Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 30, 1901, Page 6

STSCSCCCC CC CC CCE ETS Rickerby’s Folly 38 By TOM GALLON ISSSSSSESR SESS SS | ©-0-0-0-0-0-0:0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-00-0:0-0-0-0-0 CHAPTER II. (Continued.) The tall man seemed about to speak, but checked himself hurriedly. There was an awkward pause, while he stood waiting for the policema: he wanted to get away, and yet seemed, in some strange fashion, dazed and perplexed. Moreover, there was a reason, in his own mind, at least, why he did not want to be subjected to further ques- tioning; watching his opportunity, while the constable was talking with one of the porters, he strolled towards the door, passed through quickly, and xan down the steps into the street. There, hailing a cab, he was driven Wack again towards St. John’s Wood. It was now nearly 2 o'clock in the morning—and neither wind nor rain had abated in the least. He got back to the house and stood looking up at the windows, undecided what to do, All th> lights had been extinguished in the house, and there was no sign of life anywhere about it. He stood still in th» street wondering what was best to be done. There was no sign of his mes- genger—that messenger who had been swallowed up by the dark house, and whe had sent, as it were, two men fly- y from it but a few mo- ments yards. What did it all mean? Had the messenger come away egain, and not finding the other man in the street, had he gone el: vhere? After walking about aimlessly quite a long time he went back to the hospital | and rang the bell there. As he stood parleying with the porter the surgeon j he had seen before crossed the hal! of theplace, stopped, and came forward. He was a young man, keen-eyed, and quick of speech. “Halloa—you'’ve turned up again, have you?” he said. “Our friend, the policeman, was looking for you—he thought he might want you as a wit- mess. I'm afraid the man who tried conclusions with the machine is in a bad way.” “Tm sorry to hear that,” replied the ether. “I was obliged to hurry away on a matter—matter of business. I came back in the hope of learning how he was.” He had come back in the hope of learning something else, too—but he did not say so. “You can come and look at him, if you like,” said the surgeon, carelessly. ‘Then, as they went along, he asked: “Do you know the man at al “Not personally.” “Oh! I merely asked becausei strang- ers don’t usually trouble themselves | about a man picked up in the streets— that’s all.” “J—1 know the name—or I thought I did,” said the other, slowiy. “I had heard the name before, and I had some slight interest in it. Has he recovered consciousness at all?” The surgeon shook his head. “Not really. Once or twice he ha jpoken, but only to say that one name-—‘Gilbert Rickerby.’ Which reminds me, by the ‘way, as you say you have an interest fim the name—I found this, clenched tight in his fingers, a few moments ago —so tightly that I tore it in getting it @way from him. It’s a man’s visiting ard, with just that one name upon it.” The visitor took the crumpled pieces of pasteboard in his fingers and looked @t them. Scarcely two hours before the man who had left to enter that dark house in St. John’s Wood had carried that card in his hand. He felt that the eyes of the youns surgeon were upon him; he passed back the torn pieces with what carelessness he could mus- ter. “His own, I suppose,” he said. ‘Do you know anything of him? Have you found anything on him?” “Nothing—and he’s likely to die with- ut saying anything—except that name. ‘And he shrieks that out every now ana then, in a fashion to shake the nerves. Here he is.” They had come into one of the long, ciean, dimly-lit wards—a place of si- lence, save now and then, some sleeper twisted uneasily and moaned a little— or when a nurse rustled down between the beds and spoke in a low voice to a patient. Here and there a listless pair of eyes was turned upon the man who walked softly beside the surgeon; in ne corner a screen had been drawn around a bed, to show that Death had come softly in the night-time and healed someone for good and all. The @urgeon leaned down beside the bed of the man who had been so recently ‘brought in, and gently but firmly held down the restless arms and looked into the staring, unconscious face. “Steady—steady! You'll wear your- @elf out, my friend, at this rate, in an hour or two. Something here more than broken limbs and concussion,” he edded, glancing up at the other man. “If death comes here, it'll come not quietiy, but with fears and tortures.” “Is there—something troubling him— gome mystery, perhaps?” asked the oth- er. He spoke in a low voice, and kept his troubled eyes upon the face of the nan on the bed. “Heaven only knows!” responded the e@urgeon, shrugging his shoulders. “We have no time to think of trouble or mysteries here; our business is to look @fter men’s bones.” “I should lixe—to—stay with him a little while—if I may,” pleaded the oth- er, hesitatingly. ‘“‘As I have said, I have some—some interest in the name—and I may learn something about him.” “There's no harm in that,” said the doctor, readily enough. “It isn’t much more than any one will see of him, I'm afraid. I'll tell the nurse you have my permission.” Left there with the injured man, the visitor sat down beside the bed, quite eilentiy, and looked down at him; thovght of the torn card that had been found in the man’s clenched hand, and felt tis brain reel. Then, in the silence of the ward there broke from the man m the bed a low muttering, which erudually swelled and swelled, until it @®ecame a scream. “Gilbert Rickerby—Gilbert Rickerby— Gilbert Rickerby! No—no—for God's sake!