Newspaper Page Text
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DR. SWAINSON’S SECRET.
By CEORCE R. SIMS.
Author of "Light* o’ London. “T*lr of To- day." -I train a of Life." "How the Poor
Lite," Ktc f Etr.
Copyright. liV. by Gcor g R. £in:s.
Harold Frederick D'Alroy Temple, tenth
Earl Templeeomlie. paced the great libra
ry of Templesombe hall with furious
strides. His fists were clenched, his aris
tocratic features livid with rage.
"I must do something.” he said, "or X
shall go mad myself."
He flung the French windows of the li
brary wide open, so roughly and fiercely
that a great pane of glass shivered and
fell in fragments to the ground. Then he
stepped out upon the lawn. It was a
splendid August afternoon. Above him
the sun was shining gloriously: around
him lay the lovliest gardens in England.
He was surrounded by all that w*as beau
tiful in nature and art. Wealth and good
taste had made Tomplecombe one of the
show- places of the country; and not its
least famous features were Its splendid
park and gardens. The grounds of Tem
plecombe were open to the tourist anil the
visitor on certains days every week, and
the Templecomhe Arms hotel, which stood
at the park gates, reaped a rich harvest
during the season from the constant (tow
of well-to-do British, Continental. Amer
ican and colonial tourists, who came to
inspect the beauties of the earl’s ancestral
seat.
But standing In the glorious
grounds to-day the great noble
man to whom everything be
longed found no pleasure in his posses
sions. The beauty of the scene mocked
him. The very sunbeams which flooded
the land seemed to him an Insult and an
outrage.
He lifted his arms wildly above him.
and blasphemous words rang from his
lips. Then he flung himself down upon
a great stone seat, banked round with
beautiful flowers, and burying his face in
his hands, sobbed like a child.
Presently there came quietly across the
lawn a tail, neatly dressed man. of about
tiO, with the untnlstakcahle professional
look of the physician about him. But
there was no professional smile on the
clean cut, closely shaven face.
The earl's visitor was Dr. Swntnson, a
•peoialist In Insanity, and himself the head
of a small private lunatic asylum for the
care of mad members of the aristocracy.
Hr. Swainson came to where the earl
was sitting and touched him gently on the
shoulder. “Come, come,” he said kindly,
“this won't do. if anyone could see you
It would be sure to lead to gossip, and you
know how important it is that there should
not be the slightest suspicion anywhere
of what has happened.”
“You are right,” replied the earl, “but
the shock was so terrible, that If I hail
not given some vent to my feelings I be
lieve I should have gone mad.”
“I quite understand, but now we have
to act, and, therefore, you must look
everything calmly and steadily in the face.
You feel sure that no one hut yourself
and the countess has any suspicion of
who the real culprit Is?"
"Quite —quite, or I, must have heard of
it. Several of my people have spoken
about the affair this morning to me. One
of them saw the girl herself at her fa
ther's cottage, being intimate with the
family, and she herself, it seems, was quite
unable to give any description of her uh
eallant. The night was dark, and the
lane Is a very lonely one. It skirts the
corner of the park yonder. Look, you
will see that there 1= not a sign of a
house or cottage unywhere near It.”
"And this servant of yours—did he hear
the girl's story?”
"Not from herself, hut from her father.
The girl is too weak and ill to talk much."
''Tell me the story as the father tells it.”
"He says that his daughter, who Is a
fine, well grown girl of 17. had been vis
iting a married sister in the next village,
about two miles away, it was about in
o’clock when she left, and it would be
about half-past ten when she came to the
lane where the occurrence took place."
"She was walking quietly along when
she heard a rustling in the hedge, and it
being pitch dark, she was nervous, and
gave a little cry. Tho next moment she
was aware that someone was walking
behind her. She turned sharply round,
saw something glisten, and instantly she
felt herself stabbed in the chest. Her as
sailant gave a peculiar laugh—a laugh that
the girl herself describes as 'unhuman'—
und disappeared in the darkness.
"As soon as she had recovered from the
shock she ran as fast as she could along
the lane, and never stopped till she reach
ed her father's oottage, which Is a quar
ter of a mile away. Directly she got In
side the door, she fainted. She was smoth
ered with blood from the wound, and
her father went off at once for tho doc
tor. The wound was found not to be
dangerous, a stay-bone having broken
the force of the blow, and turned the
point of the weapon aside, lnit the girl is
suffering severely from the shock.”
"And how about your son’s movements
during the evening? When did you see
him last previous to this occurrence?"
"About 9 o’clock—immediately after din
ner, in fact. We had dined alone—my
wifk not being very well had kept her
room. He was silent and moody, as he
has been of late—complained of a head
ache, and said he would go for a stroll,
1 saw nothing more of him until 11 o'clock,
when happening to go to the library win
dow—the French window you see open
now—l saw him stooping down on the
lawn near one of the flower beds, and as
it appeared to me, digging the ground up'
with his hands. I went out and asked
him what he was doing. He Jumped up
from his knees, laughing in a peculiar
way, and said he had dropped some money
and was trying to find it. I thought Ins
manner extremely odd, and advised him
to go to bed. I was under the impres
sion he had been drinking.
