Newspaper Page Text
10
THE MURDER ON THE ESSEX MARSHES
BY B. L. FAR JEON.
Copyrighted. IfWV, by R L. Farjecn
During the time Bartlett and I have
been In business together we have brought
many strange and difficult cases to a suc
cessful issue, but I doubt whether any one
Of them was stranger or more remarkable
than our first, which was popularly known,
and is spoken of to this day, as “The Mur
der in Essex Marshes."
Our partnership commenced in a cu
rious way Some people would call it a
lucky chance, but I don't believe in chance
myself.
I had been a private detective for five
years, working single-handed, and my
reputation was growing. I had made a
little money, and was engaged to be mar
ried to the dearest . But that's neither
here nor there. She was of invaluable as
sistance to me in the case I am speaking
of. and has always felt grateful for the
part she played in It. Jessie’s mother
kept a lodging-house, and as she resided
near the houses of parliament she suc
ceeded In earning a respectable living.
Our wedding day was fixed, and it was ar
ranged that we should spend our honey
moon out of England—Jessie was wild to
see foreign countries—and upon our re
turn occupy the rooms on the ground
floor of her mother's house. I wasn't go
ing to spoil our holiday by reading Eng
lish newspapers while I was away; for a
few weeks, at least. I would forget all
about business, and this is the reason
why, when we got back to England 1
knew nothing whatever of the remarkable
murder In Essex Marshes which had been
agitating the public mind during our ab
sence. We traveled from Paris by the
night train, and reached home before
noon, and it was on the evening of the
same day that Bartlett presented himself.
I was glad to see him, because we were
sure to talk of business, and I was anxious
to' buckle to. Jessie was with me when
he came In, and I Introduced them to each
other; my little woman remained only a
few minutes with us, and then, with a
shrewd guess that Bartlett had something
to speak about, she left us together.
“You're in luck. Lewis," said Bartlett,
looking after her admiringly, but with a
certain preoccupation.
"Y’ou may say that," I replied. "I have
had a holiday that I shall look back to
with delight all the days of my life.”
“Ah," he remarked, “honeymoons are
not all like that. There are some with
black elouds In them. Do you recollect
my arresting a man for murder before he
yas three days married? The papers
called It 'The Spotted Dog Murder.' “ I
nodded. “It was rather rough on him,
but business Is business. And not to beat
about the bush, Lewis, It's business that
brings me here to-night."
“I’m ready for anything," I said, rubbing
Spy hands, “If you've anything to pro
pose."
"1 propose a partnership,” said he.
“Really, Bartlett?” I aske.l, secretly de
lighted. for he was a clever fellow, one
in a thousand, and 1 knew It would be to
my advantage to be associated with him.
"I mean It. A partnership for three
years certain, to be continued If we’re
satisfied with each other.”
“Bone," said I, holding out my hand.
“Xnd done If Is," he said, gripping It.
“We'll draw up a paper, and sign It to
morrow. The best of two fellows like us
working together is that we can talk over
things, open our minds, throw out sug
gestions that lead to something we should
never otherwise think of. If you don't
mind my saying so, I am a trifle more
practical than you, but you more than
make up for it by being more Inventive
than I. Now the case I have In hand will
give you scope In that direction."
“Oh, you have a case to commence
with.”
"To be sure I have; that is why I was
In such a hurry to see you. There's a kind
of fate In It.” He looked round at the
walls and up at the ceiling.
”1 don't understand you,” I said.
“You will presently." he replied. “Has
your motlicr-ln-law kept a boarding house
long?"
“For a good many years,” I said, sur
prised at the turn the conversation was
taking.
“Must have had some peculiar characters
to deal with. Such a lodging house as this
Is a little world in itself. 1 should like to
ksow the names of the people in the place."
This request surprised me still more.
"Have they anything to do with the case
you have In hand?”
“Probably. When you know me better
you will know that I never ask an idle
question.”
• “All right. I will get them for you.”
Out I went to Jessie's mother, and pres
ently returntd with a sheet of note paper
upon which I had Jotted down the particu
lars, .
"Here they are, Bartlett. On the first
floor a gentleman of the name of Dower,
ambitious for political life; not yet In par
liament; hopes to become a member. One
of the two back rooms on the second floor
is coupled by a literary gentlemen who
writes descriptive articles for magazines
and newspapers; name, Chetwood. The
two front rooms on the same floor are let
to a middle aged lady from the country;
same, Briggs. Miss Briggs, and therefore
presumably a spinster. She boards here;
is not well acquainted with London; likes
to go about to theaters and public places,
and Is quite glad that Jessie has come
home, because she wants a companion to
show her the sights. She has made friends
with my wife already."
Bartlett, who held an open pocket book
In his hand, wrote down the names:
"Mr. Dower, political. Mr. Chetwood,
descriptive writer for newspapers and
magazines. Miss Briggs, spinster, nonde
script from the country.”
7 Having made this entry he handed me a
letter, and requested me to read it. I did
so In silence.
"Dear Frank—This is the last latter you
will receive from me, because I think It is
my duty not to write to you again after to
day. I have brought trouble enough upon
you, and though I shall never forget ypu I
wish you to forget me, and to forget, if
you can, that there was ever such an
unfortunate person In the world. There is
no hope for me. All my life—which I pray
will not be long—l shall remain here In
prison, where 1 have been platfed by a
Cruel, wicked judgment.
