Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 14, 1891, Image 1
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srnr. qt YOEKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1891. NO. 36.
1 ..... ... . , J_ IV.
JLJ. V
THE MELVII
EDITED BY AL
Copyrighted by Ameria
CHAPTER XIV.
ALSO CONTRIBUTED BY THE MATRON OF
THE INSANE ASYLUM.
Uc milked briskly up the street to the gate.
The more I thought of the scene I had
witnessed on the lawn, and of the words
I had heard Mrs. Caroline Green address
to Richard Melville, the less I liktd the
idea of my patient walking on the lawn
alone after nightfall.
I didn't like Richard Melville's defiant
attitude.
I couldn't bear to think of the pitiful
changes I had observed in Mrs. Caroline
Green's demeanor.
It was plain to my mind that some
kind of secret understanding existed
between the two, I could not see why a
person in Mr. Richard Melville's position
shonld find itnecessary to have a private
understanding with a patient in an insane
asylum.
The most sensible view to take of the
matter was that Mr. Melville was only
humoring the insane fancy of the woman
_in whom his mother took so great an
interest. This is the view I finally forced
myself to take.
But even taking this view of it, and
knowing what I did of Mrs. Green's hallucination,
it seemed to me to be my
plain duty, in the interest of my patient,
to prevent a second secret meeting.
To my mind the one meeting I had
witnessed shonld not have been permitted,
even in the presence of Mrs. Clark
Melville. I resolved to place the whole
matter before Mrs. Melville at the first
opportunity.
Mind you, it did not occur to me that
there was any wrong motive for the appointment
at the^gate. It does not matter
what my opinion is now. It is sufficient
if I state now that I was then only
apprehensive of the effect on my paKan+'a
WHh f\t mnfinntvl mmtMUlion
ship with Richard Melville.
The result of my deliberation on the
subject was a resolve that if my patient
did meet Richard Melville at the iran
gate in the night time J should not be
very far away. My instructions were to
allow W all the freedom from restraint
possible under the rules of the asylum. I
resolved to follow these instructions to
- the letter, and at the same time to make
sure that the privilege was not abused. .
' Mrs. Green did not ask permission to
.T il !> ?II.. ota ? I * I
third day after the appointment had
been made. I granted the request as
soon as made, and arranged to carry out
my programme of surveillance.
My patient made her appearance on
the lawn at eight o'clock. From my
window I could watch her every movement
without being seen. She walked
about the place in the usual way for
nearly qp hour, stopping now at the
fountain and now at the gate, before her
manner betrayed tbe slightest impatience.
Then her pauses at the gate became
longer a^d more frequent
Then it oecnrred to me that from the
position I occupied it would be impossible
for me to see and identify her visitor.
The thought came to me that the
appointment might not have been made
for the man who made it I had thought
of nothing all day but the proposed
meeting, and I was not willing that it
should take place without my knowing
more of it than I could learn from the
window of my room. People who read
this may set this down as a bit of feminine
curiosity. Call it matronly prudence,
and you will have it right
As I left my room, dressed for the
street, an attendant stopped me with
UU8 Statement ami taia qut?uuu.
'"Mr. Richard Melville came to the
Btreet door in. person a short time ago
and asked to have Mrs. Green notified
that his engagement for the evening
must be postponed. Shall I notify Mrs.
Green?"
The statement surprised me. The question
set me to thinking. I ordered the
attendant to notify Mrs. Green, and returned
instantly to my room, I soon
saw the attendant speak to the woman
waiting on the lawn and re-enter the
house. Mrs. Green did not return to
her room. She stood by the fountain
fully five minutes, as if in thought, and
then went to the street gate and regained
there. In two minutes' time I
stood at the corner of the building peering
down the side street toward the lawn.
The street is a quiet one at all times.
That night there appeared to be less life
upon it than usual. A few people were
passing up and down, but 1 saw uo one
Aithar lit th? imtfi or loiterim? in its vi
cinity.
I was not satisfied 1 had heard the
hour of nine named. I decided to keep
the place in sight nntil that time. I did
not believe in the good faith of tho message
left for Mrs. Green. Now you know
why I waited.
To remain where I was was to attract
attention if any visitor came from the
soath. I crossed the street and strolled
along the pavement opposite the asylum.
No one stood at the gate as I passed it.
Nothing suspicions was observable.
At the next corner, as I turned west
to cross the street to the asylum side, I
was nearly run down by a pair of spirited
horses, attached to a close carriage
which was being driven south at a most
reckless speed.
The wheels of the carriage brushed
my skirts as it swept by, and I stopped
for a moment to watch its progress down
the 6treet. As I did so it reached a point
nearly opposite the lawn gate, and the
horses were polled down to a slow walk,
which was maintained through the rest
or tne diock.
At the corner the vehicle caiuc to a
halt and a man sprang ont. 1 noticed
that he was too heavily wrapped for the
temperature of the night. If I had remained
&t my first poiut of observation
I should have met him face to face as he
reached the pavement. He walked
briskly up the street to the gate, shook
it with what seemed to me to be a very
muscular hand and passed on.
Then I made a miserable mistake. Instead
of retracing my steps and watching
him unseen, I walked faster so that
I might meet him. My excuse is that 1
desired to be sure as to the identity of
the man. If it turned out to be Mr.
Richard Melville his mission there
would be beyond a doubt, although I
did not like the idea of his being there
in spite of the message he had left If
it turned out to be an unknown man his
strange conduct would serve to put me
on my guard. Private asylums sometimes
have strange experiences. I have
" bad patients in my charge before now
in whose liberty meddlesome people
evinced a most troublesome interest.
But that is neither here nor there.
When I passed the man I could not be
certain whether or not it was Richard
Melville. But of one thing I am positive.
My patient was nowhere in sight
Ie murder.
.FRED B. TOZER.
an Press Association, 1891. .
as I passed the lawn gate. This circumstance
quieted my fears to some extent.
Whoever the stranger was, he became
suspicious on account of my being there. |
Perhaps he saw that I was watching [
him. Perhaps he recognized me as belonging
to the asylum. I did not see a
signal given, but one certainly was given,
for just then the person in charge of the
carriage struck the horses sharply with
the whip. In a moment the equipage i
was out of sight
I reached my room in no pleasant j
frame of mind, you may be sure. If the
T1"J " ?<> Pintiawl Wolvillft T
XXUIU JL UOU OC^U nw ?.v. . .
had nothing to fear bnt my patient'8
peace of mind. If it was not Richard
Melville, I reasoned, I had some unknown
conspiracy to contend with. I
believed, however, that on account of
Jftfeffodeat detection, of the..scheme-ta..
Mwnon some one to the gate* by the
signal given no further mischief would
be attempted that night.
Shortly after reaching my room an attendant
came to make her final report
for the night. At the door she turned
back, and I saw by her manner that she
had something on her mind. I told her
to speak, and she came to the point at;
once.
