C—O A A
Beworrai aca
Bellefonte, Pa., November 18, 1906.
A E———————
A FUNNY FIDDLER.
What a smart little fellow a cricket must
be!
For if what they tell us is true,
When he seems to be singing he's fiddling in-
stead,
Which must be much harder to do.
But then if a cricket should happen to feel
Like dancing, how fine ii would be!
For with two of his legs he could fiddle the
tune,
And dance with the others, you see!
—Henrietta R. Eliot in October St. Nicholas
NIGHT AND THE CURTAINS DRAWN,
Fate is called a beartless lady, cruel and
cold and pitiless—a Juggernaut who rides
down hearts and bopes, unseeing, uncar-
ing; but sometimes, to us who grope blind
in the dark, perverse in our blindness, who
stray from the paradise that was ours, she
comes, half in anger, as it were, and sets
our feet once more toward what we had
left behind ; sometimes, not often. So she
did with me, in kindly scorn of my per-
versity—set my feet once more toward the
light when I would have turned them to
outer darkuess; and a certain other pair of
Teck Shit | ain Jot worthy so kite. so tuved
There were two young people who lov
each other too iy who tried their hearts
with an over-great passion, set their souls
an over-severe task,and there came to them
the inevitable wreok ; for men and women
are but men and women—not gods cvely
human and frail and faulty, , ad
over-keenly, they der too much
forgive not at all.
us, to Madelon and to me, the inevi-
table wreck came quickly, for our love had
been too great. We had made gods, each of
the other, and, finding after a little that
the were but flesh and blood, we would
not forgive.
It wae a bit over two months from the
wedding day when I left The Towers—for
we bad , nay I had insisted, that
Madelon should have the place—and went
up to my quarters in town.
+ I have no wish to dwell upon the next
few weeks. They were cruel even to be
looked back upon with any calmness.
Sometimes I dream that I am returned to | she
them, and wake shivering. There were
certain friends who were kind to me, who
tried to entertain me—make it easier for
me. There was one—the best of all
though I quarreled with him—who told
me that I was making an unmitigated and | i
unnecessarily tragic ass of myself, and that
I bad no more sense of humor than a wo-
man (which was trae).
Bas friends could not fill all my hows
nor all my thoughts. There were sleepless
nights—horrible nospeakably, and there
were empty, dreary days when I walked
always under a strange pall which hung
between me aud the sunlight, between me
and “oh the life which had used to form my
world.
1 crossed the channel and loafed about
Paris for a week, and 1 even went down to
Niceand to Monte Cailn, bus even there
tbe pall hung over me, cold and grey and
deadening, and I crept back to on as
a sick man creeps back to his chamber of
suffering—to my sleepless nights, horrible
wahpenkably, and my dreary days.
en Reeves-Davis came up from the
country, full of a project for shooting Alri-
can lions. Wouald I go along? I looked
ahead, shivering a bit, into the sodden per-
Spectivaéh days and nights, each an awful
thing. Maduoess lay that way.
“Yes,” said I, “ah yes, I'll go.” Some-
times there are accidents in shooting lions.
A thousand things might bappen.
‘Ab, yes," said I, “I'll go.”
There were Batten to be set in Shape,
arrangements to make against the possi.
bility of one of those accidents. I went
about them with a certain eagerness.
Everything must he made easy for Her—
comfortable and secure. There were direc-
tions to be given at The Towers, and a few
things of mine to he taken away—such
things as I should be carrying with me to
Africa. I wrote to Madelon—it took an
hour and much waste of paper—asking
permission to come down on some day
when she was to be abseut.
Her answer—the very writing, the turn
of phrase, in epite of its careful formality,
the faint scent which olung to the grey
paper—set me into a curious fever of com-
motion, *et my hands to trembling as I
smoothed the sheet.
She bad named the day for my coming.
She was to be away somewhere and would
not return to The Towers till late. I went
down in the morming—it was the very day
before Reeves-Davis and I were to sail on
the ‘“Dunuvotar Castle’’—and one of the
grooms met me at the village station with
a trap. It was not a cheerful drive, that!
familiar two miles, for I was bound upon
no cheerful errand, and, moreover, 1
wondered idly, caring little, if this were
the last time I should pass thas way. Some-
Jie there are accidents in shooting
ons.