"This morning I heard of the attack
on the girl ir. the lane from mv groom
when I went out for my early morning
ride. Immediately I had a presentiment
that my son's curious conduct the previ
ous evening had some connoctton with it
but tried to persuade myself that such an
idea was preposterous. But I came hack
at once and went to his room. He was
asleep, his clothes were lying about. In
a moment my worst suspicions were con
firmed. The right cuff of his shirt was
stained with blood.
"I put the shirt in a drawer, locked It
and put the key In mv pocket. Then
I went out on to the lawn to the flower
bed near which I had seen him on his
hands and knees, ami I noticed a spot
where the mould had been disturbed. I
turned the ground over with mv stick,
and presently I struck something hard
I thrust my hand in and drew out an
old Spanish knife, one that I had brought
back with me years ago from Madrid,
and used as a paper knife. There was
no longer any doubt that my son was the
author of the outrage, and 1 hail found
the weapon with which it had been com
mitted. where he had buried it the pre
vious night.
"Horrified almost beside myself, I went
back to his room and awoke him. Hard
ly master of myself, I accused him or
tne crime. He appeared to he aston
ished. He stared at me and declared
that he didn't know what I was talking
about. I showed him the knife, and he
said that he recognized it; it was the
paper knife from the library. Then I
went to the drawer, and showed him the
blood upon the shirt cuff. He looked at
It curiously, and said that he could not
account for it. He appeared to have no
recollection of anything that had hap
pened the previous evening.*’
"That is quite possible," Interrupted
the doctor.
"Possible!—that he could have attacked
the girl over night and woke up the next
morning his mind a perfect blank as to
what had occurred?"
"Yes, I have known several cases of
homicidal mania in which the attack
having passed away, there has been no
recollection of anything that occurred
when it was at Its hlght.”
‘“Then you believe that mv unhappy
son may have done this terrible thing
and have no knowledge of it at the pres
ent time?"
“Certainly. But that is not the ques
tion now. You have sent for me, and I
tun here to assist you in deciding how
to act with regard to him. Your duty,
I of course, is to render every assistance
■to justice in the pursuit of the author
of the outrage.”
Tin- < arl shuddered.
"Yes. my duty to the public; l>ut have
I not another ditty, to myself, to my fam
ily, to my name, to my order? The girl's
wound is not dangerous—she will recov
er, and be none the worse for what has
happen. I will take care that her future
is assured. I can arrange that without
any one knowing why 1 lake an intere/t
in the case, she shall tie more than com
pensated for what she has suffered, but
if I give up my son,—no, no. I cannot
do it—the shame of it would kill me.”
"Well. I understand exactly what you
feed, and I am not going to betray the
confidence you have pla-ed In me. If
the iail were sane I should say 'He Is a
criminal—you must give him up.' but
s he Is Insane, instead of lotting the
scandal be made public and sending him
to a public lunatic nsylum. I will assist
you to keep the family skeleton In the
cupboard .and have him taken care of
privately.”
"You are sure that he Is insane?”
“Absolutely. I would sign a certiorate
to-morrow.”
"I ut there will have to lie a certificate
in any ease before he can be confined in
an asylum..”
“He Is not going to any asylum. Your
object Is that no one but ourselves shall
know that the heir to your title and es
tates is a lunatic, lla'lc to uttacks of
homicidal mania.”
“Yes. 1 would do anything to avoid
that."
"Very well. Then It must be understood
that he is going to travel abroad. You
will leave here with him quietly this even
ing. You are going to London to your
lown residence In the ordinary way. In
1-ondon I will meet you to-morrow and
tako your son with me to a friend of
mine in Paris, a young doctor attached
to one of the great French asylums, and
who Is skilled hi dealing with cases of
this sort. He will receive him Into his
house as a guest, but under another name,
and by that name he will be known to
the doctor’s family and every one con
nected with bln establishment, if the
doctor finds him easy to deal with and
manage he will remain there."
“One word, doctor. Io you honestly be
lieve thut It Is possible that my son may
be—what shall I say?—cured; that one
day he may he able to take his position
in society as my heir?"
“I cannot say. He may improve—he may
grow worse—his family history—is bad
The earl started.
"His family history Is had! Good heav
ens, man, I have never heard that there
was any insanity In my family."
“No,” said the doctor, quietly, "hut as
matters are now It would be wrong to
conceal the truth from' you. Who was
it advised you to send for me?"
“My wife. She said she had heard you
had great experience in such cases.”
“Kxactily, and she speaks with knowl
edge. I have had a brother of the coun
tess under my care for years, and her
mother died in an asylum."