—not that—not that! Gilbert Rickerby—Gilbert Rickerby—keep him back!—Murder!"" ‘The word rang out in an ear-piercing shriek, and the man started up in bed, struggling fiercely with some unseen thing. The startled nurses came run- ning to the bed, where the tall man had his arms about the sufferer and was striving to lay him down. The horri- ble thing he had seen, whatever it was, had gone from him; he lay breathing heavily and quite passive. The man who held him got away from the bed, and stood nervously wiping his face, out of which all the color seemed to have fled. He made a hurried excuse, and got out of the place and into the cold night air. The rain had ceased and the wind had dropped a little; some stirring life, in the shape of carts and wagons was in the streets He walked a long way in one set di- rection, and mechanically, as @ man might walk in a dream; stopped sud- denly, as if under the influence of a new resolution; turned about in his tracks and went in an opposite direction. “No—not there—not where any man knows you, and can clap a hand upon you and ery, ‘That man is Gilbert Rick- erb Hide yourself—slink and creep and crawl in dark ways, as you have done so long. To-night Gilbert Ricker- by comes baek to the world; yet to- night, a broken, unknown thing they call Gilbert Rickerby lies dying in a strange place, and shrieks ‘Murder!’ in my face! God of mercy—keep me sane till I see this thing in its true light, and know who I am and what I am and where I am!” He was in no mood for sleep, or even rest; he buttoned his coat about him an:l went striding away, not caring whither, with his thoughts hurrying on in maddening confusion. As the dawn was breaking he found himself coming nearer to St. John’s Wood again; and so turned into Regent’s Park and sat down on a seat there to think. It was very peaceful there, and the only things that were stirring were the birds, flut- tering about the trees and the grass, Gradually some of the peacefulness of th» scene stole over him, and he became calmer and better prepared for sober thought. “Now, let me think, let me piece this thing together, and see what it spells. I. Gilbert Rickerby, unfortunate wand- ering son of old Joras Rickerby, after sears of dodging abcut the earth, come back to the place where I was born. I am expected; I have a purpose to ful- fll, and, hard though that purpose is, I Lave made up my mind to fulfil ‘t, and to do what is right—to undo some of the wrong of old, unhappy years, and to do one clean, sweet thing at least. At the last moment I determine t» play a trick, to gain some knowledge of the man I've never seen before I really see him. I send my trusted ser- vant apd friend, James Holden, into the house v I was born and at the hour a. which I was expected. So far, good; now what follows?” He stared straight before h’m for a minute or two with a puzzled face, then went on again, speaking to him- self, alwe in the same low tone: “This follows: That James Holden enters the house, armed with my card, io prove Lis bona-fides. Within a few minutes a man rushes out, pursued by enother. I chase the first: he meets with an accident in the street, and now he lies dying in the hosnital, crying my name, calling out warnings to me in his Gelirium, and shrieximg ‘Mur- der!’ What foul, black business is at the bottom of all this—and where is Jemes Holden?” All that day Gilbert Rickerby wan- dered about—forming a dozen schemes in his head, and as rapidly abandoning each one in tura. Now he would go to the house in St. John’s Wood, make himself knowr, and boldly ask for nis servant; but the plan had to pe cast asde, because he told himself that he had yet to understand th2 mystery of tne man who had carried the card and coupled the name of Gilbert Rickerby witb murder. Again, he determined to go to the hospital Lut gave up that idea, also, because he feared to be questioned—-perhaps even to be associ- ated with the man who cried his name so persistently. Beset with doubts ani fexrs, he went, when night was cominy or, net to the lodging which he had cccupied before, but to a quiet little ho- tel in @ street off the Strand, registered under the first name that occurred to him, and sent a note by a messenger, eddressed to James Holden, at the rooms they had oxcupied