"I have just como from the lawn gate,"
she began. "I don't Eke the way people
have been hanging about there today.
Once I suspected a trampish looking fellow
of tampering with the lock and
ordered him away. I have had my eye
on the place all the evening, but nothing
unusual has occurred. Mrs. Green was
on the lawn until a short time ago, but
she went to her room at once when I
mentioned the matter to her. The gate
and the door are secured as usual, and 1
think we are safe for the night, but it
may be as well to be on our guard."
The information given by the attendant
increased my alarm, but I dismissed
her without mentioning what I hsd
Been and went to bed.
Late in the night I was summoned to
the reception room. There 1 met a ze- |
porter for one of the morning newspa- ;
pers. The information he gave me was ;
startling in the extreme. Mrs. Caroline
Green had escaped from the asylum, and
was then in the custody of the police at
a down town station house.
CHAPTER XV.
EXTRACT FROM A MORNING NEWSPAPER.
The officer received a savage blow on. the
head from the handle of the revolver.
7 -M-jqhVffijr - ~xTi-~'T-~Ty bfiozug- ooiacxii. uu
Easfc Twenty-third street at an early
hour this morning resulted in the unearthing
of a most mysterious afZair.
Because of some small repairs not quite
completed, the south side of the street
was at the time closed at a point a short
! distance from the ferry. When those
employed on the repairs left work for
the night the usual barricade was
erected on both sides of the dangerous
spot, and the foreman in charge gave orders
for the regulation warning signals
to be displayed. Through the carelessness
of some of the workmen this order
was not obeyed.
The street at thig.pQintiswell lighted,
and in the common'course of events
nothing would have come of the omission.
What happened was entirely out
of the common course of events.
During the evening hundreds of vehicles
passed the unguarded danger hole
insaifety, but these were driven with
ordinary cantion. At one o'clock this
morning a pair of spirited horses, driven
with anything but ordinary caution,
dashed full against the west barricade
and were thrown headlong to the pavement
All reports agree that the horses
were being driven at an immoderate
speed at the time of the accident.
Patrolman Maurice P. Gill, whose attention
had previously been attracted to
the vehicle by the unusual spred at
which it was being driven, was first to
arrive on the scene. He found the carriage
overturned and the horses, still
-? niwMMnliM/s nnrl lrlnlri I
UU lUt) jjrvuuu, BUU^gnug auu Kik>uiuf,
viciously. Two men, both tinknown to
the officer, were doing their best to right
the carriage. The officer's first CJire was
to call the attention of the men to the
horses.
"If the horses regain their feet while
the carriage is in this shape," he said,
"and there is no one at their heads they
will make a pretty mess of it."
With these words he turned to the j
vehicle. By this time several people had
gathered abont the place, at least four
of them being officers. They quieted
the horses and assisted them to their j
feet Then they tugged at the overturned |
carriage until it was firm on its four j
wheels again, and the mischief caused |
! by the carelessness of the driver had to j
j all appearances been corrected. A casual j
examination of the horses, the carriage j
1 and the liarness showed that no damage !
whatever had been occasioned by the ac- ;
cident.
In an instant the man in charge of the
rig was in his seat in front, and the man
who seemed to have been the passenger
stood with his hand on the carriage door
ready to resume his ride. In another
moment the carriage would have been
on its way to the ferry.
I Promoted bv some unaccountable im- !
pulse which he does not attempt to ex- j
plain, the'officer checked the man by
placing a hand on his arm.
"Before yoii drive away," he said, :
"look to your companion; he may have
been injured."
"You aro mistaken," was the curt re- ;
ply. "I have no companion. Drive on,
coachman."
The officer was not satisfied. He 6ignaled
to an officer to look to the horses' ,
heads, and still stood with his hand on
the man's arm.
"I forbid your driving away until I
have seen the interior of the carriage," ;
he said. "Please stand aside."
The obstinate man at the carriage door
hesitated. He opened his lips as though
about to remonstrate or make a denial.
Then something occurred that made
such a proceeding unnecessary.
A frightened sob came from behind
the closed doors of the carnage, and the
voice was unmistakably that of a
woman.
The muscular figure of the man still
barred the entrance to the carriage by
way of the door where he stood, but the
opposite door was unguarded.
In response to a motion from the
officer a patrolman opened this door and
stepped inside. The next moment he
reappeared in the street bearing in his
I arms the fonn of a fainting woman.
Reports differ as to exactly what
occurred next. According to the officer's
statement, he merely notified the man
that explanations were in order, and j
that they must be made beforo the
captain at the station house, thus
practically taking him into custody.
According to statements made by others,
the officer seized the man in a rude and
violent manner, at the same time informing
him that he was under arrest.
laBnBOBHBBamnaMgBBa
Whichever iiccount is the true one !
seems to be immaterial, except as affecting
the conduct of the officer, for what
followed was not warranted by either of
the alleged occurrences. According to
all present, the man at the carriage door
drew a revolver and fired two shots at i
the officer in rapid succession.
Fortunately both of the shots missed j
their mark, but before anything could
be done to ward off the attack the officer
received a savage blow on the head from
the handle of the revolver. As he fell
stunned to the pavement the man who
had dealt the blow entered the carriage, i
and'the horses, smarting under stinging
blows from the whip, dashed the patrol- ;
man aside and sprang away in the direc- !
tion of tho ferry. As yet no clew to the
identity of the equipage or the persons
connected with it has been obtained by
the police. ' j
The woman taken from the carriage
was at once conveyed to the nearest station
housek. Only for the statement of
her companion that the carriage had no
occupant other than himself at the time
of the accident, and but for the brutal
attempt on the officer's lite, toe woman
would have been allowed to have followed
her" own TnclmaGorfe about ac: j
companying the officers. As it was she
was practically in custody when she left
the carriage.
At the station house she talked freely
about only a portion of the occurrences
of the night. She gave the name of
Caroline Green, and stated that she had
been abducted from a private asylum,
where she was receiving treatment for
disease of the brain. She refused to reveal
the names of the persons concerned J
in tho outrage. She even declined to ,
state in what manner she had been decoyed
from the asylum.
In a private interview with a reporter,
however, Captain John B. Johnson, in !
charge of the station house at the tjme,
made some statements which may throw :
some light on the mystery.
"Mrs. Caroline Green," he said, "is i
the persou believed by the police to be
guilty of tho murder of Mrs. Clark Melville's
coachman. Mrs. Melville's protection
alone accounts for her absence j
from the Tombs tonight. You must
take what she says with a great deal of !
allowance. My own opinion is that she
was not abducted at all. I believe that
at the time of the accident she was fleeing
from tho asylum to escape the watchful
tys of the department. Now that ;
she is hero I shall see that she remains
in custody until tho matter is fully in- .
vestigated."