The earl rose from his scat with a loud
cry. "And 1 never knew; they never told
me, and they let me marry her. Oh, the
Infamy of It!”
The doctor laid his hand kindly on the
peer's arm.
t “Hush," he said. “I should not have
told you, but the time has gone by for
secrecy. Nothing can undo what has hap
pened in time past. We have only to think
of the future."
"Thank Hod T have no other children,"
groaned the earl. “But even If I had it
could not make matters worse. My only
son is mad—a would-lic murderer."
“I don't say he call he cured, but he may
he. At any rate it is absolutely necessary
that for the next few years he should
lead a quiet life free from every tempta
tion, and that he should he under con
stant and close supervision. I am an old
friend of your wife's family, and I am anx
ious to help you for her sake, and so I'll
take the boy and put him In good hands."
"And your terms?"
"You will allow your son a thousand
a year, and you will pay It to me on his
behalf, and leave everything in my
hands for five years. At the end of that
time I shall either bring you hack your
son restored to health and fit to take
his proper place In society, or ”
"Or "
"Well, we'll talk about that when the
time comes.”
That evening the earl and his son left
together for I.ondon. A week later the
earl returned alone, and It was under
stood that the young Lord Temple had
gone for an extended tour In Indta. Soon
afterward gossip began to busy itself
with the domestic affairs of the earl and
hts wife. The rumor was that they had a
serious difference, and had separated.
Color was given to the rumor by tho
fact that the countess left on a visit to
her father, and never returned to Temple
comhe. while the carl—who spent most
of his time there—withdrew from all so
ciety and gradually closed the place
against visitors altogether. Six months
after the outrage on the cottager's
daughter Templecomhe had ceased to he
a show place, and an announcement was
made that the grounds would not be
thrown open to the punlic again.
A year had elapsed since the myste
rious: outrage, and the village gossips
had begun to leave off talking about it.
The girl hail quite recovered and had
suffered' no ill effects, from her adven
ture. The earl had defrayed all the ex
penses of her illness, and had Instructed
his bailiff to give the father constant
employment on his estate. And gradually
the whole affair was on the high road
to being forgotten when something hap
pened which struck fresh terror to the
heart of the little community. The Earl
of Templecombe was found early one
morning lying dead in a lonely part of
the park. He had gone out the previous
evening for a stroll, and his valet had
sat up for him until a late hour. Early
the next morning some laborers coming
to their* work on the estate found tho
early lying dead In a clump of trees.
There were marks of a struggle near the
spot, and the meillral man who was sum
moned at oneo gave it as his opinion that
the earl had been strangled by his as
sailant. There were the marks of the
murderer’s lingers on the throat of his
victim.
The affair created an immense sensation
all over England. The London police came
down, and exhaustive inquiries were made
and suspicion at last was fastened upon
a man who was well known as a poacher,
who had been prosecuted lyy the earl and
sentenced to twelve months' imprison
ment, and who had been released the
previous day, his sentence having expired.
No one had seen him In the neighbor
hood, und he had not returned to his
wife, who lived in the village. No trace
of his movements since he left the prison
could he discovered, and it was conjec
tured that he had oome into the place
at night, and hail in some way encoun
tered the earl, and had taken his revenge
by murdering him. The story had its
improbabilities, hut the man had disap
peared, and he was the only person, so
far as could lie ascertained, who had any
motive for attacking the earl. The motive
was certainly not robbery, as nothing had
been taken form the person of the deceased
nobleman. Two strangers had been seen
in the neighborhood, one of them an old
man of highly' respectable appearance,
and the other a young man. hut they h<gl
gone to London by the late trainl and
had not been particularly noticed. In
quiries were mad", but no trace of them
beyond the Igindon terminus could he
found. But no supirion attached to them.
The news was broken as gently as possi
ble to the countess, hut the shock was
terrible. It was explained to her that
i there was very little doubt that the author
1 of the crime was the man who had been
j released from prison. The solicitor who
: went to her suggested that the now earl
; ought to come home at once. Should he
! comjnunicato? Tf she would give him Lord
j Templecombe’s address in India, he would
! send a telegram at once. The countess
! hesitated. She thought it would lie bet
ter that she should send the news herself
She had his address, and would send at
once and ask him to hasten his return.
After the solicitor had left, the coun
tess sent a telegram; but it was not to
her son, it was to Dr. Swainson. He was
with her the next morning.
“What is to be done, doctor?" exclaim
ed the terrified woman. "This terrible
tragedy will bring everything to light. It
must be known now that my poor boy is
insane, and utterly unable to manage" his
own affairs. When did you bear from him
I last?"
| “About a month ago, and then the news
THE .MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1896.
The Advantages Derived From Having Lon* Leg* When Horne-
Baek Killing
I—Great case and grace In mounting.
