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Show OUT OF THE WAY. Perched up among the Swiss Alps is a little community whose members live the most primitive lives. They have no publicans, and consequently their elections, if they have any, are completely pure. They have no doctors, and there has not been a death among them for several years. They possess no newspapers, are vexed by the postman only once a week, do no trades, and occupy themselves with little industry. The place is tormented by neither the ring of the blacksmith's hammer, the fumes of the baker's oven, the clatter of the wheelwright's shop, nor the importunities of the shop keeper. Nor does a notary spoil parchment or an advocate confound justice or a policeman terrify the night in all that mountain Arcadia. A cheap jack once a fortnight brings the good folk all they want in the shape of sundries, their own herds, flocks and poultry yards supplying the rest. The Ablandscheneners, having so little money, are not blessed with a bank, but they have a church, with a single bell, which is tinkled like a railway signal at the birth of a boy, but goes into ecstasies at that of a girl. It was wrong to reveal the secrets of this Alpine Utopia, because tourists will be finding it out and vulgarizing it, as they have vulgarized Engadine. But, as the French say, "Nothing is sacred to a Sapper," and so nothing can be kept out of the guide-books now. Hence the Ablandscheneners may before long have to establish a hotel and even a policeman. |