Mrs. Clark Melville was seen at her !
home at an early hour this morning, j
She seemed greatly distressed at what i
had taken place, but refused to talk. The j
reporter left her walking up and down
her splendid reception room in an agony
of grief.
"Are you certain the officers are not j
being deceived?" she asked, as the re- j
porter Mirned away. "It can't bo true! ;
I am sure it can't be true! Go to the
asylum and see if Mrs. Green is not
there, safe and well. I won't believe it
until I know that she is not there!"
At the asylum the reporter w;is the
first one to convey the news of the abduction.
The matron appeared in the
parlor when summoned to meet the re- j
porter in a condition bordering on i
frenzy. Accompanied by the reporter I
she visited the rooms assigned to Mrs.
Green, and found that the bed had not
been occupied during the night.
According to the theory of the matron
Mrs. Green in some way secured a key
to a door opening upon a small lawn located
between her rooms and the street
wall, and passed ont of the building in
that way. The street gate was found
unlocked.
The matron tried to appear frank in
tier statements, due it was eviueut w mo
reporter that she was trying to conceal
something. She stated, however, that
previous to retiring for the night she
was informed by an attendant that suspicious
persons had been hanging about
the street gate all day. She gave no excuse
for not investigating the report at
once, and seemed to treat the matter
very lightly. The attendant, when closely
questioned, declared that it would be
impossible for her to identify any of the
persons she had seen about the gate during
the day.
CHAPTER XVI.
CONTRIBUTED BY THE CAPTAIN OP POLICE. I
_ I
" When I open my lips your peace of mind
will be at an ctuI."
I have been requested by#Mr. Charles I
Gates to write down whatever I can
recollect of the interviews that took
place in my office on the morning after I
Mrs. Caroline Green wiis taken into cus- ,
tody on Twenty-third street by Officer
Gill.
Mrs. Gree^i was pitting, silent and in
tears, in my private office when Officer
Gates entered.
"Well," he said, advancing to her side, I
"yon have at last succeeded in doing !
what the police power of the state failed i
to do. You have placed yourself be- j
yond the pale of Mrs. Clark Melville's I
protection."
"Oh, sir," she said, standing before
him wringing her hands, "I ask nothing
but to be allowed five minutes' conversation
with Mrs. Melville. Has any one j
here seen her since last night? What '
does she say of me? Will no one go for j
her?"
Mr. Gates beckoned me into the outer j
office and asked:
"Have you any objections to her seeing
Mrs. Melville?"
I hesitated. I had my own ideas con- ;
cerning the two murders that had taken
place on Mrs. Clark Melville's premises. !
I did not approve of the course Mrs.
Clark Melville had taken with regard to
Mrs. Green.
"Hold on," said Officer Gates, inter- !
rupting a train of thought that would j
certainly have led to a refusal; "I believe
I know what you are thinking of. ]
You think that an interview between ;
Mrs. Green and Mrs. Clark Melville is
more than likely to result in the con- '
tinued interference of Mrs. Clark Mel- i
ville in behalf of the prisoner. Let me '
toll vnii how to nlaee Yourself in a nosi
tion to counteract uich interference.
You shall hear every word that passes i
between the two ladies. Then, if Mrs. I
Melville has any motive whatever other i
than her natural kindness of heart in j
again throwing her powerful influence 1
between the prisoner and the law, you 1
shall know what it is."
With this understanding I consented |
that the prisoner should see Mrs. Mel- ;
ville if she called.
Mr. Gates must have gone directly to !
Mrs. Melville's house, for in half an hour
her carriage was standing in front of the j
station, and she wjis facing Mrs. Green
in the private office.
It is not necessary that I should describe
the spot from which I heard the
conversation that followed. It is enough i
to say that I could not havo heard it j
plainer had I occupied a seat in the room, i
All police stations have, I believe, secret
and convenient rooms for the use of offi- j
cers in cases of emergency.
Mrs. Melville's first words were words
of sympathy.
"I am sorry to see you here," she said. |
Mrs. Green's only answer w;is a burst j
of tears. |
"Tell me," said Mrs. Melville kindly, J
"why you left the asylum. Did you j
i leave it voluntarily, my poor child?"
"Yes."
"At midnight, and with a person who
a few moments later and in yourveryj j
presence made an attempt to kill an of- !
ficer of the peace?"
"Yes, oh, yesl Have pity on mel
Have pity on yourself!"
"I don't like the looks of it," went on' i
the kind voice. "The public officers'
have time and again objected to my in-'
terference in your behalf. How do I ,
know that the public officers are not re- i
sponsible for your leaving the asylum
and for your being in custody now?
How do I know that the attempt on the 1
officer's lifo was not a subterfuge?"
"Kindest of women and best of friends,
if you only knew!"
"My poor child, what is to prevent my i
knowing? In all the years you lived in. :
my house you never deceived me. Are
you going to begin now?"
"I can't speak the words. When I >
open my lips your peace of mind will be
at an end. Strike me dead before I make
your life as unhappy as my own!"
"I don't understand yon. my poor
child. Speak out!"
For a moment there was silence in the
room; then I heard the prisoner's voice,
speaking slowly and between sobs:
"Try, oh, try to understand! Recall
to mind the anxiety yon felt and tried in
vain to hide the day Richard and I loi- j
tered on the little lawn at the asylnm.
Go back to the talk of the servants in J
your house. Think how unlike your son
Richard has been for days and days, and
then have pity and do not ask me who j
accompanied me from the asylum last ,
night! Have pity and do not ask me
in whose house and under what circum- '
stances I found the man who wed me j
years ago in Maine."
A sharp ring of tht? l>ell on my office
table was tho only reply. Officer Gates
and I entered the room by different doors
at the same instant.
"Gentlemen," Mrs. Melville said
kindly, but with a hard look on her >
motherly face, "the insane fancy of this 1
poor creature has wrecked, for the time
being, the happiest home in New York. ;
You, Mr. Gates, heard me say at tho
coroner's office that I was aiding her iu
every way in my power in her search
for her faithless husband. She now I
claims to have found that husband iu i
my son. She admits that it was ho who
accompanied her from the asylum last
night You may well imagine to what |
pitch of desperation she drove him be- j
fore he consented to such a step. It is
*V1 - ?l.A nw.miaa/1 tn llinlocf him !
possiuiu tuaiouo pwiuwwu w
no more if she gained her liberty through j
his efforts. God knows that would be I
motive enough for such an adventure to !
a man like Richard Melville. You may j
well imagine, too, what use she would j
have made of the liberty which I regret :
she did not gain, for with her flight the j
mystery of the murders in ray house j
would*have been solved."
"Have pityl Have pity!"
