Bellefonte, Pa., November 20, 1903. erm———— THANKSGIVIN' JIM. He always dodged "round in an old, ragged coat, With a tattered blue comforter tied on his throat. His dusty old cart used to rattle and bang As he yelled through the village, *“Gid dap !"’ and “Go 'lang !” > You’d think from his looks that he wa’n’t wuth a cent— Was poorer than Poodue, to judge how he went. But back in the country don’t reckon on style To give ye a notion of any one’s pile. When he died and they figgered his pus’nal es- tate, : He was mighty well fixed—was old “Squealin’ Jim Waite.” But say, I'd advise ye to sorter look out How ye say ‘“Squealin’ Jim’ when the’s widders about, They're likely to light on ye, hot tar and pitch, And give ye some points as to what, where and which; For if ever a critter is reckoned a saint By the widders ‘round here, I'll be dinged if he hain’t. For please understand that the widders call him, Sheddin’ tears while they're sayin’ it—*“Thanks- givin’ Jim.” He was little. Why, We’'n’t skerce knee high To a garden toad. But was mighty spry! He was all ofa whew; If he’d things to do »Twas a zip and a streak when Jim went through. But his voice was twice as big as him, And the boys all called him “‘Squealin’ Jim.” He was always a-hurryin’ all through life, And said there wa’'n’t time for to hunt up a wife, So he kept bache’s hall and he worked like a dog Jest whooped right along at a trottin’ horse jog. There’s a yarn that the fellers that knew him will tell ; 1f they want to set Jim out—and sel him out well, He was bound for the city on bus’ness one day And, whoosh ! scooted down to the depot, hooray ! The depot man says: ‘“Hain’t no rush, Mister Waite, For the train to the city is ten minutes late.” Off flew Squealin’ Jim with his grip, on the run And away down the track went he, hoofin’ like fun. When he tore out of sight, couldn’t see him for dust, And he squealed : *‘Train be jiggered. there, now, fust!”— So nervous and active he jest couldn’t wait When they told him the train was a little mite late. I'll get Now that was Jim! He was stubbed and slim, But it took a spry critter to stay up with him. His height when he'd rise Made you laugh. But his eyes Let ye know that his soul wasn’t much undersize. And some old widders we had in town Insisted, 1eg’lar, he wore a crown. As he whoopity-larruped along on his way There were people who'd turn up their noses and say That Squealin’ Jim Waite wasn’t right in his head; He was “‘cranky as blazes,” the old growlers said’ 1 can well understand that the things he would do Seemed looney as time to that stingy old crew. For a fact, there was no one jest like him in town; He was most always actin’ the part of a clown. He would say funny things in his queer, squealin’ style And he talked so you’d hear him for more than a mile. But every Thanksgivin’ time Waite hé would start And clatter through town in his ratilin’ old cart. And wkat do ye s’pose? He would whang down the street, Yank up at each widder’s; from under the seat Would haul out a turkey or yaller legged chick And holler : “Here, mother, h’ist out with ye, quick !” Then he’d toss down a bouncer right into her lap And bolt off like fury with ‘‘G’lang, there! Gid dap !” Didn’t wait for no thanks—counldn’t work em on him! Couldn’t catch him to thank him—old Thanks- givin’ Jim. "Twas a queer idee ’Round town that he Was oft’n his balance, and crazy’s could be. They’d set and chaw And stew and jaw And projick on what he did it for. But prob’ly in Heaven old Squealin’ Jim Found lots of crazy folks jest like him. —By Holman F. Day. HANNAH JANE'S THANKSGIVING, ‘Come out, Cherry. Don’t you want to come out ?’’ Hannah Jane fastened the door of the cavary’s cage open with a twisted hairpin, and the bird spread its beak at her, utter- ing the fiercest scolding of which her little throat was capable. : She withdrew a pace, and out he flew, perching on a picture frame, from which inaccessible vantage he continued his bully- ing challenge. : ‘The ingratitude of your sex!’ said Hannah, laughing in a repressed way, as if afraid someone would overhear her. There was no danger. The walls of the building were thick. Hannah Jane’s room was her castle, invaded only by the cus- tomers whose old gowns she made over. Hannah Jave's was a humble line of dressmaking, but none the less necessary. She liked to go out by the day and sit at a good home table for her three meals; but she had learned how it heightened her popularity to be willing to accept odd jobs of sewing at her room, and so it was that her meals were nearly all taken from the little gas stove, which heated her pressing- iron, and were shared only by the bellig- erent canary, who considered Ler his vassal. There was some good points in the ar- rangement, because it gave Hannah Jane opportunity to rest occasionally when she was tired, and to read a little poetry. She was a bit of a philosopher. "If she sometimes felt ioclined to realize that Cherry was a rather slender dependence as sole companion and caretaker for a maid- enlady who was getting on, she limited herself to humorous literature. It was only in her brightest moments that she indulged in the luxury of melan- choly; and how astonished Hannah Jane's customers would have been to suspect that she read poetry at all ! ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you, Weep and you weep alone.’ were the lines she often quoted to the can- ary, feeling quite worldly wise and cynical as she did so, and naively unconscious of © the loneliness even of ber langhter. "A popular writer has said of one class of "women that if they live to be eighty they ‘atill die young.’ - Of this class was Hannah ‘Jané. The women who received her patient sugges- tions for renovating their old clothes, call- ed her a good natured. prim little thing, and recommended her as reasonable. She had lines in her forehead and silver threads in hererimped front hair, and wore spectacles while she sewed, and to the hur- ried women whom she fitted she was mere- ly a convenient machine; but Cherry knew that she was still z girl who giggled at him, and who, when the moon, was clear could scarcely stay in her bed, but sat long by the window murmuring rhymes laudatory of the serene Queen of Heaven and seeing such visions and dreaming such dreams as come to the pure in heart. The janitress of the building knew her as well as anybody in the great city, for Han- nah Jane bad more than once lent her a helping hand, and at one time when the little seamstress fell ill, and the rainy day fund bad to be encroached upon for rent, Mrs. Hogan had come, like a good Samari- tan, to her aid. One morning Hannah Jane met the jani- tress in the hall. “It’s verself I was wishin’ fer,”’ said Mrs. Hogan with a groan. ‘I’m full o’ theamatiz this mornin’ and two o’ the roomer’s hed left to do—Mr. Jenks and Mr. Wyman. Would ye have time to help out a poor body ?”’ “Just as lieve as not.”’ said Hannah Jane, briskly. ‘‘You go right and keep warm.’’ Mrs. Hogan departed, uttering blessings, and the seamstress flitted down the corri- dor and entered one of the rooms indicat- ed. There she whisked the bedclothes about to the accompaniment of nimble considera- tion as to whether the gray braid she had bought to bind a customer’s skirt was a good enough match. Then, after a hasty dusting, she repaired to the next room. Its character was very different from the last. Hannah Jane sus- pended judgment on the gray braid and ex- amined the photographs of men and girle standing abont. She observed a pipe on the table, asmok- ing jacket flung over a chair. A faint odor of tobacco, which the air from the open window had not entirely banished, smote upon her senses not unpleasantly. A hasti- ly opened laundry bundle lay on a chair. Hannah Jane knew by sight and hearing the young man who owned those starched linens and the hose that had fallen to the floor. She also recognized his long, firm step as it passed her door, and the easy, deep heaviness of Wyman’s voice had often stirred her admiration. She picked up his socks now with some- thing like shyness, and mechanically turn- ing them saw the effect of the vigorous strides she so admired. Hurriedly she examined all the socks in the bundle. Not one but had its little or great ventilating gaps. The sight was suf- ficient to stir the inhibited tenderness of the woman heart. ‘Poor fellow !”’ she murmured. Then a positively exciting inspiration as- sailed her. Supposing she were to mend these socks and return them before their owner came home. It was too bad. He would never know. Hannah Jane’s hands moved deftly while she finished the work of the room and her cheeks burned guiltily as she stole hack to her apartment bearing an unaccustomed burden. ‘‘A. Wyman’’ was written on a tape and sewed to each sock. An envelope on the table was addressed to Allen Wyman. *‘A nice name. It suite him,”’ decided Hannah Jane. This was a red letter day to the little dressmaker. No school girl could have flushed more eagerly than she over her bit of surreptitious benevolence. She even turned her back to Cherry’s cage as ‘she drew the iirst sock over her hand, and when the bird flew to her shoul- der she gave a little cry and tried to hide her work. ‘Don’t you tell I’ she exclaimed. That night when the long legs strode past her door Hannah Jane lifted her little shoulders and listened, with a warm con- sciousness till Wyman’s door slammed. “What will he say ?’’ she asked herself, thinking of the carefully replaced hose. Hannah Jane was as ignorant as the canary of young men’s ways, or she wonld have know how long it takes for comforts to stir their curiosity. After this theinteresiing day of the week to the dressmaker was that on which the laundry bundles were delivered. She began to feel a proprietorship in the flexible whistle with which A. Wyman sped his own march through the hall night and morning. Her familiarity with his clothing increas- ed and spread. There were no more but- tons missing, or rips widening, or holes left unpatched in the garments of the lucky possessor of that musical voice and taking physique, who littie dreamed that the rose color of one woman’s life consisted in min- istering invisibly to his needs. Haunah Jane in these days often smiled through her spectacles at her sewing, and her customers, some of them, were moved to marvel at the good cheer of the lonely dressmaker. Her day dreams took on more tangible shape. ‘“What a wonderful thing it would be to have a lover like Allen 1”? This thought, often entertained, by im- perceptible degrees captured Hannah Jane's fancy, until hour after hour would pass in gently by the dreamer, but at last hecom- ing a habit of thought as precious as opium to the victim. 2 She began to bid her fancied lover good- bye as he passed in the morning, with a tenderness that should have insured his good fortunes through the day. Boldly telling Mrs. Hogan that she was in charge of Mr. Wyman’s mending she ob- tained access to the room, which she kept with an exquisite neatness quite foreign to the abilities of the Irishwoman. At night she welcomed him home with a devotion none the less ardent that she had to imagine the pausing of the footfail at her door. and the word of tender greeting that met her when in imagination she opened it. She ceased to be shy in handling the young man’s belongings, for were they not in a way part hers as well? She mourned lovingly over an occasional spot of blood on his shaving paper, and in short indulged in an intoxication of devotion to her ideal. A customer arriving one morning with a pressing bit of work, was astonished at Hannah Jane's firm refusal to promise it at once. : “You've never been unaccommodating before,’’ ejaculated the irate woman. “I'm sure there’s nobody you ought to favor more than me. You just said a minute ago you badn’t much work on hand.” ‘I can’t do it right off,” repeated Han- nah Jane, gently, looking far beyond the speaker. She knew just what clothing would come home from the laundry, and just what had to be done to it. ‘Very well, then, I'll never trouble you again !”’ ejaculated the other, and flounced away. The dressmaker had lost a customer. She turned to the canary. ‘Do you think he’ll bring me a rose to- a delicious make believe, at first ridiculed | night, Cherry—or some pinks? I like vinks,’’ she whispered. Hannah Jane was not crazy. She was only having her first love affair, and like measles it goes hard with the mature. Sometimes she met Wyman in the hall. What a happy face he had, and how the light shone in his eyes as he gave a passing greeting to the little woman, whose timid yet searching glances amused him. “It’s a fortune Mister Wyman’s after gettin’,”” said Mrs. Hogan to the dressmak- er one day. ‘‘Sure he often does be givin’ me money af late and sayin’ I’m the dandy janitress.’”’ The color that swept under Hannah Jane’s skin would once have made it peachy. Familiarity with her happy new duties rendered the little woman hold and at lass careless. One day she had just laid some mended clothing into Wyman’s drawer and was packing it into place when a sound startled her. She turned, and the sight that met her took all the strength from her limbs. If was Wyman himself, standing speechless in the doorway, his lips apart. Hannah Jane lost her head completely. ‘‘You’re too early !"’ she stammered. “I am a little early. What'’—Wymun smiled—*‘what can I do for you !”’ ‘Your mending—I’ve just finished—I was putting it away.” ; ‘What !”” Wyman looked pleased and enlightened as he advanced toward her. ‘‘And. you are the Brownie who has haunt- ed my den lately ? And I thought it was Mrs. Hogan !”’ He uttered a laugh that ravished Hannah Jane’s ears. “I knew you sewed. I saw your sign. Why, you have made a respectable being of me!’ The young man continued to gaze at her in puzzled fashion. ‘‘But the mischief of itis, Mrs. Hogan has reaped what you sewed. Ha, ha! That's pretty good, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? You want to sue Mrs. Hogan right off.” ‘‘Leave that to me,’’ returned Hannah Jane, blushing and trembling. She had edged little by little toward the door, her eyes held by his, and now she broke away in a little trot for her room, where only the canary knows what palpitating confidences he received. “Brownie! What a pretty thought Hannah Jane. The next day she again met Wyman in the hall at an unaccustomed hour. His arms were full of bundles. ‘‘Here’s the good Brownie lady again !"’ be cried cheerily, while the dressmaker, as she paused, wondered if any other woman ever had so many pleasant things bappen to her. *‘Here are some clothes that won’t re- quire mending for a while,’’ he went on, indicating his parcels; ‘‘but I tell you I shall remember you for many a long day. I'm glad I didn’t go away without know- ing who was really my benefactress.’’ ‘‘Go—go away !"’ “Yes.”” The young fellow flushed with bis happiness. “I’m going to be married.’ He kept radiant eyes upon her. The dressmaker’s lips contracted and moved mutely. **Yes; tomorrow at high noon you’ll he rid of me.”’ ‘‘By Jove, that little woman must need the money !”’ was the thought Hannah Jane’s face left with him as he moved on to his room, suddenly sobered. Cherry stirred uneasily on his perch that night, and even trilled a soft and reproach- ful serenade to remind his mistress of her inconsiderateness. It was midnight, yet both gas jets were burning brightly, and Hannah Jane dill sat, a book upside down in her lap, and an idea !”? i odd set smile on her lips. What an empty, hare room it was! What an empty, gray day—week—month —year—no, no—years awaited her. She dared not go to eleep and wake up anew to the realization. Such a dead, dead weight monotonous oppression settled upon ler, *'0, Cherry, don’t sing !’’ she moaned, unobservant of the book that fell to the floor as she rose and moved to the cage. ‘‘ ‘How can ye sing, ye little birds, When I'm so wae and fu’ o’ cares?’ ”’ How did we use to get on—you and I— | birdie? We did very well,”’ she said, soft- | ly. ‘It’s dreadful so be an old fool, be- cause they’re the worst kind, birdie.’ The canary, excited and daring, flew straight through the open door to her neck and pecked at it crossly. She closed her hand on his little body and held him close, as she walked softly up and down the room. : ““Iv’s one o’ the girls in those pretty low necked photographs,’’ she murmured, and the next time she reached the burean she stopped and resolutely scanned her baggard face, the thin hair her restless hands bad roffled, and her spare figure. ‘‘Ob, oh !”” she moaned, meeting her piteous eyes. The silky mite she was cling- ing to in the agony of her humiliation writhed indignantly. She clasped her hands over her faceand the canary whirred back to his cage as to an ark of safety. ‘If I only knew how my soul lovks!” she sobbed softly, her thin shoulders con- valsed. “I might not feel so dreadful ashamed !”’ The following day was Wednesday. There was a card on Hannah Jane's door which read, BACK THURSDAY. She heard Wyman’s gay voice deploring to Mrs. Hogan the fact that he could not bid his new friend good bye, and soon af- terward saw a letter stealing under her door. The long step and the gay whistle had died away before she picked up the en- velope. It contained a scribbled word of farewell and a sum of money. Still she sat there, deaf to the noises in the street, deaf to the noises in the build- ing, to all save the voices that spoke in her inner ear, until toward evening thirst drove her from her room. She met Mrs. Hogan in the hall. The Irishwoman threw up her hands, evidently in wild excitement. ‘An’ ain’tit a dreadful thing, and I can’t take care of him. I loike Misthur Wyman, but ye know my rheumatiz and ““What has happened ? Wyman ?”’ Hannah Jane, weak with fasting, leaned against the wall. ‘‘Sick in his room, and the doctor lavin’ him, and I’ve just told him—' Here a gray baired man came toward the stairway. ‘‘Are you the doctor?’ cried Hannah Jane, turning. “What has happened to Ne Nyman ? Ilive here. What can I 0 The doctor bent his shaggy eyebrows in quick scrutiny. ‘Several things,”’ he answered. ‘‘Come into my room.’’ Hannah Jane threw open her door, and Mrs. Hogan limp- ed away murmuring. ‘The evenitig papers are full of it. Haven’t you seen the head lines?’ asked the doctor. Where is Mr. ‘‘Nothing.”’ ‘“The poor fellow’s bride dropped dead just as she reached the altar. Forgive me. Take this chair. I didn’t know you bad a personal interest. There now—I’m afraid I’ve unfitted you to help me.” “Mr. Wyman is stunned by the shock !”