Old Wilking was waiting for me at the
door, and behind him Mrs. Stubbs. Mrs.
Stabbe’ eyes were red-rimmed. Why, I
think my own stung a bis. Wilkins bad
heen a footman in the house when I was
born, and Mrs. Stubbs was one of the first
to hold we in her arms.
The business upon which I had come de-
tained me longer than I expected. It was
nearly three o'clock when Wilkins gave
me luncheon in she breakfast-room,
nearly four when I went from the table to
take a last look at the old study with its
comfortable leathern chairs and its crack-
Titi fe and its tables and shelves filled
with my favorite hooks,
Madelon had not been often here, it
would seem, for the room was nnchaoged.
Pipes and tobacco jars littered the great
center table. Books Spaniel open, face
dowaward, where I left them to mark
e .
“pn have a last pipe,” said I. “I can
and | but ber voice shook and broke,
it, wrong it. What if I bad been all
n the wrong? Had I not asked too much?
Had I not been too fiercely exigent of the
woman I bad set upon a pedestal and wor-
Shipped? Atses all, she "e but a woman—
the loveliest of them, the queen among
them, but a woman. We know, all of ue,
in a vague fashion, that a woman loves
better to be loved than worshipped —kissed
aud teased and with than set above
a shrine; but it is bard not to set her over
the shrine, for a man must idolize some-
thing, and the woman. he loves—if sheis a
woman—wears about her head a visi-
ble balo, so far she sits above his coarser
clay.
TO ese stood on the hearth-rug, a little to
one side of the fire, another greats leather
chair like thas in which I crouched among
my shadows. My eyes fell upon it, and I
remembered, and a little wave of misery
swept over me.
I remembered how I bad vsed to sit there
of an evening, late, over the dying fire,and
how Madelon bad loved to curl up, in some
mysterious woman's fashion, on t Tug at
my feet, resting her beautiful head against
my knees. I remembered, and my breath
came quicker, the soft touch of ber hair,
the scent of it when I bent over her, un-
e loveliness of her face in the fire-
Dt plorras above ber cheeks and chin,
and over her t brows.
I remembered the talks we used to have
there, long, rambling, intimate
ks, with silences that said more than
words, while the fire burned lower and
lower, and the grey ash o over it, and
the coals d through the bars with a
soft rattle till the room grew a little chill
and I, bending lower, took Madelon bodily
in my arms and lifted her up to the big
chair and to me. Sometimes, I remember-
ed, she would fall asleep ro, with her cheek
in the hollow of my shoulder.
ad eton, Madciont beart gri
e thing clutching at my
and wroog is sorely. This was what hed
sacrificed on the altar of a childish anger,
of a silly pride. This was what I had giv-
en up because my goddess had turned wo-
man. Whas is a goddess to a woman?
I remembered,and my hands shook upon
the arms of the leathern chair. Oh! I re-
membered a hundred things—a thousand;
exquisite his, too intimate to be writ-
ten. They thrilled me from head to foot
till I could have wept there in the dusk,
like a woman or little child. The flood-
gates were open wide that I had beld so
ercely closed this month pass,and the tide
came through them in an irresistible, en.
gulfing hs A would Be ve beaten
back. ept? Aye, I longed weep at
rush of memories that flooded me. I
think I sobbed, shaking in my great chair.
I had loss all count of time. Trains and
duties and all such were gone utterly from
my mind.
The dusk deepened, but I did not know
8. I suppose the piano had been sounding
faintly from the musio-room for a long time
before it made any impression upon my
senses. Even then I heard it as in a sort of
dream. It meant nothing to me. I tarned toward her, wide-eyed and
Some one was Playing very softly, slow | wondering, but Madelon went over to the
chords at times, little snatohes of old song, | windows aud stood there, tapping with her
but at lass the song of Helen Huntington's | fi upon the glass.
that She bad loved so : ‘We've made, between us, a very sad
t 1
“Night, and the ourtaios drawn, wreck of our lives, haven't we, Cecil ?
she said at last. “‘I suppose it is common
The household still —*’ enough, bus Ue Saves quite Believes thas
I think 1did not realize even Jet that re shame, Oue.w a
Madelon actua was in the m room ’
singing. I think that even with her voice ple. 3h Yes, we've made a very sll wieck
in my ears I did not waken to fall con-
of our lives. I wonder if we need have.”
sciousness, so deep was I in my dream, and
an Welhider, 09 1 ,
80 did her rong fit into all the rest : ston Sauk down ubou the bond seat
** ‘Close to the dying blaze
which stretches helow the windows, and
We sit alone ;
rested her chin upon her hands,
‘Such a wreck I’ said she. ‘‘And yet
Naught but the old days lost,
All else—our awn.
tarned away toward the door, Bat Made-
lon called me back.