"I do pity you, poor creature, and .
from the bottom of my heart. Don't !
think that because I find it necessary
for these gentlemen to know the truth
that I encourage them to consider you j
other than an insane person?insane on j
the subject of my sou. But while 1 feel j
for and pity you, my mother's heart as-,
serts itself. Since the day your brother
was found dead, murdered, in his room,
my son 1< l>een a changed man."
"Your sou"
"Listen!" said Mrs. Melville imperiously.
"Where my son had kind words
before, he has awrrv ones now. Whore
he was all gentleness before, ho is fill
passion now. He addresses no ono courteously
but me. I know what he fears.
He fears that when you are put on trial
for the murder committed in my house
all New York will know of your insane
claims on him. He fears that he will become
the laughing stock of the club and
1? vr? Aaaj
Ul IXJO P<II1UI. I1U VVUUUC1 UD ntw uwjperate
enough to attempt getting you out
of the city and out of the reach of the
law."
"Take me away, officers!" cried the
prisoner, rocking to and fro in the chair,
with her face covered by her hands.
"Take me away! I can't sit here and
listen to her and not speak."
"Yes, take her away," added Mrs.
Mehnlle; "I leave her in the hands of
the law. I find it impossible for me to
do more for her under the circumstances."
"May I see Mrs. Melville in private
before she goes?" asked the unfortunate
woman.
I hesitated, but Mrs. Melville answered
for me.
"I do not desire a private interview,"
she said. "I have no time to waste. I j
ask your assistance, gentlemen, in recov- j
ering my son. His last act in my house '
was the act of a madman. In coarse and j
brutal language he drove his betrothed ;
wife?a yo.ung and beautiful girl?from j
his presence, declaring that the marriage |
should never take place. His next act I
seems to have been the abduction of this
insane person from the asylum. I desire j
your assistance in finding him. With, !
the dread of the unjust notoriety this j
woman's tongue may give him, now that
sne is unuer arresi, goaumg mm uu, j
there is no knowing what he may do." !
And so, with her mother's love and
family pride outweighing all other considerations,
Mrs. Clark Melville passed
out of the office, leaving Mrs. Green to
her fate.
CHAPTER XVIL
CONTRIBUTED BV THE CLERK OF rOUCE
COURT.
Ttco officer8 came in dragging Richard
Melville.
In tho year eighteen hundred and sev- !
enty I was clerk of one of the police !
courts in the Eastern District of the city i
of Brooklyn. I have no difficulty in ,
calling to mind the incidents which I
am now asked to record. Only two or
three arrests had been made the night :
before, and no adjourned cases were on ;
call for the morning session, so the case !
to which iny attention is now called was J
eiven a little more time than the ordi- |
nary run of assault and battery prosecu- !
tions.
Tho complaint was made by an em- i
ploye of an ice company, and his story |
showed that a most unprovoked assault :
had been committed upon him by the j
prisoner. While crossing the walk with j
a piece of ice, just taken from his wagon, I
he was unfortunate enough to jostle j
against the accused. The next moment i
he found himself lying in the gutter, with !
the prisoner striking him in the face with
the heel of a heavy walking shoe. Only j
for tho interference of tho officer who I
made tho arrest ho would have been
mangled beyond recognition, if not j
beaten to death. In proof of his state- j
ment of the brutality of the assault he
exhibited in conrt a pair of discolored
eyes and a broken nose.
When arraigned tho prisoner did not
deny making the assault. Ho sought
rather to palliate the offense by stating
that tho iceman jostled against him purposely,
and that he used insulting and
abusive language when remonstrated
with. All this the complainant denied.
The prisoner was a handsome, muscu
lar gentleman, neatly but expensively
dressed, and gave one the impression
that he was not a stranger to refined society.
His face, however, was pale and
haggard; lis manner impetuous and
domineerin j.
"I plead iguilty to the charge," ho said,
addressing the justice, 'fond I beg the
pardon of the complainant for my
hasty action. I will willingly reimburse
Mm for any loss he may have sustained
by reason of it."
He ended by handing the iceman a
fifty dollar bill. I remember that part
of tho case particularly, because it has
been my e::perience that people who appeal
to police courts for justice usually
lose more by the servants of justice than
by those o! whom they complain.
The justice was about to discharge the
prisoner with a light fine when the
turnkey stepped forward and claimed
his attention.
"Your honor," he said, "this defendant
is masquerading under a fictitious
name. He gave the name of George
Williams when arrested, yet the papers
in his possession when searched bore the
name of
"Maurice Green, may it please the
court," said the "bailiff. "I knew this
man when his clothing was coaiser and
his hands harder, and when his fifty dollar
bills were not as plenty as ;hey appear
to be now."
The justice cast an amused look in the
direction of his favorite court officer, and
turned again to the turnkey, whose face
now wore an expression of astonishment.
"You were saying"? began the justice.
"I was about to say, your honor, that
the papers in the prisoner's possession
bore the name of Richard Melville."
"Well," said the justice to the prisoner,
who had remained standing, with
his arm on the railing of my desk, "have
you any other names to suggest?"
"The papers in my possession were
right," said the defendant "I am Richard
Melville, son of Mrs. Clark Melville.
Maurice Green was my double in the
army. He was instantly killed by the
explosion which wounded me and left
me subject to such fits of passion as I am
now here to answer for. I have been mistaken
for Maurice Green before, when
the consequences were more stir ions."
"I remember the circumstances of
>t ?:ji
your return iroin ine army, mr, m?iu
the justice kindly, "and as you have
done all in your power to make restitution
you are discharged."
I thought at the time that the justice
ought to have required him to pay the
costs. I don't like the way people slip
through criminal courts and leave others
to pay their bills.
When the prisoner left the room the
bailiff who had recognized him as
Maurice Green followed him, Before 1
had had time to make my commitments
and enter up my records he was back
again. He was very much excited.
"Do you believe all that yarn about
that being Richard Melville?" he asked.
I looked up in surprise.
"Well," he continued, "whatever you
may think of it, I don't believe it"
"Why, his papers"
"Might have been stolen. According
to all accounts Maurice Green invented
the story about his being killed and deserted
his wife. At least that's what is
said in Maine. If he was mean enough
to do that he is meau enough to steal
Richard Melville's papers. The justice
should have remanded him until inquiries
could have been made."
The clerk of a police court has something
else to do besides retrying the justice's
cases, so I went on with my work
and the bailiff sat in his chair and
grumbled with all his might.
In a moment there was a commotion
in the hall, and two officers came in
dragging Richard Melville, cut and
bleeding, between them. They were on
their way to the cells underneath the
court room.
Until I saw Richard Melville there, in
the custody of the officeis and on the
way to a cell, I never knew what the expression
"insane fury" meant. His eyes
glared like those of a wild beast, and
seemed starting from their sockets; his
face was deadly pale and terribly contorted.
