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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 8, 1906)
PAULINE ©TTlN tfYOBK 5 jStGKSJCE ? K4THB0PNE . jUrmoeor 'jQcwjasy" 2ip.^asrj7e CHAPTER VI.—Continued. “Let me go,” says his friend. “I’m the younger, and besides my weeds have run out. and I can’t buy any this side of that cigar store on the Champs de Mars. I'll bring some down with me—also your truant watch, for you’ve acted confoundedly queer all the af ternoon—just like a mariner without his compass, by Jove!” with which remark he runs off up the steps of the house, while Dick leans against 1 a post and waits for him, smiling at the allusion to his uneas'ness, and. wondering whether it was the ab sence of his watch of something else, that has made him feel like a ship minus a rudder. He stands there for just five min- i utes, and then hears sounds that cause him to turn. What meets his vision amazes Dick—a trim figure of a man nas recently left his side, and here comes a demoralized specimen flying down the stairs, waving his hand wildly above his head, and presenting something of the appearance Dick has seen When this same New Mexican sheriff was charging the camp of a dozen border desperadoes, whom he had on his list as characters to arrest. Something has evidently gone wrong, or Colonel Bob would not be making such a spectacle of himself. Dick conceives a sudden show of in terest—in the short interval that re mains to him ere his companion ar rives he tries to realize what it may mean, and gives several wild guesses before Bob reaches his side. The New Mexican sheriff arrives panting like a tired hound—he can only with an effort catch his breath, and then blurts out his news in his usual jerky fashion. “They’re gone!—the villain has won at last!—cooped up in a mad-house! What d’ye think of that? and we promenading and feasting all the while! Only for the adorable Dora, even now we would be ignorant of their fate!” “What.” gasps Dick. ,“Just what I say—they're caught and caged.” “Here, in Paris?” , "Yes.” “And in broad daylight?” “It must be so—some of the doings of that devil of a Senor Lopez. I’ll ! be even with him yet,” growls the <COfMSXS7T^BSS. STSOTCSSSU monsieur, save some spirit of deviltry. I saw there was itn empty house next door, and from the roof of this I could just reach the v.-indow where that hand beckoned. “This I did. and discovered two beautiful ladies looking out between the wooden bars. One of thq ladies spoke to me in French, and told me where to take the note. They en treated me not o linger—I pitied their distress, a'd making my best bow, which I learned at the Elysees Montmartre balls. I came away. I need say no more, messieurs, as you are already acquainted with the rest of the story.v “What hour was this?” asks Dick. "The bells weie just tolling five when I left the roof,” responds the strange half man, half boy. Dick groans. “Hours lost—more than two of them—If we had only returned before dining.” “No use crying over spilled milk. The only thing that remains is to see whether this story is true. How shall we know until we prove it?” “Through me, messieurs.” It iB not the street Arab who speaks, for he has flown down to the avenue, a king, as it were, a bloated bond nolder in his mind—Dick whirls upon his heel to face the speaker of those cool words. CHAPTER VII. The Mad-House Near La Roquette. A man stands near him—where he came from it would be impossible to say. but his movements must be, like those of another person made famous by the novelist's pen, “devilish sly,” for he certainly was not there a min ute before. “Ah! and who might you be, my good sir?” demands Dick, accepting the situation. “Francois, better known as Num ber Eleven, in conection with the work of the prefect,” returns the quiet-looking individual. “Ah! you are one of the secret agents?” “Oui, monsieur,” bowing. “You know this story of the street Arab-” “It is true—I have seen the ladies myself, though not to communicate with them. Then I made my report at headquarters and was directed to find M. Denver and his friend.” “Having found them, my good Fran cois?” “To tell my story and offer my services,” promptly. - - “Through me, messieurs.” sheriff, very much as a dog might mumble over his bone when another animal comes near. “The paper—let me have it,” says Dick, with extraordinary calmness, considering the iact that his blood is leaping like mad through his veins, while his heart thumps like a trip hammer. Another instant and it is thrust into his hand. The note has been hastily written on a sheet from a diarv—it is ad dressed on one side to Colonel Robert Harlan, with