Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

18 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 THE DIVINE MELBA, jgy tariffs Great Prima Donna Still with Us ZfAjff AND WILL APPEAR IN ITALIAN GRAND OPERA JfE&L A Word from the Peerless Songstress, Who is there in this country or Europe that has not heard of Melba ? Society has raved over her, the musical world is at her feet, and all the civilized world has rung with praise of this lovely and beloved prima donna. Last winter during the season of grand opera, which was very trying on her system, it was that she had recourse to JOHANN HOFF’S fIALT EXTRACT, and so speedy and effectual was the cure that Melba now declares she is never without it. Hear what she has to say about the best nerve tonic and digestive remedy ever dis covered: “ I highly commend the genuine JOHANN HOFF’S fIALT EXTRACT. I use it with my daily diet. It improves my appetite and digestion wonderfully.” Ask for the Genuine JOHANN HOFF’S TIALT EXTRACT. All others are worthless. 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.