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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, September 22, 1872, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85026214/1872-09-22/ed-1/seq-1/

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At No. 11 Frankfort street.
MT A SECOND EDITION, containing the latest news
from all quarters, published on SUNDAY MORNING.
aa- Tne NEW YORK DISPATCH is sold by all News
Agents in the city and suburbs at TEN CENTS PER
COPY. All Mail Subscriptions must be paid in advance.
Canada Subscribers must send 25 cents extra, to prepay
American postage.
Hereafter, the terms of [Advertising in the DISPiTCH
i> ill be as follows:
WALKS ABOUT TOWN 30 cents per line.
Under the heading of “Walks About Town’’ and
•‘Business World” the same price will be charged for
each insertion. For Regular Advertisements and “ Spe
cial Notices,” two-thirds of the above prices will be
charged for the second insertion. Regular advertise
ments will be taken by the quarter at the rate of oue dol
lar a line. Special Notices by the quarter will be charged
nt the rate of one dollar and twenty-five cents per line.
Luts and fancy display will be charged extra.
.Merchants and Property Owners
to be Indemnified Against
Loss by Thieves.
This is an age of novel undertakings, and in noth
ing is the novelty more apparent than in the matter
of insurance. Life insurance is of comparatively re
cent date, and it is only within the past twenty years
that it has assumed gigantic proportions. Our
life and limbs are now Insured against accidents for
a stipulated sum, and he who sets forth on a journey,
for an insignificant sum, daily, can protect his family
against want, in case he Is suddenly cut off by one of
those so-called accidents which have rendered trav
eling by railroad in this country so insecure. Our
property, on land or afloat. Is insured against any
possibility oi loss by fire or flood.
All this is done under what is known as
by which is understood tnat during a certain inter
val there will be a certain proportion of loss, which,
falling upon one man, or set of men, would' be ex
tremely difficult, if not impossible, to bear up against,
but which is expected by the insurance company,
and a certain per centage, or premium, charged by
It on all its customers to cover the loss. Legitimate
ly conducted, there is no safer business than that of
insurance. Depart from well-known and fixed rules,
and there is nothing more certain than that finan
cial ruin will follow.
As already stated, however, there are
and these have been Invented and Improved upon.
Insurance of property in transit was originally noth
ing more than the banding together of a number of
merchants, or traders, who bound themselves to
make good the losses sustained by any one or more
of their number In this particular.- Fire insurance
had its origin in much the same way, although in
European countries, where brick and stone are used
almost exclusively in building, there is nothing like
the same risk of fire, as with us.
There is even an insurance company which guar
antees to make good the loss of cattle or horses, from
whatever cause, and the business done by It has
grown to enormous proportions.
But with all these tafiou* kind* nf inauraneefl,
there is one that has never yet been put in actual
practice, although much mooted of late years. We
refer to
The amount stolen yearly in this city alone is sim
ply appalling, A. T. Stewart & Co. alone lose from
$15,000 to $20,000 from their retail store alone, not
to mention the frequent raids made by burglars on
bonded warehouses where the goods of the firm are
In bond. It is safe to say that from $30,000 to $50,-
000 worth of goods are lost by this firm yearly by the
operations of shoplifters and burglars. Other firms
Buffer in like proportion. Some keep an account
book in which are regularly entered the amounts
Jost by the operations of thieves. All of the large
houses are compelled to keep in their employ one or
more policemen, who are supposed to be familiar
with the faces of the older and better known thieves
of both sexes, and can therefore guard against their
depreda (ions.
There are in this city nearly or quite two thou
sand persons of both sexes who are professional
thieves and outlaws, who make their living by prey
ing upon the remainder of the community. It would
be extremely difficult to make an estimate of the
amount of property filched yearly‘by this class of
the community, but that it is very large is shown by
the statistics of the Police Department, and it is safe
to say that this does not include more than one-half
of the actual amount.
All these facts have long been known to many per
sons both inside and outside the Police Department,
nnd the project of starting an insurance or indem
nity company guaranteeing the business ana resi
dent portion of the community against loss by bur
glars or thieves has long been considered a feasible
and legitimate project, and one that, in good, re
sponsible hands, would at once find favor with the
So convinced were they of the soundness of the
principles thus laid down, and the success that
would follow the commencement of such an under
taking, that certain well known citizens, among
thorn some who had served In the police departmen t
last Winter, obtained from the Legislature a charter
empowering them, under certain conditions, to or
ganize a stock company, and transact business un
der certain limitations. Those who have the matter
in hand decline to make the details public as yet,
but the outline of the scheme is known.
The main idea is, of course, to reimburse any one
of tho insured who may have suffered from the
depredations of thieves in whatever form. The
risks may vary as much in form and conditions as
ihose office or life insurance. The short time risks
would, of course, be those of goods in transit, either
by rail, steamer, or canal boat, or in bonded ware
houses, and the longer ones those of property or
goods of whatever kind in stores, warehouses, and
It is claimed that, under the guarantees given by
the company, absolute security against loss can b e
obtained by the insured, as much as against fire. If
thieves break in and carry away an entire stock,
either of jewelry, dry goods, or property of whatever
description, the loss falls, not upon the owner, but
upon the company, who, as may naturally be ex
pected, will do its utmost to discover and punish the
thieves, and reclaim the property taken.
It is obvious that, unless proper safeguards are
thrown around the business, the grossest frauds
might be perpetrated by those who wished to cover
up impending bankruptcy, or who Insured them-
Belves for the sole purpose of swindling the com
pany. It is claimed, however, by the projectors of
the scheme, that this would ba even more difficult
than the burning of a store or dwelling to obtain the
To the eye of an expeeienced detective, a glance
is alone sufficient to inform him whether a burglary
Is the work of a professional burglar or novice; and
nn examination of the books of the firm by compe
tent persons would indicate whether or not there was
a likelihood that the burglary had been instigated or
connived at by the members of the firm.