the number and street of their lodgings, and is signed by Dora. This is what Dick -eads: "My Colonel:—We have been de coyed to this house—believe it is a private mad-house. For Heaven's sake come to our rescue. I do not know why this has been done, only that he is at the bottom of it, the man who is Miss Pauline's enemy. We shall defend ourselves if need be. Give the bearer ten francs. He will tell you where this place is—some where near the Boulevarde de Cha ronne, for I have had glimpses of a cemetery on a hill, which I am sure must be Pere la Chaise, and a great prison towers in view, undoubtedly La Roquette. Come, my brave colonel, and save your own Dora.” When Dick finishes reading this re markable epistle he utters something that is not at all complimentary to the Mexican hidalgo, and it is evident that the young man's temper is such that should he meet Senor Lopez presently, there would possibly be a scene. See nere, coionei. wuere s me near er?” he suddenly demands. "I told him to follow me,” says bob, looking around, when, as though this may be a signal, a rather dilap idated street Arab bobs into view. Dick attacks him impetuously. “You carried this note?” Tfce quaint chap nods gravely. ‘‘Describe how it came into your possession.” “Easily done, monsieur. Late this afternoon I was near the hill Cha ronne, when my attention was at tracted by a white handkerchief flut tering from the barred wtndow of a house, an upper window, too. I knew f the place—it was the private mad I house of M. Girard, and many stories 7 have been told about it among my fellows. | “My attention being directed, I saw II a white hand beckon me. “X do not know what influenced me, r • "Good—we accept. You will lead us to this place, this private mad house of Girard’s, where they shut up American ladies because Mexican gold has entered the game. M. Fran cois, we are impatient to be off—lead U3 to the scene and we will show you what manner of men they have out on the plains of the South-west.” “One question, messieurs, before we go—are you armed. We may have a little difficulty with the men of Dr. Girard. They are a rough lot, and may show fight.” “Nothing would please us better,” says Dick. “I’ve been spoiling for a little ac tion these two months—ever since we bad that affair in Ireland, where they took us for constables and tried to shillelah us. It's been an age since so much time went by without some sort of excitement to keep my hand in,” declares Bob. “Let me make a proposition, mes sieurs.” “Be quick, then, my good friend.” “I can go to the office of the pre fect again and secure the services of other secret agents.” “That will take time.” “Of course.” “How long, at. a guess?” “Parbleu! say one half-hour.” “We cannot spare it At the corner we will find a carriage—by that time me may expect to be hammering at the door of M. Girard's Retreat, and demanding admittance. We will not wait—the time is too valuable.” They all hurry down the street toward the corner of the Champs Elysees, where, as Dick has declared, they find a carriage. The Frenchman has evidently been quite taken with Dick’s positive ways, for he can be heard exclaiming, as he follows close behind jriou uieu. 1 love a man or ac tion, who grapples with a difficulty by the horns, as if it were a mad bull— that is Francois, Number Eleven.” Now, having arrived at the corner. Dick glances up and down the great thoroughfare—makes a peculiar signal with his arm, and in five seconds, as it were, an empty carriage draws up at the curb. In which they all proceed lo ensconce themselves, out not be fore Francois has muttered some di rections In the ear of the driver, who nods and grins as if amused. They are off. -Colonel Bob, as usual, has had his eyes about him, and it is seldom this man from Secora county gets left. “M. Francois,” he says, “may T ash what you told our driver that appear ed to tickle him so tremendously?" The secret agent chuckles. “I amused him with a little fiction, messieurs.” “And I warrant it had some con nection with me, for the fellow actu ally looked sorry when he caught my eye—confess, Francois." “I will have to—I allayed suspicion by telling the garcon that my friend and I were conveying a wretched hus band. who tried to chop his wife to pieces in his madness, to the Retreat of M. Girard,” with a mock bow to ward Colonel Bob, who roars aloud at the intelligence, and takes it all so good-naturedly that he quite wins the other's heart. “Gentlemen, you did not answer my question about arms,” says the secret agent, whereupon they unload. Dick carries a revolver, whenever he be lieves the regulations of the country he is in