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THANKSGIVING TIME.
Thankanivin time'a a-comin 1 kin hear the
gobble-Robblo
Of the turkeys ih the barnyard on tlio fa-iu
where 1 wtta horn.
1 kin sco the Shanghai rcojtcr walkln sort of
wlbble-wobble,
Jtekinib'lievo he’s feeliii aids nn off his f*“l
of jailer corn.
An they’re fixin in the kitchin for a good ole
fashioned dinner,
Chtrpjiin mince noat by the bushel ther is
good for hungry eycn,
Beo.iln raisins for plum puddin lit to eavo the
vilest sinner
If ho ever had n mother an s'io made Thanks
givin pia.
Ah, the mother, she's a smi'.ln. standin in tho
doomay, lookin
Down toward tho rnilrond station when sho
bears tho engino toot,
Ftor her boy is a comin, nn tho pics moat burn
a-eookln.
While her dear ole heart’s n-thumpln for tills
worthless ole galoot.
Doesn’t ’pear to matter nohow tbet I’m bald
an gittiq gouty.
Doesn’t seem to inako no dif’renoe thet 1
smoke an cuss a bit,
Bhe’s the same 010 lovin mother, never cross
an never grouty,
An they'll bo no more Thanksglvln’s, boya
when mother hez to quit.
Now York Sun.
UNCLE JOB’S TURKEY
“Forevermorel” wails Mm. Tom.
“How provoking!" cries Mrs. Dick.
“But then ho’s reported rich,"as
iierts Mrs. Harry, “and if that is tho
esse it’s assuredly ono of those cases
that circumstances altor wonderfully!’’
“I don't beliove he’s n rich man, for
one,” affirms Mrs. Tom, looking rueful
ly at tho letter in hor hand. “Why,
when I wrote to Undo Job—of all the
names I do detest, Mob’ comes first—
when I wrote and ever so delicately
hinted that I'd swallow my preju
dices” —
“A terrible indigestible mass you’d
find ’em, Bel!”
—“and name Plantagonot ‘Job’ if it
would bo to tho boy’s interest lator in
life, what do you think ho said?”
"Don’t ask mo. What did ho say?”
“His answer was ti rso enough and
brief enough to bo easily remoiiiberod.
He wroto: ‘Dear niece, pray do not sad
dle upon your son auamo I never should
hnvo chosen for myself had I had the
smallest choice in tho matter. If you
must call him for some Biblical person
age, 1 should suggest Malhalaloel as a
cognomen euphonious enough to har
monize well with our family name, and,
believe mo, Nieco Isabel, lie will have
just as much of my good will when I
die, if that is your desire, as if lie had
been named after your affeotimiato un
cle, Job Altiok. ’ ”
“Of conrsb he’s ns poor ns poverty,
then, 801. Poor people are always tho
witty ones, with sharp answers ever
ready at tongues’ or puns’ points. One
of us (or shall wo take turns?) will he
sure to have old Undo Job foisted upon
us, and if it wasn’t for those heavy
mortgages Harry lias to dear off in tho
spring ho weald not mind, I know, one
extrn mouth to feed.”
j “And if I had an extra bedroom to
spare P’ says Mrs. Dick
“And if 1 had ail extra couple of
sorvants!” whines Mrs. Tom. “To be
sure, if I could bo certain that ho was a
wealthy man, it would inako a vast dif
ference, mid for the children's snko”—
“Wbut a sordid sister-in-law l have,
to be suro!” laughs Mrs. Harry. “Speak
ing of the children, Del, how is Plant 's
love affair coining on?”
“It isn’t ’oil’ at all. Until; it’s off—
and forever, I hope. ’ ’
“Bel Altiek, vjlrot do you mean?”
“I mean that lie shall never marry
that good for nothing Nail”—
“Mark my words, ho will marry her,
and neither yon nor Tom nor your pro
posed heiress can keep him from it
Nan's worth n dozen Gwendolines”—
“Then Tom will disinherit him, and,
though he’s my own son, I shall not
bluiue his father. ”
“You hard hearted, mercenary wom
an!” cries Mrs. Harty, moving toward
the door, “flow you can deliberately
goto work to break tho heart of so good
a son as Plant Altiek I confess I cannot
comprehend. Good morning, Bel—if
you think it’s good—seems to mo if 1
were you I’d be obliged to tasto tho bit
ter of too many selfish reflections to en
joy it much. ” And the hall door closes
with a bang between tho sisters-in-law.
