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*1 
 
 AN AUTHENTICATED REPORT 
 
 OP THE 
 
 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS, 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 MURDER OF DUDLEY MARVIN HOYT, 
 
 WITH THE ABLE AND ELOQUENT SPEECHES OF COUNSEL, AND 
 
 “THE LETTERS,” IN FULL, 
 
 WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES, WHICH FURNISH A CLEAR AND 
 
 COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE CASE, 
 
 DRAWN UF BY THE EDITOR OP THE 
 
 RICHMOND 80UTHERN 8TANDARD. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY RICHARDS AND COMPANY, 
 
 80 ANN STREET, 
 
ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OP CONGRESS, 
 
 IN TUB YEAR ONB THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTT-SIX, 
 
 BY RICHARDS AND COMPANY, 
 
 IN TUB CLERK S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF 
 
 NEW-YORK. 
 
 
 
Tilt FLOWERS COLLECT!^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Search tha records of our criminal courts, and you will hardly find a case better cal¬ 
 culated to interest, to excite, and to warn, than that detailed in the following report. 
 If we consider the nature of the crime, the character and standing of the parties, the 
 wide-spread and desolating blight which the improper indulgence of human passions 
 has brought upon the community, this case stands without a parallel in the criminal 
 annals of our country. 
 
 About the 20th of September, 1846, rumors became rife in the City of Richmond of 
 . the discovery of an improper intimacy between D. Marvin Hoyt, Esq. and Mrs. Willi¬ 
 am R. Myers. Mr. Myers, the husband, was then absent, and the intrigue was said to 
 have been ferreted out by his brother, Col. Samuel S. Myers On the 23rd, Mrs. Myers 
 was removed by her father to his residence in Albermarle. On the 27th, Myers re¬ 
 turned to Richmond, arriving about half past twelve at night. On the morning of the 
 28th, about a quarter before seven, Hoyt was found shot in his bed. William R. Myers, 
 Col. Samuel S. Myers, and William S. Burr were immediately arrested as doers and 
 participators in the bloody deed. They were carried before a committing magistrate, and 
 ■ the Commmonwealth being unprepared with her testimony, the parties were held to 
 bail, and the case continued to a future day. Hoyt lingered twelve days, and died on 
 the 9th ot October, about a quarter past eight P. M. An inquest was held upon his 
 body, and the verdict of the jury found William R. Myers guilty of the murder, and 
 Samuel S Myers and William S. Burr guilty of aiding and abetting in the same. Upon 
 this inquisition, the Coroner issued his precept for the arrest of the criminals. On 
 Monday the 12th, the accused appeared in court, to answer their former recognizance, 
 and were immediately arrested under the Coroner’s warrant; and it is the trial before 
 the Mayor which ensued, that we propose to lay before the reader. We report this 
 case in its initiatory stage rather than in its farther progress before a higher court, be¬ 
 cause a greater range and wider latitude were allowed to the introduction of testimony 
 here, than could possibly be admitted under a strict construction of the rules relating to 
 legal evidence. Hence, the case is more fully before the public than any succeeding re¬ 
 port could have brought it. 
 
 Mr. William R. Myers is a native of Baltimore, where his parenis still reside. He 
 is a partner in the wealthy firm of Samuel S. Myers & Co. ; a gentleman of the high- 
 west respectability, moving in the first circle in the City of Richmond Mrs. Myers, who 
 is now about twenty-three years of age, is the daughter of <: i Pollard, a _aiiantand 
 distinguished soldier in the last war, and at present an e.' is s planter in ‘he county 
 of Albemarle. Her mother is the sister of the Hor ' illiam C. Rives, p^her con- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 •• 
 
 nections are as numerous and respectable as any in the State of Virginia. She is a 
 lovely, talented, and accomplished woman, and we well remember when, a little while 
 ago, the admired belle became the blushing bride of an envied husband. A few short 
 years, and she, who was surrounded with love, honor, and wealth, finds, as the conse¬ 
 quences of her unpardonable conduct, herself a miserable outcast, her lover murdered, her 
 father’s head bowed down with shame, and her husband arraigned as a common felon, 
 ts it a wonder if she should become, what rumor has already made her, a raving ma¬ 
 niac, or a desperate suicide ? 
 
 Of Mr. Hoyt very little is known. He was a native of Massachusetts, and his con¬ 
 nections are said to have been of the most respectable character. He had been living 
 in Richmond for some fifteen years, engaged in the Lottery and Brokerage business. 
 He had a fine person, of which he seemed particularly regardful, adorning it with a 
 very outre and extravagant style of dress, which excited much attention, and perhaps 
 some animadversion; but until the denouement of this unhappy affair, we never heard 
 anything to his disparagement, either as a merchant or a gentleman. 
 
 Major Pollard got to Richmond a little while after the execution of the bloody deed, 
 himself fully prepared to put Hoyt to death. If he had arrived a few hours sooner, 
 what a dramatic scene it would have presented, to behold the father and the husband 
 contending for the privilege of slaying the man who had dishonored the daughter and 
 the wife! 
 
 This report, which has been drawn up with great care, originally for the Richmond « 
 “ Southern Standard,” is entirely impartial. Indeed it, together with the arguments, 
 some of which are splendid specimens of forensic eloquence, were submitted to the 
 revision and correction of the counsel on both sides, before they were printed at all. 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 i 
 
 City of Richmond, \ 
 Mayor’s Court, Oct 12, 1846.j 
 • At 11 o'clock the Mayor took his seat, and 
 the accused, who were already under recog¬ 
 nizance, appeared with their counsel, Messrs. 
 R. G. Scott, Jas. Lyons and Gustavus My- 
 'i ers, a few minutes afterwards. 
 
 The Mayor sent for Mr. Joseph Mayo, the 
 ■ Commonwealth’s Attorney for the City of 
 Richmond, and requested his presence during 
 ' the examination, that he might have the ben- 
 i*sefit of his assistance if he should require it. 
 
 The examination was then entered into. 
 
 Dr. E. H. Carmichael was sworn and de¬ 
 posed as foHows: 
 
 On the morning of 28th of September, 
 was called to see Mr. Hoyt, about seven 
 ^o’clock—found him lying in bed; upon 
 examination discovered a severe wound in 
 the right side of the frontal bone, apparently 
 effected by a pistol shot, the ball had fractur¬ 
 ed the bone and passed into the brain—I pass- 
 ^ ed my finger into the wound, which was about 
 I 3-8 of an inch in diameter, and found the in¬ 
 ner table of the skuH extensively fractured, 
 and many pieces of the bone driven in on the 
 brain—resolved to resort to the operation of 
 trepanning to remove the loose pieces of the 
 , skuU, and any pieces of the bone that I might 
 find. By this process I removed 13 or 14 
 pieces of bone and part of the ball. The 
 part of the ball that I found weighed 13 
 grains; an entire ball that w r as found in the 
 bed weighed 59 grains. Besides this the 
 most important wound, a ball had passed 
 through the right thigh into the left, and 
 lodged under the skin; this was however so 
 slight an injury comparatively, that I did not 
 even attempt to remove the ball, Air. Hoyt 
 observing that it was a matter of no conse¬ 
 quence. There could be no doubt of the 
 wound in his head having caused his death. 
 Found Mr. Hoyt perfectly sensible, calm, and 
 collected—informed him immediately of his 
 approaching end, and the impossibility of his 
 recovery-—he was very cool and expressed his 
 conviction that he would never get well. 
 When asked how it occurred, he said that he 
 was lying in bed when some one knocked at 
 the dogr, and told him to come in; Mr. Wil¬ 
 
 liam S. Burr entered, and remarked that he 
 had come upon a very disagreeable piece of 
 business, which he hoped however could be 
 happily adjusted; thereupon he handed him a 
 paper, to which he said his signature was re¬ 
 quested. This paper was afterwards produc¬ 
 ed to the court, and was worded as foHows: 
 
 “ I, D. Marvin Hoyt, of the city of Rich¬ 
 mond, do hereby pledge myself to leave the 
 said city forthwith, and never to return to it, 
 acknowledging at the same time the penalty 
 for any violation of this pledge to be the for¬ 
 feiture of my life. 
 
 Richmond, Va., Sept. 28, 1846. 
 
 When he declined signing this paper, and 
 whilst he still held it in his hand, Mr. ffm. 
 E. Myers and Col. Sam’l. S. Myers came for¬ 
 ward, and Col. Myers commanded him to sign 
 the paper immediate! j T , which he refused to 
 do, when William R. Myers advanced to the 
 bedside, and presenting a revolving pistol to 
 his head, drew the trigger. The pistol snap¬ 
 ped; but as he was attempting to rise, Myers 
 fired the second time, and then continued to 
 fire several times afterwards. 
 
 On Wednesday, the last day that he was 
 sensible—even then it had become necessary 
 to arouse him from the stupor into which he 
 was falling—I had another conversation with 
 him, in which liis statements were substan- 
 tiaHy the same as those he made before—ask¬ 
 ed him if he was aware that Mr. Boyden had 
 been implicated in the charges that were 
 brought against him: he said he was, and ad¬ 
 ded,. “ he is as innocent as you are.” 
 
 . Cross-examined .—In answer to a question 
 from Air. Lyons. Know nothing about this 
 affair, except what Hoyt told me. H. said he 
 was pesting on his elbow, reading the paper 
 presented by Burr, when the Messrs. Flyers 
 came forward. He did not tell me at what 
 time he got- oiit of bed; I did not see the pa- 
 jjep^jjoth conversations, that on Monday and 
 that on Wednesday last, were very short and 
 hurried; iSield the last on Wednesday, at the 
 request'of the'Mayor, simply to see whether 
 he ^continued to repeat his first account, and 
 he did s<5 exactly. 
 
 Dr. C. S. Mills was next sworn. I was 
 called on by Dr. Carmichael to assist him in 
 
6 
 
 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 trepanning Hoyt—officiated in that capacity, 
 and visited him frequently afterwards as a 
 consulting physician; heard Mr. Hoyt speak 
 lightly of his wounds up to Saturday—since 
 then he has hardly adverted to them. When 
 I first got there, asked him how he felt—an¬ 
 swered, “ pretty well, only they have been 
 giving me some blue pills,” smiling and 
 pointing to his head. He commenced on one 
 occasion to say, that it was a horrible affair 
 for a man to be shot down in a civilized com¬ 
 munity, and began to protest his innocence; 
 but I told him that to talk about it would ex¬ 
 cite him too much, and that he had better re¬ 
 main quiet—to which he readily assented. 
 On one occasion, he said, he could get up and 
 go about his business, if his physician would 
 let him—discouraged any conversation on the 
 subject of this affair, because I foresaw the 
 probability of my being examined on this in¬ 
 quest, and preferred to give my testimony 
 only as a medical man. 
 
 Cross-examined. —Did not make post mor¬ 
 tem examination; was present at conver¬ 
 sation held by Dr. C. with Hoyt on Wednes¬ 
 day last, and heard him tell Dr. C. what he 
 has jgst related: at that time Hoyt spoke but 
 little, and seldom, except to reply almost cat¬ 
 egorically to questions put to him; he never 
 put any papers relating to this matter into 
 my hands, nor did I encourage him to talk 
 about it; when he spoke to me of his inno¬ 
 cence, he did not say of what, but only in 
 general terms, that he was innocent; remark¬ 
 ed that I had never seen a man exhibit so 
 much fortitude; he replied that the reason of 
 it was that he was sustained by a good con¬ 
 science. 
 
 James Evans was next sworn.—He is an 
 alderman of the city of Richmond. On Mon¬ 
 day the 28tH of September, between the hours 
 of 11 and 12, A. M. 1 was called on bv Mr. 
 Thompson Tyler with a request from Hoyt 
 that I would visit him immediately in my of¬ 
 ficial capacity—went to his office and found 
 him in bed—Hoyt intimated to me that he 
 was desirous of making a statement under 
 the solemnity of an oath of the occurrences 
 of the morning; I administered it to him in 
 the usual form, and proceeded to take down 
 his statement in writing, just as he delivered 
 it. [This paper was produced by Mr. Evans, 
 and is in the following words: 
 
 State of Virginia, ) 
 Citt of Richmond. ( 
 
 To Wit: This day D. M. Hoyt, being duly 
 sworn, deposeth and saith. While being 
 asleep, between the hours of six and seven 
 o’clock this morning, some ope knocked at 
 the door of my room and I told them to cpmc 
 in. The office being open, the /servant having 
 just been in, the person entering was Wrn. S. 
 Burr, who handed me a paper, at the same 
 time saying he called on a very unpleasant 
 business, and hoped I would sign it, as it 
 would probably prevent any further difficul- 
 ty, saying that the public were against me. 
 
 While in the act of reading the paper Col - 
 S. S. Myers and his brother William entered 
 my room. Col. Myers wished me to sign the 
 paper immediately. I declined signing it. 
 William R. Myers immediately presented a 
 pistol at my head and snapped it. It missed 
 fire. He pulled the trigger again, but whe¬ 
 ther it exploded I am unable to say. I im¬ 
 mediately jumped out of bed, and while in 
 the act of getting out, or immediately after 
 getting out, the pistol was fired two or three 
 times as near as I can recollect. I received 
 one or more balls in my thigh. I soon after 
 fell to the floor and rolled down the step in 
 my roam. Shortly after I fell aud rolled 
 : down the step, the two Myers left my room, 
 i William S. Burr I have no recollection of 
 ' having seen after the snapping of the pistol. 11 
 While lying on the floor and not expecting 
 to live many minutes, and in the presence of 
 the two Myers’s, I said that I was innocent 
 of any crime, and the lady in question also; 
 
 ’ and I now repeat the same, and shall, to thdB 
 | moment of my death. 
 
 (Signed) D. M. HOYT, f\ 
 
 Witness —E. H. Carmichael, Frederick 
 Boyden, Thompson Tyler, E. B. Pendleton,' 
 M. B. Poitianx, jr. 
 
 Sworn and subscribed to at ten minutes 
 j before twelve o’clock by D. M. Hoyt, in the; * 
 j presence of E. H. Carmichael, Frederick, 
 
 ; Boyden, Thompson Tvler, E. B. Pendleton,' 
 j and M. B. Poitiaux, jr., this 28th day of 
 ' September, 1846; as witness my hand and 
 | seal the day and date above written, 
 
 JAMES EVANS, J. P. [seal.] f 
 
 Mr. Evans then went on to state, that after 
 retiring out of Hoyt’s presence, he returned 
 and asked him whether he made the state- J 
 ment he had just signed in anticipation of 1 
 approaching death, or whether he had any •” 
 expectation of surviving the wound. He - 
 answered, “ 1 made the statement under the , 
 belief that I am to die. I never was placed *1 
 in such circumstances before, but I made 
 them under the impression that I could not® | 
 last long, and I now repeat them, and shall ' '* 
 to the moment of my death,” his head sink- «| 
 ing back, and his voice dying away as he ut¬ 
 tered the last words. Don’t think I ever saw , 
 any one exhibit more composure—was in- ■ 
 duced to make the remark that he was as J 
 placid as a sleeping infant—no excitement J 
 about him—once he indistinctly spoke of 
 “ this murder, or whatever you may choose 
 to call it,” but in what connexion it was 
 spoken I did not understand. 
 
 He was asked if he knew whether Hoyt 
 ! was an atheist, as was reported out of doors. 
 Mr. Evans replied, that he made no enquiry 
 upon that subject, but that he took the oath 
 without objection or remark. When I asked 
 for a bible, the. young man, who seemed much 
 agitated, handed me a book which was not a ! 
 bible; Hoyt, who was much the most collect¬ 
 ed man in the room, reproved him for it, and 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 told him where he would find the proper 
 book, which was then brought to me. 
 
 Cross-examined. —In drawing up the pa¬ 
 per I put down the words as Hoyt used them, 
 even to tautology. At the end of each sen¬ 
 tence I would ask him if it were correct, and 
 make such alterations as he directed. Did 
 not converse with Hoyt on this subject after¬ 
 wards, but went again to take his affidavit 
 upon the subject of Mr. Boyden’s innocence 
 of any participation in the matter. Heard 
 him say on that occasion, “ Well, Boyden, 
 this presents something the appearance of a 
 butcher’s block.” Was told by Mr. Tyler, 
 who came for me, that he was sent either by 
 Mr. Hoyt or Dr. Carmichael, I don’t know 
 which. 
 
 Dr. Carmichael was called and asked by 
 Mr. Lyons if he knew how Mr. Evans came 
 to be sent for. Replied—I was in an adjoin¬ 
 ing room to the patient when Mr. Boyden 
 asked me if it was not customary to take the 
 affidavit of a dying man under such circum¬ 
 stances. I thanked him for reminding me of 
 this omission of a part of my professional 
 duty. I went back and asked Mr. H. if he 
 desired to make an affidavit; he said he did, 
 and I then got Mr. Tyler to go for Mr. Evans, 
 as the nearest magistrate. 
 
 Orlando A. Pegram was then sworn— 
 I live as a clerk in the store of Mr. Crantz, 
 the tenement next below Hoyt’s office—saw 
 S. S. Myers and W. R. Myers pass up the 
 street before the store door about a quarter 
 before seven on the morning of the 28th— 
 very shortly afterwards heard the report of 
 three pistol shots, which I supposed proceed¬ 
 ed from Mr. Hoyt’s room; in 4 or 5 minutes 
 saw the two Messrs. Myers pass down the 
 street; as they returned, Col. Myers seemed 
 very much agitated, but W. R. Myers ap¬ 
 peared quite composed. Had heard rumors 
 about Hoyt and Mrs. Myers, two or three 
 days before for the first time, but had seen 
 nothing to warrant me in supposing them to 
 be true. 
 
 Cross-examined. —1 was induced to go to 
 the door when I saw the Myers go up the 
 street in consequence of the rumors 1 had 
 heard two or three days before about Mrs. 
 Myers and Mr. Hoyt. I have been living 
 with Mr. Crantz for about three years, but 
 never saw anything to justify these rumors. 
 
 I did not see Wm. S. Burr go up the street, 
 but I saw him come down with the Myers. 
 
 John A. Hawes sworn—I live with W. & 
 E. P. Carpenter & Co. in the store two doors 
 below Hoyt’s office; servant came in on the 
 morning of the 28th, and informed me that 
 he had seen the Messrs. Myers getting out of 
 a carriage in the alley on the south side of the 
 Exchange—went to the door and saw W. R. 
 Myers and another gentleman, whom I after¬ 
 wards learned to know as Col. S. S. Myers, 
 enter Mr. Hoyt’s office—in three or four mi¬ 
 nutes they returned with another to me un¬ 
 known, and entered the carriage which re¬ 
 
 7 
 
 mained waiting for them in the alley—W. R. 
 Myers directed the driver to hasten up Main 
 street as fast as he could go—the carriage was 
 an old one, and had the appearance of being 
 a city hack—observed several fishing poles 
 tied underneath it. 
 
 Cress examined. —I went to the front door, 
 because the rumor I had heard about Mr. 
 Hoyt and Mrs. Myers induced me to think the 
 Myers were going to Hoyt’s room to get sa¬ 
 tisfaction. Can’t say N exactly of whom I 
 heard these rumors, but of two or three who 
 were talking about it at various times before 
 the door. I did not hear the report of a pis¬ 
 tol. 
 
 Eugene B. Pendleton sworn—I lived 
 with Hoyt in the capacity of a clerk; was 
 going down the street on Monday morning, 
 when I was informed Mr. Hoyt was shot— 
 went back to the office—heard Mr. Hoyt call¬ 
 ing for his servant—his room door was closed 
 —went in, and fouud him in bed. The bed 
 had a great deal of blood on it. He told me 
 if I would look on the bed I would find a 
 paper brought to him by William S. Burr, 
 which paper B. requested him to sign; that 
 while reading it, reclining on his elbow, Wm. 
 R. Myers and Samuel S. Myers came in— 
 that Samuel S. Myers said he must sigii it, 
 and on his declining to do so, William R. 
 Myers presented a pistol to him, which he 
 snapped—that he then jumped out of bed, 
 but could not say when he was shot—that he 
 fell off the platform into the room below— 
 that he by some means got a towel, wiped 
 the blood from his eyes, and then scrambled 
 back to his bed. He asked me to go for a 
 doctor, which 1 did. 
 
 Cross-examined. —I have been living with 
 Mr. Hoyt three years from last May. I 
 heard reports which connected the name of 
 Mr. Hoyt with that of Mrs. Myers for several 
 days before H. was shot. 
 
 [Mr. Mayo, who had been absent, here 
 asked if rumors had been previously received 
 in evidence. The Mayor stated that they 
 had—that it was his custom, while sitting as 
 a committing magistrate, to receive all the 
 evidence that was offered, that he might 
 know what witnesses ought to be recognized 
 to appear before a higher tribunal. Of course 
 he took care to discard all that was illegal in 
 making up his opinion of the propriety of 
 discharging or sending on the prisoners. 
 
 The examination then proceeded. 
 
 Mr. Pendleton continued: Mr. Hoyt 
 asked me two or three days before he was 
 shot if I had heard any reports about him and 
 Mrs. Myers; I said I had; he asked me to 
 notice who talked about them thereafter, and 
 to let him know, as he wanted to put a stop 
 to them; I told him I would; there was not 
 much intimacy between me and Hoyt; this 
 was the first time he spoke to me of Mrs. 
 Myers; after this conversation I did take no¬ 
 tice, and never heard any one speak of the 
 reports; the subject was never mentioned be- 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 8 
 
 tween ns again until after he was shot. I do 
 not recollect who it was that I heard speak of 
 these rumors; can’t remember. [Afterwards, 
 questioned again by Mr. Scott, he said:] I 
 think I remember now hearing Mr. Poore 
 speak of them, also Mr. William Bigger; 
 Hoyt did not ask me to tell him who 1 had 
 heard talking about it, only to inform him if 
 I heard any body talking about it again; I 
 therefore did not tell him whom I had heard 
 talking about it. [In answer to questions by 
 Mr. Lyons:] I had seen Hoyt and Sirs. M. 
 in conversation at her carriage door, as it 
 stood in the street; I recollect only once on 
 which this happened; I was standing in our 
 door when the carriage drove up opposite 
 Mr. Crantz’s door, where Mrs. Myers dealt; 
 Hoyt was in the office, but whether he was 
 behind or in front of the screen that sits be¬ 
 fore the door I cannot say; I never then nor 
 at any time, gave him, either by word or sig¬ 
 nal, notice of Mrs. Myers’approach; on this 
 occt^ion he came out and passed me as I 
 stood in the door, and went to the door of 
 the carriage and talked to Mrs. Myers; I do 
 not know how he knew the carriage was 
 there; perhaps he heard it when it drove up; 
 do not remember that I ever saw him go out 
 to the carriage before; this happened more 
 than a week, probably more than a fortnight 
 before he was shot; J can’t tell what impress¬ 
 ed it particularly on my mind; had never 
 heard of any rumors when I saw Hoyt at the 
 carriage door. 
 
 Mr. Mato here rose and said, that he de¬ 
 clined to ask the witness any questions about 
 rumors that he heard, lest he should appear 
 to commit himself to a course of examina¬ 
 tion that he did not approve. At another 
 stage of this proceeding, if it arrived there, 
 he should certainly resist it. Mr. Lyons re¬ 
 plied with great warmth, that they had a le¬ 
 gal right to enquire into the nature and cha¬ 
 racter of these rumors; that, in this way, 
 they had already elicited the fact that the 
 wife of his unfortunate client had become so 
 stale, that her name was in the mouth of 
 every negro on the street, and that the very 
 counter boys were agitated and excited by 
 the horrid tale. Was it to be expected that 
 the wronged husband alone should be cool 
 and calm under such circumstances? He 
 (Mr. Lyons) spoke warmly, because he was 
 himself a husband and a father, and he could 
 not but sympathize with those who had been 
 so foully wronged in these delicate relations. 
 Mr. Mayo expressed his surprise that Mr. L. 
 should exhibit so much excitement upon so 
 simple a proposition. He hoped he estimated 
 as highly as any man what belonged to a hus¬ 
 band and a father; he stood there in most 
 peculiar circumstances, with a desire to wrong 
 no one, but with a desire to sec the laws of 
 the land justly and fairly administered. His 
 only object, in rising before was to explain 
 the singular position in which he found him¬ 
 self by the request of the Court, and to inti¬ 
 
 mate that he must not be considered as con¬ 
 senting to the legality of all the evidence that 
 had been given in here to-day. He wished 
 to avoid all excitement, and he trusted that, 
 under all circumstances. God would give him 
 patience to discharge his duties as a public of¬ 
 ficer should do. 
 
 Thompson Tyler sworn—I live in the 
 Exchange; was sitting in the barber’s shop 
 on the morning of the 27th; a negro came 
 running in, saying that Mr. Hoyt had been 
 shot, and that I was wanting in his room im¬ 
 mediately; proceeded to the chamber, and 
 found a pool of blood at the foot of the steps 
 leading from the chamber into the office; Mr. 
 Hoyt was lying on the bed, wiping his face 
 with a towel. 
 
 [The witness here detailed the statement 
 made to him by Hoyt, to exactly the same 
 amount as that already reported by Dr. Car¬ 
 michael.] 
 
 He aided : Hoyt frequently said to me, 
 
 “ Tyler, old fellow, it’s hard that an inno¬ 
 cent man should be shot down in this way.” 
 
 I found a small tea-spoonful of something 
 that I supposed to be Hoyt’s brains, lying at 
 the foot of the steps; found one ball in the 
 bed; it had passed quite through the mattress 
 and lodged in the rail of the bedstead, and 
 probably the balls are there now. Hoyt 
 thought that it was the second ball that took 
 effect in his head. 
 