S—'The feet can be used as blinders In
oaso of fright—
s—'The legs can be easily locked under
the girth In ease the horse bucks and—
was good. My friend in Fans, In whose
house he was living, wrote me an en
couraging rei>ort. There had been no re
turn of his symptoms, and he had been
most tractable and docile. In fact, there
appeared then to be no necessity for the
slightest restraint on his actions."
“Why didn’t you let me know this?”
“I feared to raise false hopes.”
“But now, something must be done
something must be said to account for
his not coming back personally. Will you
not communicate with your friend in
Paris?”
“He is not in Paris; he is over here on
a visit to me.”
"But while he has been absent, who has
had care of my son?”
“A person in whom he has every con
fidence. An old fellow who with his wife
takes care of the house. The old fellow is
a former keeper of one of the Paris asy
lums, and can be thoroughly relied on.
But my friend is returning to Paris at
once. I will go with him and see your
son myself. If—as 1 hope—he is now in
good mental health, it may be possible to
allow him to oome home under certain
conditions. The attendant, this old fel
low, can come with him. You yourself
can go back to Templecombe to meet him,
and between us we may manage matters
so that at least he can enter into posses
sion of the estates and title in the ordi
nary way, without the world having any
suspicion of the true state of affairs. In
a fortnight from this I will let you know
my decision, whatever it is.”
Dr. Swainson left, and a day or two
later started for Paris with the French
doctor to meet the new earl. The inquest
on the late earl, after being adjourned
twice, was concluded, and a verdict or
wilful murder against some person or per
sons unkonwri was returned, the coroner
and the Jury expressing their sympathy
with the young earl and his widowed
mother in the terrible calamity which
hail befallen them.
And a month later, the young earl came
quietly to England, it was understood from
India. His mother was at the house to
receive him, and under the tragic circum
stances of his return there was no wel
come by tho tenantry. At the earnest
request of the family there was no In
trusion on their privacy. All that was
known in the neighborhood was that the
young earl, accompanied by an elderly
French servant, hud returned from his
travels.
Tho young earl's mental health had un
dounbt#dly improved. Dr. Swainson, af
ter repeated visits, was more than satis
fied. Only—and this he impressed upon
the widowed countess—it was necessary
that he should be constantly kept from
anything likely ito excite him or cause
him annoyance. He must be practically
a prisoner, under the constant surveil
lance of his French attendant.
The mother pleaded that her son was
sane—that in all things his mind was clear
and unclouded. He had taken a keen in
terest in the business affairs which had
been brought liefore him in connection
with the property, and the family solicitor,
who had submitted the necessary docu
ments to him, and obtained his signature,
had not had the slightest suspicion that
he was dealing with a man who had at
one time been a dangerous lunatic. When
he had been cautioned that under no cir
cumstances was he to refer to the terri
ble manner in which the late earl had
come by his death, he had expressed sur
prise. but it had been explained to him
that the young man was of a highly ner
vous temperament, and there was a fear
that the sudden revelation of such a trag
edy might affect his health. The family
had not communicated 'the truth to the
heir, and fortunately he had not seen the
English papers, which at the time con
tained an account of the catastrophe. But
gradually precautions were relaxed. The
young earl, who had accepted his enforc
ed seclusion without a murmur, learning
that tt was his mother's wish that for
a year at least after his father's death
he should abstain from all society, was
pronounced by the doctor to he—so far as
he could judge—past any danger of a re
lapse. And so it was arranged that when
tho year of mourning was over, Temple
combe should once more be thrown open,
and the young earl should take his place
in society.
But Just previous to the expiration of
the year the old Frenchman was taken
seriously ill. He asked the local doctor,
who was called In, if there was any dan
gler, and the doctor hesitated. “Tell me
honestly,” said the old man, "because if
there is danger—if you think this illness
may prove fatal—l want to let my wife
know. She would not come to England
with me to live, but if she knows I am
dying she will come.”
“I don’t say you are dying—you may re
cover—l hope you will—but you may send
for your wife."
"That is enough,” replied the French
man. “I understand.”
When the doctor had gone the countess
came to the sick man's room. He asked
2—Plenty of spring from stirrups.
4 —And as brakes in going down hill.
6—lf he runs away, you simply do this.
her to send for Dr. Swainson. In case
anything should happen to him he wished
him to take charge of his affairs.
All that afternoon the old Frenchman
was writing. When he had finished he
put what he had written into an envelope,
and was about to address it, when he
was seized with a fainting fit, and the earl
hearing of his old servant's condition,
came hastily to the room, saw the en
velope and took charge of It.
That evening Dr. Swainson arrived, but
the patient was unconscious. After din
ner he went Into the library to smoke,
and the earl joined him. Presently tho
doctor, who was accustomed to an after
dinner nap, fell asleep. Then the earl re
membered the document he had in his
pocket, and it occurred to him that he
might as well read it to see if there was
anything in it that ought to be communi
cated to his poor old servant's friends.