That there would be many attempts of this sort
there can be no doubt, as the experience of the de
tectives attached to the polio© of the various cities
plainly attest. The trouble is, however, that it is no
business on the part of anyone to bring the crime
borne to the authors. It is an exceedingly delicate
and dangerous thing to accuse a merchant or firm oi
planning or perpetrating a fictitious robbery to de
fraud his or their creditors, unless the amplest proofs
are forthcoming; and almost invariably the detect
ive, after making a full investigation, reports his be
lief to his chief, and the matter is quietly dropped.
In the case of an employe who has robbed his em
ployer and reports that he has been robbed to cover
up his delinquency, the unraveling of the affair is
much more easy, and almost invariably ends with
the culprit making making a clean breast of the
whole affair.
Such a case occurred not long ago. A collector re
ported to his employer that he bad had his pocket
cut open while riding down town in a Broadway
stage, and over $1,600 stolen. His employer fully
believed the story, and took the collector to Police
Headquarters to tell his story and give a description
of the thief, or the one whom he supposed might be
the thief, because he sat beside him in the stage. He
told a very simple and straightforward story, and one
well calculated to deceive. Capt. Irving desired to
see the cut pocket.
It was shown, and when examined carefully, the
cut was found to be longer on the inside than on the
outside, proving conclusively that It must have been
turned iuside out before being cut, something that
no thief would do. The collector was taxed with the
thelt, and fipally acknowledged his guilt, adding
that he had taken the money to cover up previous
It is asserted that the effect of the organization of
this indemnity company will be to decrease the
number of thieves in the metropolis by securing the
conviction of a greater proportion of those arrested
than al present, for the reason that here will be a
corporation having a direct interest in repressing tho
crimes of larceny and burglary to the greatest possi
ble extent. It will have iu its employ a corps of
trained detectives under the direction of a chief
possessing knowledge and ability sufficient to direct
their movements to the end that the best results
may be obtained; counsel thoroughly versed in
criminal law, and able to thwart the pettifogging
schemes by which so many criminals manage to .es
cope punishment will also be employed.
The public will look with interest upon the course
as striking a new and novel undertaking, and one
that may, if properly managed, attain to gigantic
proportions. There seems to be no reason why, if
managed with anything like the discretion and judg
ment of other forms of insurance, it should not
meet with great results.
Toward the latter end of the last century, a tragedy
was enacted at Lawford Hall, in Warwickshire,
which created a great sensation throughout England,
and in some of the details, as well as in the division
of public opinion as to the guilt of the accused, re
sembled the famous Lafiarge case, which has been
related in this series.
Sir Theodosius Boughton was a student at Eton,
when his mother and sister, while on a visit to Bath,
made the acquaintance of Captain Donellan, who
had served in the artillery of the East India Com
pany, and had distinguished himself on several im
portant occasions. Being appointed prize agent,
however, he was guilty of receiving bribes from tuo
native merchants, and these transactions coming to
the ears of his superior offices, ho was tried by court
martial, and sentenced to be
In consideration, however, of his former good con
duct, and his gallant bauavior before the enemies of
British rule, he was allowed to retire on half pay.
On his return to England, he obtained the appoint
ment of master of the ceremonies at the Pantheon
Assembly Rooms, where, by hia politeness and gen
tlemanly deportment, he became a great favorite.
Ou the occasion of hia making the acquaintance of
Lady Boughton and her daughter, the proprietor of
the fashionable hotel at which he had taken up his
quarters had informed him that those ladies were
unable to obtain accommodation, and would be com
pelled to sleep In tho only sitting room he could offer
them. Donellan immediately desired to be intro
duced to the ladies, to whom he offared to surrender
hia apartment in such a polite manner, that the offer
was gratefully accepted, and he was invited to break
fast with them next morning. Donellan so well im
proved this acquaintance, that
soon afterward settling on the lady all her property,
and also any inheritance or bequest to which she
might afterward become entitled. As he was thirty
eight years of age, and had acquired considerable
knowledge of the world, while Lady Boughton and
her son were singularly deficient in that quality, he
soon obtained great influence at Lawford Hall, which
he retained after Theodosius left Eton. The young
baronet had not long left college when he became ill,
and was attended by a surgeon at Rugby, named
Powel. On taking some medicine, which was ad
ministered by his mother, he complained of its nau
seousness, upon which Lady Boughton remarked
that it had also a peculiar audquite offensive smell,
but added, as she glanced at the label on the vial,
that it was the medicine sent by Powel. Captain
Donellan, entering the room at that moment, was
told that the medicine had a bad taste and smell,
upon which he took the vial from the mantle-piece,
rinsed it with water, and emptied the contents.
shortly afterward. His eyes were fixed, his teeth
clinched, and a frothy mucus flowed from his mouth
and nostrils. He seemed in terrible agony, and
died before medical aid could be procured.
Rumors spread that the death of the young baro
net bad not been natural, and that foul play had
been practiced; and, as a great part of the property
passed to his sister, suspicion became busy with the
name of Captain Donellan. Sir William Wheeler, a
resident magistrate, wrote to that gentleman, Inti
mating that in consequence of the rumors that were
abroad, it would be well to open the coffin—a leaden
one, which had been soldered up three days after the
baronet’s death—and have
by competent surgeons. Donellan promptly assent
ed, and expressed a wish that everything should be
done that might be considered necessary for the dis
sipation of the existing doubt. In consequence of
this communication, three surgeons attended at
Lawford Hall to examine the corpse; but, on finding
it in a very offensive condition, declined to perform
the operation. A surgeon at Rugby, named Buck
nell, on hearing of this refusal, called at the hall,
and offered to make the examination on his own re
sponsibility. Donellan refused to allow the exam
ination to be made without the authorization of Sir
William Wheeler, and Bucknell retired. The funeral
iook place the same day, under the direction of Cap
tain Donellan.