in Camden Town—rooms they had taken in pursu- ance of Gilbert Riekerby’s plun of hid- ing until the schemes he l:ud on hand were vorked out. The messenger returned with his note ané@ with a line in pencti, scrawled on the back by the landlord, to the effect that Holden had not teen home all night, and that nothing had been seen ot him. The matter was growing exciting; Gilbert Rickerby determined to set about, in his own peculiar fashion, to selve the mystery. But that mystery thickened consiierably when next dav there eppeared in all the morning pa- pers the following advertisement: £100 REWARD—A gentleman named Gilbert Rickerby has mysteriously dis- appeared. He failed to keep an ap- pointment made by himself two dgys ago. He is implored by the advertiser to communicate at once with his friends. Any one supplying informa- tion concerning the missing gentleman shall receive the above reward. Apply, Mr. Nugent Leathwood, Rickerby’s Folly, St. John’s Wood, London. “I don’t understand it,” muttered Glibert Rickerby to himself, as he stared at the advertisement. “Holden went there—to sce Nugent Leathwood —and tc explain mattefs; he was there to the minute. Yet there is this same Nugent Leathwood advertising for me. And then, that man in the hosp:tal— what about him?” Still vainly hoping that Holden might turn up.and some explanation be given, Gilbert Rickerby waited all that day and did nothing; wandered at night to the house outside which he had at first stood, and wandered away again, un- decided still what to do. After a sleep- less night he set off the next morning for the hospital. As he entered the place he saw the surgeon he had met before, coming slowly towards the door, side by side with a gentleman of swarthy skin. Both the surgeon and the other man raised their eyes as they came opposite to Rickerby, and the surgeon recog- nized him. “By the way, he said, quickly, “here is the gentleman who was good enough to interest himself in your cousin. Found him in the street, I be- lieve, after the accident, and assisted to bring him here. This’’—he indicated the man of the swarthy skin—“is Mr. Nugent Leathwood, cousin of the man you brought here, sir. The man, I re- gret to say, died last night.” Gilbert Rickerby looked steadily at Nugent Leathwood; for a moment there was silence, while Leathwood watched the newcomer keenly. “And you recognized your cousin, Mr. Leathwood?” asked Gilbert, at last. "Perfectly,” replied the other. ‘Poor fellow, it was a sad home-coming for him—to come so far—and to be cut down in a moment, like that. Oh, yes; I know it is my cousin; we were boys together. I understand, too, that, even in his delirium, he gave some clue to his identity.” “So I understand,” dryly. “I have begged the good surgeon of this hospital to accept the amount of the reward, as a donation to the funds; it is the least I can do, after the care that was bestowed upon my unfortun- ate cousin,” said Leathwood. ‘By the way, sir’—he addressed Gilbert in ‘a hushed tone of voice—‘“I shall make ar- rangements for the funeral as soon as the inquest is over. As you have been good enough to interest yourself in the matter, perhaps you would like to ap- pear with me as a mourner?”” “I shall be very glad—I mean I will be willing—to follow—Gilbert Rickerby ~to the grave,” said the other, in a low Voice. “By the way,” said Nugent, suddenly turning to the other, “I don’t think I caught your name!” Gilbert hesitated for a moment, and then gave the first that occurred to; him; it happened to be that of the landlord of the house where he had been lodging. ‘““My name,” he said, “is Reeks—George Reeks.” replied Gilbert, CHAPTER Il. . Rickerby's Folly. In the days before Rickerby’s Folly received its suggestive name—more than a quarter of a century before this history begins—it had been a place of joy and laughter, a cheery home to which a happy man brought his bride. An old man he was, in comparison with his ycung wife; yet an old man grown young again, for love of her. Men had spoken of ‘Jonas Rickerby as a man soured and embittered; he determined from the time of his marriage, to be soured and embittered no more. The world was a green and flowery place, after all; and the house in St. John’s Wood should be a very Paradise, set in the midst of it. The Paradise lasted for nearly two years; and then Jonas Rickerby shat- tered it at a Blow. No one ever quite knew what the story was; whether the suspicious old man grew jealous of his wife; whether a younger lover came on the scene; or whether May and De- cember were ill-matched, and merely drifted apart. Suffice it to say, when her baby boy was little more than a year old, they took—the husband and wife—separate sides of the house. Then the quarrel grew, so that, for some rea- son, never fully explained, or for no reason at all, they could not bear to see each other; and the man entered upon that strange business which was to give the house forever after its title. The place was his own, and he