He opened the envelope and began to
read quietly, hut as he rear! on his face
became deathly pale, and a look of horror
came Into his eyes. Presently he dropped
the paper on the floor and sat like a man
who had Just been awakened from a ter
rible nightmare.
Then he rose, walked across the room,
and laid his hand heavily on the doc
tor s shoulder.
The doctor stared and sprang to Ills
feet.
"What's the matter?" he exclaimed,
bor a moment he thought there had been
a sudden return of the Insanity.
But the earl undeceived him. "Don’t
be alarmed for yourself,” he exclaimed.
I am not mad now.”
“Mad now!” stammered the doctor,
'what do you mean? Whoever told you
that you had been mad?"
"I have learned the truth to-r.ight—
but I want to know all. Do not lie to
me. Was anyone suspected—or arrested—
or—punished when my father was mur
dered?”
"You know that, then?"
"Answer me—did anything happen to
anyone for that?"
“No—the murderer was never found.”
“Then he is found now."
"What? He has been arrested—where?
Who was it?”
"He has not been arrested—but he is
going to give himself up to the police
at once.”
“How—how do you know this?”
“I know !t because I was my father's
murderer.”
“You?—No, no, you are mad! That was
Impossible. At the time your father was
killed you were in Paris—in the house of
Dr.
"No, the old man who is dying upstairs
has confessed the truth. Head this.”
He handed the papers to the doctor, who
took them with trembling fingers, and
read them.
When he had finished he sank back in
his chair. “Good God! Lord Temple
combe!—can—can this be true?"
“It is true—but I remember nothing. This
man would not lie on what he believes lo
be his death-bed. You see what he says.
I got away from the house that night.
The doctor was not there—he had come
over to England on a visit to you. The
old man, finding me gone, was terrified.
He guessed that I should make my way to
my home. He heard at the railway sta
tion that a young man answering my de
scription had taken a ticket to London.
Too terrified to communicate with his
master—not knowing what to do—he fol
lowed by the next train, and came on
here.
"He got to Templecomhe liefore me, for
according to his narration I could have
had no money left when I reached Lon
don, so I tramped down here. In what he
says of the condition in which he found
me, no one would have recognized me.
Pray God my father did not that awful
night!”
"Pierre found you here! But he did not
know who you were. You were never
known by your right name when vou
lived in Paris!"
“Yes. I knew who I was. and I had told
them often—but I never knew I was mad.
I thought I had been sent to France to
be under the doctor's care for my bodily
health. They always told me so. God
knows what crimes I have committed In
the past! If I could have committed this
awful deed without knowing it, what may
I not have done before?”
“I can't—l won’t believe it," groaned
the doctor. “This escape—this Journey to
London. No. it is impossible.”
"Bead what he says. He came here late
at night—he met me in the lane, so trav
el-stained, so changed that he hardly
knew me. But he came quite close to me,
and I recognized him and laughed, and
called him by name."
"Then he look my arm and went back
to the station, and he says, as you see,
he got me to London by the last train,
and there we spent the night In a French
hotel In Soho, and In the morning he
bought me new clothes, and we went
back to Paris that night, and the next
morning I was safe again, and he never
told a soul for fear of being blamed. He
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and his wife lived alone in the house,
and she kept his secret. It was not till
you came to Paris to see me after my
father's death that he knew of the njur
der, and then he dared not speak, only
he begged that he might accompany me,
and his wish was granted. Now I know
that 1 was mad then, and that I murder
ed my own father in a fit of insanity.”
And you remember nothing about it?”
"Nothing!”
With a desperate effort the doctor grew’
calm. “You remember nothing of it, my
dear Lord Templecombe, because it never
happened. This poor fellow is the mad
man—not you. This absurd confession is
the work of a disordered brain. There
is not an atom of truth in it!”
“You believe that?"
"Believe it! I'll swear It, if you like!
I tell you, at the time your father was
killed you were safe in Paris, and the doc
tor was there with you, and he'll tell
you the same. The man who undoubted
ly caused your father's death was a man
whom he had convicted for poaching, a
violent ruffian, who declared on the day of
his trial that he would be revenged on
him. Forget about this absurd story—
I tell you It is the hallucination of a
man who has lost his reason.”
He tossed the papers into the fire. The
earl made a movement to recover them,
but the doctor seized his wrist.
"No," he said, "they are better de
stroyed. Stay here—l'll send the countess
to you while I go upstairs, and see Pierre.
But not a word to her—she has suffered
enough, poor lady!”
The doctor went out, and in a moment
the countess was with her son.
Then the doctor went upstairs to the
room of the dying man.
He had recovered consciousness, and
looked eagerly at the door as the doctor
entered.
"My letter,” he gasped, "It was here—
it is gone—you have It?"
"Yes. Is it true?”
"Every word, as I hope for pardon
hereafter.”
A few minutes later the local doctor
arrived. Dr. Swainson took him aside.
"The man is dying,” he said. "How long
do vou give him?”
“It may be a day—it may be a week.