Days, weeks and months pass by, and
there is no outward showing of the pre
sumptive wealth of Professor Altiek.
Save a’penny now and then to tho
•mailer fty of tho Altiek family, ho has
never shown to them the color of his
money, and as ho lives simply and in
dulges sparingly in life’s luxuries ho is
at length accounted an eccentric indi
vidualof small menus and left religious
ly alcme.
Alone and uncared for —that is, if we
except the little friendly "runnings iu”
of Plantagenet, his grandnephew, who
has taken to the gentle old man from
the flrat, and who is never weary of
hearing of the professor’s lato trip to
the petrified tree tract of Arizona or
looking at the rare speciinous so careful
ly collected, for Uncle dob is a learned
geologist and has written several re
markable treatises on tbo subject, his
“Sorutotis In Stduos” having been
adopted os a textbook in many oolleges.
And from stones Plantagenet easily
Jead4 the conversation to scarcely less
adamantine subjects—the hearts of his
unyielding parents —for, cold, calculat
ing and worldly, they have softened not
one whit under the warmth of Plan
tagenet’s young love, and it is Uncle
Job who unconsciously encourages him
in his grim determination to brave the
ire of his parents and marry his sweet
Kan in the teeth of all opposition.
And so they are quietly married—
Plantagenet Altick and Nanette Gray—
•rwl go to housekeeping iu a pretty lit-
Ue cottage, in a pretty suburb, some
®'les from the splendid city home of
hi* father.
v J °b. who has began anew
ki,,® B e<ll < gy, ishvts himself np in
w VKnia w,*! otr ut k rtx>m and allows the
W- f Uhont to WB * a* ‘t wall.
Hd *°° u begins to wug\in a very
cheerless manner for the two wodded
young folks.
But though shut out from one loved
paradise, ho has his Nan—his dear, lit
tle. bravo Nan, who smiles through
great, u jshod tears, upon him, wiien
suddenly she meets his sorrowful gaze
after many a long quarter of an hour’s
silent retrospection.
“Oh, it must come right soon, Plant
—they iiever would shut you out of
| their lives forever!’’
“You don’t know them,” mutters
' the boy.
“I’m pretty well acquainted with
you, dear, and if any father or mother
; could treat mh h a sou as you aro so
ecurvily—there, that’s an ugly word, I
know, Plant, but it’s tho right ouo to
use in this instance —all I have to say
is that they don’t deserve such a good
child—there I” and two pretty arms,
bared to tho elbow for kitchen conven
ience, find their fond way about the
neck of her chosen lord.
Her chosen lord smiles faintly at this j
speech and tries desperately to rally his
drooping spirits.
It was a very humblo position that
tho college bred Plautagenet Altiek
found himself obliged to accept to koep
tho little house going—the only position
open to him when he, beside himself
with a just indignation at nn unreason
able opposition and a great and absorb
ing love, broke bounds and besought
the faithful Nan to leave her position
as governess in a wealthy family and
share his flvo roomed cottage and his
meager salary.
Nan, too used to poverty to lot it
frighten her, and imagining, innocent
soul, that no ono could long be angry
at so deur a boy as Plant, consented,
and tho home coining, though a lona
some little affair, brought with it hap
piness enough to last a fortnight at
loast.
Then Plautagenet saw that there was
Cos bo no relenting on the part of those
he loved and reverenced with all the
strength of Ifis boyish naturo, and his
grief grow greater with every passing
hour. To crown all, he had lost his po*
sition tho second week in the November
following, owing to tho insolvency of
tho firm by which he had been employ
ed, and, though they have given him
splendid recommendations, there is no
position easily obtainable.
Ouo morning a stray thought, finding
its way from out that great, mysterious
silence so full of untried possibilities,
comes to him suddenly and sends him
upon its own little errand straight to
Uncle Job.