It was no sooner known that the interment had
taken place without a previous examination of the
corpse, than a violent outcry was raised, and the ex
citement throughout Warwickshire became so great
that the coroner interposed, and an inquest was
held. Powel, the surgeon, stated that the medicine
he had supplied was merely
perfectly harmless in its effects. Lady Boughton
deposed that, after Captain Donellan had rinsed the
vial, he emptied another, and desired one of the fe
male servants to carry the contents away. This, she
said, she objected to; but Donellan persisted, and
the contents of the vial were removed. She added
that the fact of Donellan rinsing out one vial and
emptying another, raised suspicions in her mind
that the death of her son had been caused by unfair
The jury returned a verdict of willful murder
against Captain Donellan, and he was thereupon
taken into custody, and committed to Warwick jail,
to ba tried at the following Spring assizes,
The trial came on at Warwick, before Chief Justice
Buller, and a crowded court, on the 30th of March,
1781. Powel, the surgeon, deposed that the deceased
was not seriously unwell when he was called to at
tend him, though Captain Donellan strove to have it
inferred that bls malady was of a dangerous charac
ter. On visiting Lawford Hall, an hour after Sir
Theodosius had died, he was Informed by Captain
Donellan that his patient had died from convul
Three medical gentlemen stated that the appear
ance of the corpse warranted the conclusion that a
strong vegetable poison had been swallowed by the
deceased, and recorded their opinion that the
contained in the draught which had been adminis
tered by Lady Boughton. Lady Boughton’s evidence
differed materially from her depositions before the
coroner. She stated that on Captain Donellan enter
ing the room where her son was dying, he was
shown two draughts, and, taking up one, he inquired
if that was what had been given, and, being an
swered in the affirmative, he emptied it into some
dirty water, and upon her remonstrating with him
upon his so doing, he took up the other phial, and,
putting his finger to the mouth, tasted its contents.
Upon her remarking that It was highly improper to
meddle with the medicine, he observed that he
wished to convince himself as to what the phials con
tained. She was then struck by the singularity of
his conduct in tasting the contents of the second
phial, which had not been given to the deceased,
and leaving the sediment of the first one untouched.
She added that when she returned from her first ex
amination before the coroner,
for having mentioned his washing out the phial, and
said that she should only have answered the ques
tions that were put to her. One of the coroner’s
jury deposed to having observed the prisoner pull
Lady Boughton’s sleeve while she was giving evi
dence on the inquest as to his having washed out
the phial.
The defense rested entirely on the fact that the
accused would gain nothing by the death of Sir
Theodosius, as the property of the baronet would
pass to his sister, and be entirely under her control;
and It was affirmed that the circumstances which
Lady Boughton had twisted into evidence unfavor
able to the prisoner were merely the natural acts of
a man placed in such a situation, and that no pre
sumption of guilt could fairly be drawn from them.
A prisoner in Warwick jail, named Darby shire,
said that he had been for some time in the same cell
with the prisoner, and had been told by him that he
had no doubt that Lady Boughton, who was a very
covetous woman,
On the witness observing that it was very un
natural for her to do such a thing, the prisoner added
that she had received an anonymous letter, accusing
her in plain terms of the crime, and that she had
trembled violently on reading it, and begged him
and his wife to say nothing about it.
Chief-Justice Buller summed up the evidence in a
manner flagrantly unfair to the accused, and the
jury had little difficulty in finding a verdict of guilty.
The judge then proceeded to pass the sentence of the
law upon Donellan, and observed that he had no
doubt ambition had led him to believe that he could
live in greatness and splendor if his victim were re
moved; and that it was also his firm conviction that
the greatness of the crime was due to the greatness
of the fortune at which the prisoner had aimed.
Donellan suffered the dreadful sentence of the
law, in front of Warwick jail, n the Ist of April,
1781. He met his fate with firmness and resigna
tion, his last words being:
“As I am now about :o appear before God, to
Whom all deceit is known, I solemnly declare that I
am innocent of the crime for which I suffer.”
The Story of Her Crime and
The Baroness Dies Fighting with the Com
muulsis in the Streets of Paris.
(From thg Memphis Appeal, Sept. 18.)
The great crime of Julia Ebergenti is known to all
readers of newspapers, and after the publication of
the following item, which received extensive notice
on both sides of the Atlantic, the affair, which had
created so much stir among the aristocracy of
Europe, died a natural death, and seemed to be
placed among the things of.the past:
Some years ago much excitement was created
throughout Germany by the murder of Countess
Chrosinski by her husband, the Count, aided by his
accomplice and former mistress, named Julia Eber
genti. The criminals were tried, and sent to the
S ate Prison for twenty years. The count, however,
became insane immediately after the trial, and was
sent to the lunatic asylum of Erlaneng, where be re
cently died. His female accomplice is still in the
penitentiary, and is in good health.
At the time of the committal of the crime above
referred to, the Count Gustave Chrosinski was one of
the most noted officers of the Austrian army, of high
aristocratic family, and the son of the governor of
one of the lower provinces.
had contracted a deep and unholy passion for the
dashing officer, whioh was returned with no less
ardor on his part.
Previous to his meeting the baroness, the count
had married an actress named Mathield Ruel, a wo
man of superior accomplishments, great beauty, and
fascinating manners. This passion led the baroness
to resolve upon the death of the count’s wife, that
she might lawfully fill her place. In November,
1868, to consummate her dreadful purpose, the
baroness, under an assumed name, visited the city of
Munich, Bavaria, where her victim resided alone in
lodgings. The people with whom the countess
lodged told the story: How a strange lady came to
sec their lodger; how one night the countess pro
posed to visit the opera house in company with the
strange lady; how for two days after the proposed
visit to the opera, nothing was seen of the Countess
Chrosinski; how, at the expiration of the two days,
on inquiry at the hotel of the Vier Jahreszeitem,
where the strange lady had been supposed to be
staying, nothing could be learned of her nor of the
countess; how the countess* doors were then broken
open, when she was
A medical examination revealed the fact that death
had been caused by prussic acid. The circum
stances fully aroused the subtle energies of the po
lice and detectives, and on the arrival of Count
Chrosinski to attend the last duties to be paid to his
hapless spouse, he was arrested and examined. On
his person were found photographs of a female,
which, on inspection, proved to be a likeness of the
countess’s mysterious visitor, and these were photo
graphs of the Baroness Julia Ebergenti.
On the 25th of April, 1868, Baroness Julia Eber
genti received the following sentence, delivered by
the President of th© High Criminal Court of Vienna,
Austria :
“That she be deprived of her rank and titles, and
sentenced to twenty years of hard labor.”