had a lot of land attached to it and inclosed within the high wall which shut it off from the outer world. He got builders to come—men who worked, for liberal pay, day and night—and began to build up another house, scarcely a dozen yards from the old one, of exactly the same shape and style; in fact, the orig- inal house was copied, brick for brick and beam for beam. Then, when all was finished and furnished, he sent her into it. “No man shal! say,” he told her, brutally, “that you fare worse than I do: no man shall reproach me for not giving you the house I promised you. There is your home; take your child there; choose your own servants; live your own life. Henceforward I know as little of you as though were in a spot thousands of miles away. You shall be amply provided with money; the world shall know you as Mrs. Rickerby, but Jonas Rickerby knows you no more. Gol” So she went; and for ten long, un- happy years lived the life of a nun, eat- ing her heart away, some said, for love of him—raging her heart out, others said, in hatred of him. All that time she brought her son up carefully; and if he ever saw nis father at all, it was only when he wandered—poor, solitary baby—in the neglected garden, and saw the old man passing to and from be- hind the windows of the separate house. In building the second house, it should be mentioned, that old Jonas Rickerby had a long covered way con- structed between the two, so that the world might think, perhaps, that they were still united and that the houses were one. But the covered way was never used, and the door of communi- cation was strictly locked and barred. Ten long years; and at the end of the ten years she died. Died under strange and awful circumstances—died almost at his feet, as it were. The frightened servants who told the story afterwards, said that she had long been ailing; that she had sent him pathetic little letters across the space that divided them— letters which he had returned un- opened—letters in which she told him that her end was near, and prayed him to be mindful of the child who would be left alone. . On that last night, it was said, she crept down into the passage he had constructed and found her way to the door that led into his house; that she beat upon it with her hands, and cried to him, in old, endearing terms that ten years of neglect and silence had not driven out of her—for God’s sake to speak to her, for pity’s sake to let her look upon his face again and hear his voice. He may have heard, or he may not. Be that as it may, the door remained locked, and in the morning they found her, with her face pressed close against it, cold and dead. Even then he gave no sign, and the servants who | followed her to the grave were appar- ently the only mourners. The boy he took into his house, with a mental vow to bring him up to his own stern creed of. life. The boy had been given the name of Gilbert, and the name rankled. -It had Been the name of a friend of hers (the husband swore he was her lover)—a man something near her own age. Per- haps the giving of the name had been the first cause of their quarrel. Suf- fice it that he showed the boy no ten- derness; that he merely tolerated him and let him come and go as he would, without interference. And when the boy was nearly sixteen years of age a strange thing happened. There came a girl to the house—a mere child, some five years younger than the boy. She was a ward of the old man, the daughter of a dead friend who had left her as a charge to Jonas Rickerby. She made whatever of sun- shine there was in the boy’s life; there sprang up between them a youthful at- tachment—growing, even in that at- mosphere, beautifully. Then the blight that was upon the house fell upon the boy, also; some quarrel arose between him and his father, and he left at a moment's no- tice. But he came back—secretly and a: night—for the most part, to see the girl, and she crept out to meet him. When he was twenty-two and she but seventeen, they met one night in the wilderness of a garden, and solemnly plighted their troth. They were never to be parted, in spirit, at least; they were to look forward to a brighter time —when Rickerby’s Folly was a thing left behind in the hateful past—and the world and Heaven should smile upon theit love. On that very night old: Jo- nas Rickerby surprised them together in the garden; ordered his son away: and packed off the girl next day to a dreary school in the country, where she occupied the position of a parlor board- er and was strictly watched. Then, with that little romance nipped in the bud, Jonas Rickerby took to his heart—if he may be said to have pos- sessed such a thing, one Nugent Leath- wood, a nephew of about the same age as the son he had discarded, a specious fellow, who flattered and pitied him, an@made the most of his chances. But when, within a year after his son had finally disappeared, old Jonas Rickerby was dying, he happened to hear, in a roundabout fashion, where his son was, and