”1 know you do not wish it, Frank, but
It is not right that you should consider
yourself bound to me. You will, I hope
gnd pray, see another girl that you will
love, and with all my heart I hope that
you will live a happy life with her.
“Yes, Frank, all Is over between us; all
was ever even before I was sentenced O
that dreadful trial! It has burnt Itself In
to my brain. I wake up In the night and
see the Judge and jury, and all the court.
Just as it was when the wicked charge
was brought against me. I hear the wit
nesses giving their evidence; 1 hoar the
\ erdlct Guilty,’ and though I am alone I
cry, 'lt isn't true-lt isn't true!' Just
as if It was all real. And then the death
sentence! It would have been liettrr if
they bad hanged me. I have praved on
my bended knees for something to' occur
wHutt will prove my Innocence, but I do nut
longer lie pc for su.li a miracle. Lv
lerybody tel!s. me T am wicked and rebel
lious not to confess; tat I have nothing
to confess. 1 have been found guilty, and
I am b ing punished for a crime I did not
ci mmlt. That should satisfy them, but
tt does not. They want me to declar
what Is false, and I will never, never
do it, because I know what nobody else
seem* to know, that 1 cm truly, truly in
re cent of the horrible charge. When I
beg them to let me alone they say I am
stubborn, and that the law never makes
mistakes. Doesn't ItT Then tt mal.es an
Innocent person a murderer, as It has
made me. 1 wonder if there are others
who have suffered as I am suffering, who
feel a* I feel, that nothing ean ever bring
them back to life—for I am really like a
ih ad girl who has been shamefully, cruel
ly deprived of all her hopes of happiness.
I did look forward to the future, and
what is It now? But tilt my last hour
1 shall say ‘I am innocent, I am inno
cent!' And God will Judge me. There Is a
little comfott In that, because vod makes
no mistakes, and In another world, if not
tn this, my Innocence will be proved.
"Good-by for ever, Frank. Heaven send
you every happiness that life contains. 1
Shall pray for It day and night.”
"A pathetic letter," I said, handing It
beck to Bartlett. I was deeply moved,
and all roy sympathies went out to the
writer. “I gather that the poor girl was
condemned to be hanged, and that tho
sentence was commuted to Imprisonment
lor life.”
"Yes. Now, Lewis, dqes the letter bear
the Impress of truth"
"To my mind, undoubtedly. In express
ing this opinion I do not lose sight of the
irlghtfu! tenacity with which guilty per
sons will adhere, even under the most des
perate circumstances, and where no doubt
can possibly exist, to their declarations of
Innocence. That Is not so In this case. She
has told the solemn, the sacred truth to
her lover. 1 can almost see her writtng
the letter In her cell, her eyes filled with
tears, and her heart wdth woe and tender
ness. She can never hope to be united to
the man she loves; If she were released to
day with the disgrace still hanging to her,
it Is my belief that she would refuse to
marry him because she would not cast
the shadow of an uncommitted crime upon
his name.”
"Y'ou almost echo my thoughts," ob
served Bartlett.
"Have you seen the poor girl?” I asked.
“1 was in court for a short time during
the trial. Y'ou have read Ihe case In the
papers; It la 'The Murder In Esex Marsh
es.” “
"I have not heard of It till now."
“Is It possible?” he exclaimed.
"During my holiday.” 1 said with a smile,
"I would not look at an English news
paper." 1 paused a moment. "It would
be a capital commencement of our part
nership If we could prove this young wo
man's Innocence, if we could restore her
to the arms of the man she loves, her
future life hallowed, as It were, by the
trials through which she had passed.
"It would be the making of us, Lewis.”
“And a good deed accomplished.”
He repeated my words. "And a good
deed accomplished.” He was a humane
man as well us a practical one. and there
was a sentimental side to his character
which he exhibited only to Ills most inti
mate friends.
1 came straight to the point.
“Do you see your way to Its accomp
lishment?”
"Frankly, 1 do not. Although I know
where we ought to commence '
“Ah,” 1 said, Interrupting him, “that is
something.
"Still, 1 have an Idea that, to succeed,
we shall have to bring the Inventive fac
ulty Into play. Your inventive faculty,
Lewis. I am the practical partner, you
know. I feel confident that you will be
able to str’ke the nail on the head."
"First find your nail," I said senten
tious!)’.
"And be careful,” he added, "when you
strike to drive it in.”
"Exactly. We must get to work at
once. Where do we commence?”
"In this housp,” he replied.
I stared at him in astonishment. “You
are Joking, surely?”
"Never felt less inclined to Joke In my
life. As you know nothing of the mur
der I had test make you acquainted with
the particulars."
"It will be as well," I said, dryly, for
I confess that I did not relish his sugges
tion of associating the house In which
Jessie was living with a horrible crime.
He commenced quite calmly.
“Down Essex way, not far from the
marshes, lies the village of Milford,
and not far from the vil
lage He S Milford Hollow, which,
known only to a few people
a month oT two ago, ts now a celebrated
spot. If you want to get talked about
commit a murder; If you want to raise a
locality from obscurity, commit your mur
der there. On the outskirts of Milford
village are ten or a dozen farm houses.