The reader will remember that this was before the
Franco-Prussian war, and before the bloodthirsty
acts of the Communists had written the darkest
chapter in the annals of France. On the 28th of
April, 1868, she was incarcerated in the Neadorf
penitentiary, to serve out the term of twenty years,
During August, 1869, it was reported and pub
lished that this beautiful criminal had languished
and died in prison of the most fatal of diseases—
consumption; but the shrewdness of a Bavarian de
tective named Obert, and a Prussian named Mer
ville, discovered that, through the influence of Louis
Napoleon, she had escaped and fled to America.
The baroness was attended, during her well-feigned
illness, by a beautiful Hungarian servant, a girl of
much beauty and intelligence. This girl was well
known to Obert, who bad at all times free access to
the prisoQ.
Earless snir gniJtjfiihnL.
Business of importance calling the two deteotfves
to Paris, they were ushered into the august presence
of His Majesty just in time to catch a glimpse of the
beautiful Hungarian, as she disappeared through a
side-door. This immediately awakened their sus
picion, and they were not long in placing the proper
Interpretation on the unlooked-for presence of the
girl. Concluding that she would in all probability
join those she so faithfully served, they tracked her
to Liverpool, and thence to New York, where she
started by rail for St. Louis. Here she took the pa
latial Great Republic, still accompanied by her dis
guised pursuers, and came to Memphis.
On arriving here the storm king was abroad, the
rain was pouring down in torrents, and the winds
holding high revels. Owing to this, to the girl a for
tunate circumstance, these two agents of the law
lost track of her, and for some time exhausted every
ingenious device to find her, but in vain. Finally
they resolved to elicit the assistance of Chief O’Don
nell, who was then at the head of the police force of
the city, and see if there existed any possibility of
finding a slue to her whereabouts. He became inte
rested in the affair, but his efforts were also in vain.
The Hungarian girl, this missing link in the chain
which would place the groat criminal in their posses
sion, was nowhere to be found.
At that time the well-known and talented trage
dienne, Mrs. D. P. Bowers, was playing a most suc
cessful engagement at the New Memphis Theatre, on
Jefferson street. The whole city was alive with her
praises; the press teemed with complimentary no
tices of her genius and talents; young and old rush
ed nightly to the portals of the theatre to gain ad
mission; standing room during the entire week was
at a premium, and nothing was spoken of but the
brilliant impersonations of this remarkable artiste.
The play was “Lady Audley’s Secret,” with Mrs.
Bowers in the leading role.
It was Friday night—the fashionable and benefit
night—when the wealth and beauty are wont to con
gregate within this temple of the muses. From pit
to dome the whole theatre fairly sparkled with the
youth and aristocracy of Memphis.
The silver bell of the prompter tinkled, the curtain
rose, and the actress of the day, Mrs. Bowers, in all
her glory appeared, and throughout the entire piece
carried her audience with her. The varied aud exci
ted scenes of the - play passed rapidly by, while the
vast assemblage, with eyes riveted on the heroine,
swallowed with breathless attention every word she
uttered. At last the grand denouement was reached,
when Lady Audley Is exposed, and she stands with
the whole secret of her life shown plainly to the pub
lic, when a stifled shriek and low moan of anguish,
expressive of unutterable misery, was heard from
the midst of the audience, and the seemingly inani
mate form of a beautiful woman fell from the seat.
As she was borne through the audience, a haggard
and sorrow-worn countenance was recognized by
Obert, the detective; It was the countenance oi Julia
Ebergenti, and her escort was Count Chrosinski. A
carriage was obtained, and they were driven out Pop
lar street, beyond the toll-gate, to a neat brick cot
tage, which stands near the road. It was agreed that
the detective should pay a visit to the premises the
next day (Saturday), as Chief O’Donnell had refused
to make any arrests without the necessary warrants
or the necessary papers being produoed by the for
eign detectives, to prove that they were bona fide of
ficers of the law. Upon repairing to the premises
on Saturday, what was their surprise to find that
and eo well did they cover up all evidences of flight
that, although the detectives remained in the city for
several days, no traces of the aristocratic criminals
could be found. The officers returned to Europe,
when followed the blooJy and triumphant march of
the Pmsaians Into Parle, and how that war brought
the count and baroness again to light la explained in
the following latter to Tom O’Donnell, Chief of Police.
Beblin, Pbussia, August 29, 187 L
Thomas O’Donnell:
Deab Sib—l write to you through friendship, and
for the purpose of giving you iniormation whioh I
am certain will interest you.
On the commencement of the war between Prussia
and France, I entered the French territory with the
Bavarians, and was witness to the surrender of Na
poleon at Sedan. Imagine my surprise at discover
ing among the prisoners surrounding Napoleon,
Count Gustave Chrosinski. He had espoused the
cause oi the French emperor, and was one of his
staff, with the rank of Colonel, and the fortunes of
war had placed him in our hands. Again my curi
osity was excited to such an extent that I deter
mined to renew my former efforts to learn the where
abouts of the Countess. With this intention I passed
through all the engagements that distinguished our
march to Paris, and had the pleasure of entering a
city so renowned in the history of the rulers of Eu
rope. In pursuit of my legitimate business as de
tective, I was compelled to return to Berlin.
Then commenced the fratricidal war that caused
the streets of Paris to flow with the blood of men,
women, and children. In the midst of all the storm
of fire and iron hail, the former Baroness Julia Eber
genti figured as a leading spirit. Left alone in Paris
by her husband, the count, the events of the surren
der, the fiendish and frantic actions of the Commun
ists so worked upon her mind, assisted by the awful
memories of the past, that her reason tottered, and
one day, when the fierce fighting was being waged by
the Communists against the Versaillists, she sallied
from her residence, and with vehemence and enthu
siasm, collected about her thousands of wild and
crazed women. Day after day they fought until at
length the barricades were carried at the point of the
bayonet A irigntful massacre took place in one of
the streets of Paris, where the French Amazons
fought with the energy of despair.