Up a long flight of front stairs, up a
short buck flight and several knocks
upon a door’B panel cause it to open and
discover to young Altiek a room littered
with pnpers, books, trays of specimens
and two or three volumes of Hugh Mil
ler.
“Good morning, Uncle Job!”
“How d’yo do, Plantageuot?”
“I do miserably, thunk you, sir. Un
do Job, I’ve lost my position, and—and
—if I could help you in uny way—copy
ing or tho like—l write a tolerably de
cent hand, sir, and I thought perhaps
you’d like to hire mo” —
“No—no —no I Not even though
you’re a’Yale fellow well met.’ I’d
not trust you with them! Not a soul
savo myself shall do a line of writing
on these particular manuscripts. What’s
tho matter?’’
“Firm I worked for failed.”
“Humph! Ifqw’s Nan?”
“How should she lie? Happy and
joyous as befits a bride —the bride of a
man shut out from home, and who has
not a red cent in his pocket i Heaven
knows where tomorrow’s bread and
butter will come from I”
“And it won’t tell. It’s a sort of hab
it it has got into, you see, about be
ing sort of mysterious over tho ends it
has in view. But there, you may sort
out the numbered pages for me from
among the litter youder, and we’ll soo
about tho bread and butter for tomor
row. Tomorrow is Thursday—bless me,
boy, it’s Thanksgiving”—
“Thauksgivingl Bo it is. ‘Thanks
giving. ’ ”
“Your tone of voice would suggest
that you hadn’t tho dearest little wife
in the world to be thankful for. Shame
upon you, my nephew. There, I’m not
n rich man, as rich men go, but tako
this bill to Nan uud toll her it’s from
her Uncle Job.”
Late upon this same afternoon Pro
fessor Altiek, basket on arm, goes from
greengrocer to butcher eliop, intent
upon his purchase of a Tliuuksgiviug
turkey. The fowl ho means to buy ho
will offer to his nephews in turn, feel
ing suro that ho who accepts it will no
doubt usk him to share their dinner, be
it Tom, Dick or Harry or Tom’s dis- i
obedient sou. With an unmistakable
grin of amusement tho dealer in poultry
places a very thin, very poor, very blue
about the breastbone, low pricod tur
key in Uncle Job’s basket.
Early Thanksgiving morning the old
professor starts out through the cold,
unoertaiu sunlight that shiucs fitfully
through the rifts of hurrying, wind
swept clouus, and, basket on arm, finds
liis way to Thomas Altick’s elegant
homo. He rings uud is admitted.
“Good morning, Uncle Job. Any
thing I can do for you this morning?”
“No, Thomas, thank you. It’s some
thing I want to da for you. I chanced
to remember it was Thanksgiving—very
otld indeed, my remembering it—and I
bought you a turkey. Will you have it,
Thomas?’ ’ and out comes the old gentle
man's sad little specimen of tho genus
meleugris gaUopava
It is too much for Tom Altiek. With
• laugh that fetches Mrs. Tom quiokly
from an udjoiuing room feud provokes
her to joifc ifi its hearty roulades he
declines <tbq poor fowl thunks with
a sarcasm veiled so lightly that the ugly
features of a rude and insolent nature
shine full upon poor Uncle Job.
Quietly be replaces the turkey within
the basket, quietly he talJfs his bat and
gloves, and as quietly, with a brief
“good day, ’* ho leaves tho house of his
nephew Thomas.
As far .Richard Altiek, he “roars
amain” and has the turkey he has pur
chased for his own dinner brought up
into the very parlor that he may place
it in “odions comparison” beside the
small fry in Uncle Job’s basket. Again
rebuffed, the old gentleman bids Mrs.
Dick and her laughing husband good
day and finds his way to the house of
the yonngest of his three nephews.
It is the same thing over again, save
that Henry Altick’s refusal to accept the
wizened bird is more politely veiled.
Gentle Mrs. Harry even makes furtive
little signs of acceptance to her cour
teous husband, but that individual,
secretly enjoying the comical sidd of
the affair too much to notice the per
force Htealtby signals of bis wife, al
lows poor Uncle Job to take his wares
to other marts.