Milford Hollow is a sort of valley be
tween two hills, which are more or less
of a forest. There Is only one farm house
In the Hollow, and it stands entirely iso
lated from other residences. This farm
house was inhabited by an old woman,
Mrs. Frazer.
“To call the Hollow Farm—that Is the
name It goes by—a farm Is ridiculous, for
It Is no farm at all. There Is a lot of
waste land about it of which no use was
made, for the little patch of kitchen
garden cannot be reckoned of much ac
count. This patch of ground was utilized
by Mrs. Frazer to save the expense of buy
ing vegetables, and It was currently re
ported in the village that she and her
niece, who wore the only occupants of the
farm, often lived for weeks together upon
the green stuff grown there, and upon
nothing else. There was plenty of color
for this statement, because it is a matter
of fact that Mrs. Frazer spent very little
money for food, and none at all upon
luxuries. A loaf or two of bread, an ounce
or two of meat, some dripping for butter,
and what they gathered from the kitchen
garden, comprised their usual stock of pro
visions. The old woman had no relatives
in the world but this one niece, Kosa
Meadowfleld.
“Not to make a mystery of It, Hose Mead
owlield is the writer of the letter you have
just read.
"The reason why the old woman lived so
penurlously is that she was a miser. She
could have well afforded to live in better
style, for site was rich, but she hoarded
her money, and to spend the smallest sum
was like spending her heart's blood. It Is
upon record that four years ago she re
ceived fti.OOO for a piece of land in another
part of Essex that was wanted by a rail,
way company. She drew out the money
for the cheque across the bank counter,
and insisted upon having it all In gold.
When she found she could not carry it—
six thousand sovereigns weigh nearly a
hundredweight, you know—she was induc
ed to content herself with a thousand,
and the remaining five thousand in Bank
I of England notes. She took the whole of
this treasure with- her to the Hollow Farm
and people said that one dark night the old
woman would be found murdered in her
bed, and her money gone. They were true
prophets.
It is likely enough that this croaking
prediction reached Mrs. Frazer's ears. At
that time she had an old servant living
with her, and she possessed a revolver
which, on nights when there was no moon,
she would fire off as a warning to des
perate characters. Two years ago this
period that Mrs. Fraser's only sister, a
widow with one child. Rose, died in pov
erty somewhere in Norfolk. During her
last Illness she wrote an imploring letter
to llrj. Fraser, begging her to take care
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, JULY 14, 1895.
of Rose, who was then eighteen years of
age. and who, at the death of her moth
er, would be thrown upon the world, penni
less and without a home. Those events
fitted In with each other. Mrs. Fraser had
lost her old servant. Here was a young
girl, a relation, country-bred, strong, and
willing to work, ready to her hand. She
wrote to her niece that she could have a
home with her. and shortly afterwards
Rose Mcadowfleld took up her residence
at the Hollow Farm
"The villagers pitied her when they be
came acquainted with her. for Rose was a
pretty, simple girl, with winning ways,
and had been brought up respectably, de
spite her poverty. Her association with
such a hard and close-fisted taskmistress
as her aunt was not likely to bring her
any happiness. However, she made no
complaint, hut did her work to all ap
pearance without a murmur. Her aunt
laid strict injunction upon her to have
nothing to do with any of the villagers,
or with any one outside the farm, and
you easily understand, therefore, that she
made no intimate friendships. She had a
sweetheart In Norfolk, a yong stonemason
of the name of Lovell, though there was
no likelihood of an early marriage, because
the young man was working from hand
to mouth, and was little better off than
Rose herself. Some nine or ten months
after Rose entered her aunt's service
there was a talk in the village of Mrs.
Fraser being ill, and people Immediately
Jumped to the conclusion that she was
going to die. ‘A good riddance’ everybody
said. Then the question arose, to whom
would she leave her money? 'Why. of
course,' said some, ‘to her niece. Rose
Meadowfleld. Rose Is In luck.' Jlut there
were others who shook their (Wads, and
declared that Mrs. Fraser was not the
sort of woman to leave a penny to anyone
who wanted It. and that she would rather
bum her treasure or throw tt Into the sea.
TV) their disappointment, Mrs. Fraser
got well, and the frequent tiring of .her
Pistol on dark nights showed her to be as
vigorous and vicious as ever.
"I come now to the night of the 13th of
August. Rose had been seen in the village
on the 17th and 18th, and it was noticed
that she looked unhappy. No questions
were asked her, and she volunteered no In
formation. but the gossips settled it that
she and her aunt had had a desperate
quarrel. She spent the two or three pennies
given to her to make her purchases, and
on the first of these days she received a
letter at the postotflee. A woman met her
on the night of the 18th as she was re
turning to the Hollow Farm, and observ
ing that Rose was walking slowly and cry
ing as she went, asked If she was 111. 'O,
no,' Rose answered, and passed on, walk
ing quickly as though to escape further
questions. It was a dark night, and there
was no sign of an Impending tragedy.
At 8 o’clock the next morning, however.
