New Britain Herald from New Britain, Connecticut • 19

tWerli Looted 1 fault Aftel 1 ars Exife 1U1 in A i 1 1 1 1 "1 OLD Rip Van Winkle, if we can believe the yarn about him, took a twenty-year nap in the Catskill Mountains but, except as a long-distance sleeper, he has nothing on Henry F. Morris, Nebraska's seventy-one-year-old hermit. For Morris exiled himself from the world forty years ago, and only recently made a flying visit to Omaha for his first look at a modern city and what, to him, seemed its strange and almost unbelievable wonders. Living in a ramshackle hut stuck on the bank of the Platte Eiver, some forty miles from Omaha, he has kept in touch with affairs of the world by occasionally reading the newspapers, but he had never ridden in an automobile, heard a radio, or seen a movie. He thought the revolving door of the hotel at which he stopped was a trap, and refused to go through the thing until he had watched many people navigate the contraption with apparent safety.

The flashing electric signs along Omaha's "gay, white way" fascinated and puzzled him, and a ride on a roller-coaster almost scared him out of his picturesque rags. Morris enjoyed his few days' contact with the world he has avoided these forty long years, and his matted beard shook with many a good laugh at some of the sights he saw, but he has seen all he wants to of cities. Never again will he set foot inside the limits of one. He's back in his tumble-down shack and he's going to stay there. "Cities are full of sin," says the hermit.

"People eat too much, sleep too little and go around with women altogether too much. City folks 'have a mighty hard time loosening the band of evil from them, and they die in the attempt. They lie, and cheat and steal and live too fast. "Look at me, now. I'm happy because I have nothing and want nothing.

I have good health, a place to eat, sleep and be merry. Why, I'm lots happier than John John well, that big oil man John, whatever his name is." One of the outstanding moments of the old recluse's visit to Omaha was his introduction to radio. A broadcasting station at Council Bluffs had arranged a program in his honor and he was seated before a loud speaker while one of his hosts "tuned in." He had never seen a phonograph, and when his name came out of the box with a horn on it he nearly fell out of his chair. All attempts to the workings of radio failed, and he couid not be convinced that this voice he heard came through the air. "It must be spirits," he said.

"I've read about these things in the papers, but I wouldn't want to monkey with one of 'em." Later he was taken to the broadcasting station to say a few words over the little round thing his friends called a "mike," but he was bewildered when told that thousands of people would hear MME. GLORIA DE CASARES is known all over the world as a queen, yet whenever she approaches the shore of a country the immigration officials get together as official "rejection committees." Bans, not bands, "greet" her wherever she goes. In England, her native land, she was famous for her beauty and appeared in many a movie as Gloria de Vere. Then she became the wife of Emilio de Ca-sares a wealthy Argentine and quit the screen, ostensibly to live a life of luxurious ease. Followers of the stars of the English movie firmament were just beginning to wonder what had become of pretty when London newspapers came out with a startling bit of news a rum-running yacht had been captured, and it belonged to Mme.

Casares. She had been in the business for some time and had cleaned up a handsome fortune. The press dubbed her "Queen of the Bootleggers." That was in 1925, and it was rumored about that her wealthy husband had backed her in the business. This he promptly and emphatically denied, further informing a curious world that he and the beautiful Gloria had not made a go of marriage and that they had separated after a few stormy months of romance. After the capture of her rum ship, Mme.

de Casares vanished from England and, believing that the unpleasant affair had blown over, arrived at Liverpool several weeks ago. But the Government had not forgotten, and refused to let her land on her native heath. She had lost her English citizenship when she married an Argentinian and, besides, there were enough "undesirables" loose in the British Isles. So she was transferred to a liner bound for Halifax and sailed off into the West, muttering things that would have made John Bull's ears burn if he could have heard them. ii 1 1 iftnif iH mwwm ww I IPIw 1 1 llllPPll IT ill Ii III I 1 I flllfilv II I 1 The crvde, ramshackle hut to which the seventy-year-old hermit i ST1 gladly returned after seeing the wonders of a modern city for the '-If im? Henry F.