There is old heart mischief—he will go
off in a fainting fit.”
“Ah! Then no one by the persons at
tending him ought to see him or converse
with him?”
"None. He should be kept absolutely
quiet. The least shock or excitement now
would mean the end.”
The doctor gave a few directions, and
left.
Dr. Swainson went back into the room.
The patient was alone, his eyes half clos
ed. I>r. Swainson went quietly to his bed
side, and touched him on the shoulder.
The man opened his eyes.
"That letter you wrote was for me?"
said the local doctor.
“Yes.”
"The earl found it and read it. He
knows now that he murdered his father.
He has sent for the police to give him
self up, and you "
The old Frenchman gave a cry of hor
ror. and threw up hts arms.
Then he fell hack—dead!
The next day the ear*and Dr. Swainson
left for Parts together. It was the doc
tor’s wish. He took Lord Templecombe to
the house where he had been a private pa
tient, and the French doctor assured the
earl that he had never left him alone with
the Frenchman and his wife—that at the
time of his father's death he was there.
The old lady—the widow—assured him the
same thing. Dr. Swainson explained that
the poor old man had become affected in
his mind, and had told some absurd story
about hts lordship having escaped and gone
to England.
"Absurd!” said the French doctor.
"They would have told me!”
And they had but Dr. Swainson had writ
ten to his French confrere and explained
to him how necessary it was to ease the
young earl’s
Dr. Swainson kept his secret to the end.
Is>rrt Templecombe was safe, of that he
felt sure. He lived ten years and saw no
symptoms of a relapse at any time. And
to-day Ix>rd Templecombe looks back upon
that ghastly chapter in hts life and won
ders how he could ever have believed such
a thing. He has taken his seat in the
House of Lords, is a model landowner,
and beloved by all hts people.
But he has never married. He had al
ways told Dr. Swainson that he should
live and die a bachelor. Perhaps it was
his firm belief that the early would keep
his word that induced the doctor to keep
his secret.
(The End.)
AN INVASION OF RATS AND MICE.
A Plngne in Ruxxln and the Means
Adopted to Exterminate the Ver
min.
From the Philadelphia Ledger.
Washington, Jan. 23.—Mice and rats
have caused great destruction in certain
localities of southern Russia during the
past two years, and the remarkable inva
sion of the rodent army is the subject of
a report just received at the state depart
ment from Thomas E. Heenan, United
States consul at Odessa. The first appear
ance of mice in great numbers was in the
autumn of 1893, and their rapid increase is
attributed to the mildness of the weather
and to two consecutive good harvests, in
consequence of which much grain remain
ed in stocks until threshed.
There were three varieties of mice observ
ed—the common house mouse, the common
field mouse and another kind never pre
viously noticed, having a long, sharp nose.
They swarmed In houses and granaries,
and in some places moved in great num
bers, like an army. Instances are cited by
Mr. Heenan where they attacked animal's
and men. The rats were not so numerous
as the mice, but caused great destruction,
even ruining buildings. Every effort was
made to stop the plague by the people liv
ing in the Infested districts, and finally
government aid was secured. The depart
ment of agriculture, in June, 1894, sent Dr
Merezhkovski to one of the mlce-riddeii
provinces to carry out experiments of ex
terminating the mice by means of the cul
tivation of the bacillus discovered by him
The results were excellent. Epidemic dis
ease was generated among the rodents
and now the plague has ended. Similar ex
periments made by Drs. Loeffler and La
zare did not give such good results.
—Judge (to man who was arrested
charged with robbing a liquor store): Do
you know anything about the robbery of
this liquor store? Prisoner (respectfully)-
do you suppose I’d be sober' if i
I did?—Texas Siftings, .
IF HE HADN'T BEEN A CHUMP.
AN OLD H VII.ROADEK'S STORIES OF
THE DAYS OF BUFFALOES.
The Dig Herb That Stopped a Train
Out West and the Fortune He Re
fused in Payment of a Poker Debt.
From the New York Sun.
“When I came back from the west
some years ago,” said a western railroad
man, now an engineer on the Erie,
"among other things I brought w-ith me
was a buffalo skin. I gave it to a brother
of mine up in Pennsylvania. I hadn't
seen the skin since, and had forgotten
all about it. In fact, until a couple of
weeks ago, when I was on a visit to my
brother. Then I was surprised to see not
only that he had the skin still, but also
that It looked a good deal better than it
did the day I gave it to him, and was
being cared for as if it was among the
most precious belongings of the family.
" ‘You don’t seem to use the old buffalo
much,” said I.
“ ‘Use it,' exclaimed my brother. ‘Well,
hardly. We can't afford to chuck a S3OO
robe around as if it was a sheep pelt.’
“I began to laugh.