“Wait !"’ said she, and her voice was not
bard, hat rather gentle and kindly. “There
is vo train for an hour,” she said. “Yon
cannot go new.”
“I'll just wait at the station,” aid 1
from the doorway. ‘I mast not take ad-
vantage of —'' But she called me back once
more,
“You must wait here,’ she said. “There
is no reason why you should not. We—
we have not gove so far that we most he
ancivil to each other.”
Then, for a time, there was an awkward
little silence between us. I moved over to
the hearth-rug and stood there, pretending
to warm my hands, though the heat was
almost gone from the embers; and Madelon
stood heside the great centre-table finger-
ing idly the things which lay upon it, and
stealing » glance at me now and then.
It was she who at last broke the si-
lence.
“You look very tired,’ she said gently,
‘very tired and worn. You have not
been—ill 2"?
“No,” said I, “not really ill, just tired,
I expecs. Just seedy a bit. I've bad no
nne to—look after me, to make me take
care of myself.”
*‘No,”’ said Madelon in a sors of whisper,
“No, ol couse.” Then, after a little —
‘‘You have been living in town 2" she
asked. *
““Whiles." said I. “So long as I could
bear it. Mostly I’ve heen roaming ahous
the continent. Tomoriow I start for Afiica
with Captain Reevef-Davis. We're off to
shoot lions, I helieve.”
Madelon gave a sudden little ory, and her
two hands went swiftly to her hears, as if
something burt her there.
“Africa ?”’ she said very iow. *“That
isso far! And—and sometimes there are
acc'dents in shooting lions.’
‘So I anderstand,’’ said I.
Then, all at once, the fierce hold which
I bad been keepiog npon myself seemed to
crumble into hits.
“I tell you,” I cried facing her, “I tell
you, I cau bear this uo longer? I am ysing
80 Africa because I cannot stop here in
Eogland. If I stop I vhall go mad. I tell
you, I bave lived euch a month as youn
could not even imagine, ns you conld not
thivk of even in an evil dream. Iam go-
from everything I have ever known as
possible, because I must have something to
do, to keep me occupied, or I shall cut my
throat!” And I turned away from her
again and hid wy face vpon my arms
against the wide mantel.
‘Yes,’ said Madelon gently. “Yes, I
know.”
‘You can’t know,” said I with my face
hidden. ‘‘It is impossible that yon should
know.”
“Yes, I know,” eaid Madelon again.
*‘I bave thought of cutting my throat, too.
I expect I'm not quite cowardly enough to
doit, hut I have thought of it often.’
we were 80 happy ounce.” She gave alittle
low laugh that was sadder than tears.
‘‘Poor, dear ohild !"” she said. *‘So
happy aud =o foolish—but ab, sodear?’
It was as if she were speaking of some one
else—quite impersonally. ‘‘But they were
too serious, Cecil,” she went on. ‘“They’d
no sense of huamor—that will have heen he-
cause they cared so much—aud they made
tragedies cut of every frown, every care-
less word, every If ten kiss,”’
She laoghed again, but not sadly this
tine, a tender, hall-eager little laugh, as if
ber mind dwelt upon something very sweet
to her.
‘What times they had, though,” she
murmured, ‘‘while it lasted ! How heaven-
ly happy they were !"’
“Ob, I know!" I groaned. “Don’t I
know? I've been sitting here for hours
thioking of is.”
And Madelon nodded.
‘‘Here by the fire,’’ she said in ber eager,
** ‘Far in the corners dim
The shadows start ;
Near to your strength I cling,
And pear your hears.
‘* ‘Dearest—the whole world ends,
Ends well—in this,
Night, and the firelit dark,
Your touch, your kiss.’