In a heap of slain lay this fearless, wonderful wo
man—dead, her body begrimed with powder, and
her garments rent and bloody. At least ten wounds
were on her person. Prone upon the
she lay, and upon her face rested the demon of pas
sion. As her body was being interred in its rude
resting place, a locket fell from her bosom, and hung
pendant from her neck by a gold chain. That locket
revealed her name and station, and the balance of
the story was told by others. Do you not consider
this a remarkable case; and do you not recognize in
this affair, from commencement to end, that truth is
stranger than fiction ?
I would ba pleased to hear from you and will al
ways remember you with kindness. With respsci, I
a m your servant, Frederick Obert.
The steamer City of Charleston, which left this
port on Wednesday last for New Orleans, carried
among its passengers a beautiful and accomplished
young girl, whose fate and sad, strange history for
the past three years is but the counterfeit of many
such daily transpiring in this city.
Emily Noland was born in the city of New Orleans
in 1852. Her father, Colonel Noland, was an officer
in the Confederate army, and at one time regarded
as one of the wealthiest and most influential cilizens
of the Crescent City. His family consisted of his
wife, a son, and two daughters, Emily and Catherine,
Emily being the youngest by two years. The son
was killed in one of the battles of the war, and the
father died soon after its close. The family, al
hough considerably poorer after the close of the
struggle, in which Colonel Noland had embarked
his fortunes, were still well enough off to maintain
the high social station which they had always occu
pied. At the age of fifteen, Emily was sene to a
school for young ladies near Baton Rouge, where
she remained two years. After leaving the seminary
she took her station in the society of the city, and
was for a long time conceded to be
She is a tall, blonde beauty, with a profusion of
luxuriant hair, delicately-moulded figure, with
finely marked features, tinged with a plaintive ex
pression; “her eyes are homes of silent prayer,**
large and dark blue. In 1869, Catherine, her sister,
married an eminent lawyer of New Orleans, who
soon after removed to Hartford, Conn. This left
Emily ttfe sole charge of her widowed mother, who
lavished upon her every care that a loving heart
could bestow. She was of an extremely amiable and
confiding disposition, and esteemed by all who knew
her, for her kindness aud charity.
About this time, Mrs. Noland concluded to dispose
ot her plantation on the borders of Lake Pontchur-
train, and her property in New Orleans, on account
of its decreasing valuation from the effects of the
war, and remove to Hartford, where, under the ad
vice of her son-in-law, she could invest her money to
better advantage. With this intention she made
known her purpose through the various newspapers
of that city, and instructed the gentleman in Hart
ford to assist her in finding a purchaser.
Shortly after, there arrived in New Orleans, from
New York city,
and cultivated manners, bearing a letter of introduc
tion from Mrs. Noland's son-in-law in Hartford,
Conn. The gentleman, who is well-known in this
city, and, until recently, largely engaged in the gro
cery and market business, in Fulton street, stated to
Mrs. Noland that he had heard from her son-in-law
of her desire to sell her plantation, and had come
down to look at it. Beside his letter to the widow,
he had other letters of introduction to some of the
first merchants and families of the city. With the
help of these, and the kindness of Mrs. Noland and
her daughter, he was soon installed in the beat of
society. He soon became nearly as much of a favor
ite in New Orleans as the daughter of his hostess.
He represented himself as being unmarried, and
was regarded with greedy eyes by match-making
mammas and marriageable daughters—Mrs. Noland
and Emily ex?epted. The widow had no desire to
part with her beautiful daughter, just budding into
womanhood, and the sole comfort of her old age.
To Emily, however, the gentleman’s attentions were
soon noticeably and finally exclusively directed.
Mrs. Noland observed, with considerable anxiety,
the maneuvers of her guest, and cautioned her
daughter not to receive anything like serious pro
posals from him.
and moonlight excursions, when at the plantation,
succeeded. From looks, and a thousand other cir
cumstances, trivial in themselves, but never lost
upon womankind, Mrs. Noland saw, with pain, that
Emily was fast being won from her.
After a visit of about a month, he expressed him
self satisaed with the terms upon which the property
was to bJ sold. Preliminary arrangements were
made for de sale of the small plantation and prop
erty in i- v Orleans, and he prepared for his depar
ture. L ire going, however, he made a declaration
of nis lev 3 to Emily, which was reciprocated, and
the two p~. ted, the gentleman promising to return
in the course of a month, when he would consum
mate the purchase of the property, and acquaint
Mrs. Noland with the state of his feelings. Until
then, he advised Emily to say nothing to her mother,
which the confiding girl promised.
At the expiration of a month he again visited New
Orleans, and was cordially received by the numerous
friends he had made on his former visit, and by none
more ardently than the beautiful Emily and her
mother. He stated to Mrs. Noland that unexpected
business reverses bad materially altered his plans,
and that he could not at that time complete the pur
chase of her property. His stay was again pro
longed.jnd again the routine of drives on the shell
road afitrsails on the lake were resumed. Near the
end of the third week of his visit, Mrs. Noland re
ceived a letter from her son-in-law in Hartford, in
answer to one of inquiry that she had written. The
lawyer’s letter stated that his acquaintance with the
gentleman from New York was limited, being wholly
confined to business transactions. It stated, how
ever that he was in good repute in this city, and was
a gentleman of position and some wealth. No ref
erence was made in either letter to the relations of
Emily and Mrs. Noland’s guest, as that lady did not
herself fully understand the situation.
Shortly another letter was received from Hartford,
announcing that Catharine was about to be confined,
and expressing a desire that Emily should visit her
during her illness. Nothing seemed so fortunate for
the proposed visit as the presence of the gentleman
from New York. He had already expressed his in
tention of soon bringing his visit to a termination,
and would be more than happy to accompany Emily
as far as New York. Passage was engaged on the
steamer, and Emily’s mother and her many friends
in New Orleans took leave of her.
The steamer arrived in New York, Aug. 24, 1870.
On the date of the arrival of the steamer the lawyer
in Hartford received the following dispatch from the
gentleman who had been her escort from New Or
leans :
New York, Aug. 24, 1870.
Mr. : Miss Noland will arrive in Hartford on
the 5:45 P. M. train from this city.
Yours truly, ——
Hartford, Conn., Aug. 24.