wrote to him, and implored his for- giveness, and died without receiving it. Then, for a time, Nugent Leathwood settled down, to wait and see what would happen; crose companions to suit his needs, and laid his schemes for the future. This was the position of affairs as regards Rickerby’s Folly at the time Gilbert Rickerby came home. This, too, was the position of affairs a few days ‘ater, when Gilbert Ricker- by stood outside the house one night and gazed up at the windows. Truth to tell, he was placed in an awkward situation. He was keenly anxious to find out what had happened, yet he scarcely dared to make inquiries. All his thoughts came back to that scene in the hespital; forever there rang in his ears the shriek of the man who had courled the name of Gilbert Rickerby with murder. Over and over again in ureasy dreams he fled through the streets after that man; over and over again he followed him to the grave, side by side with Nugent Leathwood; over and over again he saw him com- mitted to the earth as Gilbert Ricker- by. For he had really carried out that amazing part of the business; had stood beside the grave, and had con- sented to see this mysterious man bur- ied as himself. But in doing that he realized, when it was too late, that he had spoiled his chance of making direct inquiry into the mystery which surrounded his name. Gilbert Rickerby had been ad- vertised for in the public press. The extraordinary case of the man who had come from abroad, after so .many years, back to his father’s house, only to die in the streets on the very night of his arrival, had been commented up- on freely in the press; enterprising re- porters had raked up the story of Rick- erby’s Folly, and had told it, with addi- tions. For that reason, because he had, in a sense, forfeited his name, he dare not. go back to his lodgings, was obliged to be contented with sending messages to his servant, James Hol- den, and had no real opportunity for discovering the reason of that man’s silence. His ill-fortune, begun in his boyhood and continued through his manhood, seemed to be dogging him even here. For he stood, on ttis night, homeless and nameless; knowing that his cousin, Nugent Leathwood, had claimed some dead stranger for rea- sons of his own, as the man from abrcad; knowing that, with the disap- pearance of his own messenger and the apparent public burial of himself, Gil- bert Rickerby was disposed of and done for for good and all. “If I could meet the man, if I could by any means find out what is going on in that house,” he muttered to him- self, “I might be nearer a solution of the matter._ But I, who have been bur- fed and forgotten for so long, am bur- ied in g earnest now, and shall be forgotten, like a nine-days’ wonder. If I could only get into that house!” (To Be Continued.) Housebont Hotel: A company is about to open a house- boat hotel at Abbazia, on the Adriatic. This floating hotel will have acco@mo dations for 100 guests, and will contein a fine dining hall and saloons. It will also be seaworthy, so that the visitor can be treated to a trip on the Adriatic from time to time. ‘There is no surer beginning for a home than simple furnishing. In sim- plicity He safety, reason and art. There ig nothing finer nor higher. It is su- preme.—November Ladies’ Home Jour- pal. s SWEDISH LOVE OF MUSIC. Every Town and Village Has a Sing- ing Society. The Swedes are great musicians. They love music and motion, and their songs and dances are distinctive. Each town and village in the kingdom has its singing society; music is taught in all the schools, and is considered as ne- cessary a part of education as geogra- phy or arithmetic. In the cities are conservatories for higher instruction, and in Stockholm is one of the finest opera houses in Europe, built and sub- sidized by the government, at which grand opera is performed every night during’ the winter and spring. The season usually lasts about six months. In th esummer the musical life is found in the cafes, where bands or orchestras are constantly performing from noon until midnight, and there the people gather to gossip. During the summer months you will seldom find a Swedish family at home in the evening. They go to their favorite cafe, and make up in their out-door enjoyment for the long confinement in the house during the winter months. Perhaps the two greatest sopranos that have ever charmed mankind, Jen- ny Lind and Christine Nilsson, were Swedes, and Patti, their only rival, is a, daughter-in-law of the country. The divine Patti, with her husband, Baron Cederstrom, a good-looking young fellow just half her age, whom she married a couple of years ago, has rented a villa at Saltsjobaden, the fash- ionable watering place of Sweden. It is a lovely little place, built in 1899, af- ter the old-fashioned style of Swedish architecture of Dr. Fareus, a professor in the university, who created a great sensaticn a few years ago by marrying Olga Bjorkegsen, the favorite actress of