Rose came flying into the village, with
out a hat, and in great agitation, crying
that her aunt was dead. The villagers
were Instantly on Are with excitement.
" 'Murdered?' they asked.
"The suggestion seemed to stagger the
girl, but when she recovered she sobbed
that her aunt was not murdered, but had
died in the night.
“A doctor accompanied Rose back to tha
farm, and he returned to the village with
a grave face.
" 'ls the old woman really dead?' the
villagers asked.
" 'No doubt of that,’ he replied.
“ 'What did she die of?'
" 'Suffocation.'
" 'What!' they exclatmed. 'Did she choke
herself with a raw turnip?’
" 'No,' he answered, 'I don't think she’s
to be blamed for it.'
"These dark words engendered suspi
cions of foul play, and tongues began to
wag; and when It got about that an In
quest was to be held at the Hollow Farm,
the village, as you may Imagine, had a
line time of it.
“At the inquest tllfe following Informa
tion was elicited from tho lps of the one
witness who was supposed to be In a po
slton to thsow any direct light upon (ho
event. The witness was Rose Meadowfleld.
She deposed that on the night of the 18th
her aunt left the house at 8:30 o’clock;
at 10 o'clock she returned, and went to
bed, and Rose also went to bed. They
slept in separate rooms. At 2 o'clock In
:he morning she was aroused by deceased
calling to her; she got up, and asked
what was the matter. Deceased sold that
some villain had secreted himself on the
premises with the intention of robbing her
" 'But lie won't get my money,' she
cried, 'he won't get my money!'
“They went over the house and even
Into the grounds. Rose carrying a lamp
and deceased her pistol, but they saw no
body. Their search ended, they went to
bed again. At 7 o’clock in the morning
Hose got up and proceeded with her do
mestic duties. Deceased usually rose at
about the same hour, but on this morning
she kept her room—for a sufficient reason.
At 7:30 o’clock Rose knocked at the door
of the deceased's room, and receiving no
answer, went in; and there she saw her
aunt lying dead In bed. She flew to the
village for assistance, and that was the
end of her volunteered evidence.
"Then came questions from the coroner
and Jury.”
" 'How did you know she was dead*'
" 'I did not know; I thought so.'
“ ‘But you said she was dead.’
” ‘Yes; I found It out afterward; the
doctor told me.'
“ ‘Were you not asked In the village
whether deceased had been murdered, and
did you not answer that she had not
been murdered, but thnt she was dead?’
“ 'I was so troubled that I hardly know
what I said.’
“ 'When It was suggested that she had
been murdered you were very much agi
tated?'
" 'That Is why I cannot recall exactly
what passed *
“ 'When you entered deceased's room at
half-past seven In the morning did you ob
serve anything unusual In her appear
ance?’ ,
“ 'Her face looked black.'
“ 'You shook her and called her?'
“ 'I called her; I was too frightened to
touch her.'
" 'You say that deceased went out at
half-past eight on the previous evening.
Where to?’
" ‘I don't know.’
" ’Was she in the habit of going out by
herself at night?’
” 'Y'es; about once a week.’
“ And you cannot tell us where she
went?'
“ No.’
" 'Did you never enquire?’
“ 'My aunt told me to mind my own
business, and not to ask questions; and I
never did.'
“ 'Were you happy with her?'
" 'No; we did not agree very well to
gether.’
” 'You used to quarrel?’
“ 'Sometimes; but it was not my fault.
She often said hard things to me.'
“ ‘Did you have a quarrel the night be
fore her death?"
“ 'Y’es we did.’ (The answer was only
given after the question had been re
peated.)
" 'Do you know anyone who had a spite
or grudge against her?’
" 'I do not.’
• “ Ts this all the Information you can
give us?’
“ 'Yes, it Is.’
" ‘You are quite sure?’
" 'Yes.*
“ 'Have you a sweetheart?*
" ‘Y’es, a long way off from here.’
“ 'Did deceased know you had a sweet
heart?'
"She caught me once reading a letter
from him, and she asked me and I told
her. Then she'—the witness did not com
plete the sentence, and It was only af
ter she was pressed that she added,’ ’She
sr.id I should never marry him, and that
she would not let me go away.'
" ‘That was not agreeable to you?'
” Tt was not.’
’’ ’On the 17th did you receive a letter
at the village postoffice?’
" 'Y'es.’
" "From whom?*
" 'From my sweetheart.’
” 'Was there anything in the letter re
ferring to the decease J~
" 'He knew I was not happy, and he
thought my aunt would lend us a little
money to set us housekeeping’.
" 'Did you ask her V
“ 'Y'es/
" 'When?"
" 'On the night before she died’
" 'Was that the cause of the quarrel?"
" 'She spoke very bitterly to me, and
called m nameta-and called him names,
too I could not help answering her.'
" 'Deceased was rich?'
" 'I believe so; I have seen her counting
out money. She was always angry when
that occurred."
" What wages did you receive?*
•' 'None.'
" 'Nothing at all?*
" 'Nothing at all.'
" 'Did she never on anv occasion give
you anything?'
” 'She never gave me a penny.’
" 'As only you and deceased were liv
ing at the farm the life must have been
a lonely one. Had you no visitors.?*
•' 'None.'