Morris, Nebraska's Intake off 'dragged, dirty 3 VH-ijj SikA aged hermlt- who Prefers clothing I 11 Wr fW squalid exile to the comforts For two hour, hs tossed and Jlf 1 Vp 4 fh JmMi SfeJS of civilization turned, and finally got up to watch fjifTJJ ilP Hi clt the crowds and the traffic that it SMjMt. Jikm 'n moied in the street far below his mw(rM L'5EtH VHteSai, pfo jN window And after several un- X0V IsSw'f $sP'JkJky successful attempts to get to sleep MlMX he asked his friend if he might jSfi? i sleen on the flnnr Rolled tin in a him, and that some of them were sitting in homes more than a hundred mile3 away. He sang a few snatches of a song he had learned as a boy, but was too stage-struck to contribute much of anything else to the program. Safely out of the place, he regained his composure and said, "What a fool I was. I should have said something about the wonderful time I've had in the city and how I came out of the timber into a new world, but it's too late now." Morris was brought into Omaha in a high-powered and luxuriously appointed automobile.

He was as delighted as a youngster who had been given a new toy to play with, but he was scared stiff at the way the driver sent the machine over the road and around other automobiles. Once, when the speedometer "hit 50" during a race with another machine, the patriarch made for the door and wanted to get right out. He said he was going back home, and that it would be a pleasure to walk the twenty-mile stretch. The immigration officials at Halifax were waiting for her to tell her, with gentle firmness, that rum-running deportees did not go ashore in that place, that they always merely "touched" and were off to some other place; And that's how the "Queen of the Bootleggers" happened to arrive in New York harbor a few weeks ago, confident that democratic America would not turn away so fair a queen merely because she had once engaged in the business of supplying spirituous liquors to a waiting market. To her great surprise and chagrin, America was no more hospitable than England and Halifax, although after several days on Ellis Island she was permitted to land for fifteen days as "an alien in transit." She had to put up a bond of $500 to be on her way when the fifteen days was up.

As this story is written, Mme. de Casares has forfeited her bond and is "somewhere in America" defying the edict of the immigration officials. As soon as she is found she will, it is said, be speedily deported. Where Gloria de Casares will go is a question. Maybe she'll take ship for South America in the hope that Argentina will not bar a woman whe married the son of one of that merchant princes.

If that republic is a mean to her as her own country and the United States, she will have to look else where for a place to park herself and the pile she is said to have cleaned up as a rum-runner. Probably she will knock at the portals of La Belle France, where it is not a crime to dispense convivial beverages and where beautiful women with lots of money are welcomed with open arms. In the meantime the "Queen of the Bootleggers" is, for all her beauty and her money, a queen without a country. JT 7 quilt on the hard was I "4 snoozing soundly. SW Once in the city, however, he decided to stay a while, and began his thrilling round of sightseeing by taking in his first movie show.

He couldn't understand what made the pictures move, but was so fascinated with the spectacle that he couldn't be budged out of his seat until he had seen the program through three times and his hosts had to stay with him six hours before they persuaded him that there were other wonders waiting to be seen and heard. At an amusment park he got on a roller-coaster all unsuspecting the wild ride that was ahead of him. And when he took the first big drop he crawled down into his seat and hollered bloody murder. He held on with a death grip, and bounded to the platform before the train had stopped. Again he made it perfectly clear that he had seen enough of the city, and was starting immediately for his lonely shack, where things were quiet and a man could really enjoy himself.

Then he was taken to a swimming He watched the A recent photograph of Mme. Gloria de Casares, "Queen of the Bootleggers" Copyright, 1927. br JsdOL i lf Jltev THAT appeared to be a mysteri- swimmers for a while, and when some one asked him, with a sly wink, "Coming in, pop, the water's fine?" he hired himself a suit and showed the crack swimmers of the place a few tricks that they hadn't even heard of. Swimming, it seems, is Hermit Morris' favorite way of amusing himself on a far-o'" bank of the River Platte. One evening Morris dined with a beautiful actress who enjoys great popularity on the Omaha boards.

He seemed quite at ease in the presence of the stage star, in spite of his matted hair and beard and his ill-fitting clothes. The table was laid according to the custom of well-to-do people and the hermit pulled an amusing "faux pas" when he began to pafs around the spoons and forks at his place, thinking that the eating implements had not been distributed. When, after this dinner, he was taken to a hotel, he navigated the revolving door without hesitating, but he found his neat, well-appointed room a strange place. It was furnished with twin beds, and a friend stayed with him. Morris sat on his bed testily, and was amazed by its 'Softness, but he was leery about getting between the snow-white sheets lest he soil them.