“ ‘Fact," said my brother. ‘Maybe you
hadn't thought of it, but there hasn't
been a buffalo robe on the market for
pretty near fifteen years, and there never
will be one on the market again. You
remember when they were as common,
almost, as sheepskins. So do I. Well, you
might rake the country over to-day with
a fine-tooth comb and not find a single
one. Why? Because all that are in ex
istence are held and cared for as curi
osities, to be handed down as heirlooms;
relics of a mighty race of beasts that once
made the earth tremble beneath their
tread, but of which there are not now
representatives enough left to kick a
board fence over. Three hundred dollars
is the least offer I refused for this skin
of mine. It’ll be worth more one of these
days. How much did it cost you?'
” 'Not a red cent!' said I; and- I fell to
thinking about the way I got the buffalo
that shed that big skin. After he was
dead, the way we figured it out, there
were 17,999,999 buffaloes left in the herd
he was traveling with. This was back in
1873. I was helping to build the Atchi
sorf, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad, and
we had got It as far as Dodge City, Kan.,
or, rather, Dodge City had sprung up
around the spot we had got the railroad
built to. I was on the first construction
train that ran all the way to that place,
and on our way we were held up by this
herd of buffaloes. We had seen the long,
waving black line of that immense body
of huge beasts approaching the railroad
over the prairie from the north while
we were yet miles away from the section
of railroad where the herd would cross,
and the engineer made an efTort to run
the train past before the buffaloes reach
ed it, but the track wasn't in condition
to let him get speed enough on to do it.
The head of the great column of buffa
loes struck the railroad only a hundred
yards or so ahead of us, and the engineer
ran down to within a rod or two of the
herd and stopped. Of the buffaloes that
could see us. which were only those on
edge of the herd, but one seemed to mind
us any. As far as any one could see,
west and north, there was nothing but
buffaloes, packed together as they march
ed as close as sardines in a box. They
were traveling by a humpy sort of gait,
something between a walk and a trot,
and were moving at the rate of about
five miles an hour.
"The one buffalo that gave us any par
ticular attention was a big bull near the
head of the column. He stepped out of the
ranks when he got on the railroad, being
on the outside line and advancing a few
steps with his nose to the ground, began
pawing dirt and snorting, and showing
every disposition to forcibly resist an in
trusion on that domain. As the bull
stood there getting fiercer and fiercer, the
engineer pulled his whistle valve wide
open. Such a wild, piercing, hair-raising
shriek as that locomotive let go had never
split the air in that far western country
before. It struck the big bull with such
terror that he threw himself back on his
hind feet so far that his great head and
shaggy mane and ponderous shoulders
towered straight above them in the air
but only for an instant. Then he toppled
over like a falling tree and came down in
a heap across the track, making every
thing tremble. He was dead before he
fell, for he never moved a muscle as he
lay. That unearthly shriek of the loco
motive whistle had scared him to death.
No one seemed to care to bother with the
old fellow. I had his pelt taken off. A
man at Dodge City cured it for me, and
when I left there a couple of months la
ter I shipped it along with my goods and
gave it to my brother. That’s the skin he
refuses S3OO for now.
"One of our civil engineers made-a lit
tle calculation on the number of buffaloes
that herd contained. The herd was two
hours passing, which showed that it w4s
ten miles long. Between the point where
we stopped to let the herd go by to the
point its western edge extended was three
miles. The engineer figured in round num
bers, and was liberal in his estimates. He
allowed 6,000 buffaloes as the depth of
the column and 3,000 as its width, thus
showing that the herd contained 18,000,000
buffaloes. During the two hours that it
was passing us on its thunderous march
every one in our train amused himself by
shooting indiseriminatingly into the herd.
I suppose that many buffaloes were shot
dead, but a great many more were simply
wounded to be trampled to death beneath
the feet of the mighty herd. When the
herd had crossed the railroad and at last
passed southward on its way, not less than
500 mangled and mutilated carcasses were
left strewn about on the prairie the re
sult of our ruthless butchery. We didn't
think it anything out of the wav then. It
makes me sick to think of it now.
"The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe
railroad and the Kansas Pacific railroad
which was building at the same time!
opened up that country to the buffalo
hunters. Wichita, Medicine Lodge and
Dodge City became centers for them. More
than 5,000 professional hunters were at
work in those regions in 1872, and the
pleasure hunters were about as numer
ous. The railroads used to advertise buf
falo hunting excursions, and run special
trains to the feeding grounds, or as near
to them as they could get. Hunters used
repeating rifles and needle guns. The
pleasure hunters or sportsmen, as they
called themselves, despised the profes
sional hunters because the latter slaught
ered buffaloes for gain—selling the skina
and the hind quarters, yet where one of
| ABBOTT’S
•: EAST H :•
Corn Paint
Cures CORNS, BUNIONS and WARTS
SPEEDILY and WITHOUT PAIN.
FOR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS.