 Cross examined —I live at the Exchange as 
 assistant manager; I have seen Mrs. Myers 
 about the hotel frequently; not oftener 
 though than other ladies; on one occasion I 
 recollect seeing Mr. II. and Mrs. Myers in 
 the parlor together; Mr. William Myers 
 came to the bar about five minutes after¬ 
 wards, and then proceeded towards the par- . 
 lor; I do not know when or how Mr. Hoyt” 
 got into the parlor, or when he went out; I 
 saw him sitting there as I happened to pass 
 by the door; this was the only time I ever re¬ 
 member to have seen them together in the 
 house; the weather was warm, and the win¬ 
 dows and doors were all open, so that the* 
 room was perfectly public; I never said that I 
 had seen them together under suspicious cir¬ 
 cumstances; am sure of it; I never told Mr. 
 Poitiaux Robinson that I had seen things 
 that excited my suspicious; he said to me 
 something about a book that Mr. H. had 
 given Mrs. Myers in church, that had excited 
 talk; I said it was very remarkable that it 
 should, but I am very sure that I never told 
 him of anything that I knew to excite suspi¬ 
 cion; I do not know of their ever having had 
 the use of No. 18; think I should have known 
 it if they had; I never said, as well as I can 
 remember, that Mrs. Myers’s coming to the 
 hotel, without asking for ladies, had excited 
 my suspicions; I never mentioned the sub¬ 
 ject to Mr. Boyden, nor lie to me; I have no 
 knowledge of their ever having been in any 
 other room except the parlor, and that on 
 the occasion I have mentioned; the parlor 
 
TRIAL OT MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 was always open, and seldom empty; I never 
 told Mr. P. Robinson that it was strange that 
 Mr. Hoyt and Mrs. Myers should remain in 
 the parlor together from eleven to one, nor 
 anything of the sort. Asked—Are you sure 
 nothing passed between you and Mr. Robin¬ 
 son on the subject ? he paused, and said, 
 perhaps there might have been, but don’t re¬ 
 collect anything but that about the book. 
 Didn’t you say anything to him about their 
 being in the parlor ? Ans.—He said to me 
 something about their being there, but I told 
 him that Mr. Myers was there also. No. 19 
 is the ladies’ reception room; No. 18 is called 
 the club room, and is on the opposite side of 
 the passage; it is one of the most public 
 rooms in the house; has four windows open¬ 
 ing out on the piazza, where the gentlemen 
 generally sit to smoke segars. [Upon being 
 questioned more particularly, said,] the win¬ 
 dows to No. 18 are furnished with blinds 
 which open on the inside; persons in this 
 room, by shutting the door and closing the 
 blinds, would be perfectly private; I do not 
 know when the conversation with Mr. Rob¬ 
 inson occurred, except that I remember it 
 was during the hot weather. 
 
 [His examination being finished, Mr. Ty¬ 
 ler asked leave to quit the court for an hour or 
 two. The counsel for the defence said they 
 had no objection to his doing so, but advised 
 him not, on his own account, as they felt 
 bound to apprise him that his evidence would 
 be directly impeached.] 
 
 J. W. Calder sworn—I live at the Ex¬ 
 change as assistant manager—got to Mr. 
 Hoyt’s room a little before seven o’clock; at 
 Mr. Hoyt’s request looked for a paper, which 
 he said was on the bed, and which lie had 
 been shot for refusing to sign; found it be¬ 
 tween the bed-clothes and the wall against 
 which the bed was placed; he asked me to 
 take care of it, and I did so; it was out of 
 my possession only once, when Mr. Wm. M. 
 Robinson, of Petersburg, borrowed it; w'hen 
 I asked for it, found it in possession of Mr. 
 Tyler; kept it afterwards until it was delivered 
 up at the Coroner’s inquest. [The Mayor 
 handed Mr. Calder the paper we copied be¬ 
 fore, and asked him if that was the one to 
 which he referred; he said that it certainly 
 was, and that he identified it by the general 
 appearance, and a spot of blood that rested 
 upon it.] In answer to an inquiry from Mr. 
 Lyons, Mr. Calder said, Hoyt told me that 
 Burr presented the paper; he declined sign¬ 
 ing it, and Burr then withdrew as Mr. Myers 
 came forward and made the attack. 
 
 Francis Scraper sworn. I saw on the 
 morning of the 28th, Wm. S. Burr and Col. 
 
 S. Myers going from the step of Hoyt’s door 
 lown towards the lower corner of the Ex¬ 
 change; I did not notice the third man. 
 
 Mr. W. V. Crouch was then sworn. He 
 Testified that he was riding down the 
 itreet early on Monday morning; saw Wm. 
 R. Myers, Col, Myers and Burr come out of 
 
 9 
 
 Hoyt’s office and get into a hack at the lower 
 corner of the Exchange tavern. 
 
 Frederick Boyden, the keeper of the 
 Exchange Hotel, was then sworn. I know 
 nothing about this matter except what Hoyt 
 told me; I was present when Mr. Evans took 
 his affidavit: don’t recollect speaking to him 
 afterwards upon this subject. 
 
 Cross Examined .—I am not aware of any 
 interviews between Hoyt and Mrs. Myers, in 
 my house; I was at Old Point Comfort this 
 summer, about the 1st of August; when I re¬ 
 turned, a gentleman staying in my house, Mr. 
 Mosby, told me that he had seen Hoyt and 
 Mrs. Myers come out of No. 18, he asked a 
 servant who the lady was, and he said that it 
 was Mrs. Myers; I paid no attention to it, for 
 I did not believe it, especially as it depended 
 on the statement of a negro; I was not very 
 intimate with Mr. Hoyt, nor do I believe any 
 one here was; he mentioned his matters rela¬ 
 ting to his business or his private affairs to no 
 one; certainly not tome. I did one day re¬ 
 ceive a note from a servant in the presence of 
 a dozen persons, in which I was simply asked 
 to hand the enclosed to Mr. Hoyt; I did so, 
 and detained the servant until Hoyt told me 
 there was no ansiver; I always do this, to pre¬ 
 vent the necessity of sending my own ser¬ 
 vants away with an answer; I did not even 
 notice the servant, nor do I know who he 
 was; some days afterwards Hoyt and my¬ 
 self were going to Petersburg, to the races; 
 he said to me before starting “ there is a note 
 for me enclosed in one for you in the posses¬ 
 sion of Miss Burr, of this city; I wish you 
 would send for it and let me have it.” I 
 wrote to Miss Burr for it—here a note was 
 produced, which Mr. Boyden admitted to be 
 the one he alluded to. It read as follows : 
 
 “ I understand that Miss Burr has a note 
 for me, which I am anxious to get before I 
 leave town, as it may require my attention be¬ 
 fore I leave. You will confer a favor by send¬ 
 ing it by the bearer, and oblige 
 Yours, respectfully, 
 
 FRED’K BOYDEN. 
 
 Exchange, 23d Sept. 1846.” 
 
 [We are requested to state that the note 
 left with Miss Burr was handed to her by 
 Mrs. Myers, with the assurance that it con¬ 
 tained notes which she wished Mr. Boyden to 
 have changed into gold for her.] 
 
 Mr. Botden continued: I said to Hoyt, as 
 the note is for you, you can take it when the 
 servant comes, and I thought no more about 
 it until the next day, when I asked Hoyt if he 
 had received it, to which he replied that he 
 had; I never saw Mrs. Myers in any room in 
 my house except the parlor, although Mr. 
 and Mrs. Myers boarded at the Exchange for 
 several days together; Mr. Robinson never 
 told me that they had improper meetings 
 that I remember, but I have heard so much 
 that I hardly recollect; I have no recollec¬ 
 tion of anybody’s telling me of suspicious 
 meetings of these parties, except what 
 
10 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Mr. Mosby told me, as already related.— 
 [Asked how the warrant came to be issued at 
 his request,] said.it wa6 amistake; Mr. Wick¬ 
 er, the coroner, sought me and inquired what 
 I knew about the matter, and upon my tell¬ 
 ing him, issued his warrant without my hav¬ 
 ing anything to do with it; I did not tell Mr. 
 Robinson that Mrs. Boyden refused to be in¬ 
 troduced to Mrs. Myers, on account of what 
 had occurred between her and Mr. Hoyt; do 
 not know that the request was ever made. 
 (Questioned closely:) I believe there was 
 something of the kind, but really I have 
 heard so much, that I do not know exactly 
 what did occur. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Hoge, of the Presbyterian 
 Church, was then called and sworn. I was 
 out of town when the occurrence took place 
 and did not return until Wednesday last; 
 board at the Exchange; heard that Iloyt 
 wished to see me, and called on him imme¬ 
 diately; the conversation I held with him re¬ 
 lated altogether to his spiritual condition; am 
 satisfied that he died a firm believer in the 
 truths of Christianity; asked him if he had 
 ever been an Infidel; said he never had; was 
 in the room most of the day Wednesday, and 
 had repeated conversations with him of short 
 duration; asked him if he would join mein 
 prayer; he paused a moment, and said he 
 had not the slightest objection; think he ut¬ 
 tered amen, once or twice during the prayer, 
 but cannot be certain; lie exhibited little ex¬ 
 citement, though I thought he was laboring 
 under deep feeling; observing him to be rest¬ 
 less, I asked him if I could do anything for 
 him: he replied very feelingly, “ no sir, all 
 that I want now, is that peace no earthly 
 friend can give;” saw a bible lying on his 
 table near the bed; he seemed perfectly calm 
 and collected, and entirely in his senses. 
 
 The Rev. Wji. Norwood, Rector of Saint 
 Paul’s Church was then sworn. I was with 
 Hoyt repeatedly in his last days; did not go 
 to fearri anything of this affair; I sought only 
 to call him to repentance; he volunteered to 
 me some remarks relative to this affair; on 
 last Saturday week he spoke as if he had 
 strong hopes of recovery, although he was 
 aware that he was in great danger; for I told 
 him that the doctor said so; he seemed al¬ 
 ready aware of it; he stated to me that the 
 circumstances occurred on the morning of 
 the 28th, exactly as they have been detailed 
 to you. 1 understood him that when the at¬ 
 tack was made he sprung up from the bed, 
 and retreated to the other side of the room, 
 when he thought he received the wounds; 
 when I paused to him in my remarks on the 
 subject of religion, he frequently assured me 
 of his innocence of any criminal connection 
 with Mrs. Myers; he said with great feeling, 
 that their conduct had been very imprudent, 
 and the tears rolled down his checks as he 
 said so; but that I might rely upou it, what¬ 
 ever appeared to the contrary, that he was 
 innocent of any criminal connection; I said 
 
 to him, you must know that such a flirtation, 
 
 I did not like to call it by a harsher name, is 
 calculated to madden almost any husband, 
 and drive him to do what Mr. Myers has 
 done, to which he fully assented, as I under¬ 
 stood; for he then said, I have thought of this 
 matter, and will not revenge myself on Mr. 
 Myers if I should recover; he repeatedly as¬ 
 serted that he was innocent; he was certainly 
 no atheist; in the last conversation I had 
 with him, he said he was looking to God, and j 
 trusted to the merits of his Redeemer for the ; 
 salvation of his soul; he said he had been 
 brought up to respect religion, and to go to 
 church; that he had neglected it too long, and 
 that he regretted this affair because it might 
 have the effect of preventing him from doing 
 so. 
 
 W. J. Anderson, sworn. I am of the 
 firm of W. & E. Carpenter & Co. living iu 
 the tenement at the lower corner of the Ex¬ 
 change. On the morning of the 28th, I was 
 aroused by the report of the servaut, that the 
 Messrs. Myers were going towards Mr. 
 Hoyt’s room; when I got up and looked out 
 of the window, Mr. Wm. R. Myers was get¬ 
 ting into the hack at the corner of the Ex¬ 
 change. I did not see any body with him; 
 but he told the hackman, to drive up the Main 
 Street, as fast as he could go. 
 
 [Here it was announced that the Common¬ 
 wealth was through her testimony for the 
 present; and the Defence proceed to call their 
 witnesses. 
 
 Major Pollard, the father of Mrs. Myers 
 was first called to the stand. Mr. Scott hand¬ 
 ed him a letter and asked if he knew anything 
 ■about it. He said that it was a letter ad¬ 
 dressed to Mrs. Myers whilst she was at his 
 house in June, which he bad taken out of the 
 post office about the 23d of June. 
 
 Here Mr. Mayo rose and asked, “ for what 
 purpose is that letter offered heie? The 
 prisoners are charged with committing a hom¬ 
 icide. The committing magistrate is not to 
 distinguish between the degrees of homicide, 
 and therefore testimony which does not go toi 
 disprove the act altogether, or at least to 
 show that it was a justifiable homicide, is ir¬ 
 relevant at this stage of the proceeding. Even 
 if this letter were fit evidence in mitigation 
 of the offence, it would be without the pale of 
 your honor’s notice; but the law declares 1 hatl 
 if the blood has had time to cool between the 
 provocation and the offence, the provocation! 1 
 shall not be even pleaded in extenuation. 
 But this offence was committed on the 28th 
 of September, and this letter is dated on the 
 19th of June—how then can it be relevant to 1 
 this cause? 
 
 Mr. Lyons rose to reply— the Mayor in¬ 
 terrupted him to say that he had determined 
 to receive all the evidence that might be ot¬ 
 tered, reserving to himself the privilege of re-1 
 gardtng only what he considered legal, ini 
 making up his opinion. Mr. Mayoyieldud to 
 the decision of the Court; but Mr. Lyons 
 
TEIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Nevertheless proceeded with a splendid burst 
 of eloquence, that electrified the audience and 
 so enwrapped our attention, as to make us 
 forget our notes. It is impossible that we can 
 do him justice. He claimed the right to in¬ 
 troduce testimony to show the nature of the 
 provocation his client had received. In the 
 name of humanity, in the name of common 
 justice, in the name of the law itself, he denied 
 that there was any principle in the books that 
 would debar him from this privilege. What, 
 was he to measure time by grains and say 
 when a man’s blood would cool under such 
 a wrong as this? He would not go to the 
 books to find this out, but he would appeal to 
 every husband in that assembly, to say how 
 long a man must bear an indignity of this 
 kind to get so used to it that he would re¬ 
 flect calmly and coolly upon the act which 
 robs him, at once, of wife, home, honor, and 
 reputation. He claimed the right to intro¬ 
 duce evidence to disprove some of the dying 
 statements of Hoyt, and thereby discredit the 
 whole of them; upon which alone the Com¬ 
 monwealth could hope to rest this prosecution. 
 Throw out this evidence, and who could say 
 that when these parties went to Hoyt’s room, 
 it was not for amicable adjustment? Who 
 can say how the affray commenced? This 
 deed, if done at all by his clients, may have 
 been done in the heat of blood upon sudden 
 provocation, or it may have been done in self 
 defence. Therefore, it was most important 
 that they should be allowed to introduce evi¬ 
 dence to show that Hoyt was unworthy of 
 belief, and by this letter, and this testimony, 
 he expected to prove this fact. He expected 
 to prove notwithstanding this man’s solemn 
 protestations of his innocence, under all the 
 solemnity of religious rites, that, regardless 
 alike of the rights of the parent or the hus¬ 
 band, he had followed this woman into the 
 sacred s; nctuary of her father’s house, and 
 sought to debauch her, morally at least, in 
 that sacred asylum. That when appealed to 
 by that father to spare his child, to spare the 
 honor of his house, he promised to desist 
 *rom his unhallowed purposes, and before the 
 snd of another day, before the lie had died 
 upon his lips, the relentless seducer was at his 
 r oul work again. He felt warmly; no man 
 who was a husband and a father could feel 
 )therwise, but aside of all feeling, he solemnly 
 relieved that the law did not deny him the 
 privilege that he claimed. Mr. Scott also 
 iddressed the Court in a very eloquent man- 
 ler on the same side, and Mr. Mayo replied. 
 He said that he was surprised at the excite- 
 nent of his friend, but that the case in which 
 le was engaged was such a one that no man 
 ;ould be embarked in it without feeling deep- 
 y. God knows he felt it himself as deeply 
 is any man; but he wanted this and every 
 )ther case in which he was engaged, to be 
 lecided by law rather than feeling. When he 
 lesired to exclude illegal evidence, he did so 
 because he considered the safety of the citi¬ 
 
 ii 
 
 zen only to be secured by a strict adminis¬ 
 tration of the laws of the land. He disputed 
 many of the principles laid down by his friends 
 on the other side, but he did not dispute their 
 right to use this paper for some of the pur¬ 
 poses indicated, and if they had only explain¬ 
 ed themselves when he first asked what use 
 they intended to make of the letter, although 
 not altogether formal, he would not have ob¬ 
 jected to its being read.] 
 
 Major Pollard now proceeded with his 
 testimony. He said: Mr. and Mrs. Myers 
 came to see me at my house in Nelson in J une 
 last. My wife informed me that she had de¬ 
 tected Mrs. Myers in writing a letter to Mr. 
 Hoyt, in the city of Richmond. We agreed 
 that it was better to let this letter go, and in¬ 
 tercept the answer. I attended the office my¬ 
 self for that purpose, and took a letter out 
 directed apparently in a lady’s hand, to Mrs. 
 My ers, after she and her husband had gone 
 tovisit some of her relations in Nelson. I 
 opened it and found it of a most improper 
 character for any gentleman to write to a 
 married lady. I went down immediately to 
 Richmond—that is, I got the letter about the 
 2.'ld, and arrived in Richmond on the 25th. I 
 brought this letter, the one now exhibited in 
 Court, along with me. I found Hoyt late 
 in the evening. I said to him, This is Mr. 
 Hoyt, I believe; I wish to have some private 
 conversation with you, sir. He asked me to 
 his room; I went; I said, Sir, I am the father 
 of Mrs. Myers; I have intercepted such a let¬ 
 ter from you to her as no gentleman would 
 write to a married lady. He said what letter? 
 I know of no letter. I produced it. He said 
 Well, sir, you see that that letter is in answer 
 to one that I received. I answered, Yes, 
 sir, that is plain enough. He then said he 
 looked on Mrs. Myers as a sister—that he 
 would sacrifice his life to serve her, and prom¬ 
 ised me that their correspondence should be 
 discontinued. I told him that nothing but a 
 desire on my part to keep the matter quiet, 
 for the sake of my family, induced me to deal 
 thus lightly with him; but that he must stop 
 all communication with Mrs. Myers, and that 
 hereafter he must not recognize her when he 
 met her. This I repeated two or three times, 
 and he repeatedly promised me it should be 
 done. I left him—the next evening he came 
 to my room, and said it might look curious 
 for’him to cease even to recognize Mrs. Myers 
 and asked if that were necessary. I said I 
 supposed not, but that the communicaton 
 between them must go no further—he pro¬ 
 mised that it should not—he proposed that I 
 should give him the letter that I had, and he 
 would produce the one to which it was an an¬ 
 swer, and we would burn them both—I an¬ 
 swered that I would be down again in a week 
 or two, and would let him know. I was de¬ 
 tained in’town the next day, and about dusk 
 as I was standing in the Rotunda of the Ex¬ 
 change I was very much surprised to see my 
 son-in-law, Mr. Myers, who came up to me, 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 12 
 
 and told me that he and his wife had return¬ 
 ed from Nelson, and were both stopping at 
 the Exchange. I went to the parlor to see 
 my daughter, and there I found her with Hoyt 
 by her side; and nobody else in the room. 
 He moved suddenly away as I approached. I 
 was very much exasperated, but had no op¬ 
 portunity of speaking to him that night— 
 the following morning I called on him early, 
 and had him roused from his bed. AVhen he 
 was dressed he came out on the pavement and 
 I reproached him with his treachery. He 
 said I was mistaken; that he had not even 
 been conversing with Mrs. Myers on the pre¬ 
 ceding evening. I told him that if this thing 
 was persisted in, and a sepraation produced 
 between my child and her husband, I would 
 have my revenge even at the risk of my life, 
 and I would keep the letter -that it might 
 plead my justification, in case was forced to 
 kill him. That if he killed me, I had sons 
 who would follow it up to the remotest cor¬ 
 ners of the earth. 
 
 I went home, and heard nothing more of 
 the matter until I got a letter from Col. My¬ 
 ers, in Sept, asking me to come to Richmond 
 and intimating what had occurred. I came 
 down, and told him what had happened in 
 June. I might have told him of the letter, 
 but don’t think I ever showed it to him until 
 after Hoyt was shot. I carried my daughter 
 up home with me. 
 
 [The following is a copy of the letter ex¬ 
 hibited to Mr. Pollard, and identified by him 
 as the one he intercepted from Hoyt to 
 Mrs. Myers.] 
 
 Thursday Evening, 18th June. 
 
 My dearly loved Virginia—While lying 
 on my couch, where I had been for some two 
 hours, thinking of thee, much to my surprise 
 arid delight, your dear ’sweet letter of the 
 13th inst., was handed me ; little did I think 
 while inviting sweet thoughts of thee, I 
 should so soon have words before me traced 
 by thy loved hand, fresh from thy heart, and 
 you may well imagine what pleasure the sur¬ 
 prise of the receipt of your loved letter gave 
 me. You tell me my letter must be placed 
 in the Post Office Thursday Afternoon, to 
 reach you on Saturday, and it was past 7 o’c. 
 when I received your letter, The mail leaves 
 in the morning at 8 o'c., so you sec I have 
 but little time to write, but that little shall be 
 devoted to thee, my precious, dear one, for 
 you well know my time is never as pleasantly 
 passed as when devoted to my loved Virginia. 
 Yon cannot conceive, darling, the pleasure 
 your letter has given me, tho’ parts of all 
 your letters give me pain—I hope tho’ the 
 time is not far distant when letters from you 
 will contain nothing but what is pleasure for 
 you to write and for me to read. 
 
 Your dear, sweet letter, darling, does give 
 me “ proof beyond doubt” how devotedly you 
 are mine ; aud more proof I cannot give 
 that I am yours devotedly, tho’ ’tis a pleasure 
 for me to reiterate all that I have said, you 
 
 well know, dearest one, how you are loved 
 by me, and I know sufficient of thy dear 
 heart to satisfy me that you do deserve all 
 my affection, and I once more tell you ’tis 
 all yours, no division shall be made in it, ’tis 
 all thine, loved one, keep it, cherish it—and 
 thee it will never forsake. ’Tis entwined 
 around thy precious heart, too strong ever to 
 be severed ; be satisfied of this my precious' 
 loved Virginia. Have no doubt of me, dar¬ 
 ling, there is no cause for it, you have a hold 
 on my affection which you can always retain 
 if you choose, ’twill not leave till bid by thee. 
 
 Your loved letter tells me we are soon to 
 meet again, and happy will be that moment, 
 when I can again look on that sweet face and 
 press to these, thy ruby lips, and Oh! that 
 when we do meet, we could remain together 
 never to be separated. You ask, how I can 
 refuse to make you happy ? You well know 
 dearest Virginia, how anxious I am to make 
 you a happy woman, and I would willingly 
 give my life to accomplish it—would that but 
 do it. You can but know, that it is not an 
 easy matter to accomplish all we wish, when 
 we meet we will have a long talk on this sub¬ 
 ject so necessary to oui mutual happiness.— 
 Loved one, how can you fancy that I think 
 you would not be hind to me, —kind to me, 
 you could not be otherwise, this I am satis¬ 
 fied of, Virginia. And Virginia, there is not 
 an hour that I do not wish, what we have so 
 long been anxious for, could be brought 
 about. Reflect on my conduct, does it not 
 prove this ? You well know it does ; you 
 must know it. Continually am I wishing you 
 were mine, mine alone —my whole thoughts 
 are to accomplish this, dear love, this subject 
 is never out of my mind, and never shall be 
 till thy happiness is complete ; I know my 
 loved one, I could make you happy at once, 
 but in doing this I am anxious that every 
 thing should be so arranged that this happi¬ 
 ness should continue. Y'ou have had sorrow- 
 enough darling, and in making a change, I 
 want all to be sunshine, no clouds or dark 
 spots before you. Do you not agree with me j 
 that this would be best love ? Soon we w ill 
 talk this all over, and you will be satisfied 
 that I am anxious to make you perfectly ' 
 happy. 
 
 Dearest Virginia, can you think for a mo- < 
 ment that my love is not “ sufficiently strong” 
 for any trials whatever. If I could accom¬ 
 plish your perfect happiness, I would care not - 
 for my happiness, yours is all that I look to, ! 
 your being happy would make me so, doubt i 
 not my love. I beg of you, dear, you must 
 know that you are the only being I ever did 
 love, why doubt me then ? I doubt thee not, 
 darling ! Why darling should I tell you that 
 1 love you if I do not ? What am 1 to gain 
 by it ? I do love you, and love to tell you so. I 
 I was in hopes, loved one, when you got with 
 your mother and family, you would have . 
 been less miserable, but it sectns there is no 
 change. Now I beg of you, try all in your 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 power to be less miserable during your stay 
 away from me, and do not indulge in such 
 awful thoughts as you often do. Did you re¬ 
 flect how miserable you would leave me dear¬ 
 est, were you to carry out with your own 
 hands what you speak of? Oh ! I beg of you, 
 banish from your mind such awful thoughts. 
 Loved darling, I think it best that your dear 
 mother should know of your misery, of this, 
 you can best judge with your dear sister.— 
 You, my precious loved one, you must not 
 And fault with me for sending so short a let¬ 
 ter, you see I have had but little time to write. 
 Your letter was post marked the 17th, tho’ 
 written on the 13th, and had I time you 
 should have one of my long letters. I have 
 been interrupted frequently ’ since I com¬ 
 menced this, and 'tis now late, pardon me for 
 its shortness, won’t you love? for you know 
 when I have had the opportunity, I have 
 given you long letters; you forgive me for 
 this short one, love, I know you do, I almost 
 fancy I hear those sweet lips say yes. How 
 I do wish I could be with you in the country, 
 could we but pass a few days together, your 
 friends would still say “ how changed.” Once 
 more I must tell you that I love you dearly, 
 last night I had a sweet dream of thee; could 
 you but know all my thoughts, you would 
 say my love was equal to yours, precious an- 
 geL Now darling, pray forgive me, I really 
 have not had time to review the half of your 
 dear kind letter, and if I am not allowed an¬ 
 other opportunity to write you during your 
 absence, it shall be done in person when we 
 meet, and that sweet meeting will soon come 
 I hope, though you tell me ’tis yet twelve 
 days off, I hope tho’ twill be shortened. Dar¬ 
 ling, dear darling, it really grieves me to send 
 you so short a letter, when I know you ex¬ 
 pect a long one, and to make up the defici¬ 
 ency, you must read such words as please you 
 twice. Please remember me most kindly to 
 your dear sister. Give me one dear, sweet, 
 long kiss, in imagination, and believe me 
 yours truly and sincerely, -. 
 
 [The commonwealth’s attorney here ob¬ 
 served, that since that letter had been read, 
 it was but fair that the court and the public 
 should see the one to which it was an answer. 
 He held in his hand a budget of letters found 
 amongst the papers of Hoyt, which he had 
 obtained from his friend and representative. 
 The counsel for the accused made no objec¬ 
 tion; indeed they declared that they were 
 anxious that the whole should come out, and 
 Mr. Mayo, the handwriting having been ad¬ 
 mitted to be that of Mrs. Myers, proceeded to 
 read the following letter.] 
 
 Alta Vista, June 13. 
 
 It has been but three days, my beloved one, 
 since we parted; but in that brief time, alas! 
 
 I have endured years of misery—suffered, my 
 God! words cannot the half of it express. 
 