When assured that there was no harm in that, he Johnson Featuna, Ina agreed to nse the bed, but refused to take off his ragged, dirty clothing. For two hours he tossed and turned, and finally got up to watch the crowds and the traffic that moved in the street far below his window. And after several unsuccessful attempts to get to sleep he asked his friend if he might sleep on the floor. Rolled up in a quilt on the hard surface, he was soon snoozing soundly. It was in 1876 that Morris came to Nebraska from New Jersey.

He worked around the State for a time, found he was getting nowhere, and decided to seek peace in a hermit's existence. He has never been in love and doesn't want to be. His diet consists mostly of a concoction made of corn, wheat and barley, wild berries and nuts, though he occasionally swims to a village across the river to make simple pur chases. His crude hut has a cave-like hole dug out in the rear and in the winter he hibernates much after the manner of bears, sleeping much and eating little. His hair and beard have been untouched by comb or razor for forty years, and he thinks too much bathing is bad.

In spite of his seventy-one years, the hermit is active and keeps in trim by climbing trees, turning handsprings and "skinning the cat." He is keen on sun baths, and says there's nothing so energizing as rolling in the dewy grass of moonlight nights. He seldom sees anyone at his isolated retreat, but assures the friends he made on his trip to the city that he never gets lonesome, because "the stars, birds and trees are my friends, and much truer than your friends." turned out to be a most wonderful example of mother-love. Militza Terbovitch, a serving woman out of a job, is the heroine of this strange story, as reported to the Viennese police. According to the Mayor of Mi-rogl, the guardian of the central cemetery of that city, early one morning came upon a grave that had been opened during the night The earth had been badly replaced and everything pointed to ghouls having been at work. But when the gravediggers opened the little casket at the bottom of the pit, they only found the body of a young boy who had been buried there three weeks before.

The authorities of the place were unable to solve the mystery. It was conjectured merely that some unknown person had entered the cemetery during the night and, for some unknown reason, had opened the grave of the little fellow. Now the truth has been revealed. Militza Terbovitch, for some time employed in the family of a postal clerk, but at present without a position, has come forward with a confession that throws a singular light on the primitive mentality of some of the mountain peoples in the south of Austria and at the same time weaves an aureola of glory round this martyred mother. This is the explanation she gave to the police: "I am the mother of the ittle boy there in the cemetery.

When his father left me four months ago, I lost my job and did not know what to do. My husband had taken all my savings and even my good clothes. Then my little Vlado got sick and there was no medicine to cure him. "I managed to get a little work here ilisniraGBfipflraltr Another picture of the hermit, showing his matted hair and beard and his threadbare clothing The only modern convenience in his hut is an alarm clock, which was fonnd to be six hours behind time when the people who induced him to look over some of the wonders that have been wrought during his forty years' exile took him back home. And the only article of clothing he owns besides the patched rags on his back is a pair of army breeches that some one gave him two years ago.

He believes everything in the Bible is true that he would live until the end of the world if he could avoid all sin and steer clear of what he calls the ways of the world. and there, but the money was not enough to pay for a doctor. So one night my boy died. They came and took his little body away. It broke my heart to see him leave me in that rough casket and not even a nice white shirt and decent trousers for him to wear.

I cried until they came and carried me to the hospital room back of the police station. "Then, all of a sudden, I felt that I had a duty to perform. I went out and broke rocks on the road with a contractor's gang. It was not a woman's work, but I stuck to it two weeks until I had enough money to go and buy my boy some decent clothes. He was my boy, sir, and nobody else could do for him what his mother could.

So I got the exact size of socks for him and a new blue suit and a fine dotted shirt and tie. "I took my bundle to the cemetery three times, but found the grave only after one of the men pointed it out to me. Then I tried to hide behind a tombstone to wait until night. They caught me the first day, but the second I managed to hide behind some shrubs. "When darkness came I set to work with a little scoop I had bought and dug nearly all night until I came to the box that held my boy.

It was hard to open it with the scoop, but I succeeded. For a long while I held my Vlado against me as I used to hold him. Then I dressed him with all the nice things I had bought for him. "He will rest better. And now you can arrest me, sir, if you want to." The official who heard the "confession" of Militza wiped a tear from his eye, coughed rather roughly, and said: "No charges against you, Madam.

You may go, but don't do it again.".