Through Nan’s kitchen door comes
the sweet sound of her singing. Plun
tagenet has found anew position, Un
cle Job has given thorn a “fiver” to
start on, a little fat turkey is on the
table before her, awaiting its fragrant
dressing, and life has seemed brighter
this Thanksgiving morning than for
many a day. So she sings with a heart
growing lighter at each merry measure
—and her song reaches Uncle Job, who
stands knocking outside the door.
“Why, Uncle Jqb, how nice of youl
And you’ve oomo to take dinner with
us, haven’t you? Did you meet Plant?
No? He went to fetch you over half an
hour ago. Let me have your basket and
your hat and your gloves—there I”
“Thank you, my niece. I think I’ll
stay. It all depends, though.”
“And how does ‘Paradoxides Tessiui’
get on, sir?”
“Famously, Mrs. Nan—famously 1 1
shall yet live lo show old Herr von
Leimstein that what ho chooses to call
muschelkalk of the triassic period is
nothing upon earth—or in earth, I sup
pose I should say—but oolite of the
jurassic!”
“ludacd, sir. Well, I’m glad I’m not
in tho mussel shell stato of evolution,
and I am also glad that you have come
to dinner, dear professor. ”
“Honestly glad?”
“Honestly glad. ”
“Glad enough to accept this little
turkey as an addition to your repast?”
"Ob, Uncle Job, how lovely of you!
Why, what a feast we’ll have, to be
sure! I’m awfully hungry, and I’ll con
fess to yon now, sir, that I felt as if 1
could eat the entire turkey Plaut brought
homo myself. I wouldn’t tell him the
whole truth, but I was afraid he’d find
it out by my gnawing tho bones. But
now we’re ull fixed for a luxurious ro
pnst, and, oh, Uncle Job, don’t you
want to chop up this onion for me? I’m.
so tired of weeping, and onions always
uffect mo 60 deeply. ”
“Toars liavo forgotten tho way to my
eyes. Give me tho chopper.”
“There’s the bowl, and there’s—
Plant. ”
“ ’TiSh’tfair, ” smiles tho newcomer,
holding out his hands to the grateful
warmth of tho littlo kitchen stove.
“You’re a witch. Upon which particu
lar broomstick did you fetch him in my
absence, Nan?”
“A turkey brought him. See, horo it
is, n twin to ours, and just in tirno to
bo stuffed. ”
“Hooray for us—a tandem team! To
bo strictly candid, Nan, I meant to eat
tho turkey I brought home all myself.
Now you can liavo a taste. Four drum
sticks I Uucle Job, if Ido have a weak
ness for anything besides Nan it’s”—
“What’s this? Plaut—look—look—
look!”
Lender than hor crios of wonderment
is tho noisy downfall of the strange con
tents of that littlo turkey. Silver disks
clatter and jiuglo and chink upon the
pino table over tho echoing tinware, the
iron pans, tho dough board, the floor
itself, and, as if demented with their
sudden liberty, tho big round coins go
rolling off into this coruor, that corner,
under table, chair and stove I
How many broad silver dollars that
gaunt fowl holds the astonished young
people cannot toll, but to their widely
opened eyes it sooms a little fortune,
aud UucJe Job thinks himself amply re
paid when two happy children kneel
bosido him and fall to carossing him as
they weep, and the tears are not born
of the chopped onions in his lap—they
aro bona fldo tears of pure joy.
Aud afterward, when it obmes to pass
that tho profits that accrue from the
enormous sales of the new textbook aro
all made over to tho little bride aud
Mrs. Nan isaocouuted almost as wealthy
as tho regretted Gwendolen, Mrs. Tom
allows John to turn the horses’ noses
toward the five roomed cottage to which
an addition is being built for Uncle
Job’s especial nso, and in her gentle
daughter-in-law’s littlo best room eats
humble pie very prettily, leaving a
message for her son that, to him, brings
heaven itself into the dining room,
when at dusk, through the sweet air of
a budding spring, he comes and takes
his place at the supper table opposite
bis wife.
“But we owe all our happiness to you
—all to you, dear, dear uncle I For un
less you had come to our aid and played
fairy godfather wo should yet be as poor
as—as’’—
“Job’s turkey, ” suggests the profess
or.—Detroit Free Press.
The Tkanktslvlac P**lml.
“ What huVe I got to be thankful for?
Guess the Lord isn't bothering himself
much about me, and I won't trouble him
with May thanks. ”
These are the folks with whom things
always go wrong.—New York Press.
Pall Into Ltael
Get ready tor Thankngivin—Jen* eat your table
An®* *iv - vv
An put the S*et crock 'rj out an make the afi
>. vovahiaa. *
No matter h#p the country goes—,feat oarre
the turkey'* neck,
An while the carvin’* gotn on bo thankful
you're on dock.
Dot ready for Tfcanka*ivtn-let fall into your
place.
An tfVMe praachar ain't along bo aura aaaay
Notnatlor'how tho Country carvo
theturktf*t*nlgil*. G Wot.' J* *
An with a imtlo o’ thankfnlnea* pitch in an
pa*, your _ AUm „ <*„*,***.
A3 ON WE GO.
Proud and lowly, paint* and -Inner*,
Old at wall an now In-^lllllern,
A worldly wine ehurch|(oing people,
in lew and pulpit, ftltlc ami itccplo,
Following modern walk* and way*
Of fun and folly, goodness, grace,
Both rich and poor, both high and humbl*
Over one another mumble
Shall we, then, fold close about us
Our robes of “cannot do without us,"
In readiness to loud proclaim
Timt someone else must liear all blame?
Shall we refuse to let cur light shine
On paths of wayworn earthly nighttime
When travel heavy laden souls
Bartering heaven for local tolls?
Feeding from dishes rich and golden.
Mayhap of honest old time olden.
And finding only grains of .wheat
While in search of “something good to
eat.”
When Eden's serpent plucked the apple.
A power was given to man to grapple
Buccessfuily with sin and sorrow,
In time today—too late tomorrow
And so we pray and preach and listen
Where smiles and teardrops glow and glis
ten.
While living, loving, learning hate,
One with another, and call it fate,
Pleasing, freezing, teasing one another,
Even to father, mother, sister, brother,
Thus mid blessings, sin and woe
We living die “as on we go.”
—Clark W. Bryan in Good Housekeeping.
A LOVE SCENE.
The princess walked down tbe length
of tbe apartment. The long train of her
velvet gown swept the carpet with a
■oft rustling sound.
As she kept her face averted it was
impossible for the man who watched
her anxiously to tel) whether she was
offended or not. By his semiromantic
garb, long curling locks and a certain
delicate refinement of feature he seemed
to be an artist. His manner was at once
earnest and deferential. Even while he
watched he bent his shapely figure in
an attitude indicative of deep respect.
At the farther end of the room the
princess halted, but remained standing
with her back still turned toward the
man. Was she expecting him to speak?
“Your highness,” he began, evident
ly interpreting her manner in that way,
“I am fully aware of the liberty I am
taking—a liberty too great to be par
doned by you unless the sentiments
which I have perhaps too rashly avowed
should find some kindred response in
your own heart”—
“Enough, sir I” iuterrupted the prin
cess, turning suddenly. “Supposo my
royal father had happened to be behind
the arras and had heard what my own
ears have been compelled to listen to?
What do you think he would do or say?”
“He would be simply paralzyed. I
should fear a fit of apoplexy; but, your
highness, deign to tell me truly—do
you really mean that you were com
pelled to listen to my pleading against
your will?” /
Though as he spoke the artist sank
gracefully on one knee, there was a
something that savored of self confidence
in his mien. Apparently the princess
felt that sho ought to be offended. A
frown settled upon her brow, and her
handsome features expressed a greater
degree of haughtiness than ever, but the
eyes of the lover were upon hers and in
their violet depths he read a mute en
couragement.