Stockholm. The grounds are limit- ed ,but the villa is spacious, handsome and picturesque. There are plenty of driving roads, and an arm of the Baltic sea embraces the place, with its deep- green waters. There is a hotel within ten minutes’ walk, the most popular in Sweden, where all the swells go, a hy- dropathic establishment kept by a dis- ciple of the Kneipp system, and bath- ing houses for both men and women. the latter are by no means disreputa- ble, and are patronized by the very best people in Sweden, although the sign over the door reads: ‘“Dambad- hus.” For those unfamiliar with the Swed- ish language, I ought to explain that this means a bathing establishment for ladies, although it would create a sens- ation if such a sign were erected in our country. Patti’s husband is said to be a fine fellow. He comes from an excellent family which has done nothing par- ticular to distinguish itself, but has al- ways served its country and its king and maintained an honorable reputa- tion. The father, Count Cederstrom, is a lieutenant colonel in the army; the son is a lieutenant. The old gentleman has a small estate in Skane, the south- ern district of Sweden, where he is highly respected and beloved by the people. Young Cederstrom was edu- cated in the military school at Stock- holm, where he stood well with the fac- ulty and his fellow students, served for a time in the army, and then, by the encouragement of some very prominent people, went to London to become di- rector in an institute for physical cult~ ure on the Swedish plan. He was pat- ronized by the royal family—the king of England himself being a frequent visitor—and by the nobility; hence, his establishment Lecame a fad of fash- ionable circles. Men went there to de- velop their muscles, and women to pre- serve their figures and get rid of their surplus flesh. Adelina Patti heard of the place, and took the treatment to reduce their weight. Baron Ceder- strom attended hor himself, and she fel! in love with him and proposed mar- riage. It was a true-love match, peo- ple say, and it musi have been, for he had neither weelth nor elevated social position to attract her, nothing but his physique and good looks, Although he is a baron, men of that rank are nu- merous in Sweden, und she might have mcrried dukes, and earls, and even princes, in her time. Christine Nilsson spent the summer at Vexio, a little town in the south of Sweden, where she has a lot of rela- tions living, and a nephew of consider- able prominence and ability. Her fam- ily were peasants, and she sang and played the violin, a barefooted, girl, in the streets of Vexio, until she attract- ed the attention of musicians who brought her to Stockholm and educated her for the stage. She has not forgot- ten her home or her family, but has ed- ucated her brothers and sisters and nephew stnd nieces and furnished them means to improve their condition until they are now numbered among what is called the “middle class” in Sweden. One nephew, who is a lawyer, is quite active in political affairs. He has a pleasant house in the country near Vexio, where she is a guest. Those who have seen her lately tell me that the published reports of her poor health are without foundation; that she is as well as ever, except that she has grown stout and has lost much of her beauty. Her husband, Count Mi- randa, is the permanent secretary of the Spanish cabinet and lives in Mad- rid. Just what their relations are has not yet been explained, but they do not live together. She has made her home in Paris in recent years, while he has resided in Madrid; but his daughter lives with her stepmother, and came with her to Sweden. Nilsson has not ‘been in Stockholm since 1885, when a horrible calamity oc- surred. It was announged in the pa- pers that she would sing from the bal- cony of the Grand hotel, and half the population of the city assembled one evening to ehar her. The crush be- e@ame so great that a panic occurred, fifteen people were trampled to death and a large number injured. Nilsson was so horrified that she fled into the hotel, and left the city the next morn- ing, never to return, LOMAT’S VISIT. A DIP! Gustaf de Strale Finds Much in the ha Northwest to Interest Him. Gustaf de Strale, “kammerherre,” er ckamberlain of King Oscar and secre- tary of the Swedish-Norwegian lega- tion at Washington, has been visiting in the Twin Cities and Minnesota for about a fortnight, and has found his trip one of the pleasantest of his varied experiences in many lands. He came to Minnesota, primarily, to hunt deer and other big game, and, being a keen sportsman, he enjoyed to the utmost the hunt arranged in his hener by Con- syl E. H. Hobe in the wilds ef St. Louis county. Since returning from the fam- ous hunt he has become acquainted with the social life of the West, and has enjoyed himself fully as thoroughly as when stalking moose through the pine slashings. Mr. de Strale expressed himself as much pleased with the West, and he admitted that