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MISS JOCELYN'S THANKSGIVING st-^ 1*. â- :*>"- iiisB Jocflyn sighed wearily, and censed tho steady click, click of her knitting iieeilles for a teW miiuiles. It had been Thanksgiving day, but Thanksgiving days were never hap- py ones to her. She had, to be sure, cooked cranberry sauce. She Jiad even had a piece of pumpkin pie. Mut all this argued nothing except that Miss .Jocelyii liad a convention- al slreok in her nature and wanted to be "like folks." She was not thankful, though she was a religious Woman and honestly ti icd to be. All Was quiet within her little sliop, while outside there was bustle and confusion. She rose from her rock- ing chair and went into the back room to put the keltic on tho (ire. As she paused be.side tlse stove, she glanced up for a minute at the gaudy calrndar hanging over the little table and rc^alized with a start that Thanksgiving day this year wa.s her birthday. She walked slowly ba'-.k ii-.to her little shop room and sat down and gazed around her. SI.-* was 38 years old, and as she looked back over her pa.st each year seemed like the lastâ€" lonely, miser- able and weary â€" and looking into the future, all was as desolate. Her life lind always been tlie same. No- thing sweet and tender, which would make her lieart now grow warm to think of, seemed ever to have en- tered it. As her dark eyes, in which lay a world of sorrow and bitterness, roamed over each of her small pos- sessions, her mind was busy living over again her sad and unsatisfied existence. .She ha<l been born with a beautiful straight body. She thought of this now with a pang of deep self-i)ity, for when a child of r> yeai's she had been dropped by her mother, in some way injuring her spine. Thus she had been deformed and criiipled for life. Only five short years of life like other child- ren! Only live short years with no pain in her side, and no hump on her back! iShe looked down at her jioor little body with jiassionate con- tempt. How like a bad dream had been her girlhood! Crushed and beaten, she grew up bitter, silent and mor- ose, with nothiuf? ever to give her I'ly joy, no bright sjiot in all her weary days. Then her mother, to whom she had always .been a grief and a mortification, had died, and Mi^s .locelyn cnuld still fer-I the thrill of relief which shot through her when she realized it. After that she had been enabled to set up this little Fhop. Then she had been only 20, hut old and careworn. .Still, her lieart had craved love and beauty and pleasure, with an intensity which frightened her. .She remembered how wistfully she uted to sit on the steps of her little slioj) at niglit and watch tlie gij-ls witli their lovers. What fun and laughter she heard! Uut she never had any lover; she never had e\en a girl friend. Oh, for something to love, to clasp to her Ijoor, starved heart, to caress and ijiop-isii! I'.ven the cats and dogs Kenie.'l to shrink from li.er. .siio bent her poor head, streaked with gray, down upon h<'r counter, and let the ti>ars of angui.sh that were wrung from her lonely heart slowly course down her sallow cheeks. AVhat, indei'd, had she to be thankful for? Then the little bell jingled. A fat, rosy-cheeked boy entered and demanded a stick of lemon ciiidy. Miss .locelyn took down the glass jar and satisfied his ilesiie. Afti-r he left she drew her Wooden rocUing-cbair, with its worn straw Hcat and lace tidy, nearer the stove niul rontiniied her knitting. With her |iassioiuite love for t,et\uty she had tried in n blind way to adorn her little home. The laco tidy was one of her olTorts. It was lilnu)st pathetic to see, scattered hero and there In the plain rooms, evi- dences of a groping toward luxury, brightness and color, such ns was . llisiWayed in artillcial flowers hung *â-  nn the gns fixture and colored prints un the Wall. • ♦ • On the corner by the old cigar Btore the iieWslKiys were gathered. It Was their regular place ol meeting, where they seltlcd their disputes and discussed business and the events of Iho day. Now they wore talking very earnestly and lous about what appeared to be a most important (juestion. This question, in the per- son of a pinched little hunchbnck, Was sitting wearily on the platform which supjiorted a fierce Indian brandishing aloft a roinahawk. He was huddled up togetiier, clutcliiuL; his newspapers and looking from boy to boy with n hunled expression, an \( he had small hope and did much care. The matter Kt.)od thus: The news- j boys had formed a union, and no one outside! Was allowed to Sell pa- pers in that port of llu' city, so ' they wrro trying to keep tlie poor little hunchback from dis|iosing of his stock. "No, It nin t no use talkln'. Oin us yer papers," said Mlko l''lyiin, ad- vancing threnteninffl.v. •YoiiB leave nio alone!" â€" fiercelyâ€" "1 nin'f doin' no harmâ€"" Then tho hiinihbnck'B spirit died out, and his lip (pnpored jiitlfully. "lie can't sell them papers, any way?<, Mike. Them's mc>rnln' pa- porti," Wid another boy, Jeerlngly. "Well, let's lea\'e him alono then. Hut lemnie jest tell yer, young man, ycr needn't bo buyin' any more pa- pers in this part of the town," ond, 'after a few more wdrds which fell heedlessly on tlie boy's cars, tho crowd loft. lie stood up a moment after they had gone and called bravely, "Her- ald, .Journal! All about the mur- der!" in tt voice which quavered piti- fully. No one heeded the small, aiis- shapen ligure, shivering In its thi» jacl;ct. The lights were beginning to burn one by one, and everybody was hurrying home. Hilly gave a sharp sob of despair, and seated himself on the platform again, hugging his useless papers. He leaned his tired head against the wooden Indian, and clasped one thin little arm around that worthy's legs. Ho felt a great atlection for this fierce savage. "Ked Hand " he call- ed hiin, after a hero in "lUire Ilevil Pick." As ho hugged himself closer to Hed Hand's unres|ionsivc anatomy lie felt that this was his only friend â€"this and something else which lay Warm and purring in his pocket. It Was a wee kitten which he had pick- ed up in the alley. He snuggled it up to his face now, and rubbed his cheek against its soft fur, and then put it tenderly back in his pocket. Suddenly the proprietor of the store appeared in the doorway, and, fearing to be sent oil, llilly raised himself and moved on. He paused in front of Miss .locelyn's window and pressed his face against the pane. He was enchanted by the glit- tering display there. AVhat lovely tops and balls and books and candy! Oh, if he only had some money! He forgot tho cold, and began to choose the things he would buy. Hiss .locelyn moved to the window to look out, and saw the pale face, with tho bright eyes, peering in. .She opened the door, drawing her little black worsted shawl closer about her thin shoulders. "Do you want to buy anything?" she said. He slowly shook his head. "Are you cold?" He nodded. "Come in, then, and get warm by the stove." •She was surprised at herself, but his wistful face touched her, and his deformity, so like her own, apju-uled to her strangely. He followed her in and stood warming his blue littlo hands, while she went on knitting. He looked around with Uelight at the jars of candy on the shelves, the slate pencils, paper, toys and other fascinating things, and then he was struck with an idea. "Kf 1 sing fer yer, will yer gimme a slick of that ere red candy?" he asked shyly. shulUing his feet on the door and looking up at her. "Yes; let's hear you." Miss .locelyn laid down her knit- ting. Ho clasped his hands behind him, tosse<l back his mass of bright, golden hair, which clung in close curls to bis face, and began to sing. He was not n pretty child. His face was ratlier old and elfish; but he had beautiful hair and gleaming blue eyes. As he sang, he seemed al- most angi'lie. The bard, worldly look left bis face. The sullen ex- pression around his mouth vanished. He Hung back his bright hair, and, fi.xing his eyes upon the stick of red candy 'way up the shelf, he sang like a little cherub, though his song Was not exaciiy one that a cherub Would have cho.sen. The melody, sweet and clear and loud, caino c'\'eMlv through his part- ed lips and <lr-ew Miss .locelyn's heart to him. It was an old street song that he sung, hut ho made it beauti- ful. When tlie last note (lied away he looked at her, half eagerly, half quest ioningly. She rose and, climb- ing tin- ladder, lifted the jar down with trembjiiig fingers and poured the contents into his hands. He look('(l up, Willi sparkling eyes, and began to suck a stick with an ec- static expression. "What's your name?" said Miss Jocelyn. "Hilly niair," reiilied he with his mouth full. "Where's your mother?" "Ain't got none," ho answered carelessly, lifting up a stick and looking at it fondly, with ono eye shut. "Where's your father?" continued Miss .Tocclyn nervously. "Ain't got none," said he, Jaiint- il.v lilting olT a big jiiece of the swe( t slick in his hand. "Ain't yon had any Thanksgiving dinner to-dny?j' •Nopeâ€" only hut this." He pointed to the candy. A red spot cumc on each o( Miss .locflyn's cheeks, .She rubbed her hniuis together and began to talk. In his astonishment he forgot to eat the candyâ€" forgot everything but what she wos saying. To live in that bewitching shop, with the little hell over the door, which tinkled when any one came in; with the window full of such inter- not i fsling things, ami tho crowded shelves! Never to have to go tired, hungry and cold through the streets singing, or selling newspapers for a living! He could not believe It. "Oh. yer foolin' me!" ho said in- rreduously. but wh<n she assured him again, with tears in her eyes, that she meant every word, his face worth- ed pitifully, and with shining e.ves ho said fervently, "You bet, I'll stay." After a miniitp he put his Knd .'n his poCkol. half drew the cat a'lt and hesitated â€" then he pulled it quit.. (\ut. and. putting it In her lap, said dv'- fideiitly: "Here's a cat for yer,'' It was all ho hart to olTer In return That night Miss Jocelyn stole into tho next room, and, carefully shad- ing tho candle, looked down upon the little figure l.ying on the niat- tre.ss. His eyes were closed. His mass of tangled golden hair la.y on tho i)illow, and ono dirty little bund was still clutching a pepperment stick. She lifted a curl with awe, and then hnlf-shamefaccdly kissed it. Here was something at last to love .;nd to keep and lo caress and to be thankful for. Her heart almost burst with happiness, and kept for once a glorious Thanksgiving day. She turned and went back to bed, and though she did not know it her heart was filled with a prayer that the angels heard and kept. .- ^ WAS HE KILLED? Mr. and Mrs. Slocum Were in Great Doubt. A few evenings since Mr. .Slocum Was reading an account of a dreadful accident which happened at the fac- tory in the town of L , and which the editor had described in a great many words. "1 declare, wife, that was an awful accident over at the mill," said Mr. Slocum. "What's it about, Mr. Slocum?" "I'll read the 'count, wife, and then you'll know all about it." Mr. S. began to read: â€" "Horrible and Fatal Accident. â€" It becomes our melancholy and painful duty to record the particulars of an accident that occurred at the lower mill, in this village, yesterday after- noon, by which a human being, in the prime of life, was hurried to that bourne from which, as the iui- ifiortal .Shakespeare says, no travel- er returns.' " "Do tell!" exclaimed Mrs. S. "Mr. David Jones, a workman who has but few superiors this side of the city, was superintending one of the large drums " "I wonder if 'twas a bass drum, such as has â- Kpluribus Unum' iirintod on't?" "When he became entangled. His arm wa.s drawn around the drum, and finally his whole body was drawn over tec shaft at a fearful rate. When his situation was dis- covwed he had revolved with im- mense velocity about fifteen minutes, his head and limbs striking a large beam a distinct blow at each revolu- tion." "Poor creature! How it must have hurt hinil " "When tho ninchinery had been stopped it was found that Mr. Jones' arms and legs wore macerat- ed into jelly." "Well, didn't it kill him?" asked Mrs. Slocuua, with increasing inter- est. "Portions of Ihc dura moter, cere- brum, and cirebelluiii, in confu.sed masses, were scattered about the floor. In short, the gates of eter- nity had oi)ened upon him." Hero Mr. Slocum paused to wipe his spectacles, and his wife seized the ojiportunity to press the ques- tion:â€" "Was the man killed?" "I don't know; haven't come to that place yet; you'll know when i have finished the piece." And Air. .Slocum continued read- ing:â€" "It Was cviilent. when the shape- less lorui was taken down and it Was no longer tenanted by the im- mortal spirit, that the vital spark was extinct." "Was the man killed?