 I told you, dearest, it would be impossible for 
 me to write you, but I am actually so miser¬ 
 able, so wretched, that my very very life de¬ 
 
 lft 
 
 pends on writing you, my angel, and I feel 
 that I cannot support existence, unless I can 
 enjoy the sweet privilege of telling you, dar¬ 
 ling, every thought, every feeling of this de¬ 
 voted, adoring heart. I must write you, dear¬ 
 est, even if it cost me my soul, my breath; 
 for were I not, I should die. To live tvhen 
 away from you, love, without the sweet inter¬ 
 change of affection, is worse than death; for 
 my very bosom is torn with wretchedness, 
 when separated from you, and the only means 
 by which I can live, thus divided, is to write 
 you, dear one, and tell you how I love you. 
 Oh! darling, precious darling, does not this 
 very act show you beyond a doubt, how devo- 
 1 tedly, how entirely I am yours? My God! 
 dearest, never has a mortal loved like me; for 
 I believe it is impossible for a human heart 
 to contain such burning, fervent, unbounded 
 love—passionate, fervent, ardent, far beyond 
 the power of language to express. Oh! 
 dearest, how I long for words to tell you how 
 I love you; for I am sure, did you know all 
 the idolatrous love of this bosom, you would 
 say I deserve all, all, of your blessed affec¬ 
 tions, to me more precious, more necessary 
 to life than the very air I breathe; for, as I 
 could not live without air, so the same way I 
 should die deprived of thy dear love. Oh! 
 dearest, love you? I actually love you to 
 that degree that my very life depends on it. 
 You know, dear one, that I cannot exist with¬ 
 out you. Oh! dearest, dearest angel, my 
 heart is breaking, bursting, with love for thee. 
 It is impossible for me to remain as I now 
 am any longer. I cannot, cannot live with¬ 
 out thee always beside me. Oh! dear love, 
 tell me how it is that you can refuse to make 
 me happy, when you see my life depends on 
 it. Dearest, when wc meet you will no long¬ 
 er refuse. Will you, mine own, mine only 
 one? Remember, I look to you for happi¬ 
 ness; for you are the only living creature 
 who can make me happy, and oh! darling, 
 do not I pray you, do not refuse. Dearest, I 
 entreat you reflect well on what I said to you 
 when we last met, and above all, sweet one, 
 remember my happiness hero and in a future 
 world depends on you. Beloved one, did you 
 only know how I love you, you would not 
 hesitate. Perhaps, dear one, you think 1 
 would not be kind to you—would not make 
 you happy. Oh! mine angel, kind did Isay? 
 that cold word cannot tell you half the devo¬ 
 tion, the tenderness, with which I would ren¬ 
 der thee so happy. Yes, sweet one, I would 
 watch over thee with all the anxiety, the dear 
 aff ection with which the mother tends the in¬ 
 fant of her bosom. Every joy, every sorrow 
 should be shared by her who has given you 
 all, all she has in this world, and that is her 
 whole, entire heart. Dear one, in prosperity, 
 in adversity, I would be always the same de¬ 
 voted, confiding being which you know me 
 now to be. In the sunshine of prosperity: 
 then I would share all thy joy and gladness, 
 and should darkness or sorrow oppress thee. 
 
14 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 then, sweet angel, in that hour would my love 
 shine out in all its brightness; then would I 
 sit beside thee, dearest, and with love like 
 that of heaven, would I chase away all gloom. 
 Thy dear head should rest on this fond bo¬ 
 som, and pilfcwed there, beloved, would you 
 be unhappy? Dear, adored, precious one, 
 can you doubt, for an instant, that I would 
 make you happy? Only think, darling, 
 what love I have for you, and oh! then 
 doubt is impossible. And think too, dearest, 
 it is in your power to make me the happiest 
 of mortals. Oh! what bliss would be mine, 
 always with you, dearest. Then I should 
 in feeling be in Heaven; for where thou 
 art, darling, there is paradise to me. Again, 
 dear love, I beseech you think on all I 
 have said to you, and if you lore me you 
 cannot refrain. This is the strongest test 
 love can have. Do you not think so? Dar¬ 
 ling, I should not have mentioned this sub¬ 
 ject, but each hour, I assure you convinces 
 me more and more that I can no longer re¬ 
 main as I now am; but, perhaps, dear, you 
 hesitate, because your love is not sufficiently 
 strong for this trial. You dear, perhaps, you 
 might not be happy. But oh ! God! I cannot, 
 will not think of it. I, dearest, am willing 
 to give up everything on earth lor you—for, 
 my God! I love you better than the whole 
 world, and you, beloved, love me just the 
 same. Oh, I pray Heaven you do, for it is 
 the only thing that enables me to support 
 this wretched existence. Darling believe me, 
 when I say it is impossible for tne to remain 
 as I now am; I can no longer endure the 
 sorrows I endured, and I am sure, dearest, 
 if you knew all my trials, all my bitter suf¬ 
 ferings, you would not be willing for me to 
 endure them any longer. No — your own 
 kind heart would tell vOu it was more than 
 any woman could endure,,and you would 
 rescue me from misery, which, alas! you 
 now cannot imagine. Yes, dearest, if you 
 could only see this heart — only know its utter 
 wretchedness — only know the trials and sor¬ 
 rows which are crushing me so heavily, you 
 would not hesitate, even for an iustant. Ah, 
 dearest, I sometimes ask myself will you ever 
 know how much I love you? will you ever 
 know how devotedly this heart is yours? 
 Dear one, everything shows how I love you; 
 for I cannot conceal it from the world; my 
 eyes speak volumes of love to thine; they 
 speak in glances of love to thee alone, dearest; 
 and oh! does'not every action tell you how I 
 idolize you? for not a moment do I cease 
 to caress you, away from you, and I cannot 
 live unless I write you every thought—by 
 day thinking of you unceasingly, and at 
 night always with you in my dreams. 
 
 All this must convince you; but did it not, 
 there is another proof, beyond the power of 
 doubt; and that is, dearest, that my health 
 has been so affected by this, dear love; even- 
 one who sees me exclaims, how changed I 
 anil and you know, darling, nothing on earth 
 
 has wrought this change, save the deep at¬ 
 tachment existing between us. Loving you 
 as I do, and divided by such obstacles, must 
 make me miserable, and this misery has 
 made me ill in body; bnt, oh God! in mind 
 it makes me the most wretched of beings. 
 Dearest, I do not love you—no—it is more 
 than the word lore can express—’tis more 
 even than idolatry—his a superhuman love 
 —a worship, such as angels worship God in 
 heaven. Oh! dearest, I worship you; the 
 let lings sfiem to* increase every day, for I 
 now love you so much that I find I can no 
 longer exist away from you; I must be yours, 
 and be forever happy; or else 1 must take 
 my life with my own hands, for it is utterly 
 •impossible for me to support the wretched 
 existence I now do. 
 
 Dear love, I am the most unhappy of mor¬ 
 tals; you do not know how miserable I am; 
 you sometimes see me in the world, apparent¬ 
 ly happy, and you may think I have for the 
 inomeut forgotten my sorrows—you hear me 
 perhaps conversing on different subjects, you 
 see my lips wreathed in smiles, but, ah! dear¬ 
 est, in those moments could you read this 
 heart, how different would all appear to you? 
 To the world, I shrink from expressing feel¬ 
 ings too sacred, too holy for their unhallowed 
 view—for what has the heartless world to do 
 with such love as mine? I would not pro¬ 
 fane it by their gaze—but in this heart, dear¬ 
 est one, there it glows with the brightness of 
 Heaven. Although, mine own darling, you 
 see me in society apparently cheerful, you 
 well know how deceiving it is, for you know 
 all my misery. Never, never, for one mo¬ 
 ment do I forget it, and while conversing 
 with others, oh! bow far, far away are my 
 thoughts. I am thinking, even then, of the 
 wretchedness of my situation. But there are 
 moments, dearest, when I am so overcome, 
 that I cannot repress my feelings, I cannot 
 then even speak to another; I am perfectly 
 abstracted; so miserable that the very tears 
 rush unbidden to my. eyes. Dearest love, 
 the world may not know how.wretched I am, 
 but you, mine angel, know all and do you 
 not pity me? Oh! dear, dear darling, have 
 I not sufficient to make me wretched, divided 
 perhaps forever, from one whom 1 love to 
 adoration? Is not this misery, misery? but 
 dearest, you will make me happy, won’t yon, 
 sweetest love? 
 
 Again, dearest, I say if you love me, you 
 will not refuse; for when you see my life de¬ 
 pends on you, oh ! you cannot hesitate. Oh, 
 darling, pray for me; pray God to support 
 me through all these bitter trials, for I feel 
 as if I should sink under them. 
 
 Dearest, since we parted, I have suffered 
 pangs which have almost broken my heart. 
 Oh! precious love, did you not see what 1 
 suffered during our last interview? 1 uctually 
 was afraid 1 should not have strength to 
 reach my room. I had no opportunity of 
 reading your dear- note, for I was not alone 
 
TRIAL OF MYEKS AND OTHERS. 
 
 a moment. Oh, my God ! what a night I 
 passed; never, never can I forget those hours 
 of sleepless agony. During the whole night 
 I never once closed my eyes; my pillow was 
 wet with the bitterpst tears I ever shed, and 
 as I lay there awake, thinking of thee, my 
 angel, I thought was there ever such love as 
 mine? ever love so full of tenderness, so full 
 of passionate devotion? No! no! beloved 
 one, never has woman, never can woman 
 love as I do you. 
 
 Oh ! darling, the next morning with what 
 delight did I read thy precious words ! With 
 what passion were they pressed to these 
 lips! Oh! dearest, they made me so happy; 
 for I am perfectly happy when 1 know you 
 love me, and I am only wretched because I 
 am so awfully divided from you. This alone 
 makes me miserable; for, dearest, make me 
 yours, and earth will not contain so happy 
 a being. As I closed your blissfull words dear 
 one, and kissed it for the last time, I could 
 not restrain a burst of tears, and I wept, God 
 alone knows with what agony; for no hu¬ 
 man eye was on me. Darling, I wept, be¬ 
 cause I feared you might not always love 
 me; wept in the very bitterness of despair, 
 even, at the thought; for the thought almost 
 kills rue. Oh! dear one, this fear it is which 
 makes me so wretched. Sometimes, when I 
 think you love me, I feel the very happiest of 
 mortals; and then again, when I think you 
 may perhaps cease to love me, oh! dearest, 
 in those moments you do not know the 
 agony, the anguish of this bosom. Oh ! be¬ 
 loved, I kneel to you, I entreat you, I be¬ 
 seech you never, never desert me. Oh, 
 God! in that hour when you change to¬ 
 wards me, when you forsake me, then life 
 has no longer any charm for me, and I shall 
 not one instant hesitate to take with my own 
 hands an existence far too .wretched for me 
 to support. Dearest one, these words are 
 from my very soul, and I feel that this is to 
 be my fate, should you, my own darling, de¬ 
 sert me. Oh angel of this bosom ! think how 
 dependent I am on thy love for every joy, 
 every hope ! for you well know it is all I have 
 in this world. Think how desolate and for¬ 
 saken I am without it; and oh ! could you, 
 would you deprive me of it? Dearest, my 
 very life depends on thy love. Oh, then, 
 spare me! spare me! who worship you 
 with idolatry! with adoration ! The fear that 
 you may change towards me, makes me ut¬ 
 terly wretched. Oh darling! tell me again 
 and again, you will always love me; then, then 
 I am so happy. The reason that this fear 
 makes me so miserable, is that I know so well 
 my very existence rests with thy dear affec¬ 
 tions. On you I have placed all my hopes of 
 happiness; treasured in you all this bosom’s 
 deep and boundless love ; and think, mine 
 own one, were you to desert me, what a 
 wreck, what utter despair would be my fate ! 
 Oh dear, dearest one 1 with my arms closely 
 twined around thee—with my lips pressed to 
 
 is 
 
 thine, I entreat you, beseech you, always, 
 always love me. Dearest, you remember the 
 reason I have given you for the fear I have 
 that you may change towards me. It is a 
 painful subject to refer to—yet again, my 
 angel, I exhort you, do not, do not judge me 
 wrongly. In my actions, perhaps I have been 
 led away for the moment too much ; but re¬ 
 member what has caused it—the impassioned, 
 unutterable, burning love of a pure, exalted 
 bosom. Yes, in the presence of Heaven 
 itself, I would swear, that this bosom is as 
 free from impurity, as an angel’s; and rather 
 than lose that purity, that delicacy, which I 
 know is the jewel of my character, I would 
 far rather lose life itself. Oh! precious! 
 judge me only by my heart. You know its 
 every thought, for not one feeling has been 
 concealed from you—every thought is of you, 
 and is as pure, as spiritual, as Heaven itself. 
 Oh sutler nothing on earth to change you, 
 darling. Always think how fervently, how 
 devotedly I love you, and you can never re¬ 
 ject a love so disinterested, so idolatrous, and 
 dear one, so confiding, as mine is for you 
 The more I am separated from you, sweetest, 
 the more miserable I am—now I am so per¬ 
 fectly wretched, that it is impossible to con¬ 
 ceal it. Every one remarks it, and I can 
 only evade it by complaining of indisposition. 
 Alas ! could they read this heart, they would 
 see there was the malady that affects both 
 mind and body. My family were startled at 
 my pale, emaciated appearance; and from all I 
 receive the deepest, tenderest sympathy. You, 
 whom I see often, are not aware of the change 
 that is in me; but those of my friends who 
 have not seen me for a year, are struck by the 
 difference both in my appearance and spirits. 
 I am convinced, dearest, that if I suffer much 
 longer, as I am now, I shall sink under it, for 
 ’tis more than mortal can endure ; my health 
 is slowly but surely declining ; and although 
 persons with whom I am constantly associat¬ 
 ed, do not observe the change, yet to others 
 from whom I have been separated, ’tis more 
 apparent. To no one have I spoken of my 
 
 situation, save to dear-. I have wept 
 
 bitter tears; as I have told her all, she feels 
 for me the warmest compassion, as every one 
 must who knows my sorrows. When we 
 meet, darling, I have a great deal to tell you, 
 which I have no time to write you. I have, 
 with difficulty, written this much, for you can 
 imagine how I am situated here, always liable 
 to interruptions. Dearest, this letter must 
 convince you how dearly I love you, i'or you 
 know the difficulties I have to encounter both 
 in writing and sending ; but I cannot live 
 unless I write you and tell you how fondly I 
 
 am yours. - and myself have fixed a 
 
 plan by which I can send this letter to you 
 and receive one in answer, without incurring 
 the least risk or danger. Oh ! dearest, how I 
 do long for you here. The country looks so 
 beautiful, and I often think how delightful it 
 would be, if I could only have you here with 
 
16 
 
 TRIAL OF MYEltS AND OTHERS. 
 
 me; what sweet walks we would have to¬ 
 gether, and then too what delicious moonlight 
 rambles; all alone; ’twould be the perfection 
 of bliss; how eloquent!}', in such a scene, 
 could I discourse of my love for you; and 
 how my heart would leap with rapture, to 
 hear the blessed words of affection from thy 
 precious lips. 
 
 Oh! dear love, will the day ever come 
 when we shall be thus perfectly happy ? The 
 decision rests with you ; ’tis altogether in your 
 power, darling. I am hoping every day for 
 the time to be fixed for my return; of course 
 he regulates my movements. Oh! dearest* 
 would that you might know how anxious I 
 am to see you; believe me, I love you so 
 deeply that I am wretched forever away from 
 you; even with my own family I find no en¬ 
 joyment, because you are not here. I can be 
 happy with no one save you, my beloved. 
 What are friends, the whole world to me, 
 without thee? ’Tisa very blank. Oh! dear¬ 
 est, all, every feeling of this bosom tells me 
 that I love you above the earth and all it 
 contains. I am ready, willing to give up 
 every living creature tor you, dearest; only- 
 say shall 1 do it, and thus secure my eternal 
 happiness. Darling, love, I am dying to see 
 you, and if I am not soon restored to you, I 
 do believe I shall die. You don’t know how 
 I suffer, thus parted from you, my angel. If 
 you could see me, as I often am, alone, bath¬ 
 ed in tears, you could then form some idea of 
 my misery. I would lose my senses, were it 
 not that 1 can write you these words of love; 
 they are a relief to my burdened heart. Now, 
 beloved, ’tis near dark, and I shall soon be 
 called away, so I must close this letter which 
 I have written with such happiness but not 
 before I give you my parting request. I 
 want you, dearest, to send me a dear letter by 
 Saturday’s mail. Now, in order for it to 
 reach me on that day, you must mail it on 
 Thursday afternoon. Don’t forget the time, 
 for I would not be disappointed for all on 
 earth. Darling, I entreat you send me a long, 
 sweet letter, for ’tis all that can sustain me in 
 this dark, sad absence. Tell me every feel¬ 
 ing of thy blessed bosom; tell me if you tliink 
 of me—tell me if you love me. Oh, yes, 
 mine angel! tell me you still love me! and 
 oh, what happiness will you not give me? 
 Darling, write every moment you can, so it 
 will be a long, long letter — for you know, 
 dearest, how I love each word traced by thine 
 
 own precious hand. Mr. M-- says now 
 
 we shall leave hereon Monday, the 29th, and 
 be in Richmond the next day. I shall write 
 you in answer to your letter, and tell you the 
 very day we reach Richmond, and appoint 
 setne time for our meeting immediately on 
 my arrival. I shall have so much to tell you, 
 sweet one; and oh! won’t it be a delightful 
 meeting! ’Tis a long, long time, dearest, 
 and really when I think of it, I feel as if 1 
 should die—for, darling love, you can never 
 know how I do suffer when I am parted from 
 
 you. My only hope that supports me in this: 
 I trust ere long to be forever yours. I’ve 
 determined to speak freely to my mother of 
 my unhappy situation. Do you think it will 
 be best? Now, my adored one, again I tell 
 you I love you—yes, love you so dearly, so 
 wholly, that I have not words to convey the 
 half of it. Tell me, dearest, do you too love 
 me? Kiss me, sweet darling; do ahvays be¬ 
 lieve I am your own, your devoted, your un¬ 
 changed love. Mine own angel will send 
 me a long, kind letter, aud then when we 
 meet, I will give him thousands of kisses. I 
 love you, dearest, with heart, soul, mind; all, 
 all, is yours. Will you still reject it? No, 
 no, dear one! 
 
 Good night, may angels guard thee, 
 
 And bless thy slumbers "light; 
 
 Dream of thine own Virginia; 
 
 Good night, sweet love, good night. 
 
 On the outer or last page of the above, the 
 following was found: Let the hand writing 
 imitate that of a lady. Direct it to Mrs. 
 Wm. R. Myers, Alta Vista, near Warren P. 
 O., Albemarle Co., Va. 
 
 [When this letter had been read, the coun¬ 
 sel for the accused declared that it was neither 
 right nor proper to pick out one letter from 
 the budget and read that, but contended that 
 the whole should be given to the Court. To 
 this Mr. Mayo readily assented, and accord¬ 
 ingly some ten or twelve more of these letters 
 were read, which, instead of introducing them 
 in the body of the evidence, we have inserted 
 in an appendix, accompanying them with ex¬ 
 planatory notes. The Court then adjourned 
 to Tuesday morning.] 
 
 Mayor’s Court, Tuesday Oct. 13th. 
 The mayor took his seat at 10 o’clock, and 
 waited until quarter before 11, when the pri¬ 
 soners made their appearance in the custody 
 of the constable, having spent the night in 
 jail. 
 
 Mr. Thompson- Tyler desired to make an 
 explanation concerning his testimony- given 
 in on Monday. I remember this morning, 
 although I did not yesterday-, that in the con¬ 
 versation with Poitaux Robinson, which I 
 think was in the bar-room, about the middle 
 of spring, I said to him, I could’nt recollect 
 to save me whether the remark/was from me 
 or from him, “it is certainly strange that this 
 lady- should call here so frequently after these 
 reports are afloat about her and Hoyt.” I 
 am sure the remark was made whilst Mrs. 
 Myers’s carriage stood at the door. I said 1 
 am surprised that such a smart woman should 
 go into the parlor with Hoyt at any time, 
 after these reports. [In answer to inquiries 
 propounded by Messrs. Lyons and Scott, 
 said,] I had frequent conversations with Ro¬ 
 binson. Mr. R. is very intimate with Boy- 
 den. and frequently when he has to go away, 
 he leaves Robinson with authority over the 
 house. Our clerk at this time had, what wc 
 familiarly call a stone in his bat; and the 
 
 < 
 
TRIAL OP MYERS AND OTHERS. 17 
 
 house was consequently in great confusion. 
 Can’t remember all I said to Robinson, or he 
 to me. I will willingly yield to any thing 
 Robinson may remind me of. Ques. by Ly¬ 
 ons. Did not a suspicion of Mrs. Myers car¬ 
 ry you to the front door to see whether Wm. 
 R. Myers’ horse was there. Ans. No. It’s no 
 use to ask me such a question as that, I’ve 
 got a wife and children at home. 
 
 Ques. Did you not say a little while ago, 
 that you were surprised that such a smart 
 woman as Mrs. Myers should go into the par¬ 
 lor with Hoyt, after the rumors that were 
 i afloat. 
 
 Ans. No : I said I was surprised that she 
 should go into the parlor for an hour and a 
 half, but did not say any thing about Hoyt. 
 
 I can’t tell where Mrs. Myers was during 
 these visits of an hour and a half, or with 
 whom she was. I did say yesterday, that I 
 had no suspicion about Mrs. Myers, and I say 
 so now. I had no suspicion of any thing 
 criminal, but I thought her conduct very im¬ 
 prudent. I said yesterday that I was sur¬ 
 prised at Mrs. Myers coming here and stay¬ 
 ing in the parlor with Hoyt. 
 
 Ques. Are you sure you said so yesterday. 
 Ans. No; I don’t believe I did. [Here the wit¬ 
 ness’s statements became very confused and 
 contradictory: it was almost impossible to 
 report them, he seemed to labor under con¬ 
 siderable confusion himself, and remarked, 
 
 : Mr. Lyons, you can readily twist a man up. 
 Lyons protested that nothingwas farther from 
 his intention or desire than to entangle or 
 confuse him.] 
 
 Major Pollard was again called to the 
 stand jby Mr. Scott. He said: On the even¬ 
 ing on which Hoyt sought me in my room, 
 to have some farther conversation with me in 
 June last, he asked me if I was aware that 
 Mrs. Myers was a very unhappy woman, and 
 that her husband was a very bad tempered 
 man ; I answered that I believed Myers to 
 be a very honorable highminded gentleman, 
 and a very devoted husband; if my daughter 
 was not a happy wife, I was very sure it was 
 her own fault. [In answer to questions pro¬ 
 pounded by Lyons,Major Pollard remarked:] 
 I have always looked upon Myers as a highly 
 honorable man, and a most kind and affec¬ 
 tionate husband ; he seemed to be very libe¬ 
 ral in providing for his household, and did 
 every thing to consult my daughter’s happi¬ 
 ness or meet her wishes. [Asked if he could 
 recollect this morning telling Col. Samuel 
 Myers about the intercepted letter before 
 Hoyt was shot—answered:] I do not remem¬ 
 ber mentioning the letter, although from cir¬ 
 cumstances I have learned this morning, I 
 suppose I must have mentioned it when I 
 came down on the 23d of September, cannot 
 charge my memory with the fact. 
 
 James R. Pollard was next called to the 
 stand. I am a brother of Mrs. Myers; about 
 the middle of July, having been apprised by 
 my father of what had occurred between him 
 
 and Hoyt a few weeks before, I came down 
 to Richmond to watch Hoyt. One evening 
 I saw him on the Square, walking with Mrs. 
 Myers. I wrote him a letter next day, de¬ 
 manding of him as a brother, for the first and 
 last time, to desist from the course he was 
 pursuing, and told him if he did not, his lifts 
 would pay the penalty. In answer to this, 
 he asked for an interview in a letter sent me 
 through the post-office. [Here the Attorney 
 for the Commonwealth made his appearance 
 in Court.] Mr. Pollard went on to say: I 
 met Hoyt; he said that he entertained the 
 highest respect for Mrs. Myers, and now that 
 he was aware of the effect produced by his 
 association with her, he would avoid her both 
 in public and private, only recognizing her 
 when they met. 
 
 Capt. Hunter called and sworn. Some¬ 
 time about the middle of April I called at 
 Myers’ house and asked for Mrs. Myers. I 
 was told she was not at home: went over to 
 Rutherfoord’s, and mentioned to him that I 
 should not visit Mrs. Myers again, since she 
 had denied herself to me, notwithstanding I 
 saw her leaning out of the window as I went 
 up the street; Mr. Rutherfoord and myself 
 walked down about a square, and met Hoyt, 
 who was coming up Grace street; saw him 
 turn back to the corner of the cross street, 
 and turn toward Franklin; watched, and saw 
 him go to Myers’; he was admitted. This 
 was about 12 o clock. 
 
 B. F. Mosbv was called to the stand. I 
 knew Hoyt, and I am acquainted with 
 Mrs. Myers; I have been living at the 
 Exchange about twelve months ; about the 
 1st of June I discovered Mrs. Myers and 
 Mr. Hoyt in the parlor together; she was 
 in a rocking-chair, and he was sitting on 
 an ottoman, directly opposite to her; I 
 thought it very singular. On the 11th of 
 August I wanted to go into No. 18, which is 
 generally open, and was astonished to find 
 both doors locked; I went into No. 19, just 
 opposite, waited there, and saw a lady come 
 out of 18; being resolved to satisfy myself as 
 to who it was, I followed her to the front 
 door, and found it was Mrs. William Myers; 
 I then went to the piazza on which the win¬ 
 dows of 18 open, to see who was in 18 with 
 her; the shutters were closed on the inside; 
 I then returned to the passage and posted 
 myself in a position to command both the 
 doors and the piazza. I remained some little 
 time, and seeing no one come out, I went to 
 the door, opened it, and saw a man retreat¬ 
 ing through the window. That man was D. 
 Marvin Hoyt. I immediately went to Hoyt’s 
 room to note his appearance; he seemed 
 much agitated. I asked him one or two 
 questions that I could have answered myself 
 as well, and came away perfectly satisfied.* 
 I told Bovden that I knew Mrs. Myers had 
 
 * See Mosby’s statement confirmed in every parti¬ 
 cular, in letters from Mrs. Myers. Appendix, .too. 11. 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 18 
 
 been in 18 with Hoyt, from personal obser¬ 
 vation, and not, as he said yesterday, from 
 the evidence of a servant; I told him the very 
 night of the day he got back from Old Point; 
 if I were to tell all the times these visitings 
 to the Exchange were repeated by Mrs. My¬ 
 ers, it would take me fifteen hours to relate 
 them. About four weeks after the occur¬ 
 rence in 18, I happened to go into the par¬ 
 lor, where 1 found Hoyt reclining on one of 
 the long ottomans, with his head partially in 
 Mrs. Myers’ lap; I went out and felt like a 
 rattlesnake was after me; I told Booker, who 
 is now in New Orleans, of this circumstance, 
 and he went in and saw them; I remember 
 ODe night Mrs. Myers staid very late at the 
 hotel; three or four weeks ago, I sought Col. 
 Samuel Myers at his office, and told him of 
 these occurrences; I cannot be certain of the 
 time, but I am sure it was whilst Mr. Wil¬ 
 liam Myers was at the North. 
 