? said Hannali Jane, faintly. “I'm uot sure of his condition yet. The whole situation is strange. As you may know, Miss Frost was the poor relation of rich people anxious to marry her off, and they had no interest in Wyman, save as a means to an end. I know them well. The girl had heart trouble. The end came right there. No one seemed to know what be- came of Wyman after the catastrophe. He was found in the street and brought here and there was delay in getting me. He may have had a fall. At any rate, he is in a stupor, and if yon would stay with him, until I can get a nurse over here—-—"’ ‘‘Don’t send any nurse ! No one must take care of him but me !”’ cried Hannah Jane. The doctor gazed, surprised, at her pale little face. “Very well, then,’’ he returned after a moment’s hesitation. ‘‘Byt. morrow, un- less he reacts well from his condition I will try to get him into a hospital.” ‘‘Never !”’ exclaimed the other. “Ah ! You are a relative ?’’ ‘‘No—not exactly. A-—connection by— by—"? The doctor was too busy to care why the eager, agitated woman was willing to help him. The fact was enough, and Hannah Jane accompanied him to the dismantled room, where the strapped trunk of the bridegroom still stood, while its owner, un- conscious of the subversion of his world, lay in what proved to be the first stage of an attack of brain fever. But it was not in this room that Wyman first came back from the realm of his fan- tasies. He lay in a place where the sun- beams stole through the shade and hirds fitted about. ‘Still dreams, dreams‘”’ he thought; then some one coughed. It was a woman whom he now first noticed. She was sitting across the room, with a cap on ber head and an apron over her dress. With a pang never in after years wholly forgotten. Wyman realized that she was a nurse, that he had been ill and why he had been ill. The nurse’s work-worn hands pressed convulsively together. for all at once there came weak-long-drawn sobs from the bed. For a while she let him weep, then she drew near and bent over him in the shad- ow, her own eyes raining. ‘The doctor will be here soon. rest now, Mr. Wyman,’ ‘“Torturers—torturers—to bring me back to life! O Amy—and I might have been with you !” Haunah Jane bad grown familiar with the name ere this. **Is there anybody—your own people— you’d like to have sent for! We couldn’t find any address.” . ‘‘Nobody. I have nobody. Neither had she. But we had each other.” ‘‘Poor boy !"”” Haunah Jane took his band in both of hers and they wept heart- brokenly together; and upon this unpro- fessional weakness of the hitherto wise purse walked the doctor. . ‘‘Here, here, my lad—and my lady !” he exclaimed. ‘‘He knows everything, doctor !"’ ‘‘And is that reason enough for you not to know anything ?”’ demanded the doctor briskly. He leaned over his patient. “I understand, my boy; but we can’t die just when we’d like to, and you have some blessings yet. A little of the stimu- lent, please. You want to get well, if only to thank your nurse here. Such devotion as hers isn’t to be bought. It’s only women who can make love take the place of sleep and muscle.’ Upon this Wyman looked long at Han- nah Jane as she bent to him with a glass. ‘‘It’s the Brownie lady !”” he said in feeble astonishment. : It was the doctor’s turn to stare. was a puzzling situation. In another week Wyman sat up for the first time. No one was more rejoiced than Cherry, who had almost resigned himself to an eternal night, and who welcomed the partial lifting of the shadows with alter- nate hymns of rejoicing and animated scoldings for past hardships. He had lightened weary hours for the patient, with" whom he was always on terms of armed neutrality, and now he perched on the back of Wyman’s easychair and sociably pulled his hair. “The bells are ringing,” said the sick man, watching Hannah Jane as she moved about the room. ¢‘Is it Sunday ?"’ “No, it’s Thanksgiving Day.” ‘Oh ! Thanksgiving Day.’ Wyman’s hollow eyes studied the carpet, now for weeks bare of shreds and clip- pings. ‘‘Yes, and it is one for me, laddie, sure enough; the best I ever had,” said Hah- nah, cheerfully. She had doffed the mus- lin cap and was dressed in her best black gown. ‘‘Wait till you see the nice dinner Mrs. Hogan is going to bring us a little while.” It was a good dinner, and Wyman’f mournful big eyes brightened over it, for his nurse was so happy, and Cherry so absurd in bis assumption of the role of taster to the company, as hisown hig frame was crying out for food with a convales- cent’s appetite. When all was finally cleared away the three took naps—Wyman on the bed. Han- nah Jane in the big chair, and Cherry, his feather jacket stuffed with celery, blinking sleepily on the mantel piece. At twilight Hannah Jane put some large pieces of soft coal on the open stove, and she and her patient sat before the fire. The snow had begun to blow outside. ‘‘This is cosy,’’ she said. She had learn- ed to smile above a heartache. Wyman had days ago told her the story of