Thess, after a few final chords, very low,
the piano was still, and there came lagging
foot-steps across the polished floor. 1 took
one great shivering hreath as she entered
the room, and drew back as faras I might
into my rhadows, thongh for that shere was
no need : I was quite hidden in the dusk,
She stood a moment before the fire, with
gus band arvetched oud a bis, a from | ymiling murmur. “Here by the fire of an
er, #0 that a pin glow out every eveni or ridi together, or nti on
slim finger. She was in a long, loose house | 4h Ran a thousand thinge! This was
gown of clinging silk tbat hung from her
shoulders in straight folds to the floor.
There were wide sleeves of lace which
showed half her beautiful arm.
Evidently, she had been some time in the
house for she must have changed frooks.
Still, the servants could not have known
that I was there. They must bave thought
me long since gone,
She moved across the darkening room to
the high, mullioned windows which look
across the lawns to the fir grove and the
listle lake and the far hills, and she stood
there, leaning against the seat which
stretches helow the windows, and stared
out inte the red western sky fora long
time, very still.
Then, at last, she turned hack into the
room, singing juss over her breath, bus not
for joy—eadly, ah, to break one’s heart !
‘“ ‘Near to your strength I cling, ’"
she sang. »
‘“ ‘Ard near your heart.’
She tried to go on with the next verse,
and very
suddenly she dropped down upon her knees
beside the great center table and laid her
arms upon it and, hiding ber face there,
begtin fo weep very bitterly.
a time I clung to the arms of my
chair asd set my teeth, bat I could not
bear it long. ;
e. said I. ‘Oh, Madelon,
‘*‘Madelon !"
Me rought ber head ith ife,
er up witha sw
frightened ory, and she stared through the
best though, closest, dearest, this sitting
by the fire through a whole evening- late
into the night.” And she broke again into
a little suatoh of song—bher old song—very
low, juss over her breath:
“Far in the corners dim
The shadows start;
Near to your strength I cling,
And near your heart.’ ”’
But her voice wavered aud broke with
the last words, and she rose quickly from
the window seat, hreathiofz a hit fast,
‘Ah, welll” she wid in quite another
tone, ‘‘that’s all done with. We've been
very happy together hut it couldn’s last.
We wrecked it some time ago—forever,"”
“Forever, Madelon?" said I.
She turned toward me swiltly, wv
wideeyed, and stared into my face, I think
her breathing ceased for a bit.
“What do you mean?’ she asked, half
Whispeting. ‘‘What do you mean? I don’s
und . Forever? course, forever.
What do yon mean?’
*‘I mean,” said I, taking a long breath,
‘‘that we're making a silly mess of our two
lives, all for a silly bit of pride. I mean
that we've been a particularly foolish pair
of children, Madelon—you said so your-
self. Must we be foolish al Ab, I've
bad my pride shaken to the , and
there’s no more of it left. I’m not ashamed
to own that I've been wrong through the
whole thing—all wrong, if you like. God
knows I’ve suffered enough. Couldn't we
hy over again?’
dusk at my shadowed corner. stood across o
do no better than the five-three train now. | *‘You!” said Madelon in a shaking whedon Sood 4 i Sethi;
I’ve balt an hour and more to waste.’ whisper. ‘‘You?"’ bands once more to her heart as if some-
So I filled and lighted a and I eat| “I, Madelon,” I said, and I got to my | 4 hart ber there.
down in one of the great chairs in | fees, for she bad risen, by the great | « on—mean,”” she said at last, whisper-
a corner of the room across from the fire. It table, and stood there white and stern, ing, “you mean that you still—care? still
rrr isert vin ho ound Te I rt cud gone. said she. gran ‘Care?
ug un . t you gone, . i" ay
py the daylight was ning to fade | “I believed Jud tad gone long since. Madelog?"” =a. 0%: Hadslon!
|. r—word.
griet-stricken God
knows, but with the grief Prins been
always a certain anger, a resentment, a
sense of injury. I was not so certain of the
injary here. What if I had been in the
wrong—all in the
Something took hold of my heart—grip-
trusted you you '
Eat Sade oT mn. | ig el:
“I did not think to—to intrude pos you, | rag. and laid her face in the hollow rit
jos gr Shy a gxpeun 1 shoulder where it belonged, and wept. —
1 3
sat down for a balf boot and—and I fell 0 | yates Tt FOrmAD, in MeClure's
thinking. It was your song that waked ——
me.”’ on “What do you consider the six best
I felt, all at once, carigusly weary and | books of the year, Mr. Ego?'’ asked the
old and forlorn, and quite, quite hopeless. young woman.