his views had materially changed since coming here and seeing things for himself. It was a sense of gratification for him to learn what an important share the people from the Scandinavian countries had in the de- velopment of ihis great industrial em- pire. Like a true diplomat, he rather evaded an interview. Regarding the relations between Sweden and Norway, h esaid it would be improper for him to enter into a public discussion. Said he: “In Washington I am as much the representative of Norway ag of Sweden, and I must maintain a striet impartial- ity “It mlust be apparent to all that a muchb healthier and friendly feeling has grown up in recent years, and all differences, if any there be, will doubt- less be amicably and honorably adjust- ed. The relations between the United States and the two kingdoms are and have been particularly happy. A smail country has, naturally, much more to ask than a larger on», and we are in- variably treated with the utmost court- esy bySecretary Hay and the state de- partment officials.” Kammerre de Strale has been in the diplomatic service since 1887. Before going to Washington, he held positions with the Norwegian legation at Lon- don, Paris, St. Petersburg, Madrid and Copenhagen. He is a true cosmopolite, well informéd and strictly up-to-date, an excellent conversationalist, affable and polished. He is invariably voted a fine fellow and a gentleman, serving his country and his king loyally and with distinction. HEDIN IN TIBET. The Explorer Writes to the King of Sweden. Dr. Iven Hedin’s last long letter to the, king of Sweden has been given to the press. It is written from a place in Tibet called Charklik, and gives a brief sketch of travels and discoveries. Of the members of his escort he writes as follows: “A great pleasure was awaiting me on our return to Charklik, for I found there my two old Kashgar Cossacks, Sirkin and Ijernoff. It was a very great kindness on the part of his majesty to let me have them again, as I already had the two Buryatic Cossacks, and this at a time when the West Siberiam army and the trans-Balkal Cossacks were under arms. These four Cossacks aré perfectly splendid fellows. Their good ccnduct, fidelity, obedience ana discipline; their endurance, courage and capability in all practical matters, and their willingness to learn and to make themselves generally useful, are beyond all praise. I have had a Cos- sack escort now for nearly two years, and not once have I been obliged to correct them, or even remind them of their duties. Thanks to them, every- thing to do with the caravan is made easy for me, and I concern myself with scientific studies alone. Such*things as meteorological observations and the printing of photographs are entirely done by Sirkin and Schagdur. The lat- ter, who is a Buyrat, has taught him- self on the journey to read and write Russian, an accomplishment of which Sirkin, by the way, is already master. Schagdur has first-rate abilities, and it is a pleasure to see the marching route sheets which he brings back from any reconnoisance on which I may happen to send him. “Tjernoff, too, mayes unusually good sketches of the lay of the land. These four men, who are armed to the teeth and have modern magazine rifles, for which, on the recommendation of the minister of war, I received a good sup- ply of ammunition, not only constitute a respectable escort for the caravan and give us us a feeling of security, but to me personally are most excellent company, and I can talk to-them with pleasure by the hour.” THE WORM TURNS. Swedish Journalists Arise und Or- ganize a Trade Union. Swedish working journalists have formed a trade union to counteract the materialistic methods of the publishing companies, ta demand a standard min- imum wage, and other concessions, in order to maintain a professional stand- ard. They expect the co-operation of the powerful compositor’s union will enable the journalists to enforce their reasonable demands. A Strange Turk, A Swedish Turk is a rara avis, but in spite of his distinctively Turkish name and his Oriental characteristics, Al Nouri Bey is a native of Sweden. At- tention has been attracted to him re- cently by the severe sentence imposed upon him for complicity in the revolu- tionary agitation against Sultan Abdul Hamid. Only 101 years were imposed upon him. Rather than remain that long in prison, the Swedish-Turk es- cared from the dominions of the sultan. His wife and family also managed to escape, and they wisely ried them-. selves to Sweden. Drachmann is Weft. Holger Drachmann has quite recov- ered from his recent illness, and is at work on a new volume of poems which will appear during the holfdays. He will spend the winter at Hamlet’s place, in Marlenlyst, Denmark. “Well,” he remarked, casually, “we don’t get as much war news im the pa- pers as we did a month ago.” “Oh, I don't know,” was the reply. “Lcok on the sporting page.” “What is to be found there?” “The accounts of the football games.” —Chicago Post. ee