" Tn a general way, how did you pass
the evenings?'
“ 'I sewed and aunt told fortunes with
a pack of cards; she used to tell mine
sometimes. Hers was often good; she
sail she would live to be a hundred.
Mine were always bad; she said I would
come to a bad end.’
" 'Did this occur frequently?*
“Tt was a regular occurrence, and
whenever the cards did not come up to
please her she used to go out. I have
heard her say to herself, "I mutt go and
have my fortune told—l must go and have
my fortune told!"
"Now, Lewis,” said Bartlett, breaking
off at this potnt, "you will observe that
the most Important portions of Rose
Madowfleld's evidence were extracted
from her after she had raid that she had
nothing more to tell.”
"It is easily explained,” I said. “She
was reluctant to bring her sweetheart Into
the affair."
That is the construction I put upon It;
but naturally It went against her. The
doctor's evidence was Important; he testi
fied that the deceased had been kilDd by
suffocation; that a pillow hqd been pressed
tightly over her face until the breath had
been squeezed out of her. Tho pillow on
deceased's bed was In its usual place, un
der her head and there were no signs of
It having been used for this purpose. It
was quite smooth; there was not a crease
In it; neither was there any disturbance
of the bed clothes. The doctor argued
that if the pillow had been under her heal
all the time she was being smothered It
would have been tumbled about by her
struggles. The Inference, therefore, was
that the pillow had been removed from
under her; that tt had been used to com
pass her death; that after the deed had
been done It was shaken out and smoothed
and replaced In Its usual position; and
that the bedclothes had been arranged
so as to make It appear that she had died
a natural death. ‘Are you positive that
this was not the case?’ he was asked, ‘or
that she did not meet her death accident
ally?’ 'I am positive that she was murder
ed.’ he replied. He spoke decidedly, and his
theory about the pillow and bed clothes
appealed to the common sense of the jury,
who accepted It at once as more than
probable. With very little hesitation they
pronounced their verdict. The old woman
had been murdered, and the only person
in the house w’ho, according to the evi
dence presented to them, could have com
mitted the deed, was Rose Meadowfleld.
She was arrested that day and brought be
fore the magistrate, and committed to
prison upon the capital charge.-
(To be Concluded.)
DOXE GRAFTED TO HONE.
Par* of a Sheep'* I,eg Pol Into a Roy’s
Leu by a Philadelphia Surgeon.
From the Baltimore Sun.
Philadelphia July 4.—An oxtraordlnary
bone-grafting operation was performed at
the Hahnemann hosrtltal In this city yes
terday, expert surgeons substituting a por
tion of a sheep's leg for a diseased bone in
the leg of a 15-year-old boy named Fol
well. The physicians said to-day that their
patient Is doing well, although it Is too
early to determine whether the operation
will prove a success.
Some time ago young Folwell received
an Injury which resulted In necrosis, or
rotting of the right shinbone. A few days
ago it was decided that amputation of the
limb would be necessary to save the boy's
life, and after the parents had been so noti
fied und were prepared for the worst. Dr.
Carl 1. Vischer, one of the surgeons of
the hospital stafr, decided that bone-graft
ing might save the limb.
Accordingly a big, fine-looking sheep was
procured at the stock yards and taken to
Dr. Vlscher's laboratory. The animal was
shorn and shaved and kept In first-class
condition until yesterday, when it was
taken to the hospital.
The boy was placed under the Influence
of ether and the part of the bone of the
right leg for seven inches above the ankle
joint was carefully cut away. The sheep
In the meantime had been chloroformed,
and the surgeons cut away a portion of
Its foreleg to the exact measurement of
the part the place of which tt was to take.
As soon as the bone was taken from the
sheep It wasfltted in the gap and the joints
of the boy's pone were covered with perios
teum from the sheep's bone in order to
afford the proper nourishment to the bone.
The entire operation was carried on un
der the strictest anttse-ptie treatment, and
as soon as the sheep had served its pur
pose Its throat was cut. Only a few such
operations have been successfully carried
out, the earlier method of employing
pounded animal bone, decalcified, having
been almost universally unsuccessful.
If the operation comes up to the expec
tations of the surgeons, Folwell will walk
and run as well as ever he did in his life.
OLD An Ft
January ist, 1895.
I have been wonderfully benefited by
Brown’s Iron Bitters—it seems to give
me new life. I told my doctor that it
has prolonged my life, being now eighty
three years of age.
Mrs. MARY A. EDWARDS, Yoakum, De Witt County, Texas.
N
Brown's Iron Bitters will cure Bad
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111 nll ra 1 Ini inllew 11 11 —• 1 1 imi f f**n r—i>ww
THE GOSSIP OF GOTHAM TOWN.
THE WOXDKRVTL SOCIAL SPLCBGE
OF THE fALVH 9. BRICES.
Cleveland'* Harrow Ewapr-<iov.
Morion Han a Daughter Who Will
Sol Wfl—The Fntnrr of Miss Fnlr.
Queer Crazes Over Book*.
Near York. July 11—Very few families re
cently launched Into the vortex of exclu
sive society, have managed to attain the
success with which the trices have met.