his short, swift courtship, ending as it bad in total eclipse, and his sorrow was hers. If only she could comfort him— could be something more than a mere ciph- er in his life. Yet it never occurred to her to blame him for his self-centered dejection, or to dwell upon the uncaleulating sacrifices she had made for him. Her eyes were fixed on the oily flames, and so she did not know that Wyman was observing her curiously. A realization of the singularity of the situation had been impressing him today in his returning strength as never before. ‘‘Brownie,”’ he said at last. “It’s a very, very strange thing you've done for me. “Why? What?” Hannah Jane's face turned hot in the firelight, for his tone was a new one. ‘‘The doctor said your loving devotion couldn’t be bought. I’ll swear to that.’’ The dressmaker screened her face from tho fire and him with one thin band, then because it trembled she dropped it. He went on, ‘You have given up your work, have lost customers probabiy; at any rate weeks of time, have overdone—-"’ ‘No, no !”? ‘Now,’ bluntly, “would you have done Try to Here all that for any forlorn chap ? an angel ?”’ Hannah Jane cleared her throat. ‘‘I used to think you took care of my clothes and my room with an eye to the main chance. I don’t think so now.” “Why don’t youn ?’’ The little woman was beginning to brace herself to explain in some way the inex- plicable. ‘‘Because you havn’t any. You’ve done all this for some reason that 1’ve been hunting for days.” “Women do things without reason,’’ said Hannah Jane, ‘Not for such a length of time. I’ve hit on something: maybe it’s hecause I’ve been so light-headed. But I wish you’d tell me if I’ve struck it. Am I like somebody vou were once in love with 27’ All the girlish soul of Hannah Jane blushed through her spare, careworn hody. It would soon be over. Wyman would soon be well and gone away, and again there would be nothing in the world but customers and the roofs, the moon and the canary; but she would forever have the memory of the delicious shame. and relief and triumph of this moment. She met the dark, insistent eyes as Wyman bent toward her. 3 Yes,” she answered ; ‘‘you have guessed it.” ‘‘Forgive me !”’ exclaimed the young fellow. ‘“What can I say to you, Brownie? It I could make another guess as clever, and find out how in the world I am ever to repay you ! You ought to go away and have a rest; and how will your business start up again ! My employers are hold- ing on for me, but how about yours ?’’ *‘I don’t know, and I don’t care. I've always been taken care of, Mr. Wyman.”’ ‘Don’t you ever call me that again. I’m Allen to you, and your Allen at that. I'll take a hand in helping Heaven to help you after this.’”’ Hannah Jane's eyes - filled with bright tears, and her heart beat fast. ‘If I ean just hear you step and whistle as you used to,’’ she said brokenly, ‘‘and if I can only see you sometimes I shall be repaid for everything.”? ‘‘You have been using your savings,’ said Wyman, reflectively. ‘“Well, they were mine.’ : He drew his lips together in a thought- ful, noiseless whistle. ‘‘See here, Brownie,’’ he said at last, gently. ‘‘You’re alone and I'm alone. Let’s have a little flat, where you can he a swell modiste and I can be boarder. It will keep me from going to pieces to be- lieve that 1’'m some comfort to you.’’ Hannah Jane sat up very straight, her eyes big and wistfal. ‘“You don’t mean it !”’ she ejaculated. Her movement knocked down the tongs, and Cherry, his luxurious siesta disturbed, circled about the room, tweet-tweeting angrily. The little woman’s joy made Wyman forget all woes of the moment. The cana- ry iit on his head. ‘I shall have a home as well as yon, you hegger !”’ he exclaimed. “You won’t mind if I cry a bit,’’ said Hannnh Jane, sobbing softly. ‘‘You don’t know what it means—it’s only my way of —of Thanksgiving !"’—Clara Louise Burn- ham. Are you Emperor Willlam’s Ancestry. His Father Died from Malignant Growth in His Throat. The recent operation to removea ‘‘be- nevolent’’ growth from the throat of Em- peror William, of Germany, recalls certain similar facts concerning his ancestry. Frederick III, the father of the present emperor of Germany, died June 15th,1888, after a reign of not quite three months, from a malignant affection of the throat which even before his accession had ren- dered tracheotomy necessary. There was a difference of opinion between the noted English and German physicians who at- tended the emperor as to whether the dis- ease was a cancer, and efforts were made to conceal the real nature of the malady. Empress Frederick, mother of the pres- ent emperor, died August 5th, 1901, and while it was announced that dropsy was the immediate cause of her