“I'll-I'll be going on now,” said I | ‘‘Well—er—really,” replied Mr. Ego,
“I'll just be going on now,” for she stood | the novelist, “I've only written two books
cold and unmoving by the table. *‘I won't ' this year, you know.”
annoy you any—loonger,”” 1 said, and 1
ing to Africa because I want to he as far | ed
The Czar's Personality.
From Amanda Kussner Coudert’s “The Haman
Side of the Czar” in the October Century.
The Czarina at once began posing with
what seemed to me unasual artistic feel-
iog,and she sat for an bour without a word
or a sign of heing tired. When [ asked if
she were not feeling the strain she answer-
ed, smiliog, thas “Anything worth doing
at all was worth doing well.”’ Then cawe
the round of a door opening behind me,and
I beard the click of spurs. The Czarina
looked up with the sweetest binsh and the
shyest smile, saying: ‘The Emperor is
coming.” There was barely time for me to
spriug up, with my hears thumping, when
I saw Nicholas II. It was bard to realize
that this was the Great White Czar, the
ruler of the greatest empire, he seemed so
young, so slight, vo gentle and so simple.
He held out his hand jost as kindly and
simply as the Empress had done, and he
also spoke iu perfect English, asking how
the miniature was coming ou. Indeed, I
was already beginning to know that Eng-
lish i« »pok:n exelusively by the Russian
royal family in their private life. This
would not be singular where the Empress
herself were concerned, since she ix virta-
ally an Euglish-woman.and has spent years
in Eogland; hat I recall hearing she Grand
Duchess Helene, the daughter of the Grand
Dake Viadimir, since become the Princess
Nicholas of Greece, say that she could not
remember ever speaking anything hut
English to her father. And this exclusive
use of English in their private life may ac-
conns for the fact that among themselves
they always say ‘‘Ewmperor’”’ and “‘Em-
press’’ instead of “Czar” and **Czarina.”
At all events, I never heard any members
of the royal family use the Russian title,
and before long the Czar and the Czarina
hele the Emperor and Empress to me
also.
I wish it were in my power to tell ex-
actly what I felt and thought at this first
sudden and totally unexpected sight of the
Emperor. There was something in his a;
pearance that caused quite a tightening in
my throat and a queer thumping at my
beart. As I have aid, he looked young,
gentle and slight. He stood quietly and
naturally, looking straight at me with
steady, clear, kind eyes. There was a sort
of winning buoyancy, too, in the quiet
dignity of his hearing. Above all, he look-
kind—there was kindness in his eyes,
in his face, in his voice; kindness in every
easy, gentle movement of his slight, youth-
ful figure.
In dwelling upon the Emperor's youth-
fal appearance and guatle bearing, there is
no thoughs of ugly ng any lack of strength,
There could hardly be a question of phys-
ical bravery in any royal case, since per-
sonal fearlessness is a pars of royal training,
if not inherent in royal blood. Baus no one
could see this young Emperor of Russia, as
Ieaw bim then, without seeing spiritual
force in his direct gaze and hearing moral
courage in his sincere voice. To my ex-
cited imagination he appenred fully aware
of the weight of his destiny, and to bearing
the awful burden with cheerful serenity,
always looking at his great danger and
without one waver of fear.
The first impression was, of couise, large-
ly due to my own fancy, but there was no
difference in my estimate of the Emperor's
personality after he also began sitting for
a miniature, and I bad a good opportunity
to form a deliberate opinion. Sitting face
to face with him for two or three hours as
a time, I can scarcely have failed to form
something like a true estimate of what he
really is; for he bore himself without the
slightest constraint, and talked quite free-
ly of every topic that came up, precisely as
any gentleman would bave done un-
der the circumstances. I remember that
one of the first things spoken of was our
war with in, which was just then the
theme of the world. It surprised me to
see how thoroughly he understood the
American feeling, how clearly he saw our
point of view, and how familiar he was
with the names and careers of every Ameri-
can of note. He very frankly expressed
his admiration for our national independ-
ence of character and opionion. One mem-
orable thing that he said was: “Yon Ameri.
cans never bother ahout what other nations
think.” He spoke aleo of leading Ameri-
can papers, showing familiarity with them;
and I'learned incidentally that every item
in them affecting Russia or the royal fam-
ily finds its way to his private desk.