As all the world knows, they are now set
tled in the famed William Waidorf Astor
villa at Newport, for which they are pay
ing a higher rental than any seashore
palace has ever brought, that is, for $ll4OO
for the season, and the sea
son, it should be remembered,
is short. Already the very best people
are beginning to covet the notice the
great senator from Ohio. It appears that
the scale upon which they are living beg
gars all description. Their butler and their
footmen wear the most gorgeous liveries.
Mr. Bri-e is proving the most fascinating
of hosts, and the other members of the
now ultra-fashionable family are equaling
himself. The question puzzling the lead
ers of fashion is what object the great
Ohioan can have in all this. The series
of lawn parties, dinners and other affairs
has proved simply Irresistible, and when
it was announced that Mrs. Alva Vander
bilt was to be specially entertained at the
villa in a week or two, and that the Jack
Astors are to have an elaborate soiree in
honor of the Brices, a feeling of amaze
ment began to permeate the social atmos
phere. Senator Brice himself Is most in
different to functions of this sort. He is
a most brilliant man, but he avoids rather
than courts the blazing light of a social
throne. His wife, hew ever, has been man
aging the social end of this innovation,
and although it was not heretofore sus
pected that she had views of the kind, her
taste for distinction as a woman of fash
ion has been elaborately displayed of
late. She very cleverly outwitted the
Goulds In their efforts to be the first in
the field at Newport. That was a great
coup of hers in having the entire British
embassy at her place and giving them the
most gorgeous of dinners. There were
there Lord Westmeath, the Hon. Jcgm
b ortl and the Hon. H. O. Bax Ironsides.
Mrs. Brice and the Misses Brice were cap
tivating, and the verdict was that there
can no longer be any doubt of the assured
position of the Brices in general among
the aristocracy.
Senator Brice, of course, was not there.
He has been very busy with that cam
paign of 'his in Ohio, and with the possi
bilities and the poblioal future of Haul
Sorg. Now the riddle of the situation is
to tlnd out how Senator Brice con recon
cile these activities with his own ambitions.
It is understood to be alarming him tn Ohio
to have so much to do with the gayatles
in New York and in Newport. Can it
be. It is asked, that these social flings
are perpetrated by the females of his fam
ily regardless of himself? The thing is not
probable, but It Is possible. The senator
now spends a good deal of his time at his
office In Broadway, New York. There he
tolls sometimes until far into the night.
Meanwhile, his daughters and his wife
are living royally at Newport, where al
ready they are the most noted of horse
women. and the livery of the grooms as
they follow t'ho heiress of the house about
the beaches attracts general attention.
Brice cannot surely mean to release his
hold upon Ohio politics. He has too many
railroad charters to get through the Buck
eye State legislature to do that. Yet the
story goes about that Sirs. Brice will fol
low up her advantage this winter by leas-
Inga palace on Fifth avenue—rumor says
the vacant Vanderbilt one on Fifth ave
nue—and then set the Four Hundred agog
with the magnificence of her career. There
is certainly no doubt of her position. The
Goelets and the Astors and the other reai
arbiters of fashion are passionately de
voted to the Brice cause. Where will it
end?
Social circles in the metropolis are
rather agitated by the adventures of a
very wealthy and decidedly popular young
man whose efforts to make an impres
sion upon the heart of one of the govern,
or's daughters have proved singularly un
availing. The young man is worth $5,000,-
000 and his disinterstedness may presuma.
tdy be taken for granted. It seems that
he visited the governor at Kllerslie and
formally asked permission to sue for the
love of the young lady. Mr. Morton is
understood to have told the suitor that
ho must gain the consent of the fair
maid herself before he could consider the
matter as a possibility. But the young
man Intimated that ho feared his eiforts
tn that direction might be futile without
some parental encouragement. Of course
it is to be understood that the facts in the
ease are given from observation only, not
from the evidence of the only persons
competent to give them, namely, the peo
ple concerned. However, the young man
finally proposed to the young lady and
was rejected it seems, much to the gener
al surprise. That did not discourage him,
and he is said to have repeated his proi
posal, but always disastrously, and he
has been seen to leave the young lady’s
presence very dejectedly. The incident is
beginning to attract attention in the inner
social circles, and even bets have been
made among the feather-brained element
of the Four Hundred as to the ultimate
result. The governor's neutrality in the
matter Is deemed a very fine show of
tact.
It is conceded in New York that no act
in all the career of Richard Croker has
more injured him with the rank and file of
the Tammany organization than the scrape
he managed to get himself into through the
performance of his Jockey, and, in conse
quence, of certain acts on the turf attri
buted to him. If there is one thing upon
which the braves pride themselves It Is
the personal popularity and "squareness"
of the men who lead them. They do not In
the least mind any charges made against
them, provided they Involve no disgrace to
the people who stand up for the Wigwam.