allow it, while Colonel Bob would just as soon think of going without his head as unarmed. The latter individual lays a fero cious-looking six-shooter on the seat beside M. Francois, and then pro ceeds to draw a regular bowie-knife from the back of his coat. “Mon Dieu!” exclaims the French man, aghast, and when he sees the bold sheriff from Secora county bring a second knife into view from one of his bootlegs, he drops back in his seat. “What d’ye think now, my friend?" demands Bob. with triumph in his voice. "We may surprise M. Girard, eh?” del: we win paralyze film: The carriage is making good time while they thus converse, and grad ually drawing nearer the vicinity of the famous cemetery Pere la Chaise, and the gloomy prison that stands near the foot of the bill Charonne, so that those confined here can look out upon the cheerful landscape of white stones and crosses amid the green sward. In front of La Roquette stood the guillotine that was so busy dur ing the reign of the Commune in ’71, when the Seine ran red with blood. “We will soon be there,” announces Francois, as they whirl around a cor ner. and he thrusts his head out to discover their whereabouts. (To be continued.) HAD IMPROVED OVER NATURE. Surgeon Had Glory Coming to Him, Rather Than Censure. A year or two after the late Presi dent McKinley had begun the prac tice of law he distinguished himself in a humorous fashion in one of his first successful cases. As often happens in court, the hum or was not merely for the sake of the joke, but for serious purpose. The case was brought against a sur geon, whom the plaintiff charged with having set his leg so badly that it was bowed. McKinley defended the surgeon, and found himself pitted against one of the most brilliant law yers of the American bar. The latter brought his clieht into court and made him expose the in jured limb to the jury. It was very crooked, and the case looked bad for the surgeon. But McKinley had both his eyes open, as usual, and fixed them keenly on the man's other leg. As soon as the plaintiff was under cross examination by him he asked that the other leg should also be bared. The plaintiff and his counsel object ed vigorously, but unavailing. Then it appeared that the plaintiffs sec ond leg was still more crooked than that which the surgeon had set. “My client seems to have done bet ter by this man than nature herself did,” said McKinley, “and I move that the case "be dismissed, with a recom mendation to the plaintiff that he have the other leg broken and then set by the surgeon who set the first one.” Bound to Make a Hit. He entered timidly. He stood be fore the editor twisting the brim of his Boft, black hat with long, white poetic fingers. “I am sorry,” said the editor, “I am very sorry. But we can not use your poem. This is final.” Tears welled nip in the young man’s eyes. He swallowed. “Why?” he said “Well, to be candid,” the editor re plied, “neither in prosody nor in con struction is this poem meritorious The idea is old. The sentiment is maudlin. The expression is atrocious. The rhymes are vile.” But now a light as of great joy illumined the poet’s face and he cried eagerly: “Give me back the manuscript. Give it back to me.” "Very well,” said the editor; “but I don’t see what you can do with it." "Set it to music,” cried the poet. “Make a popular song of it. With the qualifications you ascribe it un doubtedly will be the hit of the sea son.” On the Run. Rev. Kong Yin Teb, of Honolulu, was describing in Philadelphia the horrors of leprosy. “An American, a tourist, I suppose, is almost afraid to look at a leper, isn’t he?” a Baptist minister asked. “indes'’ he is afraid,” said Mr. Yin : Teb, smiling “Does he run away?” “Well,” Mr. Teb replied, “I would n’t quite like to say he runs away. But he retreats pretty briskly. If you saw him going for a doctor at that speed you would be altogether warranted In thinking that somebody w^s dreadfully sick.” Merely Prolonging It. “But.” suggested the man who thought he knew, “when your wife gets started on an embarrassing sub ject why don’t you change the sub ject?” “Huh!” snorted the man who did know, “she'd simply exhaust the new subject, and then take up the old one where she’d left ofT.” Burning It Up. “Jagley slept in the lockup, I be lieve. Drunk and disorderly, eh?” “ ’Sh! He says he was guilty of arson.” "Wbat?” “He thinks that sounds better. He was burning his money, you know.” MARGHERITA CLARK. Odd Actor Supply Station. “I wonder what would become of the modern drama if it weren’t for 'Mrs. Leffingweli’s Boots’?” writes Helen Ten Broeck in the Dramatic News. “Whenever any manager wants a good actor or actress for any old sort of a part he goes at once to ‘Mrs. Leffingweli’s’ and borrows one, and whenever a company closes and you wonder what on earth the robin will do now, poor thing, you are com forted and cheered immensely to learn that ‘Mrs. Leffingwell’ has taken him under .her wing. Margaret Illing ton was snatched from the Thomas play for ‘The Embassy Bail,’ Jessie Busley was taken from the cast of ‘Wolfville,’ Ernest Lawford was trans planted to ‘Peter Pan,’ and Serrano to ‘La Belle Marseillaise.’ Fay Dav is went from ‘Mrs. Leffingwell’ to ‘Man and Superman,’ and when Miss Harned's season closed we all know that Mr. Courtenay and Vincent Ser rano were welcomed back to the ‘eLf fingwell’ cast with open arms.” May Irwin Happy. "I’ve really come to the conclusion that it's a good investment for an ac tress to go into retirement, as I did for a couple of seasons,” said May Ir win one day last week. They hadn't seen me in California for five years until I appeared there last month, and they almost ate me up. I have en tered upon my second Western tour and I’m delighted to say that I shall have to remain a stranger and a pil grim from dear old Broadway for the rest of the season, owing to the suc cess of that man Warfield, who won’t even let me come in and play in my own theater. They tell me on every hand that it’s a very bad theatrical season, but I haven’t found it so, and when I mentioned the fact to Mr Warfield he also said that he felt sure this report must merely be a canard.” j Personal Mention. [ Miss Mackey, the contralto with “Rufus Rastus,” spent three years studying music in Berlin. The authors of “Molly Moonshine” are George V. Hobart and Edwin Mil ton Royle. The composer is Silvio Hein. George Evans was never .seen to better advantage than under the man agement of F. Ray Comstock in “The Runaways.” Messrs Klaw & Erlanger have ac quired from Mr. Hartley Manners the rights to a four-act play, entitled “A Marriage of Reason.” Clyde Fitch's comedy. “The Toast of the Town," is to be made into an opera for Emma Eames. The music is to be written by Piccini. Leeward Ide, who impersonates the young man about town in Blanche Walsh's production of “The Woman in the Case,” has written a play. Louise Allen Collier is to go into vaudeville with a sketch called “A Wild Idea.” written by Mrs. Charles A. Doremus. It has five characters. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt is very en thusiastic over the dramatization of “Joan of Arc,” or Jeanne d’Arc. which M. Rostand is now preparing for her. Blanche Walsh was born in New York, and it is quite natural that she should be called upon to play the heroine of a typical play of New York life. Madge Greet, one of the British beauties with Edna May. is the daugh ter of William Greet, the British pro vincial touring manager, and niece of Ben Greet. William Collier first went to Lon don as call boy with Daly’s stock com pany. Last summer be returned there as star with “The Dictator” and “On the Quiet." “Mizpah” is the title and theme of Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s new play. This is her first venture into the theatrical field. Charles Frohman will make the production. Viola Allen denies that she has de serted or forsaken Shakespeare. She thinks, however, that the best results are achieved by varying he" offerings to the public. William Collier is assured of a yearly engagement in London, as Charles Frohman set aside time for him there every season during his long contract Doris Mitchell, who plays one of the eight followers of Prince Fortunio in “Wonderland,” was last season a lead ing member of one of the Shakespear ian revival companies. “The Girl Who- Has Everything" is the latest Clyde Fitch play. It is to have its first presentation at Cleve land soon. Eleanor Robson is to play the leading role. Blanche Walsh has been so suc cessful in “The Woman in the Case" that she has not yet been able to appear in the east in Jacob Gordin's “The Kruetzer Sonata.” Miss Maude Adams' engagement in Boston in “Peter Pan." which was to have begun in February, has been canceled so that she may remain at the Empire theater, New York. Toby Lyons has been engaged by the Shurberts to create the leading comedy role in the new play “His Highness,” which opens in Philadel phia the latter part of February. Of all her characters, Mme. Sarah Bernhardt, the famous tragedienne, has one which particularly appeals to her,, and when you ask her to name it she says: “The role I am playing.” Eleanor Carey, who plays Blanche Walsh’s stage mother in “The Woman in the Case,” used to alternate with Sara Jewett in the leading roles of