death, she had long been a sufferer from cancer. Emperor William has long suffered from a malady known in the medical world as *‘otitis media’’—chronic inflammation of the middle ear. It is a disease which can be caused by local irritation, such as the insertion of some foreign substance into the ear; it can be caused by illness, such as scarlet fever, but in most cases it is due to blood taint. A typical case presents the following symptoms : To begin, there is a discharge from the ear. The patient is subject to convulsions. He drops to the ground as thought shot; he froths at the mouth; the pupils of his eyes become dilated and the muscles of his body twitch. Then follows a moment of calm, with another spasm of violence. Another period of calm comes, and then the patient remains save for some time. During such periods there is melan- chola, with the usual suicidal impulses. These attacks are intermittent and occur whenever the discharge from the ear is not free and rapid. As the patient grows older the attacks become more frequent and eventually end in death, the immediate cause being cancer, abscess or tumor of the brain. : Such is the specific disease from which William II is suffering. In addition he inherits tainted blood. Although the ene- mics of the emperor have accused him of follies and excesses that have injariously affected his health, justice wonld direct accusation not against him, but against his ancestors. Catherine IT, of Russia, the Messalina of the North, whose shameful record stains the page of history, died in 1796, leaving a terrible heritage for her descendants. Her son, Paul 1, was an epileptic and more than half insane, and was murdered by some of the nobles of his empire. He left eight children, one of whom, the Princess Maria, became through marriage the Duchess of Saxe-Weimar. Her daughter, the Princess Augusta; married the Prussian Prince William, who afterward became Emperor William I. As the Empress Augusta was the grandmother of the pres- Rank Vines and Rust Guard Tomb of Zachary Taylor. Zachary Taylor was once a name to con- jure with in this country. Famous as an Indian fighter in the days of Black Hawk, and when the Seminoles held sway in the everglades, conqueror of the Mexicans and President of the United States from March 4, 1849, to July 9, 1850, he was one of those rugged, fearless and determined characters which always appeal strongly to the Anglo- Saxon spirit. But he lived a long while ago, when we consider how fast the world moves, and even his deeds are forgotten except by school children. The hooks will tell us that he died in Washington. How many know where he was buried? ‘‘At this season of the year,” says the New Orleans Times-Democrat, ‘‘the first falling leaves are beginning to drift upon the slope of a hill that stands five miles from Louisville, Ky., a little way off the Brownsboro road, and block up the en- trance to a massive stone tomb thatis lo- cated there in Only occasionally is a pass- erby attracted by she austere grandeur of the sarcophagus to draw nearer and read upon the slab over the entrance the name and date: Nara N aarti ttnaac eerste rae earers ita eent aes aatist ern teansa aera Z. TAYLOR. Died 1850. **Yet here reposes Zachary Taylor, ‘Old Rough and Ready,” twelfth President of the United States, hero of the Black Hawk and Florida Indian wars, the man who, with 4000 soldiers, swept Santa Aunna’s 20,000 before him as Buena Vista and con- guered Mexico. For more than half a cen- tury the tomb of General Taylor has lacked the care of a kindly hand. The ivy riots over the weather-beaten blocks of granite in the spring and summer, and almost conceals the outline of the gray stone tomb. The fastenings on the iron door are red with rust, and no key has turned in the ponderous lock for probably a quarter of a century. *‘A little to the east of the granite vault stands the Taylor memorial shaft of white marble. It, too, has hecome discolored through the storm and shine of half a ceu- tury. Surmounting the shaft is a statue of General Taylor leaning upon his sword. The statue, too, is beginning to disinte- grate in spots. The inscription, which is growing illegible, consists of General Tay- lor’s last words: * ‘I bave endeavored to do my duty. I am ready to die. My only regret is for the friends I leave behind me.’ ‘Visitors to the tomb of President Tay- lor arerare. It is doubtful if half a dozen tourists stop during a twelvemonth to stand beside the last resting place of a President of the United States aud a sol- dier who occupies a conspicuous and pic- turesque position in the nation’s history. ‘‘The old Taylor homestead, which stands not far from the tomb, isfurnished practically as it was during General Tay- lor’s last days of abode therein. It is tenanted by strangers, the last member of the Taylor family having moved away some twenty years ago. y Cuban Far ming. A Big Field for the Right Sort of Young Amer= icans. ‘‘For an energetic and enterprising man who’ is limited toa small capital, the Island of Cuba holds forth inducements unrivaled anywhere in the States,” said H.F. Kimbrough, to a representative of the Washington ‘‘Post.”” Mr. Kimbrough is one of the largest vegetable growers in Cuba, and is visiting the Eastern cities of the United States to secure special trans- portation rates aud markets for his large shipments. ‘‘A young mao with a capital of $250 can lease ten acres, plant them in tomatoes, complete a crop in six months, and realize a net profitof from $250 to $350 an acre. We have a transportation rate from Guines, where my interests are centred, that is 20 cents a crate lower on tomatoes shipped to New York and Chi- cago than from any pointin Florida, and this includes the payment of duty. There is good money in sugar cane and tobacco, and when the market holds high fora few weeks, as it did year before last, there is a large profit in growing egg plants and sweet peppers. ‘‘Land can be leased from the Spanish and Cuban landowners at a yearly rental of $225 a caballerias, which is composed of about 33 1-3 acres. This land can be sub- let to negroes for sugar raising at a rate of $500 a caballerias, or for one-third of the yield of sngar, delivered in the sugar house, sacked for shipping. The laud leases from the owners are drawn up by a notary public, who is under a hond of about $50,000. If there is any flaw in the title he is responeible and in case of disposses- sion because of a defective title damages in full may be obtained. The penalty for not paying a damage claim that is allowed by law consists of a term of imprisonment in the carcel, or penitentiary. The num- ber of worthless and unprincipled men who come down from the states bave caused the Cubans to distrust all Americans. *“ There is a big field for the right sort of young Americans, even without capital. I remember a young chap, named Roberts, who landed in Havana winter before last with $2.50 in his pocket. He managed to secure a piece of ground and planted heavily in egg plants. He had a run of sixty days on this commodity, and during the time the run lasted received more than $4 a crate net. Another man went to Guines with $5 capital. He arrived there December 1, 1903, rented ten acres and left in June fol- lowing with $1,800 clear profit in his pos- session. Miss Roosevelt Now Rides Astride. Miss Alice Roosevelt has discarded the side saddle and conventional riding habit and now rides in divided skirts. The announcement that Miss Roosevelt was receiving instruction in the new style of riding caused a flatter among conserva- tive Washingtonians, but the president’s daughter, and Mrs. Rider, who bas been teaching her how to sit on a horse in what she regards as the more rational method, now pass through the parks mounted as- tride without causing any more comment ent emperor, itis not strange that he | than the presence of the president’s daugh- should bave inherited some of the tainted | ter ordinarily provokes. blood of her grandmother, Catherine 11. Miss Roosevelt’s new riding costume is But this is not the only strain of im- | a modest one of blue cloth, and she has purity in his blood. Queen Louise of | changed to the new style of riding in such Prussia died from cancer, although some historians claim that it was consumption. Her son, Frederick William IV, king of Prussia, died insane, the consequence of a disease of the ear, such as the present emperor, his grandnephew, has. There is still more taint, however, Queen Victoria, the grandmother of the emperor, was the niece of George IV, of Engiand. He was absolutely insane and died under restraint. To sum up, William II, basa father, a great-uncle, a great great-grandmother, a great granduncle, a great grandmother and a great grandfather, all of whom died from either insanity or blood taint. an unostentations manner that criticism of her course has been avoided ——Clyde, the 17-year-old son of J. B. Decker, of Huntingdon while out hunting Monday morning shot himself through the right foot, breaking two toes and lacerating the under part of foot. He, in company with Wilbur Corbin, was hunting near the town and were waiting for rabbits, Clyde resting the muzzle of his gun on the end of his foot. The gun being a hammerless one, he thoughtlessly touched trigger and discharged the load through his foot, the DOnSEnts passing completely through the sole.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers