Evening Star Newspaper, September 27, 1890, Page 7

BACK TO AFRICA. — WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY WILLIAM WESTALL. a [Copyrichted) MAKE the following statement—or con- ¥ 4 fession—for it partakes of the nature of ‘Bpooth, with great reluctance, being im- pelled thereto solely by a sense of duty and @ desire to throw light on a terrible mystery, @ mystery which has not alone baffled the police, but of which neither the trained detectives of Scotland Yard nor the amateur detectives of the press have suggested s solution that meets the facts. It may be asked why the same sense of duty did nos constrain me to make the revelation sooner. and while the facts were still fresh in the public recollection. The question is easily answered. I am only just recovering from a condition of nervous prostration so protracted and severe that for nearly two years I was unable either to write a coherent sentence or recall th t. Even yet, though I live ina lonely Alpine vailey, far from the haunts of men, I feer to crossthe threshold of my cot- tago, and the echo of a strange footstep fills Me witha nameless drend. But to my story—which, with one exception, shall be told withont reserve. For reasons that will be obvious to the reader I am compelled to hide my identity under an assamed uame. My father was a London physician, a man of high scientitic attuinments and a well-known writer. One of my duties at home, a duty in which I took great pleasure, was to help my father with bis extensive amd sometimes burdensome correspondence, One Monday morning I opened a letter bear- ing the Zanzibar post mark. It ran thus: “Just a line to say that slerbert has been heard of. mail. Yours truly, T. Robmson.” i short, this missive was the mont im- Portant in the whole delivery, and I lad iton the top ot the pile. Iy iather pounced on it at once. t George Herbert heard med excitedly. “He ix alive, then. Iwas right after ali. I would not give bim up. though everybody else did. This is the best news I have heard for many a day, Myra. His death would have been an iiamonse loss to setwnco and a great grief tome. Such @ tine fellow! You reme © when he was our Guest five or six years agi “No. I was at culleg I never saw him, and though Tam aware that he isa very dis- tinguished man and your particular friend, I really know verr little about him. You forget how much I ha: een from home. “He is indeed a distinguished man, andj singularly dev. mee. We became | reat friends, who first directed ¥, witch he took up Having no inten- tion either to practice of to teach. and being essed with mors money than he could spend, d to travel im er and less known parts of the earth, with « view to the | collection of facts bearing on the variations of the human race. He spent two years in th Uunexpiored regions of Brazil and Peru, and sent home some very valuable papers, not only on ethnolozy but on botany and biology. And he does his work so thorougi. lives with the people. learns their langusge.unts with them, fishes with them and sets down nothing as a fact which he has not personally verified. Five years ago he went on a similar expedition to Central Africa. Fora while I had letters regu- ly. Then they suddenly ceased. and until now—though we were coutinually making in- quiries at Cap~ Town. Zanzibar and elsewhere— he had not beew heard of or from for nearly five ears, Most of his friends gave him up for I alone continued to hope.” tow old is he: Not much more than thirty; a regular Her- cules and with a constitution of iron.” “He will have much to teil when he comes back.” we shall have another and a still more interesting book thin the last.” “Do you think he has followed the same sys- tem in Africa as he did in South America—liv- ing with the natives?” “Certainly; and this is what differentiates his work from that of ordinary travelera. I wonder when we shall have him here. Not for some time, I fear, unless he 1s near the coast. Traveling im Central Africa is a tedious busi- Bess. 1 also wondered when we shon!d sce Dr. Her- bert and for the remainder of the day thought of little else. My father’s aceount of him bad fired my imagination. There was something in his achievements which seemed to me positively heroic. Brave and learned, young, rich and of fine physique, distinguished even before he bad won renown as un expiorer, Herbert sur- d mz ideal as much as any other man I came short of it. CHAPTER IL The next mail brought not only more news of our traveler but letters under his own hand, written, however, several months previously. Several of them were communications for the learned societies with which he was connected. ‘The newspapers published them in full, and ying in Africa more than two years; ved more than fire. part because Africa is so vast, and the facilities for travel so limited, Mainly bé= cause they made a king of me,” answored Her- bert. king?” es, for nearly four years I was king of the Mousas—very much azainst my will” “The Monsas! Who are they?” “A man-eating nation north of the great lakes.” ° “Cannibais."* * cannibala,” z bless me. Herbert! I hope you did not—!" exclaimed my father, with a look of mock horror. 9 “No, lar. Murton, I did not carry out my Principle of doing in Rome as the Romans do to the eatent of eating human fiesh,” said Her- rt gravely, and, a I thought, a little resent- fully, as if he had taken my father's chafing Temark seriously. “On the coutrary I did my best to wean my subjects from their hideous dietary, and in a great measure succeeded. These Mousas present several marked charac- teristics which differentiate them as well from the Kaffirs of the south as from the negroes of the coast. Their cranial development——” This was toe much for my aunt. “Exeuse me for interrupting you, Dr, Her- bert,” she said. ‘-but Lam not the least inter- ested in cranial development, and Myra and I are just dying to know how you became king of the cannibals.” “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Barton. I was forgetting that everybody is not so interested in ethnology ‘our brother and myself. Well, I became kinz of the Mousas in this way. Dur- ing my wanderings I went into their country with my porters and escort, to the number of about ascore, We met with a friendly rece tion, and after staying some weeks were on the point of continuing our journey, when they treacherously feli upon us by night and killed the greater part of my followers. I was the first white man the Mousas had seen. They thought I was a great warrior and would bring them luck; and as they were going to make war on # neighboring tribe they wanted my help. I was offered my life on condition of becoming the king's biood brother and his second in command. I accepted the offer. The campaign was highly successful, but the king lost his life, and the Mousas chose me king in his stead. It was not a desirable post, forseveral reasons. But as refasal would most certaiuly have entailed my death—prepably by torture—at the hands of the new king, who would have regarded me as a dangeron: rival, I accepted the honor and becams supreme ruler of Mousaland, much against my wiil; for my subjects, though in most things obe- dient and submissive, would rather have killed me than Jet me go, and kept so close a watch on my movements that I only got away at last by stratagem and stealth, and even then with great difficulty.” “That expiaina why you were so much longer away than you expeated,” observed my father. “Yes: also my long silence, geta letter convayed to strange. horrible experienss. Why it was a horribie experience he did not say, thoagh my aunt hinted a strong desire to know; and then Dr. Horbert grew pensive and distrait, which being ascribed by my father to fatigue he recommonded him to retire and shortiy afterward we all separated for the ich. I listened to Herbert's story as Deademona listened to the strange. eventiul story of Othelio and with the same result. Neverthe- less, being fal are of the folly of staking ¢ chance of winning a man her or whom I might fail to please, I struggled hard to overcome my infatuation. If we had not been thrown 89 much together I should perhaps have sue ceeded. ut {it was not to be. We were thrown towether day after day, and soon I suw,with joy indescribable, that my love was returned. Be- fore Herbert had been a month our guest he asked me to be his wife. Iuced not say what answer I gave him. We experienced none of the difficulties by which lovers are so often beset. My father was delighted. He said there wus no man liv- ing to whom he would so gladly give me as George Herbert; and so soon as our engage- ment was made known we were overwhelmed with congratulations, Strangely enough, the only discordant note was struck by my Aunt Lavinia. “I have scen for some time how it would be, and I hope you will be happy with the man of your choice, my dear,” she said. ‘Ho 1s very nice and cle and all that. All the same I wish he bad notstuyed so long in Africa and be- come king of those cannibals.” “Why, aunt?” “How do you know what he was doing all the time? If youcannot touch pitch without being defiled aman cannot live four years amon; cannibals without being the worse for it, should say. And have not cannibals always a great many wives? Llaughed heartily at this sally of my aunt's, and repeated it to George, thinking it would amuse him as much as it had amused me. To my surprise, however, he took it quite so- riowsly. His face darkencd and he looked almost angry. Your aunt talks nonsense,” he said, “I am sorry I ever mentioned Mousaland. I have already told yon that my stay there was a most painfal expericuce. so painful that I would gladiy forget it, and 1 want you to help me to do so by never referring to it again. Will you, darling?” I said “‘yes,” of course, and I kept my word. vertheless, my curiosity was roused and I often asked myseif what could be the mystery which George's words concealed, what the ex- perience he was so anxious to. forget. But I joved Lim too well to distrust him, and though I had cause for curiosity I had none for suspi- | of not ata he had {could not even @ coast, It was a my happiness on th. who might prefer anot they were doubtless very interesting. Just then, however. I was m curious about the man than his discove: and I read with the clos&t attention his private letters to my father in the hope of finding in them something that would throw a further light on his friend's character and answer the questions which in spite of myself were beginning to hnuut my mind and disturb my peace. Was he the sort of man I might let myself love, or was he so devoted to science that there would be room in his heart for naughtelse? And what was he like? My father had spoken of him asa fine fellow and a Hercules. ‘This merely meant that be was physically strong end that my father admired him. We bad no hkeness of him, for, as my father informed me, Dr. Herbert could ither tosit for his portrait r. cif up into a very fever ience, and long before the hero arrived 1 was quite ready to fall in Jove with him at sight. When we next heard from Dr. Herbert he Was on his way to the coast, and not long after- ward we bad t ic Aden and Alex- andria, the latter of which fixed the time for bis arrival in London. “Where will ho « of curiosity and imp: n Lasked my father. “With us, of co Tie promised he wouid before he went away. We must meet him at jon. Would you Like to go with me?” “Yes, father.” At length the long-expected dayeame. Many Others besides ourselves were at Charing Cross, and as the train steamed into the mburnt face. surmounted by a pith helmet, smiled a friendly recogni i my father there Was a great shout of welcome aud the men Fushed up to the carriage to shake hands with the distin, hed traveler. dim the background watching, My was ouc of disappointment. In dThad given Herbert the port and my m stature of a life guardsman. But he was two or three inches under six teet and his great b read of shoulder and stalwart limbs mado ter than he realiy was. More- was notof the datk, resolute cast and should have preferred. Though burnt brick red by exposure to the he sun he was natnraliy light complexioned: had a flowing flaxen beard and large bluo e bis hair was closeiy eropped. and when he Faised his hat in acknowledgment of the : rected kim the pallor of his ted strangely with the bronze of his cheeks, A good face withal, yet not exceptionally werful or st ing: less so, indeed, than the ces of several officers of the Indian army who arrived by the sume train. Bat when my father beckoned me forward - ee us I saw that beneath the xen beard were @ frm mouth juare, Fesolute jaws, aa: As soon as we could free ourselves from the throng we got to the carriage. which was wait- ing outside. and drove to Hariey street, it was pleasaut. and, for me, a memorable cion—yet. CHAPTER IIL Ovr engagement was short. There was no reason why it should be otherwise. Both of us bad arrived at years of discretion. George's means wore ample; he had nobody to please but himself, and as it pleased bim to marry quickly we became man and wife within three months of his return from Africa. He had a country place in Hertfordshine; but as it had been let during his absence we could not occupy it until the expiration of the lease at the end of the following year. Meanwhile George took a house in town, as to the locality of which I can enly say that it was in the neighborhood of Hyde Vark, where we proposed to live during the Londou season, my husband’s fortune being quite adequate for the keeping up of two es- tablishinents, After 4 two months’ tour on the continent we settled down to wort: on a plan we had already arranged. George had many engagements. He was going to write a book, for which his publishers were clamorous and the world of science was impatiently waiting. He had also promised contributions to the editor of one of the leading revie ‘o deliver during the on two or three es. I was to act as , and as in these cir- ave our hands fulj, cumstances we should both we resolved to live a8 quietly as possible and hold ourselves as aioof as might be from social engagements, For a while all went well. everything I could wish, and working with him George was all day ata labor of love, giving an occasional dmner and going out in his company one or two evenings a week, my life was almost ideal, I was as happy as a young wife could be. And then there came to pass a series of por- tentous events, which begau by reviving the curiosity first suggested by my Aunt Lavinia’s doubis, and ended iu a frightful catastrophe. One evening when my father was dining with us he brought up, epropos of nothing in particular, George's sojourn in Mousaland, “You should write a history of your reign,” he said. “It would be very interesting. But we shall have it all in your book, I suppose?” “Ishall say nothing whatever about it in my book—nothing.” returned George curtly, “But why, Geot lamsure it would be | highly appreciated. To be king of a nation of cannibals is, so far as [ kuow, an experience ab- solutely unique fora white man, You really must give an account of your reign.” ~Lwill not, Dr. Murton. Pray let that suf- fice, And you will greatly oblige me by letting the ct drop.” My father made no an: saddened himself exe but thenceforth ly to me, and ‘udeness by going it dinner was over. as our habit was when we were alone, George aud I went into the library, where he behaved sostrangely that I was both bewildered aud frightened. After pacing to and fro for several minutes he threw himself in a chair and buried his face iu bis handa, evening. The party consisted of ourselves, one ot my brothers and my aunt Lavinia, who ever since my mother's death had kept my father’s house—a dear old lady of few ideas and Many cares, After dinner we adjourned to the study, and Herbert was invited to smoke, which h. with evident enjoyment. He wasa good talker, aud had so much to tell that even though he had been a bad one his talk would have been interesting. He gave us very little science, re- serving thatwas he sad, for the faliowing even- ing and other occasions, em my father was more wishful to hear something of our uest's adventures tha® to listen to a lecture on favorite science, Lendes being a scientific explorer, Herbert was an ardent sportsman, and he told us some thrilling stories of encounters with wild ani- mais and still wilder natives. of ps bravely borne, and deadiy perils narrowly es- father inquired how it was that he had been oe long away. He set out with the idea “Are you ill, George. dear?” I said, feeling that I must say something, though I, knew not what. As I spoke, a Skye terrior, greatly ¢herished by both of us, jumped om his lap. Utteriu fierce exclamauon in a language which 1 not understand, he caught the poor brute u; and with one mdvemont of his strong han bam im neck, then flung its body on the floor. My blood seemed to freeze in my veins. I screamed with terror. “Oh, my God, what have I done?” exclaimed George, picking up the dog and looking piti- fally Tato Hee lack luster eyes. “My poor, Ls Fido, what have I done? Forgive me, Myra. My darling, how I must have frightened you; but I knew not what I did. An evil spirit pos- sessed me, It was your father’s unhappy men- tion of the Mousas. I was. trying ta forget, You don’t know, I cannot tell you, the horror of that time and the fatal iafluence—I thought had overcome it; J was struggling then——I am ee ee cee wen help, dar- ling, I overcome it” Man tir) And he knelt by my chair and bowed his head, and I put my arms round his neck weep- ing and asked him wha: it was that he was struggling against and how I could help him to overcome it Bnt1could obtain no coherent answer. He would tell me another time, he Baid. Presently he grew calmer, and in the morn- ing was quite himself again. But he made no allusiof to the sceue of the night before, and as ho evidently wanted to make believe that nothing of the sort had happeuod I thought it best to humor him. : Forget it, however, I could not. All day long it weighed on my mind like the momory of a hideous His face as he wrang poor face of w savage warrior. not of a civilized man. Could it be that my h nd was mad? Impossible; few men had intellects so clear, minds so powerful; moreover, he had no illu- sions, and a madman without illusions is a con- tradiction in terms. Unless, indeed, his dark hints of a fatal influence, and of horrors wit- nessed in Mousaland, were to be regarded as illusions. What had befallen him in that mys- terious country which could unhinge, even for @ moment, so noble a mind. ‘These questions, strive as I would, I was un- able to resolve, and I feared to say aught to George which might provoke another outburst. And he wasso good and kind, and made so much of me, and apologized so handsomely to my father, that I tried to ——- myself, and in a great measure succeeded, that I had beca unnecessarily alarmed, and we settled down to our work as if nothing had happened to dis- turb the harmony of our lives. But the respite was not for long. CHAPTER IV. Since our marriage George and I had hardly been separated for an hour. As Ihave already mentioned we worked in the library during the day, and whenover we wont out, whether to a friend’s house, the meeting of a learned so- ciety or elsewhere, we always went together. Even on my rare shopping expeditions George bore me company. #fence when late one even- ing about a month after the death of poor Fido he said abruptly that he was going to take a walk I naturally felt surptised. “A walk at this time of sae (it was past 9 o'clock), Tanswerod. ‘Shall I go with you?” “No; I want exercise. I must go fast; I should walk you off your feet. I think my liver is peng out of order. I did not sleep well last night.” it was true. he had not slept well. He looked pale, too, and had beep restless and at times gloomy during the day. “Yes, go, aud have a sharp walk,” I said, “It will do you good. When shall you be back?” “Oh, "before twelve. But send the servants to bed and go yourself, I can let myself in.” “No, Iwill wait for vou. ‘I'welve o'clock is not late. You will find me here.” As the clock on the chimney piece struck the last quarter before midnigit my husband re- appeared in the library. 1 was glad to sve that his waik had done him good, His eyes w bright, his cheeks ruddy end he looked ohe ful and happy. D ‘Where Eave you been?” I asked. “All over London, this side the Thames, I think. I must have done ten miles at the very least. I shall sleep tonight.” ‘Aud he did—soundly. ‘The next day's newspapers contained an ac- count of a dreadful murder committed in the eastof London. Late on the night before the mangled body of a wretched woman had been found inadark court neara busy thorough- fare. Besides its peculiar atrocity the crime was remarkable for the seoming absence of motive on the part of the potpotrator and his ruthless audacity. Though he must have de- stroyed his victim almost in public no one had seen him and the police were completely at fault. They even failed to ideutify the mur- dered woman. “What do you think about it?” I asked George. ‘Can there be such a thing as @ mo- tiveless murder?” : “I think not, unless the murderer bea raving lunatic.” “But in this case there was premeditation.” “Obvious). “And premeditation implios a certain degree of sanity. But what Iam at a loss to under- stand is how any human veing can overcome the natural horror of murder so far as to take a fellow-creature’s life in cold blood.” iy there any such natural horror? Taking ia nothing when you get used to it.” ‘aking lite nothin when yon get used to it! | Good heavens, George, what do you mean? You make my blood run cold.” “You misunderstand me, Myra. I did not meang-I way thinking of Africa, where the hor- necotch you thini so natural is so exceptional that the life of a human being is of no more account than the life cf ® wild, 4 mark was merely the statemént of a . logical fact” “fr wish you had not ee niain Ah. 8 fo batt frighten me te denth,” 1 a ddering. “You spoke if it were based ou your own per- sonal experience.” Yet, though I did my best to regard George's explanation as satisfactory, not all my efforts could efface tho impression left by those words of sinister impo! ‘Taking life is nothing when you get used to And in spite of myself the question would obtrude itsoif on my mind, | “Were they not, after all, based on personal experience?” am now approaching a part of my confes- sion so painful and terrible that I cannot dwell upon it. Letme hurry on the fateful de- nouement,compressing into a fow lines a story which, were L only to describe a tithe of the fearful suspicions that haunted my mind and the anguish I endured and have endured since, would fill @ volume, ‘My husbAnd’s first solitary walk was followed by a secoud aud a third, They became fre- quent. Sometimes he made as many as three nocturnal promenades in a week, always on the same pretext, that he was bilious and needed exercise, Occasionally he did not set out until nearly midnight, returning more than once as late as 3 o'clock, Atlength 1 began to entertain rave doubts both as to his sincerity and his fopaity, for it seemed incredible that his object on these occasions was merely the pursuit of health. Meanwhile four more mysterious murders, similar in almost every detail to the one I have already described, had been committed in the East End. ‘Lhe victim was always a wretched woman, the locality always a court or alley and the murderer invariably escaped without loaving a trace behind. It was about a month after the last, or rather the fourth, of these murders, that I resolved, on the first opportunity, to satisty my curiosity asto the purpose of wy husband’s untimely walks by Pucwing him.- It was a desperate expedient, but I was ina desperate mood and haif mad with jealousy and suspense. The opportunity was not long in coming. A few nights !ater, shortly befure i0 o'clock, he rose suddenly from his chair und said he was going for his constitutional. “Very well,” Isay coldiy, “I will wait up for you,” And then, while he is upstairs changing his evening dress, [make myself ready, put on a air of thick boots, ashabby old cloak that 1 baa not worn for yea ud @ common bonnet with a thick veil, his done I let myself noiselessiy out and wait on the opposite side of the street until George also comes out, wear- ing an Inverness cape with the collar turned up and a slouch hat, He sets off at a brisk walk; I follow, keeping him well in view, yet not so near as to attract his attention. He takes a turn, leading toward New Oxford street. At the cornor of Totten- ham Court road he tor on tho top of an omni- bus; I go inside and take a seat near the door, feeling sure that even though George sees me he wili not recognize m+. The omnibus goes eastward; its destination is the bank, and at the bank George gets out. SodoL Hegoesup Lombard street, I fol- low him. Where he goes next Iam unable to say. The locality is strange to me. The streets, dimly lighted “and winding between lofty warehouses and silent offices, are well nigh de- serted, * Iam beginning to feel afraid, and ask myself whether] had not better turn back, when George is accosted by a disrepu has a scar! yeilow bodice. Islip into the shadow of a doorway and watch. George takes his left hand from under his cape and gives her some- thing, probably acoin. Then they go up a e, the woman leading the way. “Shall I tollow them?” I ask myself, for if bark pene has another exit I shall lose George entirely. ee ed en te tenes the aoraticn: in m; mind, and as the clock of a strikes twelve, George returns—ait re- sumes his I feel that I have done him a cruel injustice; that my jealousy has been as as said, simply for exercise. good of him to reliove that forlorn woman and to her wretched home. d_ then, fearful lest George at the hat stand shows me, to my great relicf, that I am in time. I take off and put away my = and —, oO Shs a ae ining up the gas at ig! 1g the tos. fire, sit down witha book. Half an hour later the door opeus and George comes in, bright and cheertul, as be always is after one of his long walks, «Why are you not in bed?” he asks roproach- fully, “Those long vigils will make yon ili.” “How could I go without you? Itis both my pleasare and my duty to sit up for yon.” T answer, putting my arms round bis neck and kissing him; for J feel that in being jealous and suspicious without a cause I have done him a wrong which requires a great deal of atone- —— se ae After a restless night, due to fatigue and over excitement, I wakeu with so violent a headache that I'am unable to rise. “You will have to go to the British Museum alone” (we had agreed to go together), 1 tell George. ‘I shall, perhaps, be able to join you later in the day. a were “No, you must stay where you are,” he kindly, ‘and I will give you somothing that will do you good. You want sleep. It ic all my fault for keeping you up so late, . But it shall not happen again. For the future I shail take my waiks by daylight, and you shall go with me.” “I am so glad to hear you say so, dear. Kiss e. He laid his cool hand on my head and kissed me, and he said he would be back from the museum not later than So'clock. Then he gave me some medicine, and shortly afterward I fell asleep. Whon I awoke the sccond time it was ast noon, and I felt so much better that after rinking acupof tea and eating some dry toast I went down stairs, and senting myself iu an easy chair by the fireside took up a morn- ing paper, the second edition of which had just arrived, What is this? Dreadful mur- 8 Good heavens! der in Crozier street—a womun with her throat cut—hat with a scarlet feather—yellow bodice —foul deed must have been done three or four minutes before midnight. The paper swims before my eyes, and though the perspiration is falling from my face like rain I feel as if I wero ireezing to death. ‘Then, taking courage from very desperation, I read again, slowly and deliberately, dwelling on every word and studying every sentence, No, Lam not mistaken. Would to God that Iwere, My husband murdered that woman, Tall but saw him do it, He went into the dark passage with her. He came out without her, as the clock went 12, and ten minutes later his victim's body was found lying in a heap at the further end of the passage. And then I re- member, with an unsponkable sense of horror and dread, that cach of the othor murders was committed at the very time when George was taking ove of his nocturnal walks—and the death of poor Fido—and that portentous saying of his, “killing is nothing whon you get used to it!” He is used to it! My husband is used to kill- ing helpless women. “My God! what shall I do? I must go—go--go! Not another aight will I spend under this accursed roof. ‘ihe paper swims again. Couraze, cournge! With a des- perate effortI rise from my chair, go to the chiffonier, take out the brandy and drink off half a tumblerful at a draught, This steadies my nerves and gives mo strength. Iring the beil and tell the servant to send fora hansom. Then I run upstairs and put on my things, and as I get into the cab tell the driver to take me to Harley street, My father is at home, and without preface or circumlocution I tell him all that has hap- pened and what I havo discovered. “You are mad, Myra,” he says, “or suffering from hysteria, George Herbert is no murderer. ‘This is pure hallucination, Sit down and let us have a quiet talk. You are not well; yo face is flushed and your pulse over a hundred.” knew you.would Le incredulous, father, and the thing is so monstrous that, if it were possible, I should disbelicve the evidence of my own senses, But come with me nd you shall judge for yourself. George will be back by this time; I will charge him before you with these crimes, and if he does not frecly adinit his guilt or you do not read it in his face 1 will admit that Dam laboring under an illusion and beg your pardon and his.” “Taccept the test, Myra. and I hope, though Tam by no means sure, that it will cure you of this dreadful illusion, I shall be ready to ac- company you in a few minutes.” Half an‘hour later we were at my husband's door. Dr. Herbert had just come in, said the butler; we should find him in the library. We found him sitting in the chair in Which I had been sitting, reading the newspaper. As we entored the room he rose to greet my father. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Dr. Mur- ton,” he said. “I am glad you are so much better, Myra, as to be able togo out, But if 1 were not yonr husband. as weli as your phyal cian, I should blame you for your imprudence. Won't you sit down? “No, George, I shall never sit down in this hoi i Iam going to quit it forever.” ‘Are you mad?” o, [am not mad. But youare a murderer. Last night you committed your fifth murder in London, How many you have committed elxe- where God only knows. I followed you step by step—went in the same omnibus down To?- tenham Court road to the bank, shadowed you up Lombard street, watched you go with your victim into that dark passage and waited till you came out—alone. Oh, my husband! my usband! would to heaven you had kilied me in her stead!” George turned deadly pale and staggered as if he had received a blow, then he bowed his head and covered his face with his hands, “George! George! Speak, cannot you? For God's sake say something!” cried my father. now trembling likes leaf, and paler than George himself. George uncovered his face and looked at us with glittering eves, “You followed me, Myra, and you say ama murderer,” he said ‘slowly and repronchful “Well, whatever else I may be, I am neithe: liar nora coward. What you say is true; I killed that woman last night, and she was tho fifth——” “I cannot believe it.” broke in my father, “I cannot believe it, It would be too horrible. This is sheer lunacy.” “No, Iam no Innatic, Dr. Murton. I know quite well what I am about nnd the couse- uences of my actions. My mind is clear, and ust now [ am more rational than you are. “But why, then? What is your motive?” “Thirst for blood—an impulse which becomes at times absolutely irresistibie. Listen! You know that I was king in Mousaland. Well, those people wore cannibals and they had ‘custome’— wholesale slaughters of prisoners und. slaves—such as you have heard of. 1 broke them of their cannibalism, but 1 was obliged to tolerate their customs, At first I found them unspeakably hateful, then I grew used to thom and in the end took a positive pleasure in them, The murderous propensities which I had inherited from my savage anccstors were reawakened in me and I became a savage my- self. Is was the same with several of the Roman emperors, and history. especially the history of the French revolution, abounds with similzr instances, I kilied men with as little compunction as you, Dr. Murton, kill hares and rabbits. Nevertheless, I was fully conscious of my degradation, and there were times whem 5 my better hature got the upper hand. It .was at one of these times that 1 le‘t Mousaland, as Itold you, by stealth, for the peoplo would have killed mo rather than let me go. I hoped that civilized society and occupation, and above all the love of a good woman, would eradicate the morbid propensities which my life in Mousaland had doveloped. For a time they did, put soon they revived in such force that [ bad to choose between killing somebody secretly or running amuck in thestrects.” “And you chose to kill helpless women!” “Because they were wortiless, Their lives were a burden to them; nobody misses them; the world is better without them.” “Oh, but this is utter madness! You will do it again?” “Very likely, and get caught red-handed—if 1 tay here,” “But you must not be at large. I will have you locked up as a lunatic, will denounce you to the police.” «To what end? You have no evidence, Myra cannot testify against me, and you know only what you have heard. And there are not two doctors in London who, after examining me, would sign an order for my incarceration in an asylum.” *-What shall we do, then? For Myra’s sake and ay own, if not for yours, you must bo Placed beyond the possibility of committing More murders,” ‘ I — agree with you, andI leave it to you and Myra to decide which of two alternatives I shall adopt. 1 will either kill myself or go back to Atrica.” T could hear no “Back to Africa! more, Back and then fell fainting into IN A STRANGE COUNTRY ASouth American City Older Than the Time of the Incas, SOME WONDERFUL RUINS. + ‘Tlabuanace and tts Strange Festival—The Ancient Ritcs nd Customs of Ages Ago—The Liama and Ite Owner. a From Tux Stan's Traveling Commissioner. Ox tHe Wixe, July 25, 1890, THE TRAVELER should not bid good- bye to Bolivia without having paid some attention to an ancient town near the northeastern edge of Lake Titicaca, which Professor Squier has dubbed “the Baalbec of America.” It is named Tiabuanaco (pronounced Tee-ah-uha-nah-co), and is be- lieved by some scientists to be the oldest collec- tion of ruins on the hemisphere. At any rate it proves the existence of w race so far ante- dating the time of the incas that all knowledge of it was lost before the Spaniards came; for when the latter questioned the Indians of those days about the origin of these mighty monu- ments they were toid that before ever the sun appeared in the heavens a race of giants in- habited the earth for thonsands of years; that they grew so numerous the gods became jeal- ous and turned them all to stone; and what ap- pear to be the remains of huge buildings are, in reality, some of the petriiied giants thom- selves, ‘This highly interesting place may be easily reached on horseback from Chililaya; and if visited during the westward journey from La Paz it is best tocome to the former village a day or two d of the diligencia, so as not to miss the weekiy steamer and be stranded too long on this desolate coast, MODERN TIANUANACO contains nothing whatever of interest except that its church and many of its houses are built of beautifully cut and polished stones taken from ancient temples and palaces. Even the pavements of its streets and the bridges over which we pass are sot with them, The tall stoue cross in front of the church stands on a loity pedestal that is much better wrought than the Catholic symbol above it and in- scribed with undecipherable hicroglyphics— Perhaps to other gods. The corral where our animals are stalled has in its adobe walls numerous blocks of siate-colored trachyte, with snakes, toads and other mystcrious embloms carved upon them; ia short, from time out of miné the wonderful ruins h served us an in- exhaustible quarry for the lazy and ignorant people of the valley. The principal ruins lie on alevel plain within waiting istance from the village and cover an area of about three miles, ‘ihere are several artificial moands made of earth and nes, DuMerons edifices and the remains of massive walls that probably served as forts or inclosures. The highest of the mounds was once terraced, each terrace supported by a wall of cut stone, and is com- pletely covered and surrounded by ruins, with an enormous structure on top, which modern visitors bave named *The Fortress.” THE TEMPLE, Not far from this hill is the finest edifice of all, so far as decoration is concerned, now known as “Tho Temple.” It is 445 feet long, 388 feet wide, made of cut and polished blocks of dark basalt, each 30 inches thick. These stones are wuuk into the earth like gate posts, nobody knows to what depth, the parts above ground varying in height from 9 to 14 fect. Those ancient architects, whoever they may have been, seem to have not understood the use of mortar, or maybe they did not need it, beim able to build so well without. Like King Solomon's temple, the stones were ail made to fit exactly into one another, baving round holes drilled into the top aud bottom of cach at corresponding distances, into which bronze pins were placed, Scattered all about are many highly polished blocks which ap- pear never to have been placed in position, in- dicating that the builders were disturbed in their work and left it incomplete. SCULPTURED RELICS, Among the most beautiful sculptured and curious relics isan enormous block of sand tone, one tingle slab, 13 feet 5 inches long, 18 inches thick and standing a little over seven feet above the ground—which, though badly eracked (the natives say by lightning), is still upright. It must be sunk deeply into the earth, to have stood so long without external support, and was doubtless meant for a doorway, as it has a central cutting 4 feet 6 inches high by 2 feet 9 inches wide. Across the upper face abovo this doorway figures in low relief are carved, which closely resemble the sculpture of Sgypt, and scientists say that a finer piece of g in the samo kind of stone, by artisans, ancient or modefn, cannot be found anywhere in the world, Within the temple inclosure is a horizontal slab, ubout 14 feet square, with a deep hollow in the middie, cut out like a square trough, which is supposed to have served in some of the ceremonies of sun worship. The great temple is composed of huge blocks of red sand stone, each i4 feet long and of corresponding width and thickness, all precisely alike, cut and laid with nicest care. This isthe more re- markable, as those early people must have been entirely unacquainted With iron and steel, and could have had uo mechanical apparatus for carrying or working heavy bodies, every bit of the labor having to be accomplished by human strength. Neither could they have had any knowledge of gun powder or other ex- plosives, but that they were familiar with the use of bronze is proved by the pins above mentioned and a few weapons that have come tolight. From some cliffs of red sand stone, more than fifteen miles away, every one of these encrmous temple blocks have been carried, but no basalt or trachyte is found nearer than forty miles, EVIDENCES OF CIVILIZATION. There scems, besides, to have been a palace, a prison, a hall of justice and other institu- tions, which show that the long-past race pos- sessed some degree of civilization and refine- ment, None can gaze upon these monuments without being filled with wonder concerning the mysterious people who iived and died cen- turies before Colw y other European had songit the western hemisphere. It does not need a mighty stretch of imagination to rebuild these fallen walla and repeople them with dark-skinned men and women, going about their daily avocations, worshiping the sun god with barbarous rites m the great temple, or toiling up the terraced mound to look out from its fortress for the foreign foes who seem to have come at length und con- quered them, Dig as you may. not a trace of e cr sepulcher can'be found, and the sup- position is that the carly Tiahuanacans either fied from their walled city or were driven from it by invaders, ‘The stupid neighbors of today have no hints or suggestions to offer; neither history nor tradition throws any light on the subject—the archwologist can only turn with burning curiosity unsatisfied. THE POTATO FEsTaVAr. Prof. Squier tells us that he happened to Visit Tiahuanaco during the annual chuno (po- tato) festival of the modern Indians—that veg- etable, as all the world knows, being indige- nous to this portion of South America, though it has been vastly popreree in some of the countries to which it has been transplanted. He says that the people were dancing in the public square, in front of the cathedral, to the music of drums and tambourines, and were wearing enormous headdresses resembling umbrellas, made mostly of feathers wrought into the form of flowers, Each group of men was accompanied by a number of female dan- cers, the latter wearing hats with wide, stiff brinis, the crowns surrounded by fan-like rep- resentations of the rising sun, set with smail looking glasses and tipped with clusters of feather flowers, All the women wore sky-blue dresses and over the left shoulder of each was tied a scarf of hand-woven wool, striped with brilliant colors, This chuno festival is participated in by all the Indians farand near and is a curious mingling of the rites of the heathen incas and the ceremonies of the church. Though ante- dating the christianization of the racy § itis carried on today under the control of the who, through the three hundred and ity years that bave intervened since the con- quest, have always found it expedient to retain some traces of the ancient customs, THE PATIENT LLAMA, Asin these regions Indians and llamas are generally secn together, a description of one animal without mention of the other would be incomplete. One who has never scen a llama ified f E horses cannot endure the thin air, as it alone is exempt from sirroche. its natural home being 9,000 teet and upward. sh domesticated in Peru. Bolivia and Chili not able to live bel» a certain elevation unless the weather is very cold. great numbers of them run wild on the fooi-hi! nd sandy plains of Patago- nia, even near the level of the sea so far trom the equator. THEY ARE INDISPENSABLE, Afall-grown Hama is about the size ofa year-old colt, standing from four to six feet high, and is covered with a long and surpris- ingly thick coat of wool, which, however, is seldom shearod. as the snimal is used only for purposes of transportation. muddy brown, while a t yeliow or nearly white. The Indians paint the latter with liquid dyes and very odd it looks to seo a troop of them in all the colors of the rainbow, red. blue, purple, pink and green, with gay tasyels dangling from tigir ears. Many of the most valuable mines of Peru and Bolivia could hardly be carried on without these hardy and sure-footed little animals, though not one of them can be made to bear more than a hundred pounds weight, while the average load of a mule is 300 pounds. On all the mountaimroade leading from the mines hundreds of llamas may be seen with bags of barilla, as the powdered ore is called, fastened to pack saddles on their backs by ropes made from their own wool, which the Indians pull, spin and weave as they walk along. Where the trails are daugerously narrow each troop is led by one having a beil attached to his neck, so tiat travelers coming from the other direction may bs warned by the ringing to wait in some place where there is room enough to pass, PECULIARITIES OF TIE ANIMAL. None but Indians, shy as themselves and un- hampered by the wars of civilization, can manage Mamas, and white men never attempt it, Ifan ounce more than 100 pounds be added to his burden the beast will lie down to stir until the surplus is removed, ever he is tired, burden or no bu bound to stretch out until well rested, Mean- while tho patient driver will hait ail the rest of the flock and lie down too, waiting by the roadside until the refractory animal is ready to move on. Au Indian never «| iamas, the utmost coercion he uses under any mstances being a gentle push. Indeed, he takes better care of them than he does of ; perhaps with good reason, since the four-footed animals are of more valae commercialiy, The latter are wortb alive about seven dollars apiece, but sell for more when dead, in the shape of hides, meat aud tallow. The natives prefer liama flesh, atter it has deen frozeu, to any other kind of meat, and make great account of the tallow, which 18 called sabo, using it for many pur- poses, MALE LLAMAS ONLY CARRY FREIvHT, the females being kept in corfal for breeding purposes. Soouas a young male is ready to stand he is trained to bear burdens, and at two Years old is put into au alquila, the usual drove of twenty anim: Yo drive this number easily two perso: required, An Indian will take his alq with 100 pounds piled on the beck of cath, and, ancistol by his wife or d, will drive them « distance of 150 miles in eighteen or twenty days. For this service he charges at the rate of cighty cents per diem to each beast, Bolivian cents, worth about half as much as ours, Atthis price he feeds himself andthe animals and furnishes the necessary ropes, sacks and other equipments, reckoning forty cents a day for ths llamas, twenty cents for the wear and tear of sacks and ropes and twenty cents for the food of himself aud com- Pauero, ‘Ihe sack in which he carries grein, ore, &c., costs in the currency of the country #1.25, but will last a jong time. Under this contract he will sometimes make a journey of two or three months’ duration and save mouey out of it, LITTLE FOOD AND LESS WATER. The Ilma subsists upon a mountain shrub or aspecics of tough, coarse grass mixed with the sand in which it grows. He drinks almost no water and can travel &ithout food for a week, if given @ square meal at both ends of the journey. If too well fed, he is subject toa skin disease, which invariably proves fatal. Some years ago, in 1857, I believe, an effort was made to iutroduce lamas into the United Stutes, but it could not be carried out, prin- cipally because the food was too good for them. Seventy-two Ilamas were taken from Peru to New York. Only thirty-cight of that number survived the sea voyage and those were wintered on a Long Island tarm—which certainly must have been cold enough for the most fastidious animal of the Andes. In the spring scarcely a dozen of these were left alive; ‘theoe were sold to museums and menageries and died at the first approach of warm w THE FUEL OF THE COUNTRY. A circumstance fn connection with this singular animai should not be omitted, viz., that its dung is universally used for fuel in Bolivia and many parts of Peru It burns as reudily as wood, gives out a great deal of heat, has no odor and can be bought at the rate of 60 cents per hundredweight; therefore it is highiy prized in treeless sections, where coal costs from #35 to $48 per ton and the only other al- ternative is a kindof spongy fungys that grows on the mountains. A great deal of com- plaint is just now rife in La Paz against the electric light company, the citizens asserting that so much Hama dung is consumed by its furnaces that their supply of fuel will soon be exhausted. Knowing it to be in gencral use in the kitchens of the country, the tourist in these parts ceases to exist on toast and broiled meats and becomes quite willing to put up with the eternal stews and fries. ‘the commercial name of the fuel is taquia, and owing to the habits of the animal it is by no means difficult to gather. For example, in certuin places along every road where Mamas are driven, al- ways at tho foot of the hills and in these places oniy, will taquia be found—not an atom of i anywhere else for miles rround. ‘The same is true in corrals and ficlds where the animals graze, cach invariably adding his own quota to the general accumulation, always in precisely the same spot. Llamas have a queer but effective way of de- feuding themselves when teased or made angry. Stamping the forcfeet and turning suddenly upon the object of rage, they will eject between the tectha pint or more of saliva, throwing it with great force a distance of several feet. This saliva produces a sting- ing sensation on the skin and if it gets into the mouth or eyes or on any place where the skin is broken violent inflammation is immediately caused and deathly blood-poisoning has been known to ensue. Therefore those who are ac- quainted with the peculiarities of the beast are very careful tokeep on the right side of his temper and at @ respectful distance from his nose, Faxwie B. Wamp. ‘Women Who Feol Young. Bob Burdette in Ladies’ Iiome Journal, ‘Ther ister Loften meet in my travels, She is the good sister who ‘feels just as young asevcr she was.” She’sakittenish thing, yet she'd be a little more kittenish if she was a little less elephantine, Frisky old girl, how to climb into the swing at the ighs two hundred and fifteen and wing credk like a hoisting tackle, Mr. Thinshanks! Higher! Oh, higher! You can't frighten me! I'm not one of the scary sort of girls.” You bet she isn’t, Has six children, and if you'll mistake her for her eldest daughter—a sweet, slender girl, with an oval face, spirituelle expression and figure as graceful as aswaying lily—she’ll ask you to dinner for a week. Plays “Pussy wants a corner” and “Hunt the slipper.” Loves to “teeter.” With an eighteen-foot board you have to pull ail but about thirty inches over to your side of the trestle to make it balance. When the board is balanced right in the middle, she can fire the whole young men's Bible class up mto the air as though they had been fired froma catapult. When her end of the board bangs down or: the ground it jars all the buds off the trees, Fond of mountain climbing. Usually fastens on to a pouss man to 7m ir up. ee rethren too wary. y dragged up hills when she was younger. Besides, the old -yomngans retain their old-time dice in favor of younger girls, They daughters up. ———oe+-_______ To Dislodge a Fish Bone. A gargle of vinegar will dissolve smali bones quickly. Where a large bone happens to lie across the windpipe or throat a dexterous use “Higher, ju- has the LA em sree oleae Sith NicR Ballad Ai Sh Dita al ci Dh Lh tin her ale le al A che SEE Bm hon “2 THE GREAT FORTY-INCH LENS. That Will Take Us Deeper Into Heaven. From the Boston oral... In a quiet little room at Cambridgeport yos terday was shown for the first time the pree cious class which is