the once famous Union Square produc tions. > George Beban, the Napoleon Marcel, a barber, who thinks he resembles the great Napoleon, was formerly in “Fantana,” but left because of an op tion Daniel V. Arthur had on his ser vices. Charles FTohman has secured sue cessful plays for every one of his stars this season. William Collier Is hopeful of rounding out his manager's series by a success in “The Heart of | a Sparrow.” Frank Reichers, who managed a ■ stock company at Teller’s Broadway : theater, New York, early last summer ; is a member of the Sothern-Marlowe ; company now playing at the New : Montauk. He is an actor of much abil ity. Dorothy Dorr, who plays the drunk en adventuress in “The Woman in the Case.” began her public career by appearing in amateur theatrical per formances in Medford, Mass., where j she was born, in aid of a temperance j society. George H. Brennan received a cable dispatch that a copyright perform ance of “The Clansman” had been giv en in the Theater Royal and Opera House, in Worcester. England. The drama may be presented in England next season. Klaw & Erlanger have engaged Ju lie Herne, who was a member of the Imperial Theater stock company, for the role in “The Prince of India” left vacant by the resignation of Maude Fealy. Miss Pealy will become a member of William Collier's company. The report that Joseph Murphy said farewell to the stage on Saturday, Dec. SO, was unjustified. Mr. Murphy who is hale and hearty at the age of 71. will play a limited number of week stands this season, and he has every intention of appearing as usual next year. The drama embraces and applies all the beauties and decorations of poetry. The sister arts attend and adorn her; painting, architecture and music are her handmaidens; the cost liest lights of a people’s Intellects Dorn at her show, all ages welcome her.—Robert A. Willmot. The production of “Grierson’s Way” at the Princess theater, New York has been temporarily postponed be cause the only full manuscript of the play, by H. V. Esmond, has been lost by an employe. The author has been cabled to send a new copy on the first steamship leaving England, and ad vertisements have been resorted to in : the hope of finding the lost manu 1 script. Charles Frohman announces that there is no truth in the statement | that Sothern, Marlowe. Otis Skinner or Robert Loraine will appear in a dramatic festival in Chicago. Sothern ! and Marlowe will appear in the spring in a number o^ big Shakes pearean productions at the Illinois theater, Chicago. Robert Loraine will appear at Powers' theater, Chicago, in ; “Man and Superman,” and Mr. Froh man hopes that Mr. Skinner will be playing In New York in "The Duel.” j Messrs. Klaw & Erlanger have ac j cepted a comic opera by John Philip Sousa and Harry B. Smith entitled “The Free Lance,” which will be pro duced in New York cm Monday of Easter week, with a cast of players I to be immediately engaged and large chorus and orchestra. The scenes of the opera are laid in Provence and j Burgundy in the fourteenth century, and are said to provide good oppor tunity for comedy and picturesque ef 1 fects. The opera will contain two new marches by Sousa, who has been en | gaged several months on the score. PIGS AS WRAVGHT ANIMALS In many countries and even so near as Scotland the pig has served the purpose of a beast of draught and has actually been harnessed to the plow In company with cows and horses. In Scotland also early in the last century pigs were sometimes made to serve as chargers and proved most docile mounts, says the London Express. The homing instinct is strongly developed in the pig. Instances not ■infrequently occur of pigs finding their way back to farms whence they have been conveyed. There is a rec ord of two pigs homing nine miles, and crossing the Thames to boot, to their old farm, whence they had been driven to Reading market and bought by a local gentleman on the previous day. At one point on their homeward journey where two roads met the twain were observed "putting* their noses together as if in deep consulta tion.” About 1815 a London gentleman created a sensation by driving a four in-hand of pigs through the streets, and thirty years later an old farmer caused amusement to a great crowd in the market place at St. Albans by entering it in a chaise drawn by four trotting hogs. After two or three turns round the market he drove to the Woolpack yard, where his curious steeds were unharnessed and led j away to be regaled with a trough of | beans and wash. There have also been sporting pigs. An old account of a black sow which Richard Tooner, one of the royal i keepers in the New