â€" that's whot 1 want to come at," sai.l Mrs. Slo- cum. "Do have a little pntienco," said Mr, S,, eyeing his better-half over his spectacles, "I presume wo shall come upon it right away." And he went on reading: â€" â- 'This fatal casualty has cast a gloom over our village, and wo trust that it will prove a warning to all persons who are called upon to regulate tho powerful machinery of our mills." "Now," said Mrs, .Slocum, perceiv- ing that the narrative was ended, "now I should like to know whether the iiinn was killed or not?" l\Ir. .Slocum looked imzzled. He scratched bis head, .scrutinized the article he had been perusing, and took a careful surve.v of the paper. "I declare. wife," said he, "it's curious; but really tho paper don't say I" in oil FINNKOAN'S "BAWL." Fiuuegaii tiad struck it rich Klondike and ho was now intent having a good time. "Ve kill bring me two dozen of the very best eyosters," he said airly to a xvaiter in one ol the siimrtest re- staurants in his native city. And the.se were quickly set before him. Ho wanted Hoinetliing to jiut on thein. and, hardly knowing what he ought to use, he seized a bottle of a par- eloularly llery coitdinicnt and snwJth- ennl the bivalves. He thrust one into his ca.j)aclo\is mouth, and immedintely sprang up aiul danced furiously, bellowing the while like an uncomfortable hull. "Stop it," cried thO scandalised proprietor, "or 1 shall put you out 1" "P-p-put nie out, Is it ?" cried Finnogaii. "Oi wish yez would. Me insoides is blazing like they was in match factory !" ' A virtue is not a deceased vice. Kine harness does not make the fast horse. W'heii David takes Oollath's weBi>- fc'\ he lo.Sfs his hoiivenly allj'. HEAT OF INDIA'S SUMMER' CALCUTTA TAKES LONG SLEEP DUBING HOT SPELL. Life in the Capital of Hindostan â€" Mercury Stands at Above 100. It is the second week in June, writes a Calcutta correspondent. The heavens are as bra.ss. On the south- western 'horizon, whence cometh our help, is as yet no sign of tho black, bcneficient clouds. Tho mid-season showers, tempering the sun and rip- ening the mangoes; the little rain.s â€" "chota bursat" â€" preluding "the shat- tering might of the monsoon," havo somehow missed their way. Day af- ter day in the shade the mercury stands at anything a little above a hundred: evening after evening tho sun goes down behind the masts and funnels of the Hooghly, behind the standing smoke of the jute mills across tho water, a di.sc of yellowish white in a colorless sky â€" promising nothing for the morrow. A summf:u slekp. The city takes her summer sleep. Long ago, as it srems, his ICxcellency the "Hurra Lat Sahib" departed with the Government for Simla. Ages, as it seems, have jia.ssed since the flag fiew over the low doiuo crowning the snow-white replica of Kedleston Hall since tho blue-striped pagris of the viceregal bodyguard made way in tho streets, since the distinguished patron of Indian arts and his graceful con.sort spent pleas- ant cool afternoons in the showrooms of tho fashionable Hebrew cabinet make!- â€" precise East-of-,Suez counter- part of Tottenham Court IJoad! In these days it was ea.sy to think of the second city of the Empire as "the settlement of an Imperial race, and the fitting habitation of a world-wide rule" â€" the viceregal rhe- toric has an attractive cadence. In these she has another appearance, another character, with which, may- hap, the Burra Lat Sahib has not even a bowing acquaintance. In- deed, he confessed so much in an or- ation that has become famous. FLICIIT OF THE MEM.SAIHUS. The balustraded Hed Hoah is elo- quent of the change. Its broad, straight carriageway, crossing the Maiden at such an