He struggled with the strength
of an athlete against his captors; had he
been but for one moment free, I think he
would have conquered them both and
made his escape.
After a prolonged struggle the officers
half forced and half carried him down
the rear stairway to the cell room. Sucli.
scenes were not uncommon in the court
room, and I went on with my writing,
But I could not help hearing bystanders
talk as I worked.
"He ought to get a year for that," said
one.
"It was a brutal thing to do."
"What was it?"
"Why, this gentleman prisoner the
justice just let off scot free killed the
ofdce dog before he got out of the building."
"And the wav he did it!" broke in an
other voice.
"Bow?"
"Why, the poor creature was going
down the iron stairs just ahead of him.
Without a word of warning he clutched
the hand rail to prevent falling and
sprang upon the poor pet with both his
great feet, crushing its life out over the
elge of the iron stairs. He wasn't satisfied
with that. He stood there and
ground his heavy heels into the dead
tody until I believe there wasn't a
whole bone left in it. Then he became
stark, raving mad, and stifick out right
and left until the officers came. The
cut on his bead came from a fall on the
stairs. The captain says it is over an
old wound and may prove serious."
"Wonder what they'll do with him?"
"Send him to an asylum."
"Oh, he's crazy all right enough-"
I was getting weary of the talk and
went into my private office. The bailiff
followed me in.
"Say," he said, almost in a whisper,
"that was Maurice Green."
"Pshaw!"
"Well, I have seen Maurice Green
have spells like that. He was the most
brutal man I ever knew?the quickest
to shed blood and the quickest to go into
a frenzy at the sight of it. People who
knew the family in Maine declare that
there were murderers among his ancestors.
Bad blood will out, eh?"
I was beginning to take more than a
passing interest in the case. At the ten
o'clock session of court I asked the cap"
" " - * * fit. "r?; ,1
tain wnat naa Deen uono wim iwuuuiu
Melville.
"Oh," was the reply, "his friends took
him away. I guess he has been drinking
too much lately."
CHAPTER XVIH.
CONTMDt^reD BY^THB^^MiLY PHYSICIAN.
"I will ttpcak louder. Write It down."
I remember being called to a police
1 tat ion in the Eiistern District of Brooklyn
to take charge of Richard Melville.
I found him suffering, first, from a
31>ecies of nervous fever, which had
pushed him almost to tho verge of insanity,
and second., from a severe wound
on the head. As it was quite probable
that he would bo worse before he was
better I caused him to bo removed to a
neighboring hotel and employed competent
nurses.
I I
When I came to examine the wound
! closely I found that it occupied almost
exactly the position of the wound I had
treated for him in the Virginia farmhouse.
The skull was fractured at the
exact spot where it had been fractured
by the explosion in the hospital. The
case was a serious one, and I saw that a
very delicate operation was absolutely
necessary.
Then the scenes and incidents in the
! Virginia farmhouse came back to my
mind. I remembered that for weeks
after the fever had abated my patient I
had struggled with a sluggish brain;
that all his life up to the minute of the
accident was a blank to him, and only
came back by piecemeal and after the
most persistent tutorage on the part of
his mother and myself.
In. view of this fact I had not regarded
the treatment of the case exactly as a
success, although I did not blame myself
at all, having taken hold of it after the
original operation. It is needless to say
that I did not desire to undertake the
case alone. In. an hour's time I was in
crmRnltation with one of the best sur
geons in the state.
"I am not certain," I explained to
j him, "that the previous wound -was
i properly cared for. You, who were consulted
immediately upon his return to
New York, know what shape his mind
was in for years. Now I want to put a
question to you:
"If the brain was left in bad shape by
the operation in Virginia, is it possible
to remedy that by the operation which
must now take place?"
"No one can tell," was the reply.
"The secret lies behind those pieces of
shattered bone. If we do our work
i well it is possible that we may send
j him out into the world a brighter man
: than he has been since the accident in
i the hospital."
"And with the memories of his early
Hj!o fully restored?"
The surgeon shook his head.
"I can'1; tell," he replied, "as I said be|
fore the secret lies behind those pieces of
broken hone. No one can tell at this
! time whether the brain was left in a con'
dition of pressure or irritation or not"
I had my own ideas about there having
been a pressure on the patient's brain
i ever since th?t night in the hospital, but
I kept them to myself. In regard to irritation
of the brain I was not so positive.
I _ As soon as the patient had been reduced
to a condition of insensibility we
proceeded wi'.h the operation, completing
it as rapidly as possible and without
comment.
"I can answer one of your questions
I now," the surgeon said, putting away
j his instruments.
"Well?"
"You asked if a mistake made at the
first operation could be corrected now.
: I say yes."
"Then you mean that"
../ x- i 1 J.. 1?rpV,Q
"Une una aireivuj* utxuwucv^u,
j loon has not been himself all these years
because of a lack of skill on the part of
the hospital surgeon. Let me explain."
I am told that it is not necessary for
me to give here the technical explana!
tion of the case 1 received from the sur!
geon, so I proceed to record what folj
lowed
4'In my opinion," continued the sur1
geon, "the man will now rapidly and
naturally outgrow the effects of the hosi
pital surgeon's botchwork. I await the
I moment of his regaining consciousness
| with a great deal of anxiety."
! Before this took place Mrs. Clark Melj
villo and Mr. Charles Gates entered the
I room, and for the second time Mrs.
I Clark Melville and myself waited in silence
for the first intelligible words from
the sufferer's lips.
They wero a long time coming.
When, they did coine Mrs. Melville
was standing by the window looking out
into the street, her kind old face looking
more careworn than I had ever seen it
before. At the time I was sitting close
beside the sufferer, and I alone heard
the firsi; words that came from his lips.
They were repeated faintly several
! times, and then the patient seemed to
J drop into a state of unconsciousness
closely bordering on sleep.
I remember now that I sat for a ino|
ment like one in a trance. The words I
i had he ml seemed to deprive me of all
e 1. A." Tl.? ??of
power ot speecu or ujuhuu. a wo mo.
| though t that did come to my mind was
; of Mrs. Clark Melville.
She must be removed from the room
before another word escaped the patient's
lips. But how?
At ,ast I used the only means in my
f power I used my authority as her fauiily
physician.
"Mis. Melville," I said, "it may .be
' hours before your son regains conscious1
ness. I hope so, at all events, for every
: hour now gives increased strength. In
the meantime you must return home
i and rest?sleep, if you can, but at least
i rest."
"But I can neither sleep nor rest with
Ricln.rd lying here," she said, the tears
starting into her eyes.
"You cannot help him; you can only
I injurs yourself. I even doubt the wisdom
of allowing him to see you when he
{rst eegaius consciousness."
"You are sending me away for a purpose,"
said the old lady sadly. "Tell me
what, it is."
"I am sending you away in the interest
of your son's health and your own.