to be used in making @ telescope that shall eclipse even the famous one now mounted atthe Lick Observatory im California, The gathering took place in « cel- lar of the residence of Alvan G. Clark, the famous telescope maker, and there were Present Judge KR. M. Widney, president of the University Bank of Los Angeles, Cal, and @ trustee of the Universty of Southern Cali- fornia; Mr. Alvan G, Clark; his brother, George Clark; Judge Widney's son, Robert; three of Mr. Clark's assistants, and a Jerald reporter, When the lid of the big box was removed Mr. Clark tenderly lifted away the exc: which covered the precic cushioned on its soft bod and reflecting the light from the little oil lamp held respectful distance by a careful assistant, Nass asicht for astronomical eres to behold. The glass measures about 10 feet in cireum- ference, or 3 feet 4 inches in diameter, Al- though it 2 inches thick at the center and 1}, inches at the edge. it was as transparent a8 a bit of thin plate glass when carefully it was raised on its edge in the box. Mr, Clark's hands fondied it as he woulda baby while he mermured: “What a beauty it is, no one ever saw its Liki ticles of George Clark flecked of the dust that clung to it with a soft silk handker- chicf and toached it as lightly as a lady might her powdered check. Mr. Widney's eves danced with pleasure as he glanced through its transparent thickuess. The Herald re- porter touched it reverently before it was laid carefully back in its case to await its finishing A righ of relief escaped the veteran, er wher, in A state Of more or less anxic! ne, for the lens represents about aonths’ work already, though two or three years will be required to finish it, When it is ready for its position in the big telescope it will represent a value of from $60,000 to $70,000. It as now insured for large sume by id of the biggest insurance companies im ostou, Judge Widney expressed thorough satisfac- tion with the appearance of the glass, and sad he had not the ieast doubt but that it would be not ouly the very jargest, but the most perfect one ever attemp’ it as nearly five inches wider in diameter than the Lick telescope glass, Before its Parisian manufacturers succeeded in turning out this perfect specimen the: mcited out dozens and doze in size, regarded pe: ud roeut betore all the air bubbles and inequalities were carved out of it, This reduced its thickness by a couple of inches, and the further processes it al tines to enh rgo before it is fit for its cell may reduce its present thick- ‘ially, that its curve on one side is ut that the other will stand a great deal of cutting down. He has not yes decided whether he will have the work done at his manufactory in Cambridgeport or put up @ new plant to complete it near the scene of ite When the Lick 18 sent away in a special parlor car, and the cost of transportation alone | amounted to $3,000. The first ss that this new and so far greatest lens ever attempted will have to un- dergo will be that of grinding to the oper curve, It will be placed on a mill and made to revolve at aslo» anduniform rate of speed. The finest of sharp steel instruments will cut out the surplus glass, and a smoothing ma- chine, moving in a constantly changing curve, will be for months and months passing over surface before the lens can be utilized. During this time it will be tested, perhaps hundreds of times, by the nid of « silver mirror till ite focal power shall been established. ch of the processes employed in the opera- intricate and delicate, “That of getting the correct focal power may, however, be con- sidered the most interest On being ect before the mirror a little star-like ray of light will be made to pass through the lens and re= flected back through it again from the mirror, Until ali the inequalities of density in the glass are removed the ray of light transmitted will not be perfect in shape. Back and fortis the lens will have to go from the grinding and smoothing machine to the testing apparatus, until the tiny ray of light is as perfect as when. it first leaves the little lamp that sends it forth, ‘The grinding machine isa most ingenious affair, It is worked by two cranks, one of revolves seventeen times to the one time that its fellow moves around, This makes the lens present a constantly changing surface to that which is polishing it Red oxide of iron is used for the grinding and beoswax brings out the perfect polish. Even after the ma- chines have done all their fine work it will re- main for human fingers to complete the pol- ishing process, The focal length of the tele- scope cannot be decided upon until the focal power of the lens has been established, but it is estimated that it will be between 56 and 60 feet. Besides being an object glass it is alson photograph glass, The largest astronomical photograph lens previously made has been but 24 inches in diameter, and it is expected that the present one will’ accomplish unheard-of triumphs in revealing wonders of the starry firmament. Judge Widney said that through it the moon will look as if only 100 miles awey, and that if there are any cities or large buildings on ite surface their presence will Le revealed through its aid. The glass, it is thought. will also settle the question as to the suppoved signals of light which the inhabitants ot Mars are understood to be making to the people of the earth, The observatory for which this new tele- scope is intended is to be about 120r 15 miles from Los Angeles, on a part of the Sierra Madre mountains known as Wilson Peak. It is claimed to be a better site for observation than the Lick observatory. It is xbout 6.000 feos above the sea level, and is free from the mist d fogs which roll in through the Golden Gate and spoil many chances of observation with the Lick telescope. The atmospheric conditions altogether are suid to be more favorable for astronomical search than at the tormer place. A DELICATE PALATE. How a Would-Be Wine Expert Was Dee ceived by an Old Dealer. From the Chicago Herald. Capt. Shillaber, well known to the wine men of San Francisco, is attracting attention among the experts of Chicago for his knowledge of wines and his stories of wine tasting. Seated atatable surrounded by casks and barrels of the famous wines of California, he told this. story: A gentleman the other day came in here and ordered a bottle of the best Zinfandel wine. I called to John, our porter, to wrap up 8 bottle. “How much do you charge a bottle?” “Forty cents,” I replied. “Forty cents a bottle for Zinfandel? That ts an outrageous price. You have not a bottle of wine in your entire establishment that is worth 40cents. I know all about wines, their manu- facture, their cost and what they are worth, and I do not intend to pay any a I called te John in the back part of the store: “Don't wrap up that bottle; it is not wanted.” Then, turning to my kno gentleman, I ine vited him to test a glass of Zinfandel. He ac- cepted, and then, entering into conversation with him, [ explained that pure California wine could not be sold for less, Although I had beon inthe wine business for twenty-cight years, my new friend told me that he had made ita study for over three years seve oe Tas frankly told him little and was learning more day. Solasked him if judgment on two wines E Zinfandel was the best. the ice chest and