angle that the priceless evening breeze from tho south comes along it unimpeded, is almost deserted during the brief hour dividing the daylight from the dark. True, the smart tuni-lums and bug- gies are still to be seen, for your Calcutta man of business is not driv- en away by the heat. It is the ab- sence of the palefaced memsahib that is noticeable. A few, a very few, re- main; the rest are li\ing laborious days within sight of the snows. In the pre-monsoon interval the inviol- able Ked Uoad becomes the resort of another grade, another shade. A glance at the carriages that pass and rejiass in the line of the breeze. or along the road by tho river, reveals for the most part the ".Spanish com- plexion. " the hat iu fashion of the day before yesterdav, the mournful expression of those who belong to tho rare which Kipling named the real "people of India." They come out on the cool June evening from the hinterland that divides Cliow- ringhee fiom the welter of slums be- hind; the.v annex the carriage roads; they pace up and down the Eden Oardens listening to tho town band, at other seasons than this the dail.v delight of the mercantile youth. You remark in their faces the iiupassive- ness of the East allied withâ€" shall one sa.v? â€" the discontent of the West. THE HEAL CALCUTTA. It were a strange error, however, to conceive of Calcutta in the heat as a city of no pleasures. There is no music, no drama, no societ.v. You may, if you aro so minded, pay calls at mid-day on .Sunday in frock coat and unclas.sillable silk hat. but It will not bo counted unto you for righteousness. Nevertheless, there aio other tltliigs to do. After four months of cool drought and four more of heat the Maiden is still glor- iously green. Here and there the glowing blossom of a gold-momir tree maintains its oiitdaled splendor. It is good in tho morning to ride, in the evening to drive, to walkâ€" before and after the hours <Iuring which the unremor.seful glare imprisons you in- doo s. There are some, moreover, younger and madder, who condemn such uninspirititig recreation. Heck- less of Iho towering temperature, they pla.v hockey, football evenâ€" with all the ritual of touriiaiiienl and cup- tie. It sounds incri'dible. but that eager, variegated crowdâ€" Eurasians. Chinese, hundreds of shirt-clad babus with tho inner select company of Europeansâ€" testifies to tho actuality of the game that is going forward. This is the part of Cnlcuila known to the ordinary European, whose sphere of interest is bounded by a half-mile radius on this side the Maiden. Heyoiid is the real Calcut- ta: the swarming bazaars, with their indescribable reek, the putrid bustees. j from which the plague has been, for jnwhih', expelled b.v the mercifully .merciless sun, the congestion, uii- j cleanliness, and penury that are the ulesiiair of Viceroy and (Jovernment i and corporation. This city, "the I lit ting habitation of a world-wide rule." we, who ought to know bet- ter, do our best lo forgc-f, intent as I we are on tho prospects of the inon- |soon and our own individual ways jof making life, not endurable nii'icdy, jbut positively pleasurable, at a hun- I drod and seven in the shade. A FAMILY GATHERING "tlraii'ma .suj s will you come over to ber house to Thanksgjvin' din- ner ?" A little maiden of nine years in a rod hood and a red jacket stood by my desk saying these words one day after I had closed that days session of tho country school I was teaching. "Grandma" was M>s. Josiah Swift. She and her husband lived in a s<|Uarc red brick house on the bank of the river about half a mile from the school hou.se. 1 said at once that I would accept tho in- vitation, for I had spent a night with Mr. and Mrs. Swift and found them to be a delightful old couple, still young and cheerful in Kj)irit and keenly alive to all that was going on in tho world. To them belonged the unusual distinction of being tho parents of 10 mairied sons and daughters, and it ^seemed to me that the home-coming of all these child- ren to keoji Thanksgiving wilh tho old folks was a Thanksgiving inci- dent worth trca.siuring in tho store- house of one's mind all of