 Mr. Poitiaux Robinson called and sworn. 
 The first lime that my attention was attracted 
 to Mrs. Myers’ conduct at the Exchange, I 
 called about 12 o’clock to take a snack ; Mr. 
 Thompson Tyler took me one side and said, 
 what sort of a woman can Mrs. Myers be ? 
 I received this rather coldly and said, why do 
 you ask me ? she is the wife of William R. 
 Myers of the house of Sam’l S. Myers & Co. 
 He then told me to say nothing about it, but 
 he thought it strange she should stay in the 
 parlor so long. I walked down the passage 
 and saw Hoyt with Mrs. Myers. I went home 
 and returned to the Exchange about half-past 
 two ; when I came back 1 saw Mr. Myers’ 
 carriage still at the side door of the Hotel ; 
 presume she had been staying there all the 
 morning. I was the more surprised at this 
 interview, because I knew that Hoyt had been 
 unwell, and had not been out ot his room for 
 several days befqre, nor was he out again for 
 several days afterwards. I then went home 
 and returned to the Exchange to dinner about 
 half-past 2 o’clock. I saw Mr. Myers’ car¬ 
 riage still standing at the side door of the 
 Hotel. I went into the bar room, Mr. William 
 R. Myers came in and we took a drink to¬ 
 gether ; I went out of the front door to the 
 barbers’ shop, and I believe he accompanied 
 me down the steps ; a day or two afterwards 
 I went up to Mr. William R. Myers’ and 
 asked for Mrs. Myers. I was in the passage 
 and she called to me from the landing above. 
 Is that you ? I can’t come down—How is Mr. 
 Hoyt. I heard he was sick, and I have mis¬ 
 sed him from church for some time. This 
 aroused my suspicions, because I had so lately 
 seen them together in the parlor of the Ex¬ 
 change Hotel. I have seen her at the Ex¬ 
 change frequently. Hoyt was generally there, 
 and she seemed to be pleased with him. 
 While William R. Myers was at the North, 
 about the time those rumors burst furth, she 
 came to the Exchange to spend the evening. 
 Seeing her there at night, I thought I would 
 stay and go with her home, merely for the 
 
 purpose of preventing Hoyt from doing so 
 1 was in and out of the parlor during that night 
 When the time came for her to go home, I wen 
 into the parlor, and found her with her bonnet 
 on, and Hoyt with his hat on and cane in hii 
 hand. I did not offer my services, but expect¬ 
 ed she would ask me, as she had done before 
 to accompany her. This was while Williatr 
 R Myers was at the North, and Mrs. Myen 
 was staying at Dr. Cabell’s. I saw Hoyt leavt 
 the house with her about half-past 10 o'clock 
 Boyden knew she visited there, for I have 
 spoken to him of her frequent visits. I hafl 
 made up my mind to tell Col. Myers all aboul 
 these things, and 1 was only deterred from 
 doing so by the advice of my friend CoL Ad¬ 
 kins to whom I applied. Mr. Boyden nevei 
 told me that his wife refused to be introduced 
 to Mrs. Myers, nor any thing of the sort. The 
 night before Hoyt was shot, I talked to him 
 about these reports—he seemed reserved and 
 unwilling to speak of them. I told him that 
 William Myers was on his way home ; he said 
 he knew it. I told him that he must expect 
 to be held accountable. He said he was 
 afraid it would lead to his destruction. He 
 said, before God, this Sabbath night, I am 
 innocent of any criminality. Surely said I, 
 you have been grossly imprudent. How could 
 you be so mad as to walk home with Mrs. 
 Myers the other night, whilst these rumors 
 are afloat ? He answered, I knew and felt 1 
 that it was imprudent. I thought until I got| 
 to the door, that Mrs Myers was to ride home. 
 When I got to the door, I felt the impropriety I 
 of my situation, and remonstrated with her—• 
 ; she insisted on it ; what could I do ? He I 
 added, well, all that can ever be made offit, is 
 imprudence.—I hope Mr. Mvers has gone te 
 I his wife ; if so, all may be explained. -Whefl 
 all is known, I shall stand higher in this com¬ 
 munity than Col. Samuel Myers ever did or 
 ever will stand. If I have a friend in the 
 world, and from any cause I should be found 
 in a dying condition, I will take it as a favor 
 of him to interrogate me on this point, and 1, 
 will then, as I do now, assert my innocence. 
 This was probably the last remark he made 
 that night. 
 
 1 have no recollection of the circumstance 
 of the book spoken of by Mr. Tyler, in any 
 conversation I ever held with him. 
 
 William Munford called and sworn. Has 
 seen Hoyt coming out of Mr. Myers' door' 
 very frequently, as he came from school about 
 3 o’clock ; for two months, say up to the mid¬ 
 dle of May, he was a constant visiter. 
 
 Col. Wythe M oxford sworn. I live next 
 dour to Mr. Myers ; I know that in the win¬ 
 ter especially, he dines late, and generally 
 comes up home after 3 o’clock. 
 
 [Mr. Lyons remarked that this testimony 
 was offered in connection with that of CoL 
 Munford's son, who deposed to Mr. Hoyt's 
 habitual departure from Mr. Myers' house 
 about 3 o’clock.] 
 
 Col. Munford continued : At the theatre 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 19 
 
 ne night last spring, I saw Mrs. Myers and 
 ter husband in a box together ; I took a seat 
 '.y her, and began conversing with her. I 
 bon found she paid very little attention either 
 jo me or the stage. I was surprised at this, 
 ecause her usual deportment to me was very 
 ind. f observed that her attention was en- 
 rossed by something on the opposite side of 
 he house ; upon looking closely, I discovered 
 hat Mr. Hoyt was there, (for I had already 
 l eard whispers about them.) with his person 
 fiostly concealed behind two other gentlemen, 
 inspecting she was doing something she desir¬ 
 'd to conceal, I went into the pit to watch her 
 lore closely ; I soon discovered that she was 
 taking telegraphic signs to him. In him I 
 bserved nothing but a steadfast gaze. He 
 hanged his position, and as he did, she turned 
 er face towards him. I have also seen simi- 
 ir signs passing between them in St Pauls’ 
 Ihurch. 
 
 Dr. R. H. Cabell sworn—I saw these 
 wo letters shown to Mrs. Myers by Colonel 
 bmuel Myers, in my house. Col. Myers 
 onducted himself with the utmost propriety 
 nd gentility towards Mrs. Myers. No man 
 /ould have acted with more coolness and for- 
 earance, and how he did act with so much 
 orbearance actually astonished me. He 
 ranted Mrs. Myers to go home to her father’s 
 nd offered to accompany her. One of the 
 itters shown to Mrs. Myers had been written 
 hat or the day before ; it was shown to her. 
 
 was requested by Col. Myers to hear the 
 onversation between Mrs. Myers and him- 
 elf, which took place in my house. 
 
 [The letters to which Dr. Cabell alluded 
 rere written to Hoyt by Mrs. Myers, and 
 /ere intercepted by Colonel Samuel S. Myers. 
 )n the 12th of September Mosby made his 
 ommunication to Col. Myers. After some 
 ifficulty the Colonel obtained an interview 
 rith his sister-in-law, told her what hekuew, 
 nd respectfully urged her to go to her father 
 i the country until the return of his brother. 
 Ihis she positively refused to do, denouncing 
 he whole story as a base slander. On the 
 5th Col. Myers ordered Davy, his brother’s 
 arriagc driver, to bring him any letters his 
 tistress might give him, either to put in the 
 ’ost-office or deliver to any gentleman in the 
 ity. On Wednesday, 16th, Davy brought 
 im one letter directed to Hoyt, and intended 
 Dr the Post-office. On Thursday morning 
 e brought him another directed to Mr. Boy- 
 en. These letters were exhibited to Mrs. 
 dyers on Thursday morning, as Dr. Cabell 
 ells us, and she boldly and unhesitatingly 
 ironounced them forgeries. 
 
 Here the letters intercepted by Col. Myers 
 rere offered to the Court and read. They 
 re as follows:] 
 
 Wednesday Morning. 
 
 My own fondly loved one, what joy ’tis 
 or me to write you and tell you every feeling 
 if this bosom, How adoringly I love you— 
 low eternal is my affection. Darling, my 
 
 greatest happiness is to feel how devotedly I 
 am yours. Does not every word, every ac¬ 
 tion te l you this? Oh! beloved, could you 
 have heai-d and seen me yesterday, how you 
 would prize me. Yes, prize affection like 
 mine, which fears nothing, so long as I am 
 surrounded by the halo of thy precious love. 
 Yesterday I was with a man calculated to awe 
 and terrify me. I saw him in a frenzy of pas¬ 
 sion, and yet I remained as calm, as self- 
 possessed, as unmoved as a statue. Dearest, 
 what was it that supported me in that hour? 
 What was it that enabled me to act with such 
 courage? I who once trembled and wept at 
 his very words. It was thy dear love which 
 sustained me. Oh! precious one, you know 
 not how I love you. I love } r ou with a force 
 of which I could not believe the human heart 
 capable—I love you as never one human 
 creature loved another. You were to me like 
 an angel of goodness and kindness. You. 
 mine own one, support me in every trial. I 
 feel that so long as I can clasp thee to my 
 breast as mine own beloved one, I can endure 
 any thing—every thing. What is the world 
 to me—what care I for friends—-what care I 
 though the storms of sorrow burst upon me; 
 even in the darkest hour of fate I am su¬ 
 premely happy. I see the storm, yet not 
 even one fear—not one dread. No, in this 
 bosom all is sweet, calm, serene joy. There 
 is one who loves me—he is my world—he is 
 my heaven. With him pressed to this de¬ 
 voted heart, I defy every storm in life—-for 
 with him as my guardian angel I can know 
 naught save the bliss of paradise. Oh ! 
 dearest, do you ever think how I love you? 
 How unselfish, how devoted is my love?— 
 Dearest, you know I am ready—nay, impa¬ 
 tient, to give up the whole world for you. 
 Oh God ! that you would consent to this— 
 that vou“would make me the happiest of wo¬ 
 men ! Oh! did you ever consider how happy 
 we could be together—every hour winging 
 with love—I ever near thee as thy worship¬ 
 ping and adoring Virginia, anticipating every 
 wish—lavishing on thee every devotion— 
 clasping thee in these arms, and breathing to 
 thee these sweet words. “ Treasured darling 
 of my soul, thy Virginia is happy—oh, how 
 happy. She is thine, and no power can take 
 her from thee. She has given up all for thee 
 without regret. She would not leave thee for 
 all this world could offer. She loves thee, 
 and she is happy—happy.” My God, dear¬ 
 est, when I think what happiness is in our 
 grasp. Oh! how can you hesitate Did you 
 love like me you could, not. But this subject 
 kills me. I cannot suffer myself even to 
 think of it. Oh! ’tis distraction, agony, to 
 think how happy I might be—how miserable 
 I am. But, no, dearest, I do not blame you; 
 
 I only wish you could think differently. 
 Dearest, I fear you hesitate, because you 
 think my love is not sufficient for this test. 
 You fear, perhaps, I might regret the step 
 after it was taken. Oh! mine own one, ba- 
 
20 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 nish this thought. My love not sufficient! 
 Oh! ’tis more than sufficient. Good God! 
 you do not reflect how I love you. ’Tis with 
 a depth, a strength, a devotion unparalleled 
 in the heart of woman. I cannot realize this 
 love, for it is boundless, unlimited; and with 
 this love, could there be one regret? No, 
 never, never Now I swear to you I am 
 ready to give up every thing in life for thee. 
 Oh! that wc could fly to the desert—any spot 
 on the globe would be a paradise with thee. 
 Oh! dear, precious love; for the sake of one 
 who worships you, who adores you, I entreat 
 you reflect on this subject, and make her 
 happy. Think that the happiness of a being 
 is now in your power, and oh ! I implore 
 you hesitate no more. Dearest, if I have 
 said aught I should not, forgive me, for all 
 has been uttered with pure, heavenly feelings. 
 Dearest, you know the purity of this heart; 
 you know not one impure thought has ever 
 dwelt there ; and so long as you know me, I 
 care not for the world—they may think of me 
 as they see fit. All that I ask is, that my 
 dear, loved one may appreciate me; And, 
 dearest, what makes me so indifferent to the 
 opinions of others? ’Tis that my love for 
 thee fills my whole heart; I have not one 
 feeling for another. I have but one wish, 
 one desire in life—’tis that I may possess thy 
 love. Oh! dearest, when you tell me you 
 will always love me, what joy thrills my very 
 soul. Dearest one, tell me you will never 
 give me up; that no power of man shall se¬ 
 ver us; that you will be faithful to me for 
 ever; tell me this, darling, and then I can 
 endure every thing. It will give me strength 
 for every trial. Oh! dearest, my very heart 
 congeals at the thought ; were you to forsake 
 me, what would become of me? Oh ! darl¬ 
 ing, is not this reflection awjul? What in 
 the name of God would become of me! Only 
 think, I love not a human being save thee. 
 I cling to thee as my all. My very heart is 
 so entwined with thee, that to tear thee from 
 me would rend every heart string. Oh ! 
 dearest, ’tis agony to dwell on this; I banish 
 it from me; I know my angel will never for¬ 
 sake me : Tell me so, dearest, for these 
 words alone sustain me now. Oh' dear one 
 I entreat you, after you have traversed this 
 letter, to reflect on all I have done to prove 
 my love for thee. Think on all, but espe¬ 
 cially on the events of yesterday; that tells 
 me how I love thee, for it was divine love 
 alone which enabled me to brave the passion, 
 the threats of such a man. 1, a poor weak 
 woman, yet so strengthened by thy love, that 
 1 felt that I could brave the powers of all the 
 world for thee. Yes, dearest, think on all I 
 have done, and then say has a woman eyer 
 loved like me? A love so disinterested, for 
 she has no thought of self. She sees every 
 thing torn from her, and yet she clings to 
 thee throughout as her heaven, and no man 
 has power to tear her from thee. Dear love, 
 I am so happy; I have thy sweet minature. 
 
 Did you know what a comfort it is to me, y< 
 would not regret giving it to me; I do wi 
 you could see how I love even thy scmblanc 
 every night the last thing, ere I close my ey 
 in sleep, is to press it to these lips and to tl 
 heart. I then place it on my pillow, and rc 
 my cheek on that dear face. Often in tl 
 stillness and darkness of night, so overcou 
 by sleep as just to be conscious I am hi 
 awake, I press it with such passion to n 
 lips, and feel as if I never could give up tl 
 pressure. Then, too, I long for mornin 
 just to gaze on the precious one of my sot 
 Oh! how delicious it is to kiss these swe 
 lips, even in ivory! Darling, would you n 
 like to have my miniature? I should be i 
 happy for you to have it, as I know it won] 
 be just such a comfort to you as yours is | 
 me. To-morrow, dearest, at 1 o’clock, sei 
 the book, and inside the note, as we agret 
 upon. I shall receive it myself, so there will 1 
 no risk. Dear love, try and send me a lor 
 note, for every word will be so precious to m 
 
 Since writing the above, dearest, I set 
 Davy to Col. Myers’ house, to see if the) 
 were any letters for me. Davy tells me th. 
 Col. M. was in close conversation with a get 
 tleman, whom I made him describe to me, at 
 who, from the description, is undoubted! 
 Mosby; therefore we know the author of a 
 he told me yesterday. 1 am suffering agon 
 now, for of course Mosby will tell him of m 
 being at the Exchange, and God only know 
 what will become of me. Dearest, could yo 
 not fall on some plan to let this Mosby kno' 
 that you are aware of his conduct? it migb 
 intimidate him. He, I presume, is employe 
 by Col. Myers as a spy upon my actions. 01 
 dearest, do you net pity me? Tell BoyJe 
 of all this, and entreat him to send that .Mod 
 by from the Exchange. Darling, you knot; 
 how much my very life depends on seeing 
 you; therefore, for God’s sake make somu 
 arrangement by which we can meet. Writd 
 me on the subject, and tell me where we ca 
 meet, and if it can be done without Mosby’) 
 knowledge; dearest one, promise me we sluuf 
 meet; my very existence depeiuls on it. 1 bca 
 you to tell Boyden every thing; he is you 
 friend, and perhaps may arrange it so that w| 
 may meet. I am dreading every moment J 
 visit from Col. M., and it has so unnerved 
 me that l cannot write. To-morrow I shalf 
 have a note ready for you. Dear love, could 
 we not meet somewhere else than at the Ex 
 change; for I am so afraid to go there. Dc. 
 think, and endeavor to make some arrange I 
 inent by which we can safely meet. As I die 
 not see Mosby yesterday, I think he has em 
 ployed some of the servants about the hote 
 as spies. Dearest, farewell! I love you thi; 
 moment more than ever, if that were possi-t 
 blc; for sorrow makes me cling closer to thee) 
 Till to-morrow, farewell, beloved darling. 
 
 [The following is the intercepted letter] 
 addressed to Mr. Boyden.] 
 
TRIAL OP MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 fy dear Mr. Boyden: 
 
 ' May I ask the favor of you to deliver the 
 ■closed immediately to Mr. H. I would 
 (at I could find words to express to you the 
 any obligations I am under to you for the 
 ndness you have shown me, but words are 
 ' t faint to express the deep gratitude I feel 
 t all your favors to me. I can only beg you 
 I believe me very gratefully and respect- 
 lly, Your friend. 
 
 \ Wednesday Night. 
 
 I [The letter enclosed in the above, to he 
 {livered to “ H,” is without superscription 
 
 I address of any kind, and is as follows: 
 
 Wednesday Night, 11 o’clock. 
 Darling of my soul, how I do love you to 
 feht, with a passion, a devotion words can- 
 : t express. I have just returned from Doc- 
 
 e-, where I have been passing the day. 
 
 .'as ! a gloomy one to me, for I was think- 
 r every moment when will I see my be- 
 l/ed darling. The first thing I did when I 
 ached this room, was to fly to my dear 
 j niature, kiss it again and again, press it to 
 (is bosom with the same warmth, as if it 
 d been thy sweet self in reality. ’Tis now 
 tag beside me, and I stop every moment to 
 ;ass the dear lips. Darling if you knew how 
 worshipped this picture, you would know 
 iw I worshipped the original. After send- 
 g you my letter yesterday, I found that I 
 is mistaken in supposing it was M— 
 th Col. Myers, it proved otherwise, after- 
 trds. I saw Col. Myers’ servant; and he 
 :d me it was a gentleman from New York. 
 Tis of course relieves my mind exceedingly; 
 It oh dearest, 1 have acted so injudiciously 
 :ice. Col. Myers called here to-day before 
 
 vent to Dr.-, and I was compelled to 
 
 i him. He came to order me as he said to 
 ive Richmond, and says “ I shall not go to 
 ;w York.” Are there many women who 
 aid stand such insolence of his manner fo¬ 
 rds me ; I can give you no idea, he treats 
 ; as he does one of his servants, and yester- 
 lly he was so lost in passion as almost to 
 : ike me. Oh! darling if you could see him 
 ith me, accusing me of things which flushes 
 
 I I cheek with shame. Could you see all, you 
 ■uld not suffer me to be in that room with 
 n one moment. To-day he terrified me so 
 it he made me promise I would not go to 
 ; Exchange—this was the only point. I 
 tided, and now I regret it, although of 
 ■arse I do not intend keeping the promise; 
 
 ; t he sees he has conquered me once, and it 
 11 make him tyrannize over me still more, 
 re other day I behaved admirably —I was 
 calmness and refused every thing. To-day 
 ost all my courage. Oh ! when I think of 
 his threats, his insolent orders to me, I am 
 lazed to think I should endure it from 
 y man. Thank Heaven he has heard no- 
 ing of my being at the Exchange lately. 
 3 is to be here at 9 to-morrow morning; and 
 vs! I shall not sleep to-night; fearing this 
 ieryiew. It makes me shudder to think how 
 
 21 
 
 I fear this man. If these interviews with 
 Col. Myers continue, it will be my death. Dear 
 love tell me what to do- ? Shall I refuse to see 
 him again ? Darling you are my all in this 
 world—I cling to you. Tell me, therefore, 
 whas course to pursue. Dearest I am almost 
 distressed to death. My heart feels as if it 
 was broken. Here I am with strangers, des¬ 
 olate, alone—in the power of a brute of a man, 
 who takes advantage of me. No one to speak 
 with—no one to sympathize with me—so near 
 the only being on earth who can give me com¬ 
 fort, and yet cannot see him. Oh ! darling, 
 I know you pity me ? Dearest I think it per¬ 
 haps safest that I should not go to the Ex¬ 
 change on Friday—you know how I im¬ 
 plored you to see me, then, therefore you know 
 what a trial ’tis to postpone my only joy in 
 life. I will come at 11 o’clock on Monday. 
 I cannot go in the public parlor, for there is 
 too much risk—but you must get the room I 
 spoke of. Tell Boyden every thing, and he 
 will assist us at the hour I come, 11. Ask 
 him to see that M. is not about the Exchange, 
 and see that the servants are away too, for 
 them I fear. When I leave he can give us 
 notice, that there is no one about, and then I 
 can go when he finds I will not be observed. 
 Dearest I entreat you to do this, for it will he 
 our only plan. Now, darling, as I am so very 
 anxious to know what arrangement he can 
 make, do write me in your note to-morrow 
 what you think we had best do. I am com¬ 
 pelled to see you love, for life itself rests upon 
 it. Now dearest as I cannot see you till Mon¬ 
 day, I entreat one thing of you, viz: to see 
 me at church Sunday, morning and night. As 
 I have often told you, although I cannot 
 speak with you, yet ’tis such joy just to gaze 
 on thee,—just to have one dear look from 
 thee—you need not have a fear about church, 
 nothing has been said about that, and I have 
 a good joke to tell you, to prove to you that 
 nothing has been said about church in con¬ 
 nection with you and me. ’Twill make you 
 laugh. Now dearest don’t refuse me this, for 
 it will be a comfort to me in my distress—at 
 one o’clock to-morrow, love, I have thy dear 
 note. Oh ! how I will devour every word. 
 Good God! if I only could see you now. Till 
 Monday is an eternity. Oh! how hard is 
 my fate—so near thee dearest, and yet can¬ 
 not see thee. Good night, love, kiss me 
 sweetly, think of me every night, with my 
 cheek resting on thy dear miniature, loving 
 you with such devotion. To-morrow thy 
 dear note makes me haDpy, till then, adieu. 
 
 Your own VA. 
 
 12, ‘Wednesday Night. 
 
 Major Pollard was recalled by the de¬ 
 fence. 
 
 Some of the letters of Mrs. Myers spoke of 
 her being traduced by a member of her own 
 family, to Hoyt. Maj. Pollard being inter¬ 
 rogated on this point by Mr. Scott, said; none 
 of my family, as I believe, ever spoke to Mr. 
 Hoyt on this subject, except my son and my- 
 
22 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 self. When Mr. Hoyt asked me, as I stated 
 before, if I knew Mrs. Myers to be an un¬ 
 happy woman, etc., he added, I think, that 
 he looked upon her as a splendid monument 
 of grief. Again, when Hoyt, asked me 
 if I was aware that the letter intercepted 
 was written in answer to one he received, I 
 told him my daughter had certainly been 
 very indiscreet, and that I attributed her im¬ 
 prudent conduct to the demoralizing publica¬ 
 tions of the day, the novels of Bulwer and 
 Eugene Sue. Mrs. Myers never, that I heard 
 of, received any unkind treatment from any 
 member of my family. [Mr. Mayo here pro¬ 
 cured the paper found in Hoyt’s bed, which 
 he was required to sign, and interrogated 
 Maj. Pollard as to the hand-writing; he said 
 I think it is that of Col. Sam’l S. Myers. The 
 counsel for the defence admitted the fact.] 
 
 J. R. Pollard recalled by the defence. In¬ 
 terrogated about the letter in which Mrs. 
 Myers speaks of her being calumniated by 
 him to Hoyt, stated ; I never had three 
 words with Hoyt before the interview I spoke 
 of yesterday—-at that time, he said to me, I 
 had better have seen Mrs. Myers and learned 
 from her how he came to be walking with 
 her on the square, before I wrote him so in¬ 
 sulting a letter. I told him that I had fre¬ 
 quently spoken to my sister on the subject of 
 her imprudent conduct, and she had attempt¬ 
 ed to justify herself by speaking of the inti¬ 
 mate friendship that existed between them; 
 but, I told him that after seeing his letter. I 
 was not to be imposed on by such state¬ 
 ments; he asked me if I thought my sister 
 would tell an untruth; I answered, that I be¬ 
 lieved, in this instance, she had told me what 
 was not true. 
 
 [In this connection, to prove how little 
 Mrs. Myers’ complaints of unkind treatment 
 from her husband could he relied on, the de¬ 
 fence offered in evidence the following letter.] 
 
 Mrs. M. to her husband, written the day after 
 
 his departure for the North. 
 
 Richmond, Sept. 8th, 1846. 
 