You may, if you desire, allow Mr. Gates
to remain here, so that you may at once
be notified of any change."
"W ith this trifling consolation the noble
old l-ady took her departure. The door
had hardly closed upon her retreating
I figu re when the sufferer found his tongue
; again.
I congratulated the surgeon upon the
i succ<;s3 of his operation as I bade him
adieu at the door, dismissed the attend!
ant j, gave Officer Gates some whispered
insl ructions, and sat down by the suf:
ferer alone to await developments.
I In half ail hour Detective u-ates enj
tercd in company with a heavily veiled
j lady and an officer in uniform.
The veiled lady was Caroline Green.
I Th} officer in uniform was a man sent to
j escort her to and from the station house.
I placed her where she could hear the
first words that came from his lips withj
out being seen, and again sat down to
wait.
j The patient came out of a light sleep
and opened his eyes. His first words
were:
"I am glad you got me away from the
I hospital We were cold and hungry
there."
When ho spoke Mrs. Green's eyes filled
with tears. She had heard that exact
tone many years before,
j "I asked you to write me a letter when
j I awoke before. Did you do it?"
| I shook my head.
"I couldn't catch the address. Your
i voice is so weak."
"I will speak louder. Write it down:
'Mrs.Caroline Green,Clifton, Maine.' She
is iny wife. We were married the day be'
fore I joined my regiment. Tell her I
am hurt, and will write as aoon as I am
able."
Mrs. Green fell sobbing on her knees,
and was about to speak, when I raised
a warning finger and pointed significantly
to the mirror.
CHAPTER XIX
CONTRIBUTED BY CAROLINE GREEN.
When the family physician warned me
to be silent, and directed my attention
to the mirror, there was no need for explanation.
What ho meant to say was
that Maurice would not then recognize
me as tho young wife he had left iu
Maine.
"For all I know," ho said to me a few
moments later, when Maurice had again
lost himself in a light sleep, "his life
may bo a blank from the time of the explosion
in tho hospital up to tho present
moment. Yon saw yourself that
his first recollection was connected with
tho hospital? that ho remembered the
cold and tho short rations there before
i he recalled the events of yesterday and
: today, as important as they were. My
1 opinion now is that ho is not responsible
for the acta of yesterday and today; that <
he cannot be held accountable for any i
act of hia own for the past seven years." ]
1 fell upon my knees before the physi- ]
cian and asked and begged of him, j
again and again, to repeat what he had j
said. ]
"Why," he said with a kind smile, <
"you can rest assured that your bus- 1
band will not cast you off now. You
saw that his first thoughts were of you. i
I sincerely believe that your husband ]
believed himself to bo Ricbfcrd Melville, <
~ 4 (
! "Now go back to your room at the station
house.1'
and Caroline Green to be an impostor,
i There, you must go away now. The
1 sight of your gray hair and careworn
face would do him no good. He must
! come gradually to know the length of
; time that has elapsed since he was taken
j from the hospital. He must get a good
| many things into his head before he sees
i his wife. Now go back to your room at
I the station house and sleep some of the
care lines out of your face; you may
come here again tomorrow. You will
meet Mrs. Clark Melville then. Poor
old lady I So it was Richard Melville
| who was buried in Virginia after all! I
j am afraid this will break her heart!"
"Is it necessary that she should know?"
; I asked.
The physician shook his head,
i "Your husband will talk of nothing,
| think of nothing but Maine and his
! young wife," he said, "and will be a
! stranger in New York. Yes, she must
! be told."
Officer Gates came to where we were
standing and laid his hand on the physician's
shoulder.
"I have arranged for that," he said,
"only I must have a little time; and Mrs.
Green will oblige me by writing down
j what has taken place here today, and
; anything else that she may think of in
| terest."
I knew what he meant before he had
ceased speaking, and the thought filled
: me with a sudden fear.
He must have noticed my agitation,
for he said kindly:
"Your narrative will not be entirely
new to me, Mrs. Green. I know pretty
well what it will contain; and 1 may add
now that you will help yourself and
your friends in every way by telling the
exact truth. I will call in the morning
for the manuscript."
At the station house I met Mrs. Clark
Melville.
"You have seen my son," she said.
"Tell me about him. Is he in his right
mind? Will he live?"
I replied that he was sleeping when I
left, and that the physician believed his
recovery to be only a question of time.
"What mystery is there between you?"
she demanded. "Why do they exclude
the mothor from the room, and admit"
She stopped short and rested her face
on her hand a moment.
"There," she said, "I was wrong in
losing my temper. I am satisfied tliat it
is all for the best. I came here to become
security for your appearance when
wanted. I am told, however, that bail
cannot be taken until a formal complaint
is made, and not even then if a charge
of murder is preferred. You may rest
assured that everything possible will bo
done for you. Have you said to any one
; else what you said to me in the captain's
! office yesterday?"
j I had not, and I told her so. How I
i longed to throw myseti at ner ieei anu
tell her everything! I should have done
so only for Officer Gates' warning.
And now, how shall I write down what
i must be written?
I am positive that Mr. Charles Gates
: knew nearly every point of my story before
he asked me to write it down. If I
! thought otherwise I should not write it.
But then, there is some comfort in
j what the physician said. I wonder if
I his opinion would have weight in a court
! of law?
Well, I did not see the blow struck,
i but I know who murdered my poor
! brother.
Maurice Green killed him at a time
| when he was not responsible for his actions.
At least that's what Mrs. Clark
' Melville's family physician says. He
ought to know. In order to prove my
I statement that he was not responsible
for his acts it is only necessary for me
I to refer to one circumstance of the case.
He believed himself to be another per!
son. At the time of the killing he was
| protecting what he believed to be the
i rights of that other person. That other
person was Richard Melville, who was
j killed by the explosion which sent Maurice
Green back into the world with a
j new name and a deformed mind. So
i affected was his mind by the wound and
i the unskillful manner in which it was
cared for that he did not even know me!
Another thing, and this will show
more than anything else how weak his
mind wiis. He was stricken down with
| a pretty picture of a happy and luxurious
New York home before his eyes; with
; tales of a petted and fondled existence
i from the cradle to the army lingering in
and exciting his mind; with the names of
Richard Melville's friends and associates
fresh in his mind. His brain was full of
these things when the explosion came.
To if nnv nmnflor then t.hftt when?
? A V uu; "1 ... .,
time and time again?Mrs. Clark Melville
and her family physician brought
back these incidents and these names to
awaken what they believed to be a sluggish
memory?is it any wonder, I say,
that under such circumstances he should
have mistaken the things which were
last in his mind for actual occurrences?
Why, they told him in so many words
that these things were a part of his
I former life, and that he would be
laughed out of his set if he went back to
New York with an intellect too stupid
to recollect old scenes and old friends.