Knowing this, I bave often smiled at the
prevailing idea that the Czar is kept in en.
forced ignorance of public opinion and
even current events. He talked of every
subjeot freely and naturally as to set me
quite at eas...
A Guess,
*‘Koow anything about golt 2"
‘‘Not mach. Why ?”
‘What's a bunker, do you know ?*’
‘‘I suppose it's one of thcze cranks that
simply live and sleep on the links.”
——'‘None of these will do,’’ said the
shopper, who was looking for half hose for
her husband.
“I’m sorry, ma'am,” replied the weary
salesman.
‘Well,’ said she, peering over the coun-
ter, ‘‘are vou sure I've seen all yon have
in there?"
‘‘All except the pair I have on ma’am,”
replied the salesman bisshing.
~—— ‘Were there spirits at the seavces
you attended?
“Yes, sir,”
“‘Were they good or bad spirits?"
‘Bad, sir; very bad.?’
“Could you see the spirits that were
there?"
*No, sir, but I could smell ’em.”
——— ‘Young Roxley is learning to be a
machiniss.”’
‘‘Ab, very commendable; wauts to have
a trade so if anything should happen
to his fortane he can—"’
‘Nonsense ! No, he simply wants to be
able to keep his automobile going.”
SAA,
—— ‘Father,’ said the small boy, what
is a scientist?"
** A scientist, my son, is a man who can
tell you things you already know in such
unfamiliar language that you regard it as
something.
——When a fellow shaves himself,”
asked young Kallow, “is it necessary to
shave up nst the grain #"’
y ld you want to know?
aed Hider. “You'll only have to shave
own. ,
——Reeder—1 was reading in the paper
about a chaoffenr who has an attachment
for an auto that makes wonderful .
Skorober—Of vourse; every chauffeur has
a sincere attachment for an auto that makes
wonderful speed.
—————————
~—— ‘Paps, what is a work of art?”
‘Oh, almost anything in the way of a pio-
tare or piece of statuary without clothing.”
| .e
The original goose-bone man is too sick
to make a prediction, but there are various
Oihet ways of forecasting weather here-
is.
Ooe Berks county farmer says :—
‘My grandfather lived in shis valley
when it was visited frequently by Indians.
The red men were in the habit of saying
that when the persimmon trees hung fall
of fruit they killed many head of buffalo,
for then they expected a =evere winger and
found it convenient to have on band a good
sapply of meat. This year we have a re-
markably prolific crop of persimmons and
you may he sare that the winter will be
severe.
Another prophet. a younger man, says :
“Have you noticed that the trunks of
trees are green with moss on the side ex-
posed to the north wind ? That is always a
sure sign of a hard winter.”
: This isthe way another prophes views
$i
‘Whenever the chickens shed their feath-
ers early the winter is sure ty he severe.
This was the case this summer."
Another argues as follows : “When the
leaves cling to the fruit trees later than
usual the winter will surely he severe.’
“I know nothing about your signs,’
said another man, ‘‘bus the sign by which
I go is the height to which weeds grow in
fall. Yon will notice thas they have grown
exceedingly tall this season. This is na-
ture’s provision for holding the snow. It
is aleo a means of supplying the birds with
food, for, if the weeds are tall, their heads
will extend above the snow and their seeds
will supply the birds with nourishment.”
“Then again,” said another, ‘‘do you
notice what a ravenous appetite the cattle
have thie fall? Why, you can roarcely
satisly them. Whenever this is the case
there is a hard winter ahead.”
“The far bearing animals tell me wheth-
er the winter will be severe or not,” said
another man. *‘I have an uncle who an-
nually takes a hunting trip to Maine. He
writes that the deer are all clothed in a
beautiful gray winter coat. He also says
the beavers build ‘their dams early, con-
Sirus thas houses with pasa} care and
are making every preparation or a severe
winter and that wild ducks have migrated
earlier than usual.”