“Pardon,” he continued, without
waiting for her reply. “If you could
look into my heart, you would bear
there that I am your slave—that I
would die for you and yet that I hope
to live for you. The gentlest zephyr
that blows is not tenderer in its caress
of your cheeks than my love is solicit
ous of your happiness. Bid me of your
own freewill to go, and I am gone,
though my heart should break in its
banishment. ’’
“Go!” exclaimed tbe princess, point
ing dramatically toward the door. “I
have heard too much, far too much.
Go 1”
For an instant a deathly pallor over
spread the man’s face. As he rose from
his knee he slightly tottered, gave the
lady an intensely appealing look, then
began to back himself toward the door
after tbe conventional manner of leav
ing thepreseuce of royalty. Theprinoesa
must have expected something further
in the way of expostulation, for Bhe
looked by turns disappointed, pained,
concerned aud finally desperate
“Stay!" she commanded in a low
tone and took three anxious steps for
ward.
The artist clasped his hands thank
fully and darted back. But as he ap
proaehed tbe princess froze again.
“Come no nearer,” she said haughti
ly; then, as he still kept on, “Don’t,
don’t I” she cried anxiously. “Obey me,
Clarence 1 Don't you see that I dare not
trust myself too near you?”
But he was adroit as well as persist
ent, and wheu he finally obeyed and
again sank to one knee he bad seized
her hand and conveyed it to his burn
ing lips. She strove to release herself,
frowned again, then faltered.
“Have you ever thought what it
would mean to me if I were to give
way to your importunities?” she de
manded. “Outside of your love, what
have you to offer me in exchango if 1
were'so foolish as to accept it? lam a
king’s daughter, with all which that
implies. You, sir, area”
“Only a poor gentleman, blessed by
loving you, if not by your love.’’
The deft grace of this reply disarmed
her at once. She looked at him almost
tenderly, then laughed softly.
"Clarence, ” said she* “yon really
must go away. No matter how you and
I may feel, we must obey our fate,
Wb>ch inevitably drives us apart. My
doom is fo marry some other royal pup
pet whom, perhaps, I have never seen,
not for love, but for reasons of slat a
You are to be envied, Clarence, lor yon
mn choose your mate unfettered by cus
toms that wither even while they en
noble their victims. ”
-***l*t“ be cried, almost jsiteoaaly.
“Have yen hot just denied' me that
blessed privilege? Do. not mock my mis
ery by pretending to me that I should
exnlt in it ”
Again the princess blushed and seem
ed to heiitate. The artist was quick to j
avail himself of another opportunity.
He stepped forward, this time ’-..bout
kneeling, and attempted again to take j
her band. She resisted. He gently per
sisted. While they were thus engaged a
sound was heard,.apparently in another
room. The princess turned with a star- j
tied air, exclaiming:
“The king, my father! Oh, if he i
should discover you here your life would
be in danger!”
“Lifewithout you would be unendur
able now that your highness has deigned |
to give me some evidence of your re
gard.” . , :
The artist bad again clasped her baud
whije uttering these words in low, im
passioned tones. She seemed to strug
gle, but apparently her strength was
but weakness. One of his arms stole
round her waist and he drew her half
yielding form closer.
“Oh, princess,” he urged, “beminel
What is life without love? We can fly,
leave this country, and in some more
favored place live out our lives to
gether.”
“No, no, no!” she faltered. “I can
not, I dare not”—
A loud commanding voice from some
unseen person without interrupted her.
“Where is tbe princess? Bid her high
ness attend me at once. ”
"My father!” gasped the now thor
oughly frightened young woman. “We
will be discovered. Oh, why did I per
mit you to have this interview?”
“Because you love me, ” declared the
artist, rendered reckless by tbe over
whelming power of passion and im
minent dread cf instant exposure. “Let
the king come. I care not for my own
poor life. If I may not share with tbe
woman I love, then welcome death.”
“Ycu say the princess is engaged,”
said the same commanding voice-in re
ply to some hurried remonstrance, ut
tered in low, feminine tones. “Ridicu
lous I I know of no engagement that
should make our own pleasure wait on
her convenience. Stand aside, minion!
We will see for ourself what keeps her
waiting.’’
Other feminine tones were heard in
effectually pleading, but the king’s
voice dominated all. A heavy ap
proaching tread was now audible.