 Oh! dearest Willie, how sadly, how very 
 sadly have I missed you—I really feel this 
 morning almost too gloomy to write; and yet 
 this will tell how fondly i have thought of 
 you since we parted. My darling husband, I 
 do indeed love you very dearly, and could 
 you know every feeling of my heart you 
 would never doubt one so purely yours. Yes¬ 
 terday after you left I remained at home 
 until' 12 o’clock, arranging the house, and 
 how desolate did all appear to me, so much 
 so that it kept me constantly in tears. I 
 
 found cousin-very glad to see me, and I 
 
 am happy to say she appears very kind and 
 affectionate. I shall do every thing in my 
 power to render myself agreeable and useful 
 to her. Yesterday afternoon-and my¬ 
 self took a drive together, and Mrs.-- and 
 
 -came in the evening to see me. All of 
 
 my acquaintances whom I’ve seen are very 
 
 kind in inviting me to see them. I ha' 
 
 promised- to pass a day with her soo 
 
 and will write you about it. By the bye 
 must not forget to tell you on yesterdi 
 
 morning I received a note from-, askii 
 
 me to call that afternoon to take herself ai 
 
 Mr.-to drive. Not knowing dear Will 
 
 whether you would approve of it, I did n 
 
 go; for I knew it was some of-’s mance 1 
 
 vering to entrap-. I have just receivi 
 
 a letter from mama by Mr.-, he is on 1; 
 
 way to the north. Do dear love try and » 
 
 Mr.-while he is in New York, and in vi 
 
 him to dine with you at the Astor—do this 
 oblige me, for he is a great favorite of min 
 I have my darfing thus given you an accou; 
 of my movements since you left, which thouj 
 but a few hours, appears many days—i 
 slowly does the time pass. I really miss yc 
 so much, dearest, that I fear I shall not 1 
 able to endure three weeks’ absence, so don 
 be angry if you receive a letter saying tl 
 time of probation is to be shortened. I bo| 
 
 I shall feel better satisfied after awhile, b 
 now' I do feel so lonely and sad. I feel tb 
 morning, dearest Willie, as if I would gi‘ 
 anything to see you—you don’t know, deares 
 how I want to see you, even though separati 
 but for a day. I was imagining yesterda 
 whether Willie was thinking of me as coi 
 stantly as I was of him, and last night wh« 
 
 I fell asleep, my last thoughts were your 
 Indeed, my precious darling, I fear you c 
 not realize how fondly, how devotedly I a: 
 your wife. There are times, dearest, I knoi 
 when I have been fretful and irritable dea 
 and said things wrong, very wrong thing 
 which I did not feel, but which were uttert 
 iu the excitement of passion — no sooner hat 
 they passed my lips than my heart has n 
 proaclied me for them, and in silence, haves 
 wept to think how I have been misled by at 
 ger. But dearest one, I know you will loo 
 on these things in their proper light; An 
 now my dear Willie, I pray you to forgitj 
 me for the many harsh and unkind things,i 
 have uttered. Now that I am separated fro«| 
 you it distresses me so much to think o 
 these bitter memories. Dear Willie, I wool 
 that you could read my heart, for then yoi 
 would know how truly and fondly I love you 
 Yes, dearest Willie, believe me my very heal 
 is yours— its every thought, its every feelina 
 I am and ever shall be faithful and true t 
 you. You deserve this from me darling; fd 
 Oh! I feel how kind and good you are to inl¬ 
 and though there have been times when | 
 have appeared to be unmindful of all this] 
 yfcl in my heart there has ever glowed th 
 warmest gratitude. Yes, my darling I d 
 love you, very dearly, and could you knov 1 
 how unceasingly I have thought of you sine 
 we parted, you would be convinced of th I 
 feelings of my bosom. Dear Willie, nov 
 that you are away have not any anxious car 
 for me. Be assured, that my every actioi 
 shall be of the strictest propriety. You mai 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 ive the most perfect confidence in me; for 
 I shall not be misplaced. Dearest, you must 
 rite to me very often. Think what a com- 
 rt your letters will be to me; I shall read 
 tern with such pleasure, and they will cheer 
 ie dark days of absence. Once more dear- 
 t, I say do write often. I fear darling, you 
 juj scarcely read this scrawl, but here there 
 a most lamentable dearth of pen and ink. 
 in-day I shall lay in a supply for myself, so 
 y next letter will be more intelligible. My 
 irit ng so quickly, dearest Willie, tells you 
 :>w fondly you are remembered. I shall 
 ve you accounts of myself very often, for 
 rarest, ’tis one of my greatest pleasures to 
 rite you. Now, for a thousand" kisses and 
 •rod bve, my dear precious husband, with 
 ’erv assurance of devotion and affection, I 
 a unchangeably yours, 
 
 VIRGINIA. 
 
 fiLLiAM R. Myers. 
 
 Astor House, N. Y. 
 
 Mr. Mayo stated to the court that Mr. 
 oyden desired to make some explanations 
 and additions to, his evidence of yesterday; 
 hich he had the right to do. Mr. Boyden 
 jien came forward and said: 
 
 One day, a servant came to me and told me 
 .at there was a lady in the parlor who desir- 
 l to see me—I went and found Mrs. Myers 
 iere—she said, I want to see Mr. Hoyt for a 
 oment, send to him, will you, and let him 
 sow that I am here? I did so. Another 
 me, I was putting down a carpet in one of 
 'v rooms, and Mr. Hoyt was assisting me to 
 atch it. A servant came and said, s there was 
 lady in the parlor who wanted to see me— 
 found it was Mrs. Myers; she said, I want 
 > see Mr. Hoyt, won’t you let him know that 
 am here? I replied, he is in a neighboring 
 iom, I will tell him. I went back and told 
 lr. Hoyt that there was a lady in the parlor 
 ho wanted to see him, and he went out; but 
 hether he saw Mrs. Myers on either of these 
 ;casions, I do not know—moreover, I did 
 ■.collect when I read the report of Mr. 
 losby’s testimony, that in speaking of the 
 dy that came out of 18, he did say that he 
 flowed her to the front door, and found that 
 was Mrs. Myers. 
 
 1 Ques. by Mr. Scott. Didn't you state yes- 
 uday, that you paid no attention to Mr. 
 Cosby’s information, because it was founded 
 in the statement of a negro? Ans. I did. 
 lues. Didn’t you say expressly in answer to 
 question from Mr. Lyons to that effect, that 
 lr. Mosby did not tell you that he knew it to 
 ‘e Mrs. Myers from his own observation? 
 ms. I did. Ques. How has your memory 
 een refreshed on this point? Ans. By read- 
 )g the report of Mr. Mosby’s evidence. 
 Jues. But was not your attention called 
 articularly to this point yesterday, and how 
 ame you not to think of it then? Ans. I 
 on’t know, I told you before I have heard 
 a much that I don’t know what I do know, 
 lues. Didn’t yon deny yesterday that you 
 
 S3 
 
 knew of any interviews between Hoyt and 
 Mrs. Myers in the Exchange? Ans. I did. 
 Ques. What refreshed your memory on this 
 point? Ans. I mentioned these circum¬ 
 stances to my counsel who drew my card for 
 me; he omitted them, but on talking to him 
 to-day, he told me that it was proper that I 
 should come into court and state them. Ques. 
 Did not Mr. Lyons expressly ask you yester¬ 
 day if you knew of any interviews between 
 Mrs. Myers and Mr. Hoyt; and didn t you tell 
 him you did not? Ans. I did. Ques. How 
 do you account for your not making this 
 statement? Ans.T don’t know. Mr. Scott 
 very significantly remarked, I have no more 
 questions for that witness. 
 
 In answer to questions by Mr. Lyons, Mr. 
 Boyden said: It was in August that these in¬ 
 terviews took place; certainly not before I 
 went to the races. I think they happened 
 before I went to Old Point—upon reflection, 
 I think it was after I got back; the last note 
 I ever received under cover for Mr. Hoyt, 
 was on the Thursday of the Petersburg races. 
 
 Ques. by Mr. Lyons. Did not these inter¬ 
 views, combined with Mosby’s statements and 
 the receipt of the letters under cover, excite 
 any suspicions in your mind? Ans. They 
 did not. 
 
 Mayor’s Court, Thursday, Oct. 15. 
 
 Ira L. Bowles, called by the Common¬ 
 wealth, and sworn, testified—I keep the Ta¬ 
 vern at Hanover Court House, about 20 miles 
 from Richmond; don’t know Win. Burr or 
 Wm. Myers; recognized them at the bar. 
 They were both at my house on the 27th day 
 of Sept. Burr arrived alone in a carriage, 
 between 9 and 10 o’clock, A. M. He stayed 
 until half past two: whilst there, he inquired 
 the way to the Junction, and to Taylorsville. 
 He returned between 7 and 8 with Mr. Myers 
 in the carriage with him. They remained 
 about half an hour, and left about 8, as I un¬ 
 derstood, on their way to Richmond. It is 
 about 10 miles from Hanover Court House 
 to the Junction. 
 
 B. F. Derracott, called by the Common¬ 
 wealth and sworn—I am the captain of the 
 Fredericksburg railroad train. Wm. R. My¬ 
 ers came to the Junction in the cars on the 
 27th of September, and stopped there. The 
 cars as usual came to Richmond. 
 
 Thos. Munford, a very intelligent youth, 
 the son of Col. G. W. Munford, called by the 
 defence, and sworn—I live in the next house 
 to Mr. Myers, and am in the habit of coming 
 home every day from school for my snack, 
 about 12 o’clock; very frequently saw Mr. 
 Hoyt going into Mr. Myer’s house at that 
 hour, and coming out about 3, when I re¬ 
 turned from school. This continued during 
 the summer, until the 4th of July, when our 
 vacation commenced; think I saw him after¬ 
 wards during the vacation. 
 
 Mr. Wm. Rctherfoord recalled by the de¬ 
 fence—I livf near Mr. Myers; my attention 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 24 
 
 wa* attracted to Mr. Hoyt’s visits to the 
 house, in consequence of the rumors that 
 were afloat; I thought from his mode of pro¬ 
 ceeding, that he did not wish to be observed. 
 One day when be approached, I was in my 
 yard, and saw him pass. Curious to know 
 what he would do, I went up into the back 
 room of my house, and stationed myself so 
 that I could watch him, without being ob¬ 
 served. I saw him pass around Kent’s cor¬ 
 ner, and then go into Mr. Myer’s house. 
 Another day I saw him driving rapidly up 
 the street; Mrs. Myers was at the window; 
 as he approaehed the house, he slackened 
 his pace, and finally stopped and conversed 
 with her. At this time my brother went out 
 of the gate, and Mr. Hoyt, seeming to ob¬ 
 serve him, suddenly rode on. I called the 
 attention of Col. Munford on one occasion to 
 their manoeuvres at the Theatre. He treated 
 it, I thought, cavalierly; being a little mor¬ 
 tified at it I spoke to him about it next day, 
 when he said it was dangerous, or imprudent, 
 to talk about such matters. I think Hoyt 
 made visits after the 16th of April, when 
 Myers received the anonymous note. 
 
 [Mr. Scott here announced to the Court, 
 that Mr. John M. Patton wished to make a 
 statement merely, not upon oath, as it had 
 nothing to do with the evidence in this cause. 
 Mr. Mayo suggested, that with the most en¬ 
 tire confidence in the truth of everything 
 that Mr. Patton would say, it would be more 
 formal and proper that he should be sworn. 
 Mr. Patton was accordingly sworn.] My 
 attention was called this morning to the evi¬ 
 dence given in here by one of the_ witnesses 
 yesterday, in which some things were stated 
 that might not appear altogether creditable 
 to myself. [The Mayor and the Counsel 
 assured Mr. Patton that no such impression 
 had been made on their minds.] Sir. Patton 
 went on with his statement. 
 
 When Mr. Boyden called on me to act as 
 his counsel in this matter, I told him that it 
 was unusual and improper for a party who 
 was only a witness in a cause, to have counsel; 
 but when I understood that as an individual 
 his character was suffering in the community 
 from the rumors that were afloat, I advised 
 him to address a card to the public, and I 
 drew it for him. To enable me to do so Mr. 
 Boyden put me in possession, as I supposed, 
 of the facts of the case, as far as he was con¬ 
 cerned. Among other things he mentioned 
 to me these two interviews at the Exchange; 
 I told him that it was a very delicate matter 
 to say what facts he might give to the public 
 in his own justification; and what he ought to 
 keep asa witness for the Court; but that these, 
 I thought, onght to be reserved for the trial; 
 they were accordingly omitted in the card; I 
 heard Mr. Boyden give in his testimony, and 
 noticed that he omitted these facts; when he 
 had gotten through, he came to me where I 
 stood, and said, “ Did I say too much or too 
 little?” I answered, you said nothing at all 
 
 inconsistent with what you told me, but yot 
 omitted the statement thut I warned you tc 
 make; he asked me what he should do? ! 
 told hint I presumed that it was not impor 
 tant, and perhaps he had better let it rest 
 but reflecting on it, I thought that justice t< 
 himself and justice to the accused demandet 
 that Mr. Boyden should make the statement 
 I therefore told him yesterday that he ough 
 to do so; he asked me how it was to be done 
 and I told him all he had to do was to as! 
 permission of the Court to amend his tes 
 timony. , 
 
 Mr. Wra. Rutherfoord now proffered an ad¬ 
 ditional statement. He said: I wish to stah 
 everything I know, but I do not exactly un 
 derstand what, under the rule of law, is evi 
 dence, and what is not; can I relate a conver¬ 
 sation I had with Captain Hunter? The 
 Court said it would not be admissible. [Mr 
 Mayo then asked Mr. Rutherfoord if he knew 
 anything of a letter received by Myers or 
 the subject of his wife’s conduct?] He an¬ 
 swered: After Hoyt was shot, William My¬ 
 ers showed me an anonymous note he hac 
 received, the contents of which I believe 3 
 can substantially repeat. [Here the counse 
 for the defence produced a note, which Mr 
 Rutherfoord identified as the one to which 1 m 
 alluded. It was in these words:' 
 
 “ Mr. Mires, I want you too look too th( 
 conduct of your wife; she sees Mr. Hoyl 
 very often and gets many notes from him. 
 He will be at your house to-day—Do stop 
 him from it or you will be ruined, 
 l am your friend, 
 
 An unfortunate woman.” 
 
 This note was evidently written in a dis¬ 
 guised hand; the superscription which had 
 been torn to pieces, was well written, and 
 well spelt, whilst the note enclosed was illite¬ 
 rate both in style and appearance. 
 
 Mr. Rutherfoord continued: when Myers 
 showed me the note, I told him I thought'I 
 knew the author. I imagined that Capt. 
 Hunter wrote it, from what he said to me the 
 day he came over to my yard frorr Myers’ 
 house; but upon mentioning it to him, he. 
 told me he was not the author. Myers told 
 me he found the note under the inner door 
 of his office. He was going out at the time; 
 he got upon his horse, rode home, and enter¬ 
 ed his house through the basement story; 
 went up stairs into the parlor, and found 
 Hoyt with his wife, his gloves on and his hat 
 in his hand; he went into an adjoining room 
 and sent for Mrs. Myers; he showed her the 
 letter, and remonstrated with her upon the 
 impropriety of her conduct. He returned to 
 his factory, leaving Hoyt in the house. In 
 a short time, Hoyt came to th.- office, and 
 told him that Mrs. Myers had mentioned to 
 him, that he had received a note, charging 
 him with improper attentions to her. Hoyt 
 said it was written by some malicious person, 
 and assured him, his attentions were only the 
 courtesies of a friend, grateful for the kind- 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS ANTS OTHERS. 
 
 :ess with which he had been treated at his 
 ouse. Myers told him that whether it was 
 o or no, his attentions had given rise to ru ■ 
 lors, and that they must cease. On this 
 ccasion Col. Myers also warned him that 
 is visits must be stopped. He solemnly 
 romised that they should be, and left the 
 ffice. 
 
 ; [The Coimsel for the defence here closed 
 teir evidence, and the Attorney for the Com¬ 
 monwealth arose.] 
 
 'May it please your Honor, said Mr. Mayo, 
 y position is a novel, if not a wholly unpre- 
 dented one. I am here only at the bidding 
 the Court to guard the interests of the 
 ommonwealth, and I do not mean to open 
 y mouth upon the subject of this evidence, 
 lless the Court requests it. 
 
 [The Mayor asked if the Counsel for the 
 xused intended to argue the cause? Mr. 
 i ott replied that it was the intention of the 
 'lunsel to ask the Court to separate so much 
 ' the prosecution as related to Col. Samuel 
 [Myers and Wm. Burr, and they hoped to 
 !)w that these parties ought to be discharged, 
 j, shout touching the case of Wm. R. Myers. 
 ie Mayor then requested the Attorney for 
 I: Commonwealth to argue the case, and 
 freupon Mr. Mayo rose and said:] 
 it is a most unusual thing for the Common- 
 lalth’s Attorney to appear before a commit- 
 f j magistrate, although it is unquestionably 
 6 retimes done. In this case, sir, I shall en- 
 li.vor to do what it is my duty to do every- 
 fere: to conduct this investigation with a 
 5 ^Ie eye to the interests of the Common - 
 frdth and the good of the community. The 
 tty question for the Commonwealth here is, 
 Ire her laws been violated? and the only 
 3 y for me to perform is, to see that in con- 
 d ting tins investigation, the proceedings 
 a in confonnity with the rules prescribed 
 b he law of the land. Your duty, sir, as 
 o of the judges of the Commonwealth is to 
 >:;ide over this investigation, and pronounce 
 'r decision according to the dictates of 
 ■ r judgment. I have brought my books 
 i'!, that I might show you that what I am 
 i ig to say is only in strict conformity with 
 fc law, and that I do not speak without war- 
 for what I utter. 
 
 ou are sitting here to .ascertain whether 
 Marvin Hoyt was killed by the accused as 
 d ged in the warrant of indictment. If the 
 Pence satisfies you that the killing was 
 (c! by the accused, and not done in self-de- 
 fe e, you must stop there; the law distin- 
 h ies, it is true, between degrees of homi- 
 lii. but it is not for you as a committing 
 p istrate to make these distinctions. If 
 fr are satisfied, not of the probability of 
 p -, but if the evidence warrants reasonable 
 P nd of suspicion, it is your duty to send 
 ;»?arty on. But I will not trust to my me • 
 
 P 7; I will refer to the law books. Hale 
 P it down as a principle, that if a person is 
 w ged on oath with a felony, the examin- 
 
 25 
 
 ing magistrate cannot bail or discharge the 
 prisoner, but must commit him. See Hale’s 
 Pleas of the Crown, v. 2d, p. 121. But the 
 Inquisition of the Jury, upon which the war¬ 
 rant in this case is founded, and upon which 
 the parties are brought before the Court, 
 must be, in the eyes of every right think¬ 
 ing mind, authority infinitely higher than the 
 oath of any single individual. But I am wil¬ 
 ling to admit, that this rule of my Lord Hale 
 is, in my opinion, too stringent, and I will 
 proceed to lay down the rule prescribed by 
 Chitty, which is universally acquiesced in.— 
 “ If there manifestly appears to be no ground 
 of detention, or if the suspicion is wholly 
 groundless, then the prisoner may be dis¬ 
 charged without bail.” See Chitty’s Pleas of 
 the Crown, v. 1., p. 4. Now, if your Honor 
 thinks that the parties before the Court come 
 within the limits of this rule, it is your duty 
 to discharge them. In fact, Chitty, p. 89, 
 declares that neither the State nor the accus¬ 
 ed have the right to appear before the exam¬ 
 ining magistrate, by counsel, and in truth, 
 sir, both I and my friends on the other side, 
 are only here at all by the courtesy of your 
 Honor. In 1st Va. Cases, Commonwealth vs. 
 Myers, the General Court, have declared that 
 five justices sitting as an examining Court, 
 have no power to discriminate between de¬ 
 grees of homicide; much less can this Court 
 possess any such authority. It would be 
 most monstrous if it did. 
 
 I mean at this time to make no comment 
 upon the evidence that has been adduced be¬ 
 fore you, except such as may be necessary to 
 show that the case of the accused comes with¬ 
 in the rules that I have quoted. I will there¬ 
 fore discard, for the present at least, the great 
 bulk of irrelevant, and, with all due deference 
 be it spoken, what I consider illegal testi¬ 
 mony, that has been lugged into this cause. 
 I shall therefore discard from my considera¬ 
 tion, as unnecessary for my present purpose, 
 the dying declarations of the accused; nor 
 will I, unless I am forced into it by the course 
 of counsel on the other side, defile my hands 
 with the most unpleasant and disgusting tes¬ 
 timony, which has been so improperly intro¬ 
 duced here in the shape of letters. 
 
 What is the testimony ? Not being pres¬ 
 ent on the first day, I must be indebted to the 
 reporters for it. [Here Mr. Mayo called for 
 a copy of the Standard, and having obtained 
 it pioceeded.] Pirst, in an investigation of 
 this kind, after having established the fact 
 that the act charged has been committed, you 
 must, in searching for the actor, look for a 
 motive. You find it existing sufficiently 
 strong, God knows, in the unfortunate mail 
 before you. You find him first appearing in 
 this Commonwealth on the 27th day of Sep¬ 
 tember, coming within 20 miles of Richmond 
 in the public conveyance, and there stopping. 
 You next see him in a carriage with another 
 of the accused, who has gone for him, pro¬ 
 ceeding from the Junction where he got out 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 26 
 
 of the cars, to Hanover Court House ; and 
 from thence to Richmond. On the morning 
 of the 28th, at the moment the fatal deed was 
 committed, where do you find the accused? 
 Read Pegram’s evidence; rea£ Hawes’ state¬ 
 ment, Crouch’s, Schafer’s— you find two of 
 the accused going in, and all three of them 
 coming out of Hoyt’s office. Whilst in there 
 three pistol shots are heard, and the moment 
 afterwards the unfortunate man is found wel¬ 
 tering in his blood. Can you consider this 
 mass of coherent testimony without coming 
 to the conclusion that the accused have com¬ 
 mitted a felonious homicide':' It does not be¬ 
 long to this Court to consider the degree of 
 homicide; it is not for you to consider the 
 provocation. If the accused could show you 
 that he had taken this man iu the act of adul¬ 
 tery, how much soever your sympathies as a 
 man might be enlisted for him, your duty, as 
 a Judge, would forbid you to discharge him. 
 
 I will, if the Court requires it, point out the 
 distinction between the degrees of homicide; 
 but, considering it wholly unnecessary in this 
 stage of the proceeding, I shall not attempt 
 it unless requested by the Court. 
 
 [Here ]Mr. Mayo took his seat, and Mr. 
 Lyons arose.] 
 
 Mr. Lyons —May it please your Honor, I 
 have enjoyed a practice of now some twenty 
 years standing in the Criminal Courts of this 
 Commonwealth, and never in that time has 
 it been my fortune to witness a proceeding so 
 srrange, so inconsistent, as that it hath pleased 
 the Commonwealth’s Attorney to pursue here 
 to-day. At one moment, he humbly declares 
 that it is only by your courtesy that he ap¬ 
 pears in this Court at all, and in another he 
 wraps himself in his robe of office, and 
 looks as though it was the officer that adorn¬ 
 ed the robe, not the robe the officer; he 
 places himself upon a lofty pedestal, far be¬ 
 yond the reach of common mortals, and talks 
 as if nothing so stunk in his nostrils as the 
 Court of a Committing Magistrate. 
 
 [Here Mr. Mayo remonstrated, and beg¬ 
 ged Mr. Lyons not to use such language. 
 Mr. Lyons laughingly said, “ it is the lan¬ 
 guage of Sbakspeare, I did’nt think, the gen¬ 
 tleman would object to that ; I hope he is 
 not offended.’ i am not offended, said Mr. 
 Mayo, the gentleman at least “ never stunk 
 in my nostrils.” Mr. Mayo here apparently 
 prepared to leave, the Court-room, when Mr. 
 Lyons good humoredly detained him. saying 
 you had better sit still and take it. Mr. Ly¬ 
 ons proceeded.] 
 
 We are told, sir, that there is much of this 
 testimony with which my honorable friend 
 says he will not soil his hands, unless out- 
 course shall force it upon him. He propo¬ 
 ses to you to discard such testimony as does 
 not suit his purposes ; to take the circum¬ 
 stantial evidence alone; to throw out the 
 dying declarations of Hoyt, which Ac brought 
 into this Court; to refuse to consider the 
 provocation whiih led to this act, and to de¬ 
 
 cide upon the guilt or innocence of the at 
 cused, upon the evidence that may convii! 
 them, without regarding that which may pa 
 liate. excuse or justify them. I ask you, 
 sitting there as an upright Judge, can yc 
 find it in your heart, or your head either, 
 pursue such a course as this ? I will ei 
 deavor to show you that my honorable frien 
 too, has, unwittingly no doubt, misstated tl 
 law, and in the name of the grievous 
 wronged Lord Hale, I protest, in the outs< 
 against the doctrine he has ascribed to th 
 great man and eminent judge. He asks yt 
 to discard evidence that is here legally 
 evidence that the Commonwealth hers, 
 has introduced ; he asks you, in the nat 
 of the law, to violate the law ; he asks y 
 under the semblance of right, to perpetrate 
 wrong -, he asks you to consider one part 
 the evidence, unexplained by the other pa 
 If that Justice which he invoked could fine 
 voice, she would cry out trumpet-tongu 
 against this great wrong which is sought 
 be perpetrated in her name. 
 
 [Mr. Mayo here explained ; he did noti 
 the Mayor to discard any of the evidence ; 
 only said he would discard the considerat: 
 of it in his argument as unnecessary for 
 present purposes. The Mayor remark 
 -so I understood you,most distinctly.” 1 
 Lyons proceeded.] 
 
 His declining, Sir, to make any comme 
 upon a portion of the evidence, is equival 
 to asking you to discard it ; because it is 
 duty of the Commonwealth’s Attorneyi 
 open for the defence the way to all the te 
 mony ; he is bound in his opening argum 
 to put us in possession of his grounds of 
 fence, and let ns know upon what evide 
 the Commonwealth relies to sustain the j 
 secution ; it is the universal rule. My | 
 ponent says he appears here as the frien* 
 the Commonwealth onlyjmd I must do 
 the justice to say, that his actions do not 
 lie liis words. Supposing that the case 
 Samuel S. Myers and William Burr vt 
 free from all difficulty, we proposed to seji 
 ate them from the other defendant, 
 would prohablv have been willing to sul 
 the case of Wm. R. Myers without c 
 ment. But the Attorney would not i 
 this proposition in.the spirit in which it 
 offered, and it now becomes our duty to e 
 upon the whole case. 
 
 You are asked to adjudge each nud a 
 these parties guilty of killing D. Ms 
 Hoyt ; for the circumstances to which ; 
 attention is solely directed, if they prove 
 thing, prove this. The accusation is. ths 
 killed him ; the warrant charges that 
 were all principals, and the evidence t 
 support the charge, or the accused mu 
 acquitted. Now, sir, consider the exemf 
 character of these gentlemen, their 
 standing in society, the fact that they 
 found by the officer sent to arrest that 
 their usual occupations, and tell me if t 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 27 
 
 5sts a shadow of doubt on your mind, that 
 U did not kill Hoyt ? Did ffm. S. Burr 
 loot or attempt to shoot Hoyt ? Did 
 amuel S. Myers shoot him ? They were all 
 iree seen to go into Hoyt’s office ; granted, 
 /ho knows what happened there ? Were 
 ley the only persons there ? If they did 
 iis act, which did it ? How was it done ? 
 oolly and deliberately, or in hot blood, upon 
 idden provocation there received, or, per- 
 lance, in self-defence ? Who can say ? 
 he Attorney for the Commonwealth cannot 
 id^e a step, without looking beyond the 
 rcumstantial evidence ; he must abandon 
 iis ground. I wish most sincerely my ex- 
 illent friend would abandon that, and every 
 her ground'of accusation, and could recon- 
 le it to his sense of duty to say, as I know 
 his generous heart he does say, if they did 
 ay him, they slew him rightly, justly, legally, 
 id ought to be commended of all men for it. 
 ask you again if the circumstantial evi- 
 mee adduced here, is sufficient to warrant 
 e inference of the guilt of these parties, 
 emember the absence of all proof of pro¬ 
 bation, of ill blood, the absence of one of 
 e parties, the respectability of all of them, 
 d tell me if they are guilty. You are ask- 
 upon this evidence to say whether young 
 irr ought to be hung for killing Hoyt. I 
 
 i not envy the feelings, or the position, of 
 it magistrate who shall be asked, upon 
 fiat evidence did you consign that young 
 ;in to a felon’s grave. Am I to listen to 
 Vi monstrous declaration, that that which 
 H magistrate and all good men in their 
 1 arts approve, the law condemns ? Shall 
 t: justice send on as a felon him who he in 
 ! soul believes has done a worthy act, and 
 iao felon ? 
 
