigate the territory around Miller before they make any permanent arrangement.

with a great loss by fire, six brick store buildings have gone up. A $10,000 water plant has been put in.
    After breaking 50 acres on my place I broke 60 acres where Miller is located with no thought that a town would ever be built here. We old settlers used to go to the Dismal river after cedar posts 100 miles west. It took 8 or 10 days to make

The Backbone of Buffalo County.

The Spirit of Buffalo County.

Somebody; said that it could'nt be done,
     But he, with a chuckle, replied,
That "maybe it could'nt; but he would be one
     Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the Trace of a grin
     On his face; if he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing
     That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed, "Oh, you'll never bo [sic] that;
     At least nobody ever has done it." But he took off his coat, and he took off his hat,
     And the first thing he knew he'd begun it. With the lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
     If any doubt rose he forbade it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing
     That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
     There are thousands to prophesy failure, There are thousands to point out to you one by one
     The dangers that wait to assail you, But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

A prize winner, owned by
A. C. Andrews, Miller, Neb.

     Then take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
     That cannot be done, and you'll do it. --Selected.

Pleasanton a Live One.

    On the north edge of the county in the beautiful and fertile Pleasant Valley there lies a little town on the banks of the loup that is noted for its beauty and prosperity.
    Pleasanton is it's [sic] name and the name fits well. Pleasant people, pleasant surroundings and pleasant conditions.
    Pleasanton has a population of

about 400 and is in an extremly [sic] productive territory. The people are all prosperous and have nice homes.
     The business firms are progressive and up-to-date in their methods. They are of the friendly "good fellow" sort who never fail to make strangers feel that they are at home and among friends. In short Pleasanton is an ideal location for the homeseeker.

    Perhaps no other feature of civic reform or improvements of recent years has attracted so much attention as has that of road building. All over our broad land, from ocean to ocean, from the lakes to the gulf the waves of enthusiasm is rolling. The people are realizing that they

must have better roads, and the machinery of government, in its taxing capacity is being ever more and more strained to meet this demand.
     But while there is a certain responsibility resting upon the state in the maintenance of our highways we are in danger of forgetting that an even greater responsibility rests upon us, individually, as citizens. The reason why we sometimes lose sight of this responsibility is that we Americans have gotten into the habit of working out all such matters through the medium of taxation. If we want a new road opened, we levy a tax. If we want an old road macadamized, we tax some more. Is a bridge to be built? We impose another tax. We tax and we keep on taxing and this regardless of the fact that we all know that the hardest money to

give up is that which is paid in taxes. Many a man will come to town and spend in a day enough to pay his yearly taxes and think nothing of it. But he will sweat drops of blood as it were, when the tax gatherer rounds him up. We depend too much upon taxes.
     We should depend more upon individual and personal effort. A lively neighborhood interest in good roads is worth all of the taxes you can wring from unwilling pocket-books. A determination by a united citizenship of a county that their roads shall excel is worth more than all of the road commissioners in existence. Road commissioners work through devious ways to reach their

object. The united sentiment of a people works direct to the object. It determines what is wanted and then takes the most direct route to accomplish its ends.
     Do you favor better roads in this community? Then go to work and arouse a healthy community sentiment that will demand them. When that is accomplished good roads will be the result.
     And just a few words more. Realize your OWN responsibility. Say to yourself, "the roads of this community belong partly to Me, and I owe a duty to them." Don't depend upon a benevolent government, national, state, county or township, but shoulder your own responsibility.

"NEBRASKA"

THE WAIL OF A MALE WHO BOUGHT BY MAIL

Ma was reading out loud from her magazine.
When she says to me "The best I've seen
For all the things that must be had
Is this here low price mail house ad.

Here's Cross Grained Oats, 9 cents--no more-
'Gainst 10 they're charting at the store.
And if all the rest that's advertised
Is just as cheap I'd not be s'prised
That we'd save money in the end
By trading with our low price friend."

I shot an order into the mail--
It carried my name, it carried my kale.
I ordered a lamp and a rocking chair.
A pail of prunes and some underwear.
My wife, she ordered two petticoats.
A new false puff and some Cross Grained oats;