On the receipt of this dispatch he repaired to the
depot to meet his expected sister-in-law. The train
arrived but Emily did not appear. Thinking she
had missed the train which she intended taking, he
anxiously waited for the next, but still she did not
come. In the morning he telegraphed to this city,
stating that she had not arrived and inquiring if she
had started. The answer came that she had. Thor
oughly alarmed for her safety, he dispatched mes
sages to the various stations and towns on the route,
but without obtaining any information relative to
the missing girl. He then came to this city and
waited upon the gentleman who had come up with
her on the steamer. No one could have been more
overwhelmed than he at the sad and mysterious turn
affairs had assumed, and the two proceeded to ex
haust every means of ascertaining the whereabouts
of the unfortunate girl. Messages were sent to all
points east, advertisements were inserted in nearly
all the papers of this city, and detectives employed
to hunt her up. Descriptions of her apparel, and
photographs, were distributed far and wide, and all
the methods usually adopted by the authorities in
such cases were operated, but
could be obtained. The search was finally aban
doned as hopeless. About a year after her strange
disappearance, a letter was handed to the detectives
at headquarters, which purported to have been writ
ten by a strange young woman, who had been resid
ing at No. 15 Amity Place, now South Fifth avenue.
The letter stated that its author had been abandoned
by all she held dear, and that she intended to seek
relief in a watery grave. It was signed “Emily
Noland.’’ After inquiring into the matter, the offi
cers came to the conclusion that it was a preconcert
ed affair, and gave it no more of their attention.
Notwithstanding, the letter, together with the ac
count of the affair which appeared in the papers at
the time, were sent to the mother in New Orleans,
and to the son-in-law in Hartford; and Emily was re
garded by both as being dead, or worse than dead.
Meanwhile, Emily had simply met the fate that
has befallen thousands of other girls in this city.
She had been seduced and ruined by the man in
whom she had trusted, and at the time of the search
for her, was secreted in a notorious house of assig
nation in Neilson Place, in this city. On the first
notice of her disappearance a detective of this city
began an inquiry into the moral antecedents of her
escort from home, and arrived at the conclusion
that if any person knew the whereabouts of the
young lady, that gentleman did. He accordingly
watched his movements, and soon learned the true
condition of affairs. He yielded, however, to the en
treaties of the infatuated girl and the money of her
paramour, and was chiefly instrumental m throwing
others off the scent.
After living for more thana year as the mistress
of the man who had ruined her, she was discarded,
and in course of time became the inmate of a bagnio
at No. 109 Greene street, kept by the notorious Irene
King. Here she remained until Tuesday last, pre
ferring to continue a life of shame rather than make
known to her friends her condition.
On Monday last, her sister Catharine and her bus
came to this city, previous to taking the steamer to
New Orleans, where they were going on a visit to
Mrs. Noland, wh resides in that city. While here,
her brother-in-law, who is a German, in company
with his wife and some friends, attended the Conn
stadter Festival, held in Jones’ Wood. About three
o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, as the party were
strolling through the woods, the gentleman’s atten
tion was attracted by the sudden and strange be
havior ot his wife. Catharine had stopped in their
walk, as.they were passing a group of girls, and
stood as one transfixed. Suddenly she threw up her
arms, and sank with a shriek to the ground. At
the same time, Emily, who happened also to be at
tending the festival, and who had as quickly recog
nized her sister, rin from her companions and
caught the prostrate Catharine in her arms, weeping
By this time quite a crowd of curious pleasure
seekers had gathered at the spot. The husband im
mediately called a carriage, and conveyed his wife
and sister to the Maltby House. Emily’s story was
soon told, and by this time she is far on her way to
her home, where her sorrow-stricken mother has
long mourned her as one dead*
No. B.—“JIM.”
By Julian Cross.
Jim Slowman warn’t no wonder,
There’s thousands like him round
Who fight, and don’t knock under,
And hold their own good ground.
Yer see Jim had a daughter,
Puss Bell, his heart’s delight.
And the old man always taught her
What was wrong, and what was right.
I well remember Bell
As fair as daylight is;
A being loved so well
By Jim, who called her bis.
But a cloud came on his heart—
His darling Bell she fled
With a man who played a part,
And burned her foolish head.
Who swore by oath he loved her,
And persuaded her to fly.
One little month—he left her,
Shamed and ruined, there to die.
Bell came back to her father;
And the old man’s tears fell fast,
Aud his white head bowed in sorrow
As he wished that hour his last.
But her wrongs went up to Heaven,
And Jim’s hot blood was up;
He s; ar ted out for vengeance
Ere touching bite or sup.
Next day he found the rascal
Loafing idly in the sun,
And a cowhide marked his body;
But the father had not done.
The cur cried out for mercy;
Jim Slowman gave him none.
What the wretch stole from his daughter,
A leaden bullet won.
The blood rushed down the kennel,
And Jim ho bowed bis head—
That man Killed Bella’s honor;
That man lay stiff add dead.
Jim Slowman warn’t no wonder;
There’e thousands like him round,
Who fight and don’t knock under,
And bold their own good ground.
1 —Tho above reward will be paid to any oue giving
certain information as to the whereabouts ot a laoy who
has suddenly disappeared from her home. Haddon Hall,
in Lorneshire. She is of medium bight, has a well
formed figure, with small white hands, on which, at the
time of nor disapbearanoe, she wore some valuable
rings, one being of diamonds, set in the form of a cross.
She is of extremely attractive appearance, fair, with a
profu-ion of golden hair; her age about twenty-one.
She was last seen, about eight in the evening, in the
gardens attached to Haddon Hall; and at the time of
her disappearance she wore a dross of blue velvet, richly
trimmed with seod pearls and white lace. As no article
of the unfortunate lady’s wardrobe is missing, excepting
a black lace mantilla, it is supposed that she cannot have
gone far from home.
Whether she has met with some sudden accident, or
has wandered away from home in a sudden access ot in
sanity. no one can form anv idea; but the above reward
will be paid to anyone bringing reliable information,
either to Messrs. Grey & Lawson, solicitors. Gray’s Inn
Lane, London, or to Sir Guy Wyverne. Haddon Hall,
Lorneshire. The reward will be doubled to any one
finding the lady alive.
London, June 30, 18—.
All papers, both English and foreign, arc requested to
Suoh was the advertisement that, one bright
Summer’s morning, appeared in every dally
paper of note in England. Day after day it
was repeated, always in the’ same words.
People read it, and wondered. Who was this
lady, young and fair, who had disappeared
from her home eo suddenly? Lady Magda
lene Wyverne, of Haddon Hall, in Lorneshire.
Many who read it remembered to have met her
the season preceding. She had been the fair
est and most graceful woman in London. She
had ehone at oourt, at the opera, at balls and
fetes ; her fair young face had been too deeply
graven in the memory of those who had known
her ever to be forgotten. The celebrated
artist, Mr. Firth, had painted her portrait, and
every one remembered it on the Wails of the
Royal Academy—a face of etar-like beauty.
For one whole day there was nothing talked
about in London but the advertisement.
Men discussed it at their clubs, women in
their drawing-rooms; and the most callous
hearted men, who laughed as they betted on
the honor of their neighbors’ wives, found no
hard word to say of Lady Wyverne. Even
they cast no imputations on her—there was no
slur upon her fair and honored name : they
spoke of the mystery with anxious faces and
bated breath.
Insanity—there had never been any sign
of it, there was no trace of it in the fair and
lovely face that had drawn all hearts; there
was no taint of it in the Wyvernes, of Had
don, or in her own family, the Charltons, of
Croome. Beside, insanity did not manifest it
self eo suddenly. Lady Wyverne had dined
with her husband and his friend. Lord Lynn
ton, of Rotherlee, and she had talked to them
with her usual charming grace of manner and
animation. They had seen no trace of any
coming illness, either mental or physical, com
ing upon her. She had left the gentlemen
over their wine, and had gone up to tho nur
sery, where the little babe, the heir of the
Wyvernes, was installed in great state—a
lovely, fair-faced child, with Sir Guy’s dark
eyes and her golden hair. She took tho boy
in her arms, kissed him, nursed him, sang
to him, caressed him, and said, with a smile
on her lovely young face, that he, little
Claude, was the sweetest baby every beheld.
Tho nurse, Mrs. Hilton, agreed with her ; and
the happy young mother, the mistress of
Haddon Hall, had gone down on her knees
before tho laughing, crowing babe, and had
worshipped him as mothers do worship the
first-born child.
Then, still smiling, she left the nursery,
with the words of a sweet, soft lullaby rippling
over her lips, and had never entered it again.
Those who saw her in that moment had never
seen her since. The little child had pined, and
almost died; the nurse had turned weary,
weeping eyes from window to door, but the
light feet crossed it no more.
That was tho last seen of her for certain ;
but just as the gentlemen were going into
the drawing-room, one of the footmen, who
had been out, saw, or fancied he saw, his lady
in the flower-garden. He believed she had on
a blue velvet dress, and a black lace mantilla
thrown carelessly over her golden head and
shoulders. He could never be quite certain of
it; for when he came to be questioned, ho grew
confused, and could nob remember in what
part of the garden it was. He had passed
rapidly by, and it might bo that he had fancied
the figure among the trees. Still, the black
lace mantilla was missing ; and all the servants
in the house knew their lady was in the
habit of going out after dinner, sometimes
wandering away into tho grounds until Sir
Guy went in search of her. She loved trees
and flowers eo well, this haplees Lady Magda
lene, that she spent all her time among them.
Whether she entered the garden or not, she
from that moment had never been seen again.
That was how rumor told the story, aud there
was no solution of the mystery.
Sir Guy had left the dining-room, and, with
Lord Lynnton, had lingered a few minutes in
the conservatory ; they went together into the
drawing-room, expecting to find Lady Magda
lene there, and to spend the evening, as they
both liked to spend it, in music and song.
But she was not there ; and tho two gentle
men looked blankly at each other. Sir Guy
rang the bell, and asked if her ladyship was
still in tho nursery : he knew she wont thero
for baby-worship every day at that time, The
answer came that her ladyship had been gone
ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.
“My wife must have gone out into the gar
dens,” said Sir Guy to his guest: "next to the
baby, she loves flowers. She will come in pres
ently, her hands full of lilies and roses, and
full of apologies, too. Shall we go out, or will
you remain here, Harry ?”
Lord Lynnton was tired, the evening warm,
and the claret at Haddon Hall was considered
unequaled ; altogether, though his lordship
admired the lovely face ot the mistress of Had
don, and would have liked to see it smiling
amid the flowers, still he liked his own comfort
better. No one regretted it more sincerely
than he in after years.
An hour passed, and Lady Magdaleno did
not appear. Lord Lynnton declined tea, and
declared it was high time he started for homo,
as he had a long ride before him.
For the first time in hie life, Sir Guy fell
annoyed and vexed with his wife. True, si a
was fond of flowers, but Lord Lynnton was an
honored guest. She might surely have given
up the indulgence of her favorite tastes foil
one evening at least. He was vexed with her,
and could not understand how one so thought
ful, bo refined as his wife, could ignore all
habits of politeness, and leave his guest alone.
He made some laughing apology to Lord Lynn
lon, who seemed piqued and annoyed, and
then they parted, little dreaming, either of
them, what the nigh t would bring forth.
Sir Guy was vexed, and he showed it. Only
God knew how he blamed himself afterward ;
for if he had gone in search of her, there
might have been at least some clue to bee
fate—but he was vexed. He left the pretty
drawing-room, where the fair face he loved
would shine no more, and wont to the library..
He lighted one of Ins favorite cigars, took up
the Times, which be had not opened that day,
and soon, in the reading of some brilliantly
written articles, forgot his vexation and its
Ho read on until the light died out of tha
evening sky; he intended to ring for tha
lamps, and, fully believing his wife had re
turned, he sat waiting for her to come in and
explain what he considered the unpardonable
fact of her absence.
The window was open, and the flowers under
neath it sent forth rich streams of fragrance ;
the bees hummed as they flew with treasures
of honey home; the song of the birds waa
dying away ; there was a gentle ripple in tha
dense green foliage, a soft whispering of tha
wind, tliatiwas like a lullaby to the flowers, and
Sir Guy forgot his paper, his dark eyes closed,
and lie fell fast asleep. There was some ex
cuse for him ; from eariy dawn he had been
out in the fresh air, and he was dreadfully
He slept until the rosy flush of sunset had
all died out of the western sky, and the wind
grew chilly. When his eyes opened, he was
startled to find the world lay in darkness, and
the Summer evening had faded into night.