 Look at the circumstantial evidence alone, 
 
 ii all the inferences are against the proba- 
 1 ty of the truth of this charge, that they 
 ( killed Hoyt. How are you to discrimi- 
 I e ? No, sir, you are compelled for this 
 j 'pose to take up the dying declarations of 
 lyt, and the moment you do that, we have 
 Vi on the hip. Do that, and we ask no 
 
 ar—we ask nothing of mercy—we tri- 
 i phantly demand an acquittal, and if the 
 inmonwealth’s Attorney were the cold 
 nodiment of justice he represents himself 
 be, he could not refuse it to us. He must 
 i latisfied that this testimony won’t bear ex- 
 i: nation, else why so anxious to avoid it ? 
 
 . it is too revolting for the gentleman’s 
 
 E t cate sense of propriety! revolting as it is, 
 t lothing is it more revolting than in this, 
 flaet act of this vile victim of debauchery. 
 
 1 h him neither the prayer of the father, 
 brother, nor the husband, prevailed. Not 
 l did the solemn obligations forced from 
 t cowardly heart of the betrayer, serve to 
 a|st him in his vile purposes. He lied 
 1st he lived, and he went to the presence 
 
 f hat God, whose name he dared to invoke, 
 i * lie, gross, palpable, and revolting, upon 
 
 his lips. And are this wretch and my hon¬ 
 ored friend who sits beside me, to be held to 
 the same accountability ? Are they equally 
 to fill a felon’s grave ? God forbid ! 
 
 It cannot be that the Commonwealth’s 
 Attorney failed to consider this testimony, 
 that he might lay a trap for us, and when we 
 took up this evidence say, gentlemen I have 
 got cocked and primed for you a rule of law, 
 that forbids you to invalidate evidence, which 
 you have adduced, and upon which you have 
 relied ? No, Sir, this is no case for trickery 
 or legal chicanery: the character of the 
 Commonwealth’s Attorney forbids the suspi¬ 
 cion, and I repudiate it for him. Sir, you are 
 compelled to consider this evidence, and what 
 does it prove ? Ask Dr. Carmichael, ask 
 Dr. Mills, ask Evans and a host of others. 
 Burr did not raise his arm ; he had no wea¬ 
 pon ; he withdrew, and was not even seen 
 by Hoyt after the combat commenced. 
 These men are charged as principals. I 
 would draw your attention to the distinction 
 between a principal and an accessory. A 
 principal in the first degree is he who strikes 
 the blow or does the deed : a principal in 
 the second degree is he who accompanies, 
 intending to assist if necessary. Who coun¬ 
 sels and advises the illegal act, is an accessory 
 before the fact; and he who aids, succors, or 
 abets the perpetrator after the act is commit¬ 
 ted, is an accessory after the fact. Remem¬ 
 ber, that to constitute a principal, even in the 
 second degree, he must be present, with the 
 intent to assist if necessary, in accomplish¬ 
 ing the felonious deed. 
 
 [Mr. Mato here remarked that if two per¬ 
 sons went together, and death ensued, they 
 were both principals in the first degree.] 
 
 Mr. Lyons. Ay, but the original scheme 
 must have been concocted between them ; if 
 a homicide happen beyond and aside of the 
 original intention, the mere presence of a par¬ 
 ty does not make him an accessory. I can 
 even show you a case where a party was 
 proved to be present, but took no part to as¬ 
 sist or prevent the deed, and the Judge said, 
 this conduct is strange, but cannot be regarded 
 as criminal. For the distinction between 
 principal and accessory, see 1st “Russel on 
 Crimes,” marginal p. 431. 
 
 How is it with Mr. Burr ? Why, Sir, not 
 even an Indian Thug could be found, who 
 would willingly put the cord around that 
 young man’s neck, and take his life. How is 
 it with Samuel Myers ? Oh ! exclaims the 
 Attorney for the Commonwealth, there is the 
 paper ; he wrote the damning paper, that was 
 found in Hoyt’s bed. Well, Sir, and what does 
 this prove ? Why the very opposite of what 
 my learned friend would have you to infer. 
 Col. Myers comes to the knowledge that his 
 brother’s house had been invaded, his bed 
 polluted, and his honor wounded, in his ab¬ 
 sence from his home. What (Joes he do ? He 
 writes for that brother ; he waits until he gets 
 here before he breaks to his ear the damning 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 26 
 
 news that was to wreck his peace forever. 
 The excited husband says, as before my God 
 I think he ought to have said, the power of 
 man shall not save him ; the brother says, no, 
 no ; stain not thy hand with this wretche’s 
 blood ; if he will abstain from polluting your 
 house, your bed, spare hi3 life. He listened 
 to the voice of this good, kind, elder brother, 
 and finally consents. He says, he has made 
 me houseless, homeless ; but if he will consent 
 to remove his hateful person out of my pre¬ 
 sence, I wall show to him that mercy he never 
 felt for me. To carry out this scheme, they 
 go together ; but the husband’s blood boiled 
 too fast, and he slew the miscreant as he found 
 him—and would you slay the brother too for 
 this act of kindness ? He, who begged and 
 obtained for this wrong doer the boon he so 
 little deserved ? I know you would not ; if 
 your duty required this at your hands, I know 
 you too well not to know that you would not 
 ■wear your ermine a single day after it had been 
 polluted by such an act. Because justice 
 is represented allegorically as blind, will you 
 shut your ears to the cry, of humanity, of 
 nature, and of right ? 
 
 You are not to consider the provocation in 
 an examination of this sort! Why, Sir, the 
 law, the English law, tells you, that if you 
 take an adulterer in the act, and slay him on 
 the spot, you are guilty only of manslaughter; 
 and the punishment is, to be burnt in the hand 
 with an iron so cold that it will not make an 
 impression. But suppose you are away, across 
 the seas, in England, or in Erance, and a 
 howling blast comes across the waters, telling 
 you that your home has been desecrated your 
 fireside made tenantless, and she whose im¬ 
 age is engraved upon your heart, has been 
 degraded and polluted; and you hasten back, 
 maddened with the damning thought of all 
 your wrongs, and meet the slayer of your peace 
 in a month, ay in a year afterwards, and kill 
 him, is not the case the same ? Is the law a 
 mockery, or is it a sound rule of right and 
 wrong, rewarding the one and punishing the 
 other ? If, as the Attorney for the Common¬ 
 wealth tells you, you are to look for the cause, 
 are you not to look to the degree of provoca¬ 
 tion, to see how far, and to whom it extends ? 
 This provocation appertains to my unhappy 
 client, alone, except so far as it extends to a 
 numerous and most respectable host of friends, 
 who, in part at least, are doomed to share the 
 indignity that has been put on him. 
 
 Take it, that he did doom him to the dog’s 
 death that such a man was only entitled to, 
 how came he to do the act? He had treated 
 this man as his friend, invited him to his 
 house, he had warmed the serpent in his bo¬ 
 som, and step by step, stealthily and cautious¬ 
 ly, the fiend proceeded in the work of de¬ 
 struction and of desolation, until circumstan¬ 
 ces betrayed in part to the injured husband 
 the plot that was thickening against his peace. 
 He received an anonymous communication 
 that attracted his attention. How like a gen¬ 
 
 tleman did he bear himself? He sought hi 
 wife; he showed her the note; he gave hi 
 honor in her charge, and returned, confidingl 
 trusting in the fidelity of that heart, where h 
 had garnered up the wealth of his affection 
 The hypocrite informed of the contents of th 
 note by his guilty paramour, seeks the accuse 
 at his office; protests his innocence, and pr< 
 misesto discontinue those attentions, which 
 even if innocent, had obtained for the obje 
 of them a most unenviable notoriety. D' 
 he keep the promise? The very next day 1 
 broke it. Ah ! but he was seduced ! Of * 
 the revolting acts that this tale of horror an 
 of crime discloses, the lowest, the meane? 
 the most cowardly, is the last deed of this vi 
 seducer; that by which he deliberately retail 
 the proofs furnished him by his deluded vi 
 tim of her unhappy passion. He not on 
 keeps them for the purpose of shielding hit 
 self, under the pretext that he was the seduc 
 not the seducer; but he coolly marks ai 
 dates them, that they may be the readier ; 
 proclaim her shame and his innocence. I 
 winds his toils round thebeartof his infatuat; 
 victim; he gained over her, as she emphatic;, 
 ly said, such power as man never had o\ 1 
 woman; and he used it for what purpose?! 
 That he might toy with her as a wanton, a, 
 make her the scape-goat of his oftenc 
 ’Twas bad enough to skulk and crawl ii 
 the house of his friend and debauch his wi 
 it was bad enough to lie as he did, and vi 
 late the most solemn promises; but, really, 
 it be possible to add another shade to ij 
 dark character, this mean, unmanly, and ti 
 grateful act, will fix it there; and this he (1 
 after he had so played upon her trusting, v 
 manly heart, as to induce her to burn ev<i 
 vestige of his guilt that she could comman 
 
 Not content with violating the house of * 
 husband, he pursued his victim to the sa;- 
 tuary of the home of her childhood’s puri; 
 he sought her in her father’s house. And i 
 father, what did he do? with a forbearafii 
 which I can admire, but could not imitate, • 
 stead of slaying him on the spot, as before yl 
 God I would have done, is content to t.jJ 
 his promise. Did he keep it? TwelveholJ 
 after, he violated the pledge, which not I 
 grry hairs of that venerable man, not the si 
 plications of the father praying for the [I 
 servation of the honor of his child, drew fifl 
 his better feelings, but which the alternat! 
 of violence extorted from his coward he! 
 He is warned again, and again lie promisl 
 and the next day he is detected in the real 
 tion of the very act which he had so solem w 
 abjured. And the public, the fashions! 
 hotel of your city, was the brothel that affcl 
 ed them the place, while the tavern-keer \ 
 was the panderer for the base deed; who tj!. 
 paved the way for his own disgrace, and - ( 
 most for yours and mine, sir, inasmuch as)’ 
 live in the same town with him. 
 
 If you meet a man on your steps invacg 
 the sanctuary of your chamber, and you I 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 29 
 
 3 him, my wife is there; that room is conse- 
 rated to me alone; and he answers, I will not 
 top, my passions are too hot; if you slay him, 
 : it not in self-defence? And was not this 
 le case here? Did not my poor friend go 
 3 this man, and say, my house, which is my 
 astle, you have invaded, and my bed has not 
 een sacred to you; there is no faith in your 
 romises; but still go away; let me breathe an 
 mosphere untainted by your presence? But 
 s laughs him to scorn, and it may be, strokes 
 Is beard at him. Excited to madness, he 
 ays him, and would you punish him forit? If 
 man puts a public indignity upon you; if he 
 ■ills you by the nose, the law says, kill him; 
 at if he goes, night after night, creeping, 
 touching, crawling to your nuptial couch, 
 id you slay him, we are told that you com- 
 it a felonious homicide. I say he does a 
 able deed, which if he had omitted, the ne- 
 roes in the streets would have turned up 
 oir noses at him. No woman can ever look 
 ith favor upon the cowardly wretch who 
 buld put up with such an indignity, for she 
 jleks the protecting arms of man, that he may 
 held, guard, and if necessary, avenge her 
 rtue. And, sir, it ought to be written in 
 rnr statute books, as it is inscribed upon the 
 farts of the community, that this deed was 
 onorable in its inception, and righteous in 
 js execution. 
 
 {[Mr. Lyons having taken his seat, Mr. 
 obert G. Scott, on the part of the ac- 
 ised, rose and said:] 
 
 I feel no surprise, may it please your 
 lonor, much less r gret, at the deep interest 
 Manifested by one and all—the young, the 
 Id, and the middle-aged, in this interesting 
 I'ial. It is a case, sir, that comes home to 
 e bosom and the heart of every just and 
 ’htly thinking mind. It is only with great 
 fort that I can subdue my feelings whenever 
 approach it, so as tc discuss as they should 
 | discussed, any questions of law. I have 
 ‘bored in this cause more than any in which 
 have been engaged for thirty years, and the 
 eat difficulty I have had to encounter is so, 
 i| chasten and subdue my feelings, as to en- 
 lle me to do justice to the case. If I had 
 tirely succeeded in the effort, I must have 
 >en more or less than man. No, sir, I have 
 i t been able to subdue ray heart to the dic- 
 !;;es of my head; I have given up the task 
 despair, and I come to the argument labor- 
 5 under all the disadvantages of having my 
 igment perpetually blinded by my feelings, 
 rave looked at this cause as husband, ta¬ 
 ler, citizen; and in every relation in which 
 have viewed it, I have been able to bring 
 jr mind to only one conclusion, and that is, 
 Jet we must obtain a judgment of acquittal 
 jr my honored friends—one and all of them, 
 looking on you [turning to the accused,] 
 j 10 m I have known from your boyhood up; 
 
 ! you, whose father was my friend; you , the 
 ler, who have been yourself my friend for 
 ig years, as Judge or juryman, T would 
 
 say, you are, each of you, innocent in the eye 
 of God and man. 
 
 I have not the vanity to suppose that I 
 have been either gifted by nature with suffi¬ 
 cient talents, or that those talents have been 
 sufficiently cultivated, to enable me to do full 
 justice to this important cause. I have often 
 wished that it had been entrusted to other and 
 abler counsel; and yet, the way to truth is so 
 open, so plain, that even in my humble hands, 
 I feel, as a necessary result of the strength of 
 your cause, that each of you must be dis¬ 
 charged from this prosecution. 
 
 What have we been asked to do by the At¬ 
 torney for the Commonwealth? To cut this 
 cause in two—to divide the evidence in halves. 
 No, sir, we will take it altogether, and we 
 will see what is the charge and what the 
 ground. Wm. R. Myers is charged with 
 having murdered D. Marvin Hoyt, and the 
 other two with aiding and assisting in the 
 perpetration of the deed. They are here un¬ 
 der the warrant, and those are the words. It 
 is therefore most appropriate, most just, to 
 ascertain the law, and then apply the facts. 
 The law I take to be this : If two or more 
 persons unite together to do a felonious deed, 
 whatever is done in pursuance of that agree¬ 
 ment, is the act of all ; participators must 
 share a common fate, But if in the pursu¬ 
 ance of one object, collateral matter shall 
 spring up, and a felony shall be committed 
 by one. the others are not guilty of the felony, 
 and must be discharged. See 1st “ Russell 
 on Crimes,” marginal p. 25: same book, The 
 King vs. White and Richardson, 398. See 
 also English Crown Cases, 98; do. 100. You 
 may take Hale himself as your guide, and 
 you will find if two or more go on a felony, 
 if some new act springs up from one party, 
 the others are not participators. I know that 
 my friend can adduce a case, and he will pro¬ 
 bably refer to it, where several men agreed 
 to rob a house; and in pursuance of their ob¬ 
 ject, a murder was committed by one of them; 
 all were held to be guilty as participators. 
 But this was upon the ground that there was 
 a common agreement between them to get 
 the goods, and that this agreement covered 
 all risks that were to be encountered in the 
 hazard of the enterprise. 
 
 You tell me, sir, that we are here by favor, 
 not by right; I tell you we are here by the 
 laws and constitution of Virginia, which se¬ 
 cures to every man the right of trial, and to 
 be heard before he is condemned. Talk to 
 me of Hale, and Hawkins, and Chitty! I 
 scorn aud scoff at you, and with the consti¬ 
 tution of Virginia in my hand, I will ride 
 over them rough shod, and leave not a vestige 
 of them behind. Something has been said 
 here about sending a party on for probable 
 cause; now sir, [addressing himself all this 
 time to the Commonwealth’s Attorney,] I 
 will read Chitty for your instruction—it can 
 hardly be necessary for the Mayor’s. See 
 Chitty on Crimes, p. 89. Now, sir, is there 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 SO 
 
 “probable cause” to think that two of these 
 parties, at least, are guilty of the crime with 
 which they stand charged? We will meet 
 them without the testimony of Hoyt. What 
 is the evidence? Mr. Mayo says you must 
 prove that hostility existed between the ac¬ 
 cused and the deceased. Who proves that 
 hostility existed between Samuel S. Myers 
 or William Burr, and the deceased? They 
 were seen to enter the office of Hoyt in com¬ 
 pany with Wm. R. Myers. Were they the 
 only persons in that office? Who proves it? 
 Why was this cause adjourned from day to 
 day, whilst you had this whole mass of cir¬ 
 cumstantial evidence before you, except upon 
 the ground that, as the case then stood, the 
 Commonwealth could not bring the charge of 
 guilt home to these parties? What was the 
 connecting link that was so much wanting, 
 for which she waited from day to day, but 
 the testimony of Hoyt? The paper? It 
 was found in the room of Hoyt; but who tes¬ 
 tifies as to how it was introduced? Isn’t this 
 a mere matter of inference? Who spilt the 
 fatal blood ? Where is the witness to testify? 
 But the Commonwealth, to supply these 
 omissions, has brought here the dying decla¬ 
 rations of Hoyt. Let us look at the case in 
 th's aspect. What do these declarations 
 prove? For the present. I will deal with 
 them as though they were true. What did 
 these peace-makers, my two friends upon my 
 right? They went to the room of this man; 
 they said, go hence; leave us; sign this treaty 
 of peace—this stipulation for quiet. He re¬ 
 fused. What did Col. Myers? From that 
 moment neither he nor Burr took anyfarther 
 part. Did these parties go to Hoyt’s room 
 for an illegal purpose? Was it illegal to go 
 there to get him to sign that paper? No, 
 honored and respected man, [turning to the 
 accused,] no, true and constant friend, no, 
 true and affectionate brother, you went for an 
 honorable purpose—to save life if it could be 
 done consistently with the preservation of 
 honor. You are peace-makers, not shedders 
 of human blood. As I am a man, I hesitate 
 not to declare that you acted with a patience 
 and forbearance that find no parallel in the 
 history of human wrongs. As their sworn 
 judge, I would say to them, go hence, act, 
 always prompted by such motives; do always 
 such deeds, and you will violate neither the 
 laws of the country nor of God. But the 
 Commonwealth’s Attorney now turns his 
 back upon this testimony. It won’t do in a 
 court of justice, and so the law declares, to 
 permit a party to make the experiment, and 
 see how far the evidence will bear him out, 
 and then, if it does not suit his purposes, 
 turn round and reprobate it. 
 
 We have it in proof that the brother traced 
 the dark and betraying footsteps of the man 
 that has died; he detected this desolating in¬ 
 trigue. With a patience and forbearance 
 that is so strongly characterised in the evi¬ 
 dence of Dr. Cabell, he sought his erring sis¬ 
 
 ter-in-law, and remonstrated with her. He 
 had before him the intercepted letters; he had 
 the damning proof that this man had debased 
 the wife of his brother. With all this con¬ 
 clusive evidence, he entertained no bloody 
 purpose; he sought no opportunity of re¬ 
 venge, and when he finds his brother stung to 
 maHness by the recital of his wrongs, swear¬ 
 ing revenge upon the worker of them, with a 
 calmness and a generosity unheard of, he, 
 says, spare him, spare him ! If he will take 
 hence his baneful, presence, if he will leave 
 the place of your residence unpolluted by his 
 person, let him go. Lives there the individual, 
 who will not say, kind brother, just and for¬ 
 bearing man! Burr took no part but to sup¬ 
 plicate, to entreat, to advise. Public opinion 
 said he, is against you; sign this paper and 
 go hence. And yet you are asked to declares 
 that these men who sought to avoid the shed¬ 
 ding of blood, are guilty of spilling blood. 
 Is it indeed the law of the country in which 
 we live, that these men, who go to make, 
 peace, are to fill a felon’s grave, and lay by 
 the side of the guilty man, who drew upon 
 his own head the just and lawful penalty ol 
 his crimes? Even if they did accompany 
 this injured man to witness execution upon 
 the wrong-doer, they have been engaged in s| 
 righteous and honorable deed; and I stanc 
 prepared to justify them under the laws o: 
 the land. 
 
 It is in proof that the deceased began at ar 
 early period of his unobserved intrigue tc 
 wend his way to the heart of the young 
 beautiful, and accomplished wife of one of thi 
 parties. He sought by playing upon the jeal 
 ousy and vanity of the young wife, to es 
 trange her from her kind and loving husband 
 he lulled her with the song of the charmer 
 he entwined her with the folds of the serpen 
 —and when he had won her young and trust 
 ing heart; when she came at his whistle an< 
 obeyed his call, he made her his plaything 
 and entertained for her no more respect, that 
 for any other wanton in the streets of Rich 
 mond. The approaches of the seducer die 
 not escape the observation of such men a 
 Col. Munford, or William Ruthcrfoord ; bu 
 they prudently forbore even to discuss th< 
 fearful subject, and hoped for the best 
 Others too had already seen the storm tba 
 was brewing over the head of my devote' 
 friend. In April last, he was admonishec 
 “ take care of your wife.”—What docs h 
 do ? With the trustingness of confiding lovt 
 he placed the warning in the hands of he 
 who held his honor, with a gentle,admonitio 
 to guard against the appearance of impn 
 dence. The information was immediately 
 conveyed by the treacherous wife to her para 
 mour. He seeks the man he has alread 
 wronged, and protests his innocence ; he 
 told, “ I will guard the reputation of my wi: 
 as my most precious jewel ; it is not enougi 
 that she be innocent ; she must be unsuspeci 
 ed ; and your attentions which have led t 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 31 
 
 iis anonymous note, must be stopped.” He 
 ledges his honour as a man that they shall 
 [ 3 . And how are these pledges kept? They 
 re unhesitatingly violated on the succeeding 
 iy. Take the evidence of the very inte'li- 
 jnt son of Col. Munford, and you find him 
 isiting the house every day from 12 to 3. 
 he house of God, that holy place, where 
 re would have thought awe, if not religion, 
 right have restrained them, was not free from 
 le evidences of their profane intercourse, 
 ol. Munford tells you, that he saw them 
 ^changing their lewd glances and signals 
 ithin the portals of the church itself.—Pur¬ 
 ling her thus until the month of June, he 
 flowed her to her father’s house, and he 
 jsitated not, so reckless had he became, to 
 ust the public post with his unhallowed 
 .issal. The father intercepts it. He reads 
 ; “ my love,” “ my darling,” “ I have pro- 
 iised to make you happy,” are some of the 
 cpressions which brought to this old man’s 
 lind the conviction of his daughter’s shame, 
 e finds the man whom he believes is still 
 :eking to seduce his not innocent, but most 
 oprudent daughter. Yes, my old friend, I 
 now you too well, not to know, that had 
 ou imagined the guilty act was consumma- 
 ;d, you would have immolated the scoundrel 
 i he stood, and offered up his worthless 
 jrpse as an atoning sacrifice to your woun- 
 sd affections. 
 
 He sees the peril of his child ; that child 
 'hom he had borne in his arms ; whose lod¬ 
 ging footsteps he*had supported ; whose girl- 
 ood had been his solace ; whose womanhood 
 ad been his pride ; he sees his own peace 
 recked ; the bosom of his wife torn with 
 aguish ; what does he ? If that hour should 
 ver come on me, which God, in his mercy, 
 vert, I think I would try and so to chasten 
 iy heart, and subdue my spirit, as to make 
 iy own, this model of a father’s conduct.— 
 'his honourable, strong minded man braced 
 imself up to the trial; he kept the secret of 
 is child’s dishonor in his own bosom ; he 
 rught the libertine (I am sorry, Sir, to be 
 rmpelled to speak thus of a dead man, and 
 othing but the astonishing turpitude of his 
 jnduct could induce me to do it)—he sought 
 im, and he, venerable in years, humbled 
 imself before this degraded wretch ; he 
 rayed him to save his child. “ Make her not 
 ,1 wanton,” said he; “ tempt her not to vice ; 
 ring not down my grey hairs with sorrow to 
 he grave.” Son of man ! did ever father 
 lake a stronger appeal? Even he could not 
 esist it ; he promised, and made the promise 
 ut to break it. Upon the faith of that pro¬ 
 mise, the husband returns to console his 
 /retched wife. The brother comes ; the first 
 ling he sees, is this fiend with his victim in 
 is toils upon the public square. With the 
 oung and hot blood coursing through his 
 eins, I wonder that he did not smite the dis- 
 onorer of his house as he found him engaged 
 1 his work of destruction. There is though 
 
 much to palliate his forbearance. He seeks 
 him openly and boldly ; there is no stealth 
 here. He says, “ beware ! you have been 
 already warned ; approach my sister again ; 
 and you shall feel a brother’s vengeance.” 
 The liar tells him, “ I have the highest re¬ 
 spect for your sister and there is nothing im¬ 
 proper between us.” Again he lies—morn¬ 
 ing, noon, and night, he lies, lies, lies ! his life 
 is nothing but a tissue of lies. He tells Major 
 Pollard that his daughter is a much abused 
 and unhappy wife. Mark now the stern jus¬ 
 tice of this father, which is in keeping with 
 the Roman fortitude and Spartan integrity 
 that he has displayed upon this trial. How 
 does he answer this insidious attempt to oper¬ 
 ate upon his paternal feelings, to the dispar¬ 
 agement of an honorable friend ? He says, 
 “ my childis in the wrong ; and if she is un¬ 
 happy, it is her own fault.” With what re¬ 
 lentless malice this man pursued my unhappy 
 client. He had already stolen the affections of 
 the simple wife, and now he tries to alienate 
 the father and the son. 
 
 On the 8th of August he made the promise 
 to the brother, and three days afterwards, on 
 the 11 th, Mosby tells you he saw this deluded, 
 unhappy woman locked up with this man in 
 No. 18 in the Exchange Hotel in the city of 
 Richmond. Does the man live who has wit¬ 
 nessed such reckless depravity? Deluding 
 the wife, betraying the friend, deceiving the 
 father and the son, almost with the same 
 breath, and at the same moment. 
 