“I don’s bave to go to Maine to discover
what sort of weather we are going tohave,
saiv another prophet,contemptuously, when
told of the latest prediction. ‘Yon just
watoh the muskrats and notice how high
they are making their homes. They must
expect high water next spring, when the
snow melte. Then see how deep the
groundhogs are digging. They evidently
Sxpoct She earth to be frozen to a great
epth.
‘Squirrels and chipmunks are my
weather iudicators,”” said acother. *‘They
have laid by an unusually large store of
nuts this fall. I do not recall that I have
ever noticed them quite so busy as they
bave been during the last season. I agree
that the winter will he severe, for these
little animals know when the season de-
mands thas they should lay by a large
amount of food for use during the winter.”
DOUGHERTY DEATH ACCIDENTAL
Long Needle Pierced His Heart When
He Embraced Sweetheart.
Scranton, Pa., Nov. 18.—After a day
spent in investigating the death of
Thomas Dougherty, of Dunmore, who
was killed by being pierced in the
heart by a hat pin or long needle, the
local police and County Detective
Phillips decided to withdraw the war-
rant that had been issued for the ar-
rest of Katie Burke, the girl who was
suspected of having feloniously caused
his death.
The authorities are of the opinion
that they can never break down her
story that the wound was accidentally
inflicted. She says that she had been
mending her brother's clothes with a
long needle, used commonly hereabouts
in mending miners’ heavy outer cloth.
ing, and that on going down town in
the evening she stuck the pin the bos-
om of her dress. Dougherty, who had
been her sweetheart, hailed her and
asked her to take a walk with him.
She consented and they repaired to a
fleld, where they sat on a log to talk.
After a time he attempted to embrace
her and the point of the needle that
was in her dress caught in his vest
while the “eye” or blunt end, rested
against her corset. In the embrace
the needle was forced into his body,
through the fifth rib and into the cav-
ity between the pericardium and the
heart. Half an inch of the needle was
fixed in the rib in such a manner thal
every time the heart beat the apex of
the heart was prodded by the point of
the needle. HMemorrhages resulted thal
caused death,
Coroner Stein, who performed the
autopsy, declares that Dougherty mus!
have suffered more agony during the 1f
that he lived than any victim of the
most cruel inquisition that history or
fiction records. With 70 pulsations te
the minute, it is figured, that the hear!
was prodded no less than 60,000 times.
He was conscious 13 of the 15 hours.
STOKES NOT A CANDIDATE
Governor of New Jersey Not Afte:
Seat In United States Senate.
Trenton, N. J.,, Nov. 12.—Governo!
Stokes gave out a statement in whict
he denies he is a candidate for United
States senator to succeed John F. Dry.
den, whose successor will be elected at
the coming session of the legislature
The governor's statement is prompted
by an article printed, giving an account
of a conference between Congress:
man Loudenslager, State Assessor Da.
vid Baird, State Treasurer Frank 0
Briggs and others. This conference
was held in the interest of Mr. Dry.
den's re-election, and in the account
of the conference it was stated that
the governor was sending out emissa
ries to members of the legislature iv
the interest of his own candidacy. Tht
governon denies emphatically that he
has directly or indirectly solicited any
support. He says he is pursuing now
the policy he has followed ever simc¢
his election, and that is to refrain from
using the office of governor for the ad.
vancement of himself to any other po.
litical honors,
i A ———— A —— i
$8,000,000 FOR NEW EQUIPMENT
Rock Island Railroad Places Large
Orders For New Cars.
Shicago, Nov. 13.—The management
of the Rock Island railroad, it was an-
nounced, has issued orders for new
cquipment to cost $5,000,000. This is
! nadidtion to orders previously given
this vear aggregating $3,000,000. In-
cluded in the new equipment are 2000
49-ton box cars, 250 stock cars, 1000
ballast cars, 650 coal cars, 300 flat
cars, 2540 hopper cars and nearly 100
passenger, postal and baggage cars.
All the new passenger cars are to have
steel underframe construction, and
the new mail cars are to be all steel.
Pennsy Orders 550 New Cars.