Tho princess turned very pale. She
clung to the artist, pushing him weakly
“Fly, fly!” she panted. ‘‘lf you love
me, fly for your life”—
A portly iigure in royal robes now
strode into the room. The princess
screamed, then collapsed gracefully
Her lover’s ready arms received her
fainting figure aud a dramatic tableau
was presented to the eyes cf the aston
ished monarch, who at first glared an
grily, while the artist, fairly driven to
bay, regarded the royal scowl unflinch
ingly.
Suddenly a broad grin overspread tho
king’s countenance. He flung aside his
crown and robe, while the princess,
without effort, came immediately out
of her swoon and assumed an air of
jaunty equanimity.
“A good scene, a good sceno!” com
mented his majesty. “Now, Hartmann,
if you and Miss De Vore here only do
as well at the performance tonight as
you have done at this rehearsal today I
will see that ycu both have a benefit if
the play takes well. Let’s open a cold
bottle to its success.”
This proposal on the part of the stage
manager being unanimously agreed to
by tbe two stars the champagne was
sent for and they all drank to the suc
cess of fhe new play, then being ex
tensively billed and advertised as “Her
Highness and the Artist.”—Chicago
News.
Oar Lo>t Stine.
One of tbe greatest discoveries of
physiology is that we once had six
senses. What the lost sense was no one
knows, and probably no one will ever
know, but that onr forefathers possessed
it there is no doubt, for the remains of
that part of the brain in which it resid
ed are still to be seen in any one of us.
These remains are simply a small and
now perfectly useless little mass of
brain snbstance colled the pituitaiy
body. It consists of two tiny little
oval lobes joined together and lying in
a little cavity of the skull, strangely
named the sella turcica and situated
over and behind the nose.
It is quite possible that it may have
enabled our forefathers to see in the
dark before lamps and candles were in
vented, or it may have placed them in
communion with ghosts and fairies, or
it may have been an organ that enabled
them to go home in a bee line when they
lost their way in the primeval forests.
On tbe other hand, it is possible that
it was a bad substitute for vision or
smell or hearing and died out when the
improved sense organ developed.
A Hint to Ma.
This precocious youngster of 6 still
lives with his family in a fine home
near the oity limits, but there is no
telling when be may strike out on his
own hook, for he is a boy of decided
opinions and vast self reliance.
One morning the mother was doing
quite a job of scolding because so few
of the family were ready for breakfast
at the appointed hour. She wanted
them to understand that she was not
running a hotel and that they must
come down in time or shift tor them
selves. i f?*i v
“Maw, ” broke in the yoong hopeful
shrilly, ‘‘you’ll make us all sorry we
married yon if you don’t quit talkin so
much.’* -Detroit Free Press.
A 9b4t Arttat.
When Princess Bestride goes to Flor
ence, stie always visits tJioeanni Meacci.
He is the simplest of men. On the back
of every picture be marks in pencil the
prioe which he thinks it is worth, which
is usually ridiculously low. On one oc
casion when she bought a small sketch
she gave him three times tbe price
asked, and laughingly told the astonish
ed artist not to be such a baby to mark
his pictures at a price that did not cover j
the coet of the material _ i
A COLONIAL THANKSGIVING.'
quaint Account of a Dinner Given In
1714.
Among the papers of the late ex-State
Senator Guy C. Stoddard of the town of
Ledvard was found an old newspaper
clipping containing a quaint account of
an old colonial Thanksgiving church
service and dinner. It was written in
the year 1714 by the Rev. Lawrence
Couant of the Old South parish, in Dan
vers, Mass., and runs thus:
Governor was in ye house and
Her Majesty’s commissioners of ye cus
toms, and they sat together in a high
seat of ye pulpit stairs. Ye Governor
appears very devout and attentive, al
though he favors Episcopacy and toler
ates ye Quakers and Baptists.
“He was dressed in a black velvet
coat; bordered with gold lace and buff
breeches with gold buckles at ye knees,
and white silk stockings.