The word disgrace, however. Is to be un
derstood in the Tammany connection pure
ly, for it stands to reason that what would
be deemed disgrace by an outsider is not
disgrace at all for an insider under the
code of ethics prevailing in the organiza
tion. Now. when Croker wont abroad it
was taken for granted that, like all Tam
many men on their travels, he would prove
to be what they call a goes] fellow—gener
ous, genial and all that. But the stories
that have come back to New York seem to
indicate that Croker has been Just the
other thing. He has shown pettishness,
spleen and liladvised outbursts of 111 hu
mor. He has not been open handed. He
has failed to give the foreign sports any
Idea of the really generous Ideas of things
which prevail in Tammany. This it is that
has made any resumption by him of real
leadership an utter impossibility. Not
withstanding the apparent friendliness of
Purroy and Croker, the two men cannot
work together. Purroy is trying hard to
create a sound and honest Tammany. He
has brought the rank and file around to
his way of thinking, that honesty Is Jnst
now for Tammany the best policy. Tam-
many, in Purroy’s perspective, must pose
as the Innocent little smokers of the calu
met of peace, and no longer as the tiger.
And when Croker reaches New York in the
autumn he may learn a thing or two.
Those rumors of the coming engagement
of Miss Virginia Fair to the son of a
wealthy and powerful United States sen
ator, of which so much has been heard,
fail to materialize. At the same there is
much significance In the mutual devotion
of the two to the delights of Newport. Miss
Fair decidedly took the wind out of the
sails of Mrs. Henry Clews by her speed
on the bicycle, being now deemed the
champion rider of that famed seaport. Mrs.
Oelrieh, her sister, has been so recreant
to the charms of the Pacific and of Cali
fornia—for she, too, spends days and days
at Newport—that there has come to be
entertained a very general belief that the
fair Miss Fair has, after all, surrendered
her heart to the charming youth in ques
tion. All thesame.it will require some very
positive announcement on the part of the
parties most concerned to have the mat
ter regarded as beyond question. Miss
Fair, as is well known, is religiously in
clined. and, besides that. Is a thorough
business woman. Stories of her shrewd
ness in managing her fortune are
in circulation in New Y'ork, and
show that very clever. Indeed,
must be the person who would get the
best of her In a bargain. It seems that
she has herself directed the investment
of certain large sums of her own, which
have resulted most profitably, and now she
is consulted by her sister and brother-in
law whenever business matters of moment
are on the carpet. Miss Fair is one of the
few society belles who can keep a set of
books. She is very methodical and quite
at home among ledgers. The story goes
that she once went to office of her brother
in-law accompanied by her 6lster. She
sat down at a desk and began pouring over
some figures in her account book. While
thus engaged one of the office employes
came in—a youthful and callow dude—
who at once assured the heiress that she
had no right to sit there because the papers
of the Fair estate were at that particular
desk and he had charge of them. So he
took books and papers away from her and
locked them up. and then nearly swooned
when the identity of the heiress was re
vealed to him.
One of the maladies incident to the ad
vanced period of life to which the pres
ent President of the United States has
attained, is a tendency to fall asleep at
Inopportune times. Mr. Cleveland, vigi
lant as he is in looking out for the public
welfare, is said to be at this time quite a
viotlme of this tendency. He nods after
meals and drops into the sopopific abyss
of slumber immedately after exertion of
an unusual or excessive nature. There is
a story that when he goes fishing about
Oray Gables on these warm days and
bites are not as plentiful as they ought
to l>e, he will drop off gently into slum
ber. There is an element of peril in this
tendency, however, because one day he
sat down on the edge of a grassy bank,
cast his line, and soon slept deeply. Along
came a couple of ifishermen. and, as the
President is well known by sight there,
they promptly waked him up, fearing that
if he Slept much longer he would tumble
into the water. Very soon the story
spread, and by this time it is said to be a
regular duty to keep an eye on the Presi
dent, in order that he may meet with no
accident while he sleeps. He has, in fact,
met with one mishap already, because a
bee stung him on the hand and it swelled
considerably. Mr. Cleveland is amused
rather than otherwise by these alarms
and refuses to allow any hired attendant
to perform these offices for him, relying
instead upon the company of a stray
fisherman. He met a village boy on a
recent fishing trip and fished with him
for hours. The boy knew perfectly who
his companion was, but it made no differ
ence, and the two shared the labor as well
as the sport of the day. In this respect
Mr. Cleveland is a very successful man In
dealing with people, and around Gray Ga
bles he is decidedly popular.
The craze over Harvey's “Coin Financial
School having begun to subside in the
west, has broken out in New York, where
it rages side by side with one over "Merrie
England,” Robert Blatehford's socialistic
book, of Which 750,400 copies have sold in
ILnsland, and which has been brought out
side of the water by more than one
publisher. The enormous sums of money
made in the publication of books of this de
scription have tempted many publishers to
offer large prices for a successful exposi
tion of social questions. Reputations of
magnitude are quickly made at this sort
of literary work, but as quickly lost, al
though the money can be made to last in
the hands of a competent man. “Merrie
England” is somewhat like "Coin's Finan
cial School" In the matter of quaint illus
tration and homely argument, but It man
aged to capture the New York market
somewhat ahead of the latter. Besides it
is 30ld more cheaply. As for Harvey, he
fftt
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isieoi Hope. Monigomery and Ail way mm
CARS KI N AS FOLLOWS (City Time):
For Isle of Hope—Leave Bolton street a iw
a. m.; leave beeond avenue Hi: 15, Il ls a m
12:15,1:15, 2:15. 3:15, 4:15, 5:15, 6:15, 7:15 s IS
p. m.
for Montgomery and Bethesda—9:o7 a m.
from Bolton street aad !'•: IB a. in , 1:15 p m
315 p. m. anau:lsp m. from Second avenue
connect with cars at Sandfly.
