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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.