With all of liis own early life blotted
out by a diseased brain, is it any wonder
that he believed all they said, and
, laid hold of the fragments of the life j
that had belonged to Richard Melville?
I would like to know just how many of !
the recollections of that early life were |
learned, word by word, from the lips of j
Mrs. Melville?
I was a servant in the Melville house '
before ho had been back from the army
three months, and I knew how lie acted j
then. He wandered from room to room
handling and examining the many j
dainty things with which the honse is j
crowded with the air of a man who had
never seen the like before. Maurice <
Green came from the backwoods and
ate with his knife. The new Richard j
Melville ute with his knife! I remember '
how shocked Mrs. Melville was at first,
but she laid it to tho army.
I remember how, for days and days,
Mrs. Melville sat with him in a position ;
to see callers before they entered the
housa That is why ho was able to call
them by name when thev took him by
the hand. Was Mrs. Melville honest in
all this? I am certain that she was. You \
see he remembered tho things Richard '
Melville was telling when the explosion '
i came. That w;is enough for a fond
j mother to start on, wasn't it? And then
she did not know what was taking place
! when her son was killed.
One thing puzzled her. The old Richard
Melville's temper was completely under
i control. The new Richard Melville fro- j
juently indulged in bursts of passion
which were sometimes more than brutal. J
[ admit that Mivnrice Green had that 1
and of a temper, but he never allowed 1
it to affect me. It was in one of these 1
attacks of insanity that my brother was *
lolled, I know, because I was in the '
carriage house and heard the words and 1
the blow. '
It is said that there were murderers in <
the earlier generations of my husband's
family, and that bad blood will tell. I 1
ion't believe it. The act my husband '
committed would have been committed
by the most gentle of persons under the '
same circumstances. The army surgeon 1
ought to be held responsible for them.
Send a man into the world?and a new '
and false world at that?with an irri- <
tated and diseased brain, and what won't <
he do?
I depend upon the evidence of medical
experts to acquit my husband. If he 1
dies I shall die with him. A thousand
hells could not be more unbearable than |
T UntTA tr\woora
IUO IILU X lUITO 11 T gu &W1 jvutiM
I mean to have my picture?jast as I
looked when we were married?shown j
to him tomorrow. I wonder if he will i
recognize it? He did not know it when '
I showed it to him after he came back
from the hospital. Think of that His
own wife's picture, and taken in her i
wedding dress! But theu he recollected 1
nothing about Clifton or his friends
there. When I called the place by name i
and described it to him?even the place
where he had lived?he paid no more attention
to it than he would had his attention
been called to a place in China.
But that, thank God, is all past now. <
The condition of mind that made him
for the time being Richard Melville, 1
in the end brought him back to me as
Maurice Green!
CHAPTER . XX. ' ,
CONTRIBUTED BY CHARLES G^TES. |
In a moment the manuscript was burning
in the grate.
It is au old saying that if yon want i
anything well done you must do it your- i
self. The people who have bronght ine
their manuscripts have not closed up the j
cose to my satisfaction.
For instance, Mrs. Caroline Green
knew that the man who murdered her
brother was secreted in the closet at the
time when the officers and the servants ]
were in the room viewing the body, but
she does not say so. She even stood by
the closet door in order that the noise
she made, might conceal his heavy ,
breathihg. That is a tough place to put
a woman, isn't it? A wife shielding her
husband, who has disowned her, from
the murder of her brother, who was
killed in her behalf 1 No wonder the
poor thing was accused of being insane.
In all my criminal experience I never
met anything exactly like that.
And then, again, both the hospital
steward and the keeper of the dead
house knew of the striking rei3emblance
between Richard Melville and Maurice
Green. It was so great that ii; deceived
the mother and the family physician,
still they refer to it very lightly.
Then why should Mrs. Caroline Green
gloss over her husband's evil temper?
Perhaps she realizes that she is under
obligations to ttyt same hasty temper,
for only for the taint of bad blood in the
Green family, and that cheap backwoods
passion of Maurice Green, the new
Richard Melville would have walked
through the world as the old Richard
Melville until the end of his days, and
there would never have been a Maurice
Green again. Only for that murder in
the coachman's room no one would have
ever known that Kicnara jneivme was
buried in Virginia in place of Maurice
Green, and that Maurice Green picked
up the life of Richard Melville where he
laid it down.
And I don't understand why Mrs.
Green does not explain her motive for
inducing her husband?at that time
Richard Melville?to aid her in escaping
from the asylum. Well, she can do as
she pleases, but 1 shall always believe
that she would have been m urdered that
night if the carriage had not met with an
accident on Twenty-third street, for he
knew that she was acquainted with all
the facts of her brother's death. The
foolish woman had used that to him as
an argument why he should accept her
as his wife, and in doing so had imperiled
her own life.
That would have made two murders
for Mr. Maurice Green, alias Richard
Melville?one committed to protect his
position in the Melville family, and the
other committed to conceal the first.
Now, I have consulted the prosecuting,
officers of the county and half a dozen
medical experts, and without exception1
all express the opinion that it woma De|
useless to put Maurice Green on trial for[
the murder committed in the name of
Richard Melville. It won! d be, they say,
like trying a man for an offense committed
in his sleep or during the frenzy of a
brain fever. All accept the conclusion,
arrived at; all have pledged themselves
to secrecy for Mrs. Clark Melville's sake,'
and Mrs. Caroline Green has already
been released from custody. I am told that
she went straight to her husband at the
Brooklyn hotel, and that he recognized
her in spite of her faded and changed appearance.
It is with him as the surgeon
predicted. His New York life is as much
of a blauk to him now as his life in Maine
was before. Mrs. Clark Melville is still
in ignorance of the true state of affairs.
She will know that the man she has cared
for so unselfishly is not her son for the
first time when she reads the history of
my investigation in the manuscripts I
have had prepared for her.
I don't like the looks of the thing! I
believe from the bottom of my heart j
that Maurice Green is responsible for !
the murder he has committed. I have j
no doubt that Maurice Green believed !
himself to bo Richard Melville. Such j
cases are, I am told, not rare in the I
books. It is certain, too, that lie was I
honest in rejecting the claims of his j
? lie.
Now to arrange the manuscripts and
deliver them to Mrs. Melville. Perhaps
I shall see Mrs. Caroline Green there. If
I do I shall ask her to explain her motive
in leaving the asylum. I already know
what her companion's motive was in
taking her away.
What will Mrs. Clark Melville say?
******
There, I have seen Mrs. Clark Melville,
and she has read tho manuscripts.
She now knows the truth.
How did she receive it? Let me write
down what took place.
When I rang the bell I was told that
Mrs. Melville had been expecting mo all
day, and was shown into her private sitting
room, where I found her alone.
I laid my manuscript on the table.