Leave Isle of Hope s:l7. 11:15 a. m. 12 15
1:15. 2:15, 3:15, 4:15. 5:15.6:15. 7:15, 9p. m.
Cars from Thunderbolt to Isle of Hope every
hour after 2:00 p. m. until 6 p.m.
Leave Montgomery 8:u0, 10 a. m., 3 and 6 a
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Leave Isle of Hope for Thunderbolt at 2:36
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MEN and WOMEN
You can earn big money In painting Crayoc
Portraits in spare time,day or evening, by my
new patented method. Any one can do the
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ig. a. McCarthy,
46 DRAYTON STREET,
Pluto, Steam on as Fitter.
Steam and Gas Fittings. Chandeliers,
Globes, all kinds of plumbing supplies
Is said to have on hand a refutation of
his refuters, which will soon appear. Ho
is by this time very well off. indeed, ami
lives almost luxuriously. He will be in
New York before long, it seems, for the
purposes of conducting a series of debates
on the money question at thp request of
some of the bimetallic clubs.
David Wechsler.
FAIR DACGIITERH OF MARYLAND.
"The Three Graces” Whose Beanty
YVns Famous.
From the Baltimore Sun.
A tract of land comprising about 150 acres
Just outside the western limits of Balti
more city, in the Thirteenth district of
Baltimore county, and south of St. Agnes’
hospital and St. Mary's Industrial School,
was offered for sale at auction Wednesday
at the real estate exchange, but was with
drawn after five small parcels, including
forty-two acres, had been purchased at an
average of $327 an acre.
The property is a portion of the lands
owned in Maryland by the late Duchess of
I.cods, a granddaughter of Charles Car
roll of Carrollton, and daughter of Richard
Oaton, after whom the town of Catonvillo
is named.
The duchess died in 1874, and in her will
directed that t'he real estate owned by her
in this country should be disposed of by
her executors, and tho money thus secured
should be used to purchase real estate in
England, all of which, together with the
English realty which she possessed at tho
time of her death, was bequeathed for lifo
to the Marquis of Carmarthen, which is
the courtesy title of the heir to the duke
dom of Leeds. The present holder of the
title is a garndson of a cousin of tho
duchess husband, she having died with
out Children.
The property put up at auction Is but a
part of the estates in several counties in
Maryland which came to her from Charles
Carroll of Carrollton, and his daughter. It
was offered at first as a whole, but no bids
being made for this, the choice of fourteen
parcels of it was next offered. The bidding
for first choice was a bit spirited, and it
was finally “knocked down" for s.":<> an
acre to Mr. Ruxton M. Ridgely. After that
the prices offered became steadily smaller
until the fifth purchase, when Auctioneer
Kirkland announced, after a consultation
with the American trustees of the estate,
Messrs Anthony A. Hirst and Alexander
Yearley, Jr., that the remainder of the
land was withdrawn. "We had exepected
to get at least SIOO an acre,” said Mr. Kirk
land, "and not a bit of it can be secured
for less than $275 an acre."
Tho Duchess of Leeds was one of the
three famous daughters of Richard Caton,
who from their beauty and charms were
often called "the three American Graces."
They became the wives of members of the
British nobility. Louise Catherine, the
Duchess of Leeds, was the youngest of the
trio. Mary Caton, the eldest, was at first
the wife of Richard Patterson of Balti
more, brother of Mme. Elizabeth Patterson
Bonaparte, hut in 1825 became the second
wife of the famous Marquis of Wellesley,
eldest brother of the still more famous
Duke of Wellington. Elizabeth Caton was
married in l>i36 to Sir George William
Staftord-Jerningham, Baron Stafford.,
The duchess was herself wedded twice
She was first married in 1817 to Sir Felton
Elwell Bathurst-Hervey, a colonel in the
army, and an aide-de-camp on Welling
ton's staff at the battle of Waterloo. Tho
following year her husband was made a
baronet, but in 1819 he died, and in 1828 hi3
widow became the wife of Francise Godol
phin D’Arey Osborne, Marquis of Car
marthen, and eldest son of the sixth Duke
of Leeds. He succeeded his father In the
dukedom in 183S, and died in 1874 at the age
of 82. She. was the last of the three sister3
to die. The Marchioness of Wellesley had
died in 1853, and Lady Stafford in ISC2.
None of them had any children.
The duchess was a philanthropic woman
and during her lifetime used much of her
share of the estates, which she and her sis
ters inherited equally from their mother
and grandfather, to establishing and sup
porting two orphanages—one for boys at
Mayfields, in County Sussex England, and
one for girls at Bletchlngly, in the same
county. In her will she provided liberally
for these two institutions, which are under
the control of Roman Catholic orders, and
also gave Archbishop Manning $5,00u for
the maintenance, support and education of
young men studying for holy orders in the
Catholic church.
Richard Caton, the father of the “Three
Graces," was an Englishman, who came t®
Baltimore tn 1785.