Philadelphia, Nov. 13.—S8ix hundred
steel passenger cars are to be built for
the Pennsylvania Railroad company in
the next year. Space for 550 cars has
been reserved with the American Car
& Foundry company, and 50 cars will
be constructed at the Altoona shots
of the railroad company. The total cost
is estimated at $6,000,000. The order
to the American Car & Foundry com-
pany will be divided so as to include
coaches, baggage, express and mail
cars. The company has also ordered 25
new freight engines. These will be
built at the company’s shops at At-
toona.
KILLED BY A BURGLAR
Son of Wealthy Pittsburg Man Shot to
Death By Thief.
Pittsburg, Pa., Nov. 12.—Henry F,
Smith, 25 years old, son of Joseph
Smith, a prominent and wealthy busi
ness man of this city, was shot twice
and almost instantly killed by a burg:
lar whom he surprised in the dining
room of his father’s residence in the
East End section of the city.
That a desperate battle took place
between Smith and the burglar is evi-
dent from the disorder in the dining
room and kitchen of the Smith home.
In adidtion to two bullets which were
found to have entered Smith's body,
five other balls were found lodged in
the floors and walsl of the two rooms.
Three cartridges of Smith's revolver
had been discharged. Neighbors adja
cent to the Smith home heard the
shots and ran to their windows, but
say they saw no one running from the
house. Hundreds of dollars worth of
silver plate had been gathered to-
gether by the burglar, who apparently
had been in the house some time be
fore being heard by young Smith.
The entire police and detective
forces are working on the case, but so
far no clue has been discovered.
ADVOCATE BRYAN'S CANDIDACY
Travelers’ Anti-Trust League Will
Work For His Nomination.
New York, Nov. 13.—At a meeting
of the Commercial Travelers’ Anti
Trust League William Hoge, president
of the league, in an address, advocated
William Jennings Bryan for the next
Democratic presidential candidate, and
urged the members of the organization
to assist in establishing clubs to work
in behalf of Mr. Bryan. Harry W.
Walker, chairman of the executive
committee spoke along the same lines
as Mr. Hoge.
It was voted that a committee be
appointed to consist of 5000 Democrat:
ic commercial travelers, to be known
as the “Traveling Committee.” It was
pointed out that the members on their
journeys over the United States will
distribute literature and organize Bry-
an clubs. It was also voted to estab
lish a “record bureau,” in which arti
cles attacking the trusts will be kept,
to be reprinted in pamphlet form for
distribution.
He Blew Out the Gas.
Phillipsburg, N. J., Nov. 10.—John
Henry Kels, a well-known and wealthy
resident of Pattenburg, this state.
missed the last train for his home and
went to a local hotel. He retired early
and is believed to have blown out the
gas. The proprietor of the hotel de-
tected the odor of gas coming from
the room occupied by Kels, and when
there was no response to his repeated
knocks he forced open the door. The
lodger was alive, but unconscious, and
died in a short time. Kels gpent the
day in Easton and Phillipsburg attend:
ing to business. He was 61 years old
and leaves a family.
Confesses Murdering Woman.
Stafford Springs, Conn., Nov. 10.—
Charles Bishop, 18 years old, em-
ployed on the farm of Henry Williams,
has confessed the murder of Mrs. Wil-
liams, the farmer's aged wife, whose
body was found in a pool of biocod in
her house, according to a statement
made by Coroner F. H. Fisk. Bishop,
it is understood, has also confessed to
taking money from a trunk in an upper
room. It is understood that Bishop
has implicated no one else in the af-
fair.
One of Oldest Twins Dead.
Amsterdam, N. Y., Nov. 18.—Jacob
Steen died at the home of his grand-
daughter here in his 91st year. He and
his brother, Walter, of Syracuse, who
was at his bedside when he passed
away, were the oldest twins in the
United States. The Steens were born
May 19, 1816, in the town of Florida, a
few miles from here,
Despondent Woman Tried Suicide.
Bethlehem, Pa. Nov. 12.—Despon-
dent over love affairs, Mabel Miller, a
comely young woman of 20 years, at-
tempted suicide by plunging 50 feet
from a bridge into the Lehigh river
at this place. A boatman rescued the
woman from a watery grave.
Will Not Contesti Gov. Hoch's Election
Topeka, Kan., Nov. 13.—Democratio
Chairman Ryan conceded the
tion of Governor Hoch by about 1500
plurality. He said: “We will
contest. We are well satisfied
result.”
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