 Observe the perfect confirmation of Mos- 
 by’s testimony that one of these letters affords. 
 He says he tried the doors of No. 18—he 
 found them closed—he suspected something 
 —he followed her—it was Mrs. Myers—he 
 returned to the passage, and there he saw the 
 truth telling , honorable , virtuous , Mr. Hoyt, 
 according to one of the obituaries of the day, 
 making his escape through a back window of 
 the apartment. If I wanted confirmation, 
 Sir, of this statement, the commonwealth fur¬ 
 nishes it to me in the letter read here, that was 
 found amongst the papers of Hoyt. It is 
 from Mrs. Myers to him, and she says, I am 
 afraid that I left 18 at an unpropitious mo¬ 
 ment. There were persons in the opposite 
 room; Mosby stated that he was in 19. She 
 speaks of the door having been tried twice; 
 Mosby said he tried to open the door twice. 
 She says, I hope you didn’t come out of the 
 same door—and Mosby told you, that he saw 
 him creeping out through the back window. 
 Is there any man who doubts, who can doubt 
 Mosby’s most important testimony, confirmed 
 as it is by this letter, the existence of which 
 was unknown to him until it was nead here? 
 This happened when the tavern-keeper was 
 away. Remember that the principal hotel of 
 your city has been used as the house of 
 prostitution. On the 15th, Boyden returned; 
 he is told of it, but the meek and Joseph like 
 Mr. Boyden is so pure himself, that he cannot 
 believe it, and turns a deaf ear to the scandal* 
 
32 TRIAL OP MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 eras tale. This is Mr. Boyden’s statement on 
 Monday. He wouldn’t believe this story, be¬ 
 cause it was derived by Mosby from a negro. 
 But on Wednesday he comes here, and makes 
 an appendix to his testimony, and the Mr. 
 Boyden of Monday, is no more like the Mr. 
 Boyden of Wednesday, than day is like to 
 night. On Wednesday, he comes and says, 
 that Mosby told him, not that he had it from 
 a servant, but that he himself had followed 
 the female to the door, and found it to be 
 Mrs. Myers. He would’nt believe the ser¬ 
 vant ; he dares not say he wouldn’t believe 
 Mosby. How now does he account for his 
 indifference to the character of his house? 
 Mr. Lyons, who possesses a talent for that 
 kind of work which I have never seen excel¬ 
 led, in his cross-examination of Monday, took 
 pretty good care of my friend Mr. Boyden. 
 He felt that he was in for it, and on Wednes¬ 
 day he came for the purpose of trying to 
 scuffle out; but the result has only been to 
 sink him deeper in. Mr. Lyons used Mr. 
 Boyden up on Monday, and what was left of 
 him was pretty well used up by Mr. Boyden 
 himself on Wednesday. On Monday, he re¬ 
 collected nothing of any interviews between 
 Hoyt and Mrs. Myers. On Wednesday, he 
 remembers two, and is mindful of the most 
 minute particulars accompanying them, even 
 to the making of a carpet. I do hope that a 
 sentiment is fast growing up in this commu¬ 
 nity, which while it will not touch a hair of 
 his head, will shorten the reign of the Great 
 Frederick in the house over which he presides 
 with so much dignity and such a spirit of 
 accommodation. 
 
 But let us trace this guilty pair. Their 
 meetings become more frequent—sometimes 
 in 18 sometimes in 41—the husband is gone, 
 the sentinel is removed, and the hotel is 
 kindly thrown open to them. The husband 
 returns. We are told he had time for reflec¬ 
 tion, time for the blood to cool. Great God! 
 did not every moment of reflection on the 
 mighty wrong he had suffered, serve only to 
 heat the blood, and kindle his wrath against 
 the workers of his dishonor? He is at length 
 persuaded to approach his enemy with mercy 
 on his brow. His peace offering is received 
 with scorn and contempt. He is betrayed 
 and then laughed at; he is scorned and defied. 
 And as far as provocation is concerned, is 
 net this an even stronger case, than that of the 
 man taken in the act of adultery ? Does the 
 law demand the blood of him who punishes 
 the violation of his nuptial couch? I do not 
 believe it. He is not worthy to be the hus¬ 
 band of a virtuous woman, who would not 
 have slain the spoiler on the spot. 
 
 Give me a jury of Virginians—any jury 
 of men who have hearts to feel—European 
 or Hindoo, Fagan, Christian, or Mahomme- 
 dan, Jew or Gentile, and I will acquit the 
 unfortunate actor in this scene of retributive 
 justice. Let a man feel himself wronged in 
 that point, that nature and education tend to 
 
 make nicer than any other, and if the steel 
 does not go to the heart of the wrong doer 
 it is because he is a coward, and a coward-• 
 never yet was worthy of the love of a virtu¬ 
 ous woman. Why, sir, if a man violated 
 your bed what are you to do? Go to th(| 
 law. Ha! ha! ha! Prosecute him for 
 misdemeanor! The law will let him off' witl 
 a fine of twenty dollars and a gentle admonij 
 tion to behave better for the future. Oh 
 yes; apply to the law for redress, and havi 
 the finger of scorn pointed at you as you gt 
 along the streets; the contempt of women 
 and the laughing stock of men. If a mat 
 lays hands upon you and robs you of a nine- 
 pence, the law says kill him ; but if he robs 
 you of your wife, wait till the court sits, anc 
 they’ll fine him twenty dollars —one hall 
 only of which, by the way, goes to the in¬ 
 former. 
 
 Hoyt lingered twelve days—calm, ever 
 facetious; the servants of God attended Lire 
 and ministered to his spiritual wants. Hi 
 protested his innocence and hers, and at thai 
 very moment where were those letters tha 
 have been read in this court? Locked up iri 
 his desk, rmarked and labelled, ready tc 
 prove, when the anticipated day came, that 
 he was innocent and that she was guilty —tha 
 he had been wooed and won by her. Tliis 
 was the crowning act in a life of infamy anc 
 of crime. She sacrificed every thing—wealth 
 station, character, all for him; and he, scoun 
 drel like, left these testimonials of her guilt tc 
 be paraded to the world; and this after he 
 had written to her, “destroy my letters,’ 
 and she, woman like, had done it, in her own 
 eloquent language, “confidingly, trustingly.' 
 
 He protested his innocence, but he couldn't 
 hold out, this man of nerve. Conscience be¬ 
 gan to thunder in his ear; God cried, guilt) 
 or not guilty, and the appalled wretch con¬ 
 fesses to that pious man, William Nonvoed 
 that although he had not proceaded to the 
 last act of guilt and shame, he had done 
 enough to call down the husband’s vengeance 
 on his head. Yes, sir; the grave gives up its 
 dead—the shrouded corpse enters the portals 
 of this court, takes his place on the witness 
 stand, and tells you, I have maddened this 
 man by a series of wrongs—I have stolen' 
 from him his most precious jewel, and he was 
 justifiable in the act that he committed. The 
 dead man bears testimony, and yet the com¬ 
 monwealth’s attorney won’t believe him; and 
 I am told that for this act that the suffered 
 himself justified, the law condemns my client 
 and the brother, and the friend, to a felon’s 
 grave. I am the father of sons, and if the] 
 grave that these men are to fill is stigmatised! 
 by that name, there is no death that I sej 
 covet for them as that by which they may filFj 
 a felon’s grave. 
 
 Affer Mr. Scott had taken his seat, thel 
 Commonwealth's Attorney arose, and address-1 
 ed a few forcible and pertinent remarks to the/ 
 Court. He begged the Mayor to consider his 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 i n position and that of the Court. He was 
 finding there in the very novel attitude of a 
 joresentative of the Commonwealth before a 
 immitting magistrate; and that, at the re- 
 .< est of the Court. Evidence had been ad- 
 i tted in this cause against his solemn and 
 neated protest, under the decision of his 
 .mor, to which he must necessarily bow, 
 lit all the testimony should be heard to be 
 ited, and separated afterwards. Under 
 t;se circumstances it was that he was called 
 to answer the arguments and passionate 
 B peals of the opposite counsel, many of 
 n ich were based upon this illegal evidence, 
 ’hen this cause came, as unhappily it must 
 me, before a higher tribunal, he would then 
 fcpear in the position which his office assign- 
 
 < him, and then he hoped that by the en- 
 tt cement of the legal rules of evidence, this 
 iongruous mass of testimony, would be re¬ 
 seed to a tangible and palpable form. Mr. 
 iiyo begged the Mayor to remember that he 
 its only sitting as a committing magistrate, 
 n ose duty it was, simply to discharge, if the 
 
 lividual arrested was entirely free from sus- 
 ion. This he contended to be the whole 
 Beet which the law had in view in the insti- 
 tii of this proceeding; not that the com- 
 aiting magistrate should decide upon the 
 ijilt of the accused, but simply to ascertain 
 i hero was sufficient ground of suspicion to 
 title the Commonwealth to a trial. To 
 q we the truth of this position, he referred to 
 i*)ickinson’s Justice,” and several other au- 
 Jt'rities already cited in the course of the 
 k imination. That ground for suspicion ex- 
 ri :d in this case, there could not be a shadow 
 1 doubt; and that it extended to all thepar- 
 jti, was equally certain. The Court had 
 it in asked to separate the case of Burr and 
 ! tnuel S. Myers from that of Wm. K. Myers. 
 •/. e first two at least, it is said, have been cn- 
 f ;ed in no unlawful act. Was it not an un- 
 lfnl act, he asked, to go to Hoyt’s room 
 :t force him to sign a paper of any sort, 
 ill ch less such a one as that exhibited in this 
 (art? Will younot infer a conspiracy from 
 t j co-operation in this most unlawful pro¬ 
 ve ding? If peace was intended why did not 
 Bit go alone? AVhy did not Samuel S. 
 3 ers go alone? So far from being less 
 E lty in the eye of the law, these two men 
 i;t the more condemnable, for they at least 
 1 ked the provocation that might be pleaded 
 f the other party. 
 
 Jr. Mayo denied that he bad requested the 
 k art to discard the dying declarations of 
 U vt; he had only declined to consider them 
 jl iself, because they were unnecessary to 
 (iblish the only point that this Court had 
 i r right to consider, the degree of suspicion 
 * f t attached to these parties. Feeling fully 
 
 < npetent to make out a case for the Com- 
 il nwealth without the evidence of Hoyt, he 
 3t 5 careful to abstain from opening the way 
 t he unmeasured denunciations that he knew 
 tre ready to be heaped upon this unfortu¬ 
 
 3-8 
 
 nate man. God forbid that he should stand 
 there the justifier of Hoyt; but the man was in 
 his grave now, and he did think that in some 
 respects injustice had been dono to his memo¬ 
 ry. He hoped that the public, to whom the 
 chief part of the really eloquent speeches of 
 the prisoners’ counsel had been addressed, 
 would not be misled by their assertions of 
 what constituted the law of the land. He 
 hoped at a proper time, and in a proper place, 
 to show that these principles were false; that 
 the law did not permit an excited individual 
 to redress his own wrongs, and to reek his 
 hands in the blood of a citizen, whenever he 
 might think that he had sufficient provocation 
 for doing so. Even the killing an adulterer 
 caught in the act, is not, in the eye of the 
 law, a justifiable homicide; and the degree of 
 provocation which will reduce murder to man¬ 
 slaughter, is for a jury to determine; the pro¬ 
 vince of this Court is simply to inquire whe¬ 
 ther a homicide has been committed, and 
 whether such a degree of suspicion rests upon 
 the prisoners at the bar, as to justify their 
 being sent on for trial by a higher tribunal. 
 
 For the venerable father, Mr. Mayo said, 
 who appeared in this court, bowed down with 
 a iveight of grief, that happily it seldom falls 
 to the lot of man to endure, he entertained 
 the most heartfelt sympathy ; as indeed he 
 did for the prisoners themselves, who were 
 all his neighbors and friends ; but that no 
 consideration of sympathy or of friendship 
 could restrain him in the discharge of his 
 duty ; and that duty imperatively demanded 
 that he should ask that the accused be sent on 
 for farther trial. 
 
 This closed the arguments of counsel, and 
 the Mayor in a few moments pronounced his 
 decision in the following words. 
 
 I am called upon to discharge the most 
 painful duty of my official life; and if I could 
 separate the man from the officer, I would 
 say, that the opinions of the last thirty years 
 of my life, lead me to sympathise deeply with 
 the parties before me, with one of them (allud¬ 
 ing to Col. Myers,) I have been on terms of 
 intimacy for years, and during this investiga¬ 
 tion, I have heard nothing but that which has 
 heightened my admiration of his character. 
 Of the others I know less ; but if the injury 
 which has been inflicted upon one of them, 
 had been inflicted on me, once a husband and 
 now a father, if I know myself, I believe I 
 would have done as he has. But as an officer, 
 the stern decree of the law forbids my inves 
 tigating the justifying circumstances of this 
 case, and in obedience to its dictates, I send 
 the accused before a higher tribunal. 
 
 The counsel for the prisoners then atkecl 
 that they might be admitted to bail, in the 
 highest penalty that the court should see fit 
 to impose ; they grounded their request upon 
 the peculiar hardship that confinement in jail 
 imposed upon two of the prisoners ; they 
 were the sole partners in a very extensive 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 S4 
 
 business which must suffer severely in their 
 absence ; whereby others and innocent par¬ 
 ties with whom they had heavy transactions, 
 might be made to suffer in their business re¬ 
 lations. They contended that the question of 
 bail was one, that, even in the highest grade 
 of offences, was left to the discretion of the 
 Judge. 
 
 The Mayor replied, that he knew he could 
 exercise the power , but he did not think that 
 under the circumstances he had the right to 
 bail the parties ; and they were accordingly 
 remanded to await their trial before a court 
 
 of magistrates, called for the 21st of Octobei 
 1846. 
 
 The law of Virginia provides, that after th 
 committal of a prisoner for the commission c 
 a felony, a court, consisting of at least fiv 
 magistrates, shall be called to sit in not let 
 than five nor more than ten days; whose pre 
 vince it shall be to examine into the case, an 
 either acquit the accused or send him on fc 
 trial before a jury, at the next Superic 
 Court, which sits only twice a year. A 
 acquittal by the called court of magistrate 
 is final. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I The following letters, together with the 
 one dated “ Alta Vista, June 17,” were found 
 amongst the papers of Mr. Hoyt, and were 
 offered iu evidence upon the part of the 
 Commonwealth. They have been arranged 
 as near as possible in the order in Which they 
 were written, although, being generally with¬ 
 out date, it has been necessary sometimes to 
 guess at the period of their reception. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 [This appears from the contents to have 
 been the first letter addressed by Mrs. 
 Myers to Hoyt. This and the two following 
 are supposed to refer to a very intimate ac¬ 
 quaintance with whom Mrs. Myers was in the 
 habit of corresponding, who was also an in¬ 
 timate friend of Hoyt.] 
 
 Wednesday, Dec. 3, 1845. 
 
 I trust you will pardon the liberty I take 
 in writing you. and the still greater liberty of 
 begging the favor of you to call here to-mor¬ 
 row at 1 o’clock. I am most anxious to see 
 you, on a matter of the utmost importance 
 to myself—a subject which you can readily 
 imagine, and if it were possible for me to ex¬ 
 plain myself by writing, I should do so, and 
 thus spare you the necessity of seeing me in 
 person; for I fear this necessity may be an 
 unpleasant one to you. I know you will 
 have some scruples as to my request, but I 
 appeal to your kindness of heart, and I know 
 the appe al will not be in vain. If you will 
 be so kind as to call at one o’clock to-mor¬ 
 row, you will find me alone, and I will tell 
 you, in a few words, the circumstances which 
 it is so necessary for me to confide to you 
 May I beg the kindness of you to forgive me 
 for this note, for I have hesitated to send it, 
 fearing you might blame me for so doing; 
 yet, when you know the cause, I am assured 
 you will pardon me. What I have written 
 is strictly confidential, and knowing your 
 high, noble sense of honor, I need say no | 
 
 more. Although I have not the pleasure < 
 your acquaintance, yet, believe me, I am or 
 of your warmest and most sincere friends, f< 
 I can never forget the kindness you have show 
 me, and only hope at some future day it ma: 
 he in my power to return them. I send th 
 by my brother. Of course he is ignorant. 
 its contents, and I send it by him as I a: 
 afraid to trust it to one of my own servant' 
 He is under the impression I am acquaint* 
 with you, and therefore gladly obliges me b 
 delivering this to you. Again I beg yoi 
 forgiveness, and assure you I am always yoi 
 friend. Virginia M-. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 Monday, Dec. 8, 1845. 
 
 Much to my regret, to-day is so very ii 
 clement, that I shall not have the pleasure i 
 seeing you, as I expected; but to-morrow 
 
 shall go with Miss C -to Moran’s room 
 
 where I shall hope to meet you. You we 
 so kind as to promise to direct and mail 
 letter for me, therefore, may I beg the goo 
 ness of you to call here at 1 o’clock on We 
 nesday, when I will give it to you, and I al 
 wish to see you relative to it. Of court 
 after we are introduced, you can call witho 
 exciting suspicion. I trust you will not thii 
 me imposing on your goodness by makii 
 this request, and you will pardon me for t! 
 liberty I take in addressing you this nob 
 Believe me, I should not feel justified in 
 doing, were I not assured that in your hig 
 noble sense of honor I can place the utmej 
 confidence. I can never find words to ei 
 press to you the gratitude I owe you, and f 
 exalted admiration I must ever hold you i 
 for you have shown to me a friendship I shi 
 ever prize, and which nothing on earth ci 
 ever cause me to forget. I fear sometimes 
 have increased your condemnation in a ct 
 tain matter, but I can assure you that we; 
 you acquainted with all the circumstance 
 
 
TRIAL OP MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 could I tell you the many trials and sorrows 
 to which I have been subjected, how uncall¬ 
 ed for, unappreciated I am; could I explain 
 all to you, I do know, instead of blaming me, 
 your feelings would be sincerest sympathy 
 for me—pity for me, so wronged, and yet so 
 purely innocent. But why should I intrude 
 on you my feelings? forgive me the intru¬ 
 sion, but always believe me most gratefully 
 yours. Virginia M-. 
 
 Knowing I should have no opportunity of 
 'speaking with you, to ask you to call for my 
 tetter, I have been compelled to trouble you 
 with this, and fearing to send it by a servant, 
 f send it through the post office, thinking it 
 safest. Again I beg your pardon for my in¬ 
 trusion. V. 
 
 You see I have not directed this letter my¬ 
 self, at least to all appearances I have 
 sot, but appearances are sometimes decep¬ 
 tive. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Pridat, Dec. 12, 1845. 
 
 Prom your note, I find you were mistaken, 
 regarding the information I wished to obtain. 
 I wanted to know the time it required for a 
 letter to reach here from Detroit; for on 
 reading my friend’s letter more carefully, I 
 '5ud he wili write from Detroit, and I imag¬ 
 ine you understood me as wishing to know 
 he time from Chicago. Could you let me 
 mow the number of days from Detroit, for I 
 xm anxious to ascertain as accurately as pos¬ 
 sible, for I must be at home the day after the 
 letter arrives according to our agreement. 
 Were It not that this was important, I would 
 lot trouble you again, but I think you may 
 ’orgive me for so doing. After you left the 
 other day, I feared you might have thought I 
 did wrong in speaking to you so freely and 
 unreservedly, bnt really I felt so sad and dis- 
 spirited, that it was a relief to me to speak 
 iwithyoa on a subject which I would not even 
 i ireathe to another person, for I feel that none 
 would understand the purity of my feelings; 
 he perfect propriety of every action. But 
 (jso you, I felt I might speak with all confi- 
 ience, for in your noble and generous heart 
 i knew all would be appreciated, and was I 
 not right in thus believing? Yes, I feel that 
 
 I on this subject, I might always repose every 
 ;onfidence in you, that I may speak to you, 
 :andidly and freely, for I know with you I 
 i ( vill find kindness and sympathy. Others 
 nay blame me, denounce me, but you I think 
 lever will, for you know all, and you cannot 
 ilame me—and moreover, I wished your ad¬ 
 vice in a certain matter, and there was no 
 pne to whom I could go, save yourself, for 
 you have extended to me kindness, when I 
 pad no claim on you. Pray forgive me, if I 
 !,;ake a liberty in addressing you, as a dear 
 friend, for believe me, ’tis a privilege I prize 
 most highly, and one I hope you will never 
 deprive me of. You must not forget your 
 
 35 
 
 promise to come and see me, for if you do 
 not come, I shall not be as I now am. 
 
 Your very best and warmest friend, 
 
 Virginia M - . 
 
 Should a letter come for me on the 25th 
 or 26th, of course keep it, on those days I shall 
 not he alone. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 Dec. 31st, 1845. 
 
 May I beg your acceptance of the accom¬ 
 panying gage d’amitie ? ’Tis indeed a trifle— 
 yet I pray you receive it, coming fx-om a 
 heart which you have drawn so strongly to¬ 
 wards you by a kindness and sympathy never 
 to be forgotten—a heart whose every feeling 
 has been confided to you with an unreserve, 
 a trust, I could never repose in any save 
 your own noble and generous bosom, and 
 may I not, my best of friends, ask you to 
 prize it as a memento of one whose hours of 
 darkness and sadness you have brightened by 
 your words of goodness, of kindness—-one 
 who will remember you with feelings of the 
 deepest gratitude; feelings as fond, as endur¬ 
 ing as those I would bear my own brother, 
 for with you, my dearest friend, I feel the 
 same unreservedness, the same freedom of 
 intercourse as if you stood in that relation 
 towards me. 
 
 Praying you may at least not reject my 
 offering, I now tender you many greetings of 
 the New Year. With me, ’tis fraught with 
 sadness, for you know the future has no hope 
 for me, dark and drear, nothing to illumine 
 its desolateness, yet I pi-ay you may always 
 be happy, the sky of your destiny ever re¬ 
 main, as it now is, unclouded and bright. 
 This shall, I assure you, be my most earnest 
 and heartfelt wish. Always receive me, as I 
 am, your warmest, your verv best friend, 
 
 VIRGINIA. 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 [The following is without date, but is pro¬ 
 bably the next in order.] 
 
 My dearest and best friend, now don’t 
 scold me for what I am going to write you. 
 This morning I received a note from the lady 
 with whom I am to go visiting, saying if con¬ 
 venient to me she would prefer my going on 
 Monday instead of Tuesday as we had in¬ 
 tended. Now, mon cher amie, won’t you 
 come Tuesday ? because if you cannot come 
 that day, I will excuse myself to her; for on 
 no account on earth, would I lose the plea- 
 sureof seeing you. But you will come won’t 
 you ? I had anticipated so much delight, on 
 seeing you Monday, that I cannot now bear 
 to give up this happiness, and I will not un¬ 
 less you promise certainly to come Tuesday. 
 This postponement of one day seems very, 
 very long to me, and I do hope it may seem 
 so to you; for that would be gratifying in¬ 
 deed ; hence mind come, dear triend, on 
 Tuesday, and we (at least I) will be so agree¬ 
 able and happy—won’t we ? All Monday, I 
 
36 
 
 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 shall be thinking of the pleasure of seeing 
 you, and I hope time may pass quickly till our 
 meeting. Don’t laugh at this note, for I have 
 written it just from my heart, and as it is for 
 your own partial eyes (I hope so) I won’t 
 beg your pardon but just tell you I am just 
 the same towards you as an own sister, am I 
 not? Do come, if you don’t, how I will scold 
 you. 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 1 cannot keep your servant waiting for 
 my answer, though I feel, dearest, as if I 
 could write you for hours. Thank you bc- 
 lovedone, for your precious words, I have 
 just read, and kissed it, oh ! you know how 
 fervently. Come dbarest on Monday at 12 
 o’clock, instead of 1 o’clock, as 1 first wrote 
 you. I feel so miserable, that it is no enjoy¬ 
 ment for me to go to the Theatre; yet, dear¬ 
 est, I will go to-morrow night, if only to rest 
 my eyes on your deal - face, and with one 
 glance tell you how wholly I love you. Do 
 not come in our box till about the middle of 
 the Ballet and then you can remain till the 
 close. But do not go to the carriage with me. 
 Adieu, dearest, only time to say yours for¬ 
 ever. 
 
 No. 7. 
 
 [The following was probably written in 
 the month of April.] 
 
 Now, dearest, please tell me what I shall 
 do? If I remain, I expect I shall have to go 
 with-, for his whole family seemed deter¬ 
 
 mined on it, and Mr. M. is particularly anx¬ 
 ious. I know not what to make of it—I only 
 know I have a horror or dread of him, and 
 traveling under his protection is awful to me. 
 Then I prefer staying at a boarding house to 
 
 Airs. -’s, but there I should be thrown 
 
 with persons I care nothing about, and then 
 I should be dependent on young men, on go¬ 
 ing out, entirely, and there are some, I know, 
 would take advantage of it, being friends of 
 Mr. Myers. There are objections to remain¬ 
 ing; and yet, dearest, I cannot leave you, .and : 
 if yox will not go with me I must remain; 
 but if I remain I may be compelled to go 
 
 with-. Do, dearest love, tell me what I 
 
 shall do—for you know, darling, my happi¬ 
 ness consists in obeying your very wish—and 
 this is what I call devoted love. Only think, 
 dearest, and tell me what to do. I feel so 
 weak, so badly, that I fear I could not under¬ 
 go the fntiguc of traveling; and then I think 
 of staying here all the time—but again, I 
 have a motive in going to New York, which I 
 cannot relinquish. What to do I do not know. 
 Do advise me, dearest, for I must determine 
 now in a few days. I have invitations from 
 
 -’s family to remain with them, but these 
 
 invitations I care not to accept; however, I 
 am grateful for them, for they show me that 
 there are some here who consider me more 
 worthy of their acquaintance than does the 
 standard of propriety —Doctor Carmichael 
 
 and daughter. They at least think me tvor* i 
 thy of being an inmate of their household. 
 But darling forgive me—I have uttered 
 words unfitting for me; I forgot how desolate 
 I am, and how utterly unworthy the lowest 
 of God’s creatures. I forgot my unworthi¬ 
 ness.—There are those who love me, and tell 
 me I am all pure, all angelic. They would 
 fain make me believe I was a very angel, so 
 lfigh do I stand in their estimation; but I 
 pray God always to keep me thus low and 
 humbled, and. that I never may forget how 
 desolate, how lonely I am in this world. I 
 once too had pride, but alas! my God! it has 
 been withered, crushed forever. Dearest, I 
 will tell you something if you promise not to 
 be angry with me. I heard last night of a 
 
 scene between you and-. The last night 
 
 -was in town, you see, it was observed, I 
 
 as the person who told me overheard the con¬ 
 versation. She was wishing for something it 
 was impossible for her to get. On her de- , 
 parture, you instantly said, “ Do allow me 
 the exquisite happiness of procuring it for 
 you, and I will send it to you; and may I not 
 write you?—’twill be such happiness for me 
 to write to one who has elicited from me feel¬ 
 ings I never before experienced?” She con¬ 
 sented—you got a card and took her address. 
 Now, dearest, remember, I don’t say one 
 word. Think what yonr feelings would be , 
 to hear this of me. Mine are the very same 
 as yours would be. This person said to me, 
 evidently for the purpose of seeing what ef¬ 
 fect it would have: “ Could you have seen the 
 tenderness and devotion of his manner, you 
 would have agreed with me he was despe- j 
 rately in love; but then she is so rich—we 1 
 none of us could resist.” I replied, “ If you 
 think this of Mr. Hoyt, you do not know | 
 him, for I am sure he loves her for herself] 
 alone, and thinks not once of her wealth, j 
 He has too much nobleness of feeling for j 
 this.” Of course I was to be bantered about j 
 taking yonr part so warmly. What my feel- j 
 ings were they could not see, but you know I 
 well, dearest, what they were, and it is but 
 natural I should have these feelings—you 
 would have the very same. Dearest, part of 
 this letter has been written in tears; they are ' 
 holy ones, shed for you. Read this letter,! 
 dearest, ere. you retire to-night; also one par- j 
 
 ticular one I wrote you while - was here. I 
 
 You may remember it, for it was written in I 
 the despair of love, when I was so wretched a 
 that life itself was almost taken. Will you I 
 read it, just ere you retire? I ask it as an U 
 especial request. Dearest, will it not prompt fl 
 you to send me a kind note to-morrow? Dear Ij 
 love, write me exactly as you feel, and then j 
 it will make me either happy or miserable. 
 With you it rests. At 1 o’clock to-morrow. I 
 Does not this deserve a long reply. Will you 
 ever have patience to read this volume? Oh, I 
 yes! for ’tis from a loving, true, pure heart. 
 