"You have brought your report in
writing," she said, turning paler than
usual with excitement. "Come back in
two hours and you shall know what to
do next. Stop," she added as I turned
toward the door. "Have you heard from
Richard this morning?"
"I am happy to report that he is in his
right mind and on tho high road to recovery."
"Then why am I not permitted to see
him?"
I pointed silently to the manuscript
and left tho room. I returned in five
hours instead of two.
A Dngnt coai nre was Durning ia uw
?rate, although the weather was warm,
ind Mrs. Melville sat in front of it with
;he manuscript in her hand. Her head
was bowed upon her hand, and her whole
ittitude expressed the utmost dejection,
rhere were traces of tears upon her face
ivhen she raised it to me, but the fine
strong lines evincing a resolute and unburn
ted spirit were still there.
"How many persons besides ourselves
know the contents of this manuscript?"
she asked.
"Two officers and two physicians. To
ill others a hypothetical case was stated
when I consulted them." . .
"Well," was the reply, "I am sorry to
jay that I cannot agree with your theories
cr your conclusions. You have kept no
copy of these papers?"
"No."
In a moment the manuscript was
burning on the grate.
"I don't want it in the house," she
3aid. "Richard might get hold of it
You knew he was back here, I presume.
He was brought here this afternoon, attended
only by Mrs. Green and the family
physician. The accident reduced him
to the same condition I found him in in
Virginia, so no one will be allowed to see
him. We are all going abroad as soon
as his health permits?Richard, Mrs.
Green and myself?and may never return.
Remember your agreement with
me, that I was to be the sole judge as to
what action should be taken on your report.
If yon are ever abroad, address us
iTia Amnv{o<tn nfflrv) > w
She handed me a check and bowed me
rat.
And that ended my connection with
the Melville murder case.
I reopen the case to announce the mar- ?
riage, in Paris, of Mr. Richard Melville
ind Mrs. Maurice Green I My informant
states that they are as happy as though
the honeymoon was at eighteen instead
)f twenty-five and thirty, and that Mrs.
Clark Melville is never happy ont of
their sight They are shy of the American
colony, and live mostly in a pretty
pilla just outside the gates, where the
husband is known as one of the most
loving and gentle of husbands and sonsl
Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Clark Melville
was right!
*
I open the case once more to introduce
a note from Mrs. Clark Melville:
Mv Dear Mr. Gates?I mall you notice of
my son's marriage to Mrs. Caroline Green. It
teems they would have been married the night
the left the asylum only for the accident That
Evas their purpose. We have almost rcproluced
the old New York home in France.
Nellie Johnson and her husband are invaluable
assistants at the villa, and no one can cook like
Kate Donahue. I hear of the marriage of Miss
Clara Roberta to a Boston millionaire.
Yoora, Mrs. Clark Melville. '
Now, can any reasonable human being
mppose that she donbts the accuracy of
my report?
She knows as well as I do that Richard
Melville lies dead in Virginia, and
that Maurice Green fills his place.
How the grand old lady braves it out!
[ honor and respect her for it
What won't a combination of family
pride and womanly affection do?
THg END.
A Cleveb Stratagem.?When the
electric telegraph was first introduced
into Chili, a stratagem was resorted to,
says a contemporary, in order to guard
the posts and wires against damage on
the part of the Araucanian Indians,
and maintain the connection between
the strongholds on the frontier. There
were at the time between forty and
fifty captive Indians in the Chilian
camp. Gerferal Pinto called them together,
and pointing to the telegraph
wires, said, "Do you see those wires?"
"Yes, general." "Very good. I want
you to remember not to go near or
touch them ; for, if you do your hands
will be held, and you will be unable to
getaway." The Indians smiled incredulously.
Then the general made
them each in succession take hold of
the wire at both ends of an electric battery
in full operation ; after which
he exclaimed, "I command you to let
go the wire!" "I can't; my hands
are benumbed!" cried each Indian.
The battery was then stopped. Not
long afterwards the general restored ,
them to liberty, giving them strict injunctions
to keep the secret and not
betray it to their countrymen. This
had the desired effect, for, as might be
expected, the experiment was related
"m the strictest confidence" to every
man of the tribe, and the telegraph
has ever since remained unmolested.
A Very Modest Girl.?Speaking
of legs and arms suggests to me one of
the most inexcusable pieces of prudery
? ?~1<I? nnn/ioivp which is the
pUSdlUlC IV vuuvvi?vj > ....? ?
avoidance of the good, honest, and
clean old Anglo-Saxon word leg, to
describe that member of the body. I
take a malicious satisfaction in using
it whenever I am in the presene of the
ultra-nice people, who tell about some
one having broken his "limb," leaving
less sensitive persons to guess as to
whether it was an arm or a leg that
met with the mishap. When I was a
good deal younger than I am now I
was making a stay at a country house
and trying to catch any simple-minded
fish there might be in the neighborhood.
The farmer with whom I
boarded had a daughter who taught
school, and was certainly the most
painfully 'proper young person it was
ever my misfortune to meet. One
evening we were playing cards when
she suddenly looked up from her hand
and said: "I beg your pardon." "For
what ?" I asked. "Didn't I touch
your foot?" "No." "0, it must have
been the limb of the table."?Detroit
Free Press.
One Question.?Colonel Charles
Mitchell, who was adjutant general on
General Lee's stall', tells an interesting
little story of General Wise and the
surrender at Appomattox. Wise came
riding down the road furiously to
where General Lee and his staff were
grouped. He was splashed with mud
from head to heels. There were great
splotches of mud dried and caked upon
his face.
Addressing General Lee, he asked
in a theatrical voice, "It is true, General
Lee, that you have surrendered ?"
"Yes, General Wise, it is true."
"I wish, then, to ask you one question?What
is going to become of my
brigade, General Lee, and what is going
to become of me ?"
General Lee looked at the splashed
warrior for a full minute, and then said
calmly andjn a low tone:
"General Wise, go and wash your
face."
How to Kill a Cat.?A number
of people arc interested in learning the
best way of painlessly killing animals,
and we may usefully note a communication
on the subject from a correspondent
of The Knglish Mechanic, lie
writes:
"The most merciful way of destroying
cats is to chloroform them. Draw
a sock (knitted one preferred, as beiag
elastic) over pussy's head so that the
toe of t he sock is brought to her nose
or nearly so; then pour about half a
teaspoonful of chloroform on the sock
close to her nose.
"Almost as soon as she has become
frightened by the unusual smell of
chloroform she quietly goes oil" to
" ' ? * : 1.1^,1
sleep, u little more cuioruiumi i? mmiu
?perhaps twice?and pussy never
wakes again."
"Uncle, what is the hardest hsson
you ever had to learn ?" asked a
young lady of a veteran statesman,
known for his strong prejudices.
"That the man who differs with me
not in opinions, hut in principles, may
he as sincere and honest as I am," was
the reply.