one's lite. It was such a beautiful scene of hou.schold affections and a simple gratitude to the Giver of all good. "Yes," said Gran'ma soon after m.y arrival at heV house, "wo have a lot to be thankful for, my husband and I. It nint given to many couples to live and see their 10 children good men an' wimmcn an' niariicd an' li\"iii' in homes o' their own an' love an' harmony provailin' among 'em all. There ain't nothin' sadder to see than estranged house- holds. It'd break my heart if any o' my boys an' girls didn't speak to each other, or if there was anj" reas- on why we shouldn't all set down ill peace an' love to eat our thanks- giving dinner together. An' I'm thankful that they aint scattered so far but the.v can come home to bo with pa an' me at least once a year. My oldest son, James, is president of a big bank, but he don't feel a mite above the poorest of his broth- ers an' sisters on that account. He's awful good to 'em when they're In trouble, an' ho'U be sure to be bringin' pa an' me some line iire- sonts. He will be here on the noon train with his wife an' their two splendid boys. .lust think we have thirty-eight gran'cbildren, an' they'll all be here to dinner with us. Hut la. there is room in our hearts for that many more, an' we'd juake room in the house somehow. Tho grnn'chlldron all eat at a table by themselves, an' what a good time they do have ! "There's my son Henry just drivin in at the gate with his folks ! " .She ran to the front door and called out cheerily, "Hero you are ! Put your horses in the barn, Henry, an' Mary you an' the children come right in out o' the cold. How glad I am to see you ! My ! how the children do grow ! I'd hardly know little Lucy. Come an' kiss your old gran'ma, all of you. An' there comes Aron an' Ills folks. .^in't seen 'cm for a month, an' I'm d.vin' to git hold o' that new bab.v o' theirs. Willie an' his folks an' Emma an' her children e.n' Sarah an' her family will all be here on the noon train. We have had a telegraft sa.vin' so. Your pa will go to meet them with the big wagon, nn' I rcckin Silas will have to go along with his team, there is so nian.v of 'eui. It here ain't Nel- lie an' her big boys ! How you hoys do shoot up. Hut you ain't none too big an' .you never will bo too big to kiss your old gran'ma, so you come right along an' give her a htig an' a kiss. There's Iteu- beii an' his folks just drivin over the hill. 'I'he baby ain't been well aJi' the.v was so scared that they wouldn't get here, but the baby must be belter, so that is anolhor thing to be thankful for. Lydia Is here already. She is out helping to get the turkeys ready for the oven I'm e-xjiectin' ,\ndrew an' his folks any miiinit." And so they came gathering home, the children an' tho children's child- ren, greeting each other wilh kindl.v affection, and the father and mother wilh the tenderest love. To me it was a never to be forgotten Thanks- giving day, and 1 often think of it in contrast to the lack and love :ind harmony that there is in sonic homes even on Thanksgiving day. SLEEPING IN .V CRADLE. There is a man of seventy in Paris niuiicd Wallace .Sujieiiieaii, who still sKeps in the cradle he was rocked iu when n baby, and he has never slejit one night of bis long li:e in any other bed. The youngest o( a family of boys, Wallace retained his Jilace in the eriulle as he grew idder. He soon became too tail to lie in it at full length, but he overcame this didicully by drawing his knees up- ward. Each night to this day he rests his feet squarely on the bot- tom of the cradli', sv.a.vs his knees to and fro, ami rocks hiiii.self to sleep as he did when a sninll boy. The habit was formed in babyhood and never broken. "KAIN " OF HT"rTEltVl.lKS. Milan has just been the scene of a remarkable "rain," or downfall, of butterflies or moths. They settled In tens of Ihou.sands on almost evei '. available inch of sjiace on the groun I and on the buihlings of the ceiitio. (luarters of the city. The "l-.seit; are described as jieifectly black ur I inarvollouslv active. Theii' pi-c.-^eiice is ascribed to an air current swept along In front of i Uurricaiie. MmMMIHIMI