LIPPMAN BBOTEEBS, Prop’rs, <
Llppman's Block. SAVANNAH, GA. (
these sportsmen killed one buffalo for
the trophy of Its head or skin he would,
on a low average, kill ten for the wolves
and vultures to feed upon. When I was
in Kansas this great and wanton slaugh
ter of buffalo had begun to alarm think
ing people out there, and they were talk
ing of bringing the matter be'fore the leg
islature. To impress that body with the
important of taking some action to pre
vent further butchery these people form
ed an organization, and stationed men at
various points of observation to obtain
statistics of buffalo killing.
"Their representative at Medicine Lodge
reported that in that district alone 210,000
buffaloes were slaughtered in two months.
At Wichita 65,000 skins were bought by
traders, representing the work of profes
sional hunters. As many more buffaloes
were killed and left for four-footed and
winged carrion eaters to feast on. I never
heard what the legislature thought about
“Dodge City in 1873 had a population of
perhaps 4.000, and two-thirds of it was
made up of buffalo hunters. They over
stocked the market with skins, so that
the price fell to $1.25 a skin, and the sup
ply was greater than the demand. Buf
falo skina were piled up in the store
houses by the cord. One man alone had
25,000 that he was anxious to get a mar
get for. Hind quarters of buffalo went
begging at I cent a pound. Fore quarters
were worthless. One enterprising trader
tried a speculation in buffalo tongues,
and shipped a few hundred east. They
made a hit, and a big demand sprang up
for buffalo tongues—so big, in fact, that
the price went up to 25 cents a tongue.
The man who started that line of busi
ness bought 5,000 tongues and sold them
all at a good profit, but he rather overdid
the market, and when I left Dodge City
he was waiting for it to revive. It did,
in time, and I heard afterward that ho
and others made fortunes in buffalo
tongues.
“Next to the buffalo, poker was the
game most sought after In those days of
Dodge City. I used to chase It a little my
self. One night, about a week before I
left for the east, I got up a pretty fair
winner in cash, and a friend of mins
owed me S2OO for having too much confi
dence in a hand he held. He was a trac
er in buffalo skins, and had plenty of
them, but was short of money. So hs
came to me and said:
" 'See here, old man, I owe you a couple
hundred. I haln't got It, hut I'll give
you 200 buffalo skins to call It square.'
"That was better than S3OO, hut I had
no time for buffalo skins, and I said no.
” ‘l’d rather take $l5O cash,’ said I.
“So he skinned around and raised SPS<L
somehow, and settled, and I left for the
oast. But you see what a chump I was.
If I had had Ijalf a head on me, I might
no owning a railroad now, instead of
climbing around on somebody else'*
greasy old locomotive. Why? Because
I’d have taken these 250 buffalo skins
and held on to ’em. Buffalo skins are
cheap now at $250 apiece. I’v figured It
out and know how much 250 times 250 is.
It’s 62,500, and thats just the number of
dollars I’d have had this minute, not
counting Interest, if I hadn't been a
chump!”
ANNIE AHIIOTT IN CHINA.
What the Wise Men of the East Say
of the Georgia Magnet.
From the Chicago Record.
Miss Annie May Abbott, the Georgia
girl, whose prodigious feats of strength
created such a sensation In this country
a few pears ago, and gave her name of
“The Electric Magnet,” is now in China,
after having made a tour of Japan. In
the latter country the strongest of the
wrestlers were unable to lift her little
body from the floor or even push her
over, while with the tips of her fingers
she neutralized their most vigorous ef
forts to raise other objects, which, under
ordinary circumstances, would have been
the merest trifle. When sftie placed her
hand upon the arm of the champion wres
tler he was unable to lift an ordinary
cane from a table. The Japanese scien
tists, however, repudiated the electrical
theory which Miss Abbott's manager usu
ally suggests to the newspapers, and at
tributed her remarkable feats to hypnotic
powers, claiming that it was the force of
her will instead of the strength of her
muscles that interfered with the action
of those who are engaged in the experi
ments. In China she is creating an even
greater sensation, and the native scholars
accuse her of receiving aid from super
human agencies. Such a feeling has been
excited among the literati that it is feared
it may have an unfortunate effect in
stimulating anti-foreign and anti-mission
ary prejudices. Chou Han, an educated
Chinaman, writes to a Shanghai paper
asking:
“Do not such exhibitions, as viewed by
Chinese, fully corroborate what the na
tives have alleged against missionaries
possessing uncanny powers, and therefore
confirm them in the belief of the ability
of foreign men and women to stupety
children and bring them under their influ
ence for good or evil? The Chinese win
certainly conclude that If foreigners prac
tlce this mystic power to make money
they will do so for the far higher object
of gaining converts and saving souls Na
tives who have witnessed Miss Abbott *
powers will never be persuaded to belief e
that among missionaries there are nor
both men and women who possess tno
same power of rendering others subject
to their will.”
—"ln Italy," ho was telling her, "they
make flour out of chestnuts.”
“Do they?” she answered Bweetlyj
“what a bonanza you would be to them.
—Detroit Free Press.