"There was a disturbance in ye gal
leries, where it was filled with divers
negroes, mulattoes and Indians, and a
negro called Pomp Shorter, belonging
to Mr. Gardiner, was called forth and
put in ye broad isle, where he was re
proved with great carefulness and so
lemnity.
“He was then put in ye deacons’ seat
between two deacons, in view of ye
whole congregation, but ye sexton was
ordered by Mr. Prescott to take him
out, because of his levity and strange
contortion of countenance (giving grave
scandal to ye grave deacons), and put
him in ye lobby under ye staire; some
children and a mulatto woman were
reprimanded for laughing at Pomp
Shorter.
“When ye services at ye meeting
house were ended, ye council and other
dignitaries were entertained at ye house
of Mr. Epes, on ye hill near by, and we
had a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner
with bear’s meat and venison, the last
of which was a fine buck, shot in ye
woods near by. Ye bear was killed in
Lynn woods near Reading.
“After yo blessing was craved by Mr.
Garrich of Wreuthain, word came that
ye buck was shot on yo Lord’s day by
Pequot, an Indian, who came to Mr.
Epes with a lye in his mouth like
Ananias of old.
“Ye council therefore refused to eat
ye venison, but it was afterward decid
ed that Pequot should receive 40 stripes
savo one for-lying and profaning ye
Lord’s day, restore Mr. Epes ye cost of
ye deer, and considering this a just aud
righteous sentence on ye sinful heathen,
and that a blessing bad been craved on
ye meat, yo council all partook of it but
Mr. Shepard, whose conscience was ten
der cn yo point of ye venison.” —New
York Tribune, ■}.
TlianksKivlng Game*.
Children in New York are devising
games to be played on Thanksgiving
£ay. Usually in tho gathering together
of families there are a host of young
folk who need to entertain themselves.
One gamo that I think is going to bo
unusually interesting is the escape from
prison.
It requires children who aro “up” on
geography; still, if need be, it is a les
son in the disguise of pleasure. The
game proceeds after this fashion: A
map is held by the judge, usually a
grown person; then, too, children are
chosen and placed in separate corners.
Says the judge: “Now, Carrie, you
represent New York in this corner, and,
Richard, you are in Moscow imprisoned;
you want to get away and reach home
by Thanksgiving day. You have got
from behind the walls, but what is your
most direct routo home?”
Then Richard has to tell each sea,
country and Ocean he crosses to get
homo for the turkey and cranberry
sauco. If he can’t do it successfully, ha
must remain right on the spot on the
floor where he stopped until he thinks
out his escape.
Other members of the game are
placed in prison at various parts of the
country. Tho favorite jails now are lo
cated in Spain and Cuba on account of
the interest in the war. A leading ques
tion is, “If you were put in a Santiago
prison, how would you get back to
Spain?’
Soon the room becomes filled with
prisoners, all trying to get home. Half
of them aro “stalled” in the center, try
ing to think of the boundary line which
brings freedom; others are jnst leaving
the prison walla
It has the same interest when got
well into it as the southern children
find in “runaway negro” or “prison
er’s base.” When the game haß been
played frequently, those who join in get
very familiar with tho junction of coun
tries and learn many straight lines and
clever jumps that had not appeared
feasible before. For those who are not
quite conversant with geography easy
tasks are given—for instance, to be
placed in a Paris prison and find their
way home to Boston.—New York Press.
. I Am Thankful— -
That I never studied football at col
lege.
That I never praised the poetry of my
femalo friends.
That I never was sick more than two
weeks at a time.
That a glass of whisky never put me
into an exalted state.
That I never bluffed in a poker game
at the wrong time
That I 'never repeated a poor joke
without feeling sorry for it.
That I never abased the trust put in
me by my wife or the grocer.
That I never let my neighbors know
j tbe extent of my learning.
That I never originated a theory con
cerning the origin of microbes.
That I never patented anything in
tended to revolutionize the ago.
That I never used a word of eight
syllables when one of six would do.
That I never let my tailor wait more
than nine months for his bill.
That I never smoked a bad cigar ex
cept in the seclnsion of my sanctum.
That I never had any leanings toward
philosophy, riding breeches or canvM>,
back duck.—Boston Globe.