Forest, broke to i And game and to bask and stand ! says: “Within a fortnight she would j And and point partridges or rabbit# i and her training was much forwarded ! by the abundance of both. She daily improved, and in a few weeks would 1 retrieve birds that had run as well as the best pointer: nay, her nose was superior to the best pointer. According to Linnaeus, “the hog is ; more nice in the selection of his vege table diet than any of our other do mesticated herbivorous animals." Thus in one respect the pig may be said to be an epicure. Linnaeus states that the animal will eat only seventy-two plants, as against the goafs 449. the sheep’s 387, the cow's ' 276 and the horse's 262. THE MODEUff STTIEJIVOVS LIFE There lay a man in a hospital with his face all seamed and starred. A grcan of pain from his blistered lips and his nands all greased with lard; His hair was singed to a fuzzy tuft and j his browless eyes were red. Where the flames had swept from his ! whiskered chin to the top of his aching head; Then the nurse came in with a noiseless tread and she smoothed his wrin kled brow; “Did you save a child from a tenement that was wreathed in flame, or how Did you come by all these cruel scars?” There fell a moment’s pause; And a voice from the bandages replied; “No, I was a Santa Claus!” •‘II was a Santa Claus.” he said, "with a cotton batting heard. And a wig of cotton batting hair, and the Christmas tree, upreared. Was bright with candles all aflame, and I took the presents down Till the fire department put me out and saved the rest of town In a gallant fight. And you see me now. a wrecked and broken man. With cruel scars on my brow and cheek for a curious world to scan. And men will ask what deed 1 did and others say: “Oh. he? Why, he dressed as Santa Claus and then caught fire at a Christmas tree!” Then there passed along a crippled boy. with finger gone or two. A powder scar on his ruddy cheek and a scar where the scalp showed through. “Pray who are you?” said the blistered man. and the boy replied: “Oh. I Am the little lad who fired the mine on the Fourth of last July. My time is up and I'm well again and I'm going home to-day ' Then the blistered man raised up his head and tore the cloths away: “Come. look, my Lid. on your poor old Dad.” (for sure enough twas he. > “Come look at your poor old Dad all burned at a children's Christmas tree.” Then the nurse came in with her gown of white and saw them sitting there. The boy with the fingers gone and the man with the fuzzy tuft of hair. They told her all and she oj»ed her eyes in wonder as she heard. And her heart with grief for the mother's pain and the wife's sad lot was stirred. “And what of her?” she quickly said, “of the wife and mother true. Whose husband lies here wrecked and maimed and whose son has just come through?” And the man writhed helplessly in pain and cried aloud: “Oh, hush! She lies at home with a broken leg from a bargain counter rush!" —J. W. Foley, in New York Times. MAKING FOX/'R-LEAVEV CLOVE'RS Four leaved clovers may be grown 1 in abundance on lawns or in flower beds. The raising of four leaved clo vers has been made possible by Prof. : De Vries of Amsterdam, who has found a plant bearing six or seven four leaved clovers, capable of being transplanted. He first sowed them, and since then he has had a new gen eration each year. Each time he chose his seeds from a fourth of the best plants; that is, from those which had the most four and five leaved clo vers. It was the third generation which began to be rich in the desired form of leaflets, but only with four and five leaflets, and these only in the adult plant. During August and Sep tember of the same year he remarked a very few with seven leaflets. At this point he reduced his selection to a severe standard. He chose for his progenitors only those plants having two-thirds of all their leaves with four or more leaflets. But he had discos ered a curious fact that much simpli fied his selection from then on. In sowing clover one may observe that the first leaf of each young and sub sequent leaflets have regularly three leaflets. This knowledge made it pos sible for him to make his selection much more quickly. He had only to choose the young clovers with com pound leaves and transplant them from his glass house to his garden, leaving the others to perish. Thus he did not need so many hundred indi viduals as before, though each year he still selected some thousands of seedlings from their sowing pots. At last, after eight years of effort, the new variety of clover came into exist ence. Of this crop nearly all young plants had their first leaf compound ed, and all, with