Where was she, his loved, fair young wife,
every hair of whose golden head was precious
and dear to him?
He arose with a start, wondering she had
not been in to him ; and he went rapidly to
the drawing room, expecting to find it lighted
up, and Lady Magdalene waiting there for
him. But the room was in total darkness:
the silence of the Louse was unbroken by any
“.Magdalene!” he cried, “are you here?”
Of course it was fancy, but it seemed to him ■
that tor all answer there came alight, mocking
laugh on the roll of the night wind. He was
not nervous or superstitious, this brave young
baronet, whose ancestors had fought and blea
on every English battle-field ; but as he stood
in the silent room, a cold, sick fear came over
him—a fear he could neither account for nor
understand. It paralyzed him ; for half a mo
ment he stood unable to move or to cry out. ;
It was as though a breath of the unknown"
world had passed over him, and chilled his ■
very heart.
Then he recovered himself, and rang tha
bell violently. It was answered by a young
footman, who had not been long in bis service.
“Light the lamps,” ho said, “and inquire
where Lady Wyverne is.”
The man obeyed. He drew down the long
Venetian blinds, and lighted the lamps, while
his master stood wondering at the unusual
sensation which had overcome him ; and then
the servant returned, to say that her ladyship
had not yet re-entered the house.
Sir Guy looked at the man in utter amaze.
“Still out in the grounds I the sky dark, and
after nine at night I There must be some mis
He said no more to the servant, but went to
his wife’s rooms. They, too, were all in dark
ness and silence ; the lady’s maid answered his
summons, and, in reply to his question, said
she had seen nothing of her ladyship sincq
dressing her for dinner.
Then Sir Guy, still unsuspicious of all wrong,
went up to the nursery; but the little Claude
lay Bleeping, and his mother, where was she?
How Lewis .ied in that moment that he had
left Lord Lynnton, and gone into the grounds
after her.
Still without a word to the servants, he went
out into that part of the garden she loved best:
he saw, lying on the path, gleaming palely in
the moonlight, two white lilies that she had
evidently gathered and let fall from her grasp ;
near them lay a little white glove that he knew
at once to be hers. Her favorite perfume cama
softly floating like a message to him ; he raised
it, and agaiu an unutterable sense of coming
sorrow and fear seized him.
“Magdalene I” he cried, looking around at
the drooping roses and the sleeping lilies,
“ Magdaleno I where are you ?”
Thinking she might have perhaps fallen
asleep, ho went round the garden, and round
the grounds, calling, “Magdalene! where aro
you?” and shuddered with untold horror when
the wind replied.
Then he went back to the house; the lights
reassured him; he tried to laugh aloud, and
say to himself that “ho was foolish—who
could be lost on that sweet June night, so near
home, in the nineteenth century, too, when all
mysteries were exploded and out of date ? How
nervous and ridiculous he was : yet, where was
Again he went carefully round the rooms,
into the conservatories, the fernery, where
sometimes she liked to read, the upper rooms,
where she might possibly have gone on soma
pretext or other ; but nowhere and in no place
was there any sign of Lady Magdalene Wyverne.
He began to feel alarmed then ; he saw the
servants gathered together in little groups ;
he saw the pale face of his wife’s waiting maid ;
far off, he heard the cries of the little babe,
who wept for its mother, and would not be
Sir Guy went among them, looking very paid
and stern.
“I am afraid something has happened,” ho
said. “ Lady Wyverne went out into the
grounds alter dinner ; it is now after nine, and
she has not returned. Go out, all of you, and
They went, but the search was vain ; one by
one they returned, hopeless and anxious—,
there was no trace of their lost mistress. Sa
the weary night passed on; the little baba
cried until it was exhausted, and Sir Guy, al
most beside himself, joined the bands of men
scouring the woods. When morning light came,
it found dismay, horror, and confusion at Had.
don Hall.
Policemen, detectives, friends, and neigh
bors camo to help—the whole country side was
raise; but the fair, happy young mother, who
had left her nursery with song on her lips, had
disappeared from their midst, and was heard
of no more.
There were no poachers straying in the quiet
woods of Haddon, no shots had been fired, no
deed of violence could have been accomplished.
She was not unhappy. There had been na
mysteries in that sweet, pure life. There was
nothing to avenge. She loved her husband
with a perfect, worshiping love. She had no(
sought refuge with any friend. From the mo
ment she turned smiling from her baby, Bha
was seen or hoard of no more.
Policemen and detectives, friends and neigh
bors, tried their best; the unhappy master of
Haddon Hall, maddened and bewildered by his
loss, grew desperate, and still nothing waa
heard of the beautiful lost Magdalene.
The advertisements continued. The reward
was doubled—a thousand pounds were offered
for information of Lady Wyverne, living os
dead. Men whose hearts were full of greed
read it, and tried hard to solve the problem;
but it remained a mystery still. ’
The thousand pounds remained with Messrs.'
Grey and Lawson, for no man brought intelli
gence of the fate of Lady Wyverne, of Haddon
" Cold, brilliant, hard, yet withal,
The queen of gems—a perfect diamond.”
A brighter Summer day in London; not yet
so late as to send people of fashion and not®
from town, yet lace enough for the sun to ba
warm, the mignonette and lilacs all In flower}
the trees green, and the parks crowded witlj
people. -
London at its best; the shops all flaking tha
greatest possible show of brilliant and beauti
ful goods ; a general feeling of prosperity and
well-doing diffused among all classes, from tha
mother who hopes to see her daughters well
married, down to the humblest tradesman}
who rubs his hands, and tells his Wife business
is looking up at last. ,
Regent street is gay and sparkling— thronged
with passers-by ; but the shop with which wa
have to deal lies in New Bond etreet. I
A quiet, unpretending place, with no Very
brilliant show in the windows. Yet it is stocked
with jewels that have no equal in ib« widf
NO. 47

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