TRIAL'OE MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 No. 8. 
 
 [The following is supposed to be the letter 
 Mrs. Myers referred to in the above, and 
 which she so strongly insisted on Hoyt’s 
 reading before he retired for the night:] 
 
 Saturday, 5 o’clock. 
 
 My God! my God I what am I not suffer¬ 
 ing? Agony, yes, tenfold agony. May I not 
 still call you dear, dearest love ? for, oh, you 
 are so in the fullest meaning of these words. 
 Yes, dear one, I must speak with you now 
 openly, freely; for, oh, I can no longer en¬ 
 dure the agonizing suspense, this torturing 
 anxiety. If there should be one word here 
 to give you pain, oh, my darling one, forgive, 
 for you know not the withering anguish which 
 is consuming my inmost soul. Rather, be¬ 
 loved than give you one pang, I would sooner 
 die. Therefore, dearest, remember this, and 
 pardon a poor, forsaken, heart-broken wo¬ 
 man. Darling of my very life, I now kneel 
 to you. I entreat you, in the name of mercy, 
 to be candid with me. Oh, deceive me not, 
 as I now stand on the very brink of perdition. 
 Tell me, I implore you, tell me, are your 
 feelings changed towards me? From your 
 remark and conduct this morning, I inferred 
 this —that you felt your feelings had under¬ 
 gone a change. You almost feared the effect 
 this intelligence might have on me, and you 
 could not find it in your heart to inflict this 
 wound. Oh, dearest, let not these feelings 
 deter you from acting towards me candidyl. 
 Deceive me not. I appreciate, dear one, 
 your kind, noble heart, which prompts you to 
 act thus. This, too, proves to me yorrr true 
 nobleness of character, which I have always 
 known you to possess. But, dear love, I can¬ 
 not remain in this state of bitter, awful sus¬ 
 pense. Oh, could you know the very anguish 
 I am now enduring, you would at least pity 
 me. poor wretch as I am. Dearest, this is a 
 subject I cannot speak on, and therefore I 
 write. Oh, my God, loved one, let me not 
 remain long in this state of agony, or else I 
 am lost forever. Fear not to tell me, dear 
 one, for when all have deserted me, God 
 will take me to himself. Th'ink not, dearest, 
 I will complain, or reproach you. No! no! 
 I cannot—I will not. Dear one, ’tis my fate 
 to be desolate, and, oh, my God, help me ere 
 1 perish. .It is not strange, dear, that you 
 should change towards me. No! no! for I 
 am too poor and desolate for any one to love 
 —much less a being like thine own dear self. 
 No one, no one loves me. Every one in this 
 wide world has forsaken me, and then, oh, 
 dear one, how can I blame you for changing? 
 No! no! dearest, I blame you not. Dear 
 one, I only pray to God that he will shew 
 you how I love you. I have no power to do 
 so. But, darling, won’t you sometimes think 
 of me? Think of alllhave suffered, and at 
 least I may know I have thy pity. That will 
 be one sweet drop in the bitter cup of sorrow 
 which I have drained to the very dregs.— 
 Have I done nothing, suffered nothing, aban¬ 
 
 3? 
 
 doned nothing for thee? Oh God, I have 
 given up the whole world for thee, I have 
 loved thee till I can nought else beside thee. 
 I have no other God but thee. To none but 
 thee have I bowed down and worshipped. 
 Thy bosom is mine altar, and now I offer up 
 myself a sacrifice to thee. Oh God, dearest, 
 I love thee—love thee—madly love thee. 
 Thou hast drank my heart dry of all love— 
 thou art more to me than earth or heaven. 
 They have given me but life, thou gavest me 
 love. Yes, when I was all alone in this world, 
 miserable, wretched, thou, dear angel, came 
 tome. Thou bid’st me live, and, oh, when 
 thou told’st me of love, then, then wan this 
 being made new. I lived, as it were, in a 
 world of joy, of bliss. Yes, dearest, the few 
 brief months I have known thee I have been 
 happier than I ever dreamed it was possible 
 to be; for what greater happiness is taerfc 
 than thy love? Oh, dearest, I can never—■ 
 never forget all your kindness to me. When 
 I was wretched, forsaken, you were the dear 
 one who made me happy. You taught me to 
 love life, for you made that life a heaven. 
 Forget it? no! not e’en in death. Dearest, 
 when I have so often asked you if you loved 
 me, it was not because I doubted thee, but 
 those very words from thy lips, ‘I love thee,’ 
 gave me such feelings of rapture; for I can¬ 
 not know too often of my bliss. This, dar¬ 
 ling, made me so often say, “Love, do you 
 love me?” But, dearest, why dwell on these 
 moments, the memory of which almost 
 drives me mad? Now, dearest, once more I 
 appeal to you in the name of heaven, if you 
 have changed towards me—tell me fra* kly, 
 freely. I had rather be relieved of this awful 
 suspense and die, for there in the grave, at 
 least, is peace. Think not, dearest, I will 
 blame you for deserting a poor being it, ut¬ 
 terly unhappy. If you are still mine own, 
 my beloved, oh, say so, and you bring to this 
 heart the very joy of heaven. Good uight, 
 love. My God, what a night of agony in be¬ 
 fore me. But I will lie awake, and pray hea¬ 
 ven not to take you from me, and that will 
 give me some relief. 
 
 Sunday, 6 o’clock. 
 
 God of mercy, give me strength to write 
 you what I have this day heard. Now nil is 
 explained, and now I understand why- you 
 made those remarks to me on Saturday—re¬ 
 marks which rent my heart in twain. To-day 
 I have heard all. I have not time to irrite 
 fully, for I have but a moment’s leisure A 
 friend called to see me, and I saw from his 
 manner and conversation he had something 
 to say particularly. Immediately he intro¬ 
 duced you—and think, my God! what were 
 my feelings, when he told me the following: 
 He says, there has been at the Exchange a 
 
 certain lady, by name Miss-, whom 
 
 you were introduced to and took at first a 
 desperate fancy to. After a few days this 
 fancy ripened into love, and ere she left you 
 offered her your heart, and hand. White she 
 
38 
 
 TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 was at the Exchange, your attentions to her 
 were so marked as to be the subject of gene¬ 
 ral remark. You shut up your office the 
 whole morning, and sate with her till dinner 
 was announced. The evening and night the 
 same devoted attention—every moment by 
 her side. You first made your feelings known 
 to her by presenting her with a flower. All 
 the circumstances were detailed to me most 
 minutel}'. You requested her permission to 
 write to her while she would be in New York, 
 and when 'She returns to Louisiana she will 
 again be at the Exchange. All this I hoard, 
 partly from a friend, and partly by a letter. 
 The letter told me every circumstance, which 
 I received yesterday, last night, but did not 
 believe it, inasmuch as I knew not who the 
 writer was. But this morning it was confirm¬ 
 ed by a friend, who told me almost all that 
 was contained in the letter. Now I have told 
 you all. Ask your own heart if you have 
 been faithful to me. I blame you not for pre¬ 
 ferring a woman of beauty, rank and wealth 
 to a poor, miserable wretch, who had nothing 
 to offer you save a devoted heart. No! not 
 one reproach! But this I must say: Think 
 how I have acted towards all gentlemen. 
 Loving you as I do, I could not do otherwise. 
 While you were breathing to her “ protesta¬ 
 tions of love,” (this letter says) I was here 
 weeping, suffering agony. While there you 
 were, I was begging for one word to save me, 
 and yet you had no time to write. You could 
 not shut up your office one day to see me, 
 but to see her you could do it for “ five days 
 in succession.” Bnt enough! enough! I will 
 not utter one reproach. But could you read 
 the letter, and hear the words I this day 
 heard, you would not blame me. From whom 
 the letter came I know not—it commences by 
 saying he, as a friend of mine, considers it his 
 duty to tell me how I have been deceived in 
 you. He then relates to me all your atten¬ 
 tions to Miss-, and your proposal, and 
 
 freely die to make him happy. My God, I 
 can scarce realize what love is mine. 
 
 much more which I cannot now repeat; for, 
 alas! I have no heart to write. Miserable as 
 I am, I shall have the sweet consciousness of 
 knowing you are happy. Oh! that she may 
 love you as 1 love you. Then you must be 
 happy. I pray God you may both be per¬ 
 fectly happy. My last and only wish is that 
 you will sometimes think of her who gave up 
 all the world for you. I can write no more. 
 You can well imagine the sufferings of this 
 heart. As it will be necessary for me to see 
 you once more, may I not ask you to see me 
 on Tuesday at 12 o’clock? What that awful 
 letter told me, and what I heard to-day, has 
 driven my senses from me. But, oh God, I 
 do not complain. It makes him happy, and 
 life—yes, this life, shall be sacrificed freely 
 for him. Oh, that you might have known 
 how I loved you! Then you could not have 
 given me up for another. My God, what 
 misery! but no! he is happy—I won’t com¬ 
 plain. May God make them both happy, 
 even though the thought kills me. I will 
 
 No. 9. 
 
 [The following is without date, but is en¬ 
 dorsed in pencil mark, “ Rec’d April 25th.] 
 Friday Morning. 
 
 Dearest one, I can never, never thank you 
 enough for your last kind, sweet letter. Oh! 
 it is the dearest, most precious letter that you 
 ever wrote me. I do love you so much for 
 sending me those dear words. I clasp them 
 to my bosom—I bless you again and again, 
 for making me so happy. Oh ! my beloved 
 one, I do think you are the dearest, kindest, 
 sweetest being on the earth, and I do love 
 you more than all the world. Why tell you 
 this, dear one ? for you will not believe me. 
 Y ou say, I ha ve loved so often , and you always 
 seem to doubt the truth of this heart’s devo¬ 
 tion. Loved ene, promise me just to listen 
 to a few wos4a I am going to say to you. 
 Dearest, I do believe there never was a wo¬ 
 man had such feelings as 1 have for you. I 
 believe my love for you is more powerful, 
 more absorbing, than ever existed in a hu- 
 mau breast. Dearest, I love you better than 
 my own soul; I love you better than Heeven : 
 Good God.' I love you till my heart has but 
 one feeling —that of glorious, beautiful pas¬ 
 sionate love. I speak truly, my cherished one, 
 when I now swear to you, that I have never 
 had a feeling for a human being like that I 
 have for you. Be it love, idolatry, adoration, 
 of one thing I am sure, that I never felt for 
 another what I do for you. 7 may have be¬ 
 lieved 7 loved others ; but, good God ! what 
 were those emotions compared to what I now 
 feel. Then it was a calm, quiet, sober feel¬ 
 ing, indifferent I may say —now 'tis raging 
 like a storm in my heart—such burning, pas - ' 
 sionate, glowing enthusiasm —such strength, 
 that 7 am overpowered ; it flashes like an 
 electric shock through my soul. Oh ! God! 
 it deranges me. If this is not love, what, in 
 the name of heaven, is it ? Now, how can 
 I believe, for one moment, that I ever loved 
 before ? for I never in my whole life had such 
 feelings as 7 now have. What passion it 
 was 7 felt before, I know not; but that /feel 
 now, is Love—Yes! love iu its purity, its 
 strength, in its deep, unutterable adoration. 
 Oh ! dearest , if you could but read this heart, 
 you would know I never loved before. Dearj 
 one, do you still doubt me ? Oh ! no! no ! 
 you cannot; only think of all 1 have done tojl 
 show you my affection ; think of evert ac-fl 
 tion, and, dearest, how can you doubt me f 
 Oh ! mine own, my only one ! I now, in the 
 presence of my God, swear to you I have 
 never loved a creature on earth as 7 do you. 
 Never, never, dearest, has my heart been 
 given to another, and 7 now will make a 
 holy, sacred promise, and you must never, for 
 one instant, doubt the faith, the perfect love, 
 which prompts this vow : 7 swear to you, 
 loved one, from this hour 7 am wholly, en- 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AST OTHERS. 
 
 30 
 
 tirely yours —not even one thought shall be 
 given to another ; every atom, every mite of 
 love glowing in this bosom is yours, and only 
 yours. My life, from this day, shall be ex¬ 
 clusively devoted to you—the object of every 
 thing, action, word shall be to make me 
 more and more worthy of thee. I shall act in 
 all things as / know you would wish me to 
 act in all things were we united in the sight 
 of man ; for I can never forget that I am 
 your wife, save in the empty ceremony— for 
 our affection unites us close, oh ! how 
 close. Never shall living man touch these lips 
 which / have consecrated to you ; they are 
 sacredly yours. You have imprinted on them 
 the holy, true kiss of affection, and never, 
 never shall they be polluted by the touch of 
 other than thine own precious lips. This 
 form has been encircled by thy fond arm, and 
 never shall it feel the embrace of anotner. 
 This hand has been clasped in thine own dear 
 one, and never shall it ever be touched by 
 others. Yes 1 dearest, I swear to you mine 
 heart is as true, as pure to you as an angel’s ; 
 and my whole person too, is now sacredly 
 yours ! I now call God to witness this vow, 
 which I take in the sight of Heaven, and oh! 
 may he grant that when death takes me from 
 you, beloved one, I may be as I now am, 
 your own, yes, your pure, spotless, innocent 
 Virginia. 
 
 Good-bye, love, till to-morrow, when I 
 will talk with you again. I will seal all I 
 have promised you with a dear kiss. Shall 
 it not be two ? Y'es ! I say. How strange 
 it is, I never loved to kiss any one, save you, 
 precious darling. 
 
 Sat deday Morning. 
 
 I know not why it is, but I feel sad this 
 morning. I have been thinking all night of 
 the bitter word farewell, which I must soon 
 breathe to you. Oh ! sweetest, what will be¬ 
 come of me in that sad hour ! I pray God 
 to support me then, for without his support 
 I must die. Oh ! dear love, it makes me so 
 miserable, I cannot bear to think of it. Oh ! 
 that / could remain here, dearly loved one. 
 You do not know how / suffer. Only ima¬ 
 gine, darling, that I have to separate from 
 one much dearer to me than mine own life. 
 Oh ! is not this separation worse than death, 
 and I shall not see that dear face for so long, 
 perhaps never again. Dearest I know not 
 why it is, but I feel as if I should never re¬ 
 turn home—never meet thee again. Oh ! 
 God, can this fate be mine. Oh ! have 
 mercy on me, and spare me at least this 
 agony. Would that I could see you each 
 day till the sad moment of our adieu. This 
 would be a relief, but it cannot be. Oh ! 
 dearest, what, in the name of heaven, have I 
 done to deserve so bitter a destiny as mine ? 
 —loving one to perfect idolatry, and yet not 
 permitted to be always near him. Oh ! dear, 
 dearest one, I cannot write this morning, I 
 feel so sad, so dispirited. You know not my 
 feelings, but would to God you might know 
 
 them. Soon, dearest of my soul, we meet; 
 then one glance from those dear eyes will 
 make me feel so happy. Yes, I shall be 
 happy with you, but, alas ! when away from 
 you, how utterly miserable ! Dear one, fare¬ 
 well ; one sweet kiss your Virginia gives 
 you—remember they are given to none save 
 her own devoted love. 
 
 No. 10. 
 
 [Was a letter written from the Astor 
 House in New York, in which Mrs. Myers 
 hints at a subject, in connection with a con¬ 
 sultation with Dr. Gray, of so dubious and 
 delicate a nature, as to make it unfit for pub¬ 
 lication. It was written in April or May. ] 
 
 No. 11. 
 
 [Date unknown.] 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Dear darling, how awfully, bitterly disap¬ 
 pointed I am again to-day. Oh, dearest, I 
 feel as if I should die this day. My God ! I 
 am dying to see you. Dear, dearest one, 
 won’t you write me this morning. Yes, 
 sweet one, I know you will. Every word 
 will comfort me so sweetly. Darling you 
 made me happy, last evening, by telling me 
 you still loved me. Oh! could you know 
 the joy those dear words give me, you would 
 not blame me for so often saying, “ Dearest, 
 do you love me ?” As I have told you be¬ 
 fore, ’tis not that I doubt you, beloved, that I 
 ask the question. ’Tis only the delight of 
 hearing you say, “Yes, I do love you.” 
 After I left you, yesterday, dear one; A re¬ 
 peated to myself those magic words of [thine, 
 and oh ! what feelings of bliss did they not 
 create in this bosom! Dear, dearesf angel, 
 so long as you love me I am perfectly happy. 
 Think of this, mine angel, and never, never 
 take from me this precious treasure. Oh 
 God! mine own worshipped one, how I do 
 love you. In that hateful letter, he says “ what 
 will you give him next ?—your very soul ?” 
 Yes, loved one, my very soul is yours,—all, 
 all is yours. I love you to perfection, idola¬ 
 try, utter adoration. Yes, I love you to dis¬ 
 traction itself. 
 
 Dear, dearest darling, I entreat you never, 
 never spurn a heart so devoted as mine. 
 Oh ! mine angel, no one can love you as 
 your poor Virginia. She loves you, loves 
 you, loves you. How faint these words to ex¬ 
 press the utter devotion of this heart. Dear, 
 dearest one, shall I not soon have a dear, 
 kind note ? Oh ? yes, yes. Tell me, dear 
 darling, you are faithfully mine, and then you 
 have done what Hea ven cannot do for me — 
 you make me happy. Your sweet, precious 
 note has been pressed to these fond lips. Oh, 
 my God, beloved, why say you are miserable 
 when I love you better than my own soul. 
 Doubt you dearest ?—No ! My actions prove 
 to you I do not. Think, my dear angel, of 
 all I feel for you and then you know I do 
 not doubt you. I swear to you I do not doubt 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 40 
 
 you, Kiss me, mine own lore, and tell me 
 you know I never can doubt you. Oh 1 dear¬ 
 est, yon are so kind to me, my heart is full 
 of gratitude to thee, and oh God ! how over¬ 
 flowing with love. To-morrow, dearest, you 
 shall see I doubt you not. As I am so anx¬ 
 ious to see you, I am coming at half pas: 11 
 o’clock. May I, love?—Please say yes, for 
 I am dying to see you, sweet one. Oh, 
 dear, dearest, if you could read this heart, 
 how you would love your Virginia—one so 
 worthy of you—worthy only in one respect 
 —that of deepest devotion. 
 
 I may ride this evening, and now. darling, 
 one request ; if you love me, grant it. Just 
 let me have one kind look, for, believe me, 
 that look will be heaven to me ; it will ena¬ 
 ble me to support the sad hours till we meet. 
 Dearest, you do not know what I have suf¬ 
 fered lately. I am telling you, literally, the 
 truth \vhen_I say for the last three nights I 
 have not slept two hours, and since Monday 
 morning I have not tasted a morsel of food. 
 But, dearest, now I trust these terrible, aw¬ 
 ful sufferings, are over, for now I know you 
 still love me ; and now I am happy, and, 
 dearest, won’t you be happy too ? for, 
 loved one, when you are miserable, I am so 
 too. Therefore, sweet darling, kiss me, and 
 say, you will be happy. To-morrow when 
 we meet, won’t you meet me with a smile 
 and then, then I shall be so happy. 
 
 I shall come to-morrow if it rains torrents. 
 I cannot be disappointed again of my own 
 dear kiss. 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 Separated from you, my own dearest love, 
 my only happiness, is to think of you, every 
 moment, and write all these dear thoughts. 
 Darling, I do feel sad, sad, to-day; for the last 
 hour, I have been all alone weeping—yes ! 
 weeping over a fate as dark, as gloomy as 
 mine—oh ! dear one, you do not know all, I 
 have to make me wretched, dearest, only see 
 how I am situated in this world—bound for¬ 
 ever, to a man who does not hesitate to tell me, 
 he cares nothing for me, treated alas! my God 
 only knows how cruelly. The affection of my 
 father, mother, all my family alienated from 
 me—living in this unhappiness, nay wretched¬ 
 ness, and yet not one hope in the future—I 
 can look tor ho relief, save that of death — each 
 hour liable to be turned from this my only hope 
 and cast on the world a perfect outcast —oh 
 dearest was ever woman so lost, so wretched. 
 Ah ! beloved could you see me, in these mo¬ 
 ments when I suffer so deeply, ah ! how you 
 would pity me. Dear, dear love, my destiny 
 is a dark and drear one, yet in thee, my own 
 one, I have such a haven, how can I complain. 
 'Tis in these moments of sorrow, that 1 long 
 for thee to lay my head on thy bosom, and let 
 thee breath away, the cloud from my soul. 
 Dearest, is it not strange, that thy voice, thy 
 very presence, can tranquilize my mind, when 
 ’tis almost breaking, and how heavenly ’tis to 
 feel thy strengthening and protecting spirit 
 
 over ni6. Oh, dear, dear love, what power 
 you have over this poor heart of mine—I am 
 yours soenti rely, you can make me just what 
 you will. 
 
 “I would not quit one thought of thee, 
 
 Nor bid my dreams ot joy take wing; 
 
 I would not from thy spell be free, 
 
 For all the treasures earth can bring.” 
 
 Oh ! mine own, own one, do I not love thee, 
 deeply, purely, —yes, dearest, mine own dear¬ 
 est, always love thee. Others may give you 
 other inducements and can offer you far richer 
 attractions, for darling I am a poor, desolate, 
 forsaken, creature and all I can give you sweet 
 one, is a pure, true heart. A heart rich in all 
 the treasures of affection, a heart overflowing 
 with love, idolatry for thee and only thee, mine 
 angel, will you reject this ? Oh No 1 Love, 
 dear love, tell me again and again. No.' no! 
 oh ! dearest oh! how beautiful is the affection 
 existing between us—oh ! how heavenly to 
 love, as we love, so purely, so fondly—how 
 divine is this love of ours. I clasp it to my 
 own, as my all, and God grant I may always 
 have it in this close embrace. 
 
 Dear darling, precious one, on Saturday at 
 12 o’clock 1 am in paradise once—'Till I meet 
 you there beloved idol, farewell. 
 
 Thursday Evening. 
 
 Dearest, only one word to say, I am going 
 to ride on horseback to-morrow evening, now 
 about sunset, remember to look for thy 
 
 VIRGINIA. 
 
 Directed to Mr. Hoyt, Exchange Hotel. 
 
 No. 12. 
 
 [The following without date is supposed to 
 have been written, about the first of June.] 
 
 2 o’clock. 
 
 Language cannot express to you, mine own 
 dear love, the feelings of this distracted bosom 
 at this moment. I have just returned home, 
 disappointed at not seeing you. I had pro¬ 
 mised -to go with her this morning to 
 
 make some calls, but after receiving the in¬ 
 telligence of your illness, I felt too miserable 
 to be with a single soul. Nothing induced 
 me to leave the house, but the sweet hope of 
 being with you, even were it but for a mo¬ 
 ment. With this hope, I went to the Ex¬ 
 change. Good God! what were my feelings, 
 as I entered the parlour and found you not 
 there. In that short time was felt the misery 
 of years. Your dear note was there handed 
 me, and oh ! loved one, I felt as if my heart 
 would break, when I read those words telling 
 me of the pain, the agony you were suffering, 
 and that you were not able to see me. My 
 God ! “did ever mortal ” feel as I did then. 
 I can give you no idea of the throbbings of 
 this poor heart ; I w r as alone, and it was most 
 fortunate, for the tears rushed to my eyes, 
 and I felt as if I had no strength to move. 
 It was impossible, dearest, for me to remain 
 out; I was suffering too much to control my 
 feelings; I returned home, dear love, and here 
 in the quiet of my own room. I am sending 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS, 
 
 you these words, which will not, cannot con¬ 
 vey to you the anguish of this poor lacerated 
 bosom. Oh! dearest, I feel as if I should go 
 mad when I reflect, that perhaps I may not 
 see you ere I leave—yes, dearest, I feel it is 
 forever 5 something tells me we are to part 
 forever. Good God! can it be so? or is it a 
 foolish presentiment? Dearest one, did I 
 know that we should never meet again, I 
 would not hesitate one instant—no! I would 
 die by mine own hand ; for oh! love, you 
 know life has nought for me without thy 
 precious self. Dearest idol, I do pray Heaven 
 we may not be severed eternally; no, no! the 
 jvery reflection pierces my soul, wrings my 
 heart with anguish, and yet I cannot drive 
 this fear from me; it seems as if ’twas a 
 1 warning; it haunts me by day, and every 
 night I dream the fearful dream that once 
 separated, we never meet again. Oh ! love, 
 love, that I could chase this frightful thought 
 away, for it has preyed on my mind so much, 
 that it has rendered me perfectly wretched. 
 Oh! dear, loved one, 1 cannot leave without 
 impressing on those precious lips the seal of 
 undying, eternal love. Oh! dearest, to leave 
 without one word from thee, is imposible—I