few. exceptions, were five leaved. MISSED THEIH HA HD DEDS Habit plays a large part in the comfort ot the individual. At least, so it was with a party of soldiers from the ventures as related by Mr. Todd in his book on the civil war. The regiment was in barracks near Cincinnati for over Sunday, and a party of four was made up to visit the city and see the sights. “As a rare treat we were to put up at the hotel for the night, and en joy good sleep on soft beds and have a fine breakfast before returning to camp. “We went to the hotel and paid for a big room with two beds in it. We were feeling pretty well as we re turned to the hotel, and pitying our poor comrades in their hard bunks. “As we climbed into our comfort able beds we made various remarks about the places in which we were accustomed to sleep. Then we set tled for “For some reason I could not get to «leep, and iny bedfellow was very restless. I also heard sounds from the other bed which indicated that its occupants were not reposing. “‘Come, John, why don't you go to sleep?' 1 said to my mate. “ ‘Why don’t you go yourself?’ he returned. “‘The bed's too soft!’ came from across the room. “That was the secret of our wake fulness. We rolled hopelessly about until John exclaimed in desperation: ‘“I say, fellows, let’s go home!’ We really did. All four of us dressed, and softly sneaking out of the comfortable hotel, went back to the barracks and turned into our hard bunks. We lost the hotel break fast, for which we had paid in ad vance, but we got our sleep.—Youth’s Companion. ICELAfH) LIFE IS SIMTLE There are no manufactories in the country. Each home is a factory and every member of the family a hand, says the Pilgrim. Shoes are made from goatskins. The long stockings, worn over these in wading through the snow, are knit ted by the women and children, and even the beautiful broadcloth comes smooth and perfect from the hand loom found in every house. The sweet simplicity of their na tional costume does away with the necessity of fashion books. Young girls who are about to be married need take no thought as to “where withal shall they be clothed.” When they array themselves in the wedding garments of their ancestor, two or three generations remote, they are perfectly up-to-date in the matter of attire. This simple life is conducive to a state of high morals, higher probably than in any other part of the world. There is not a drop of liquor manu factured in the island, and for the 78,000 population there is but one po liceman. There is neither a jail nor any place of incarceration for crim inals, nor yet is there a court in which a high crime could be tried. The percentage of crime is so small that it does not warrant the expense of keeping up a court. When a crim inal trial becomes necessary the of fender is taken to Denmark to an swer to the law for his misdeeds. The women are among the most advanced in the world. Their Wom an’s Political league has a member ship of 7,000, and they enjoy more civil rights than the women of almost any other country, having a voice in all elections save that for members for their legislative body. \IETEHtAN SAW MANy BATTLES Robert Young, a veteran of the , Crimea and the Indian Mutiny, died at his residence in Red Lion Close. Montrose, on Saturday evening. He was 77 years of age, and his career as a soldier was full of desperate fighting. One of the most fortunate men on the field, he came through nineteen battles scathless He was a native of Edinburgh and joined the Black Watch in 1846. Un til 1853 he served in Canada, in which year his regiment returned home and, war breaking out with Russia, he vol unteered for the Crimea. His offer was accepted, and he was trans ferred to the Ninety-third Highland ers, who were ordered etist. Under Sir Colin Campbell he was engaged in many battles. He fought at the Alma and at Balaklava, where his regiment formed “The Thin Red ■ A. Line.” He was at the capture of Se dan and the Malakoff, and spent the severe winter of 1854-55 in the trenches before Sebastopol, being also in the forefront of the fighting when the famous fortress fell. When the Highlanders returned to Britain they were inspected by the queen at Aldershot, and Mr. Young, along with three others, had the bfinor of being presented to her majesty. During the mutiny Mr. Young fought in all the principal battles. He was at the relief of Lucknow, took part in the forced march to Cawnpore, and was at the storming and sacking of the palace of the queen 'of Oude. In December. 1£67, be retired on a pension of lOd per day, having served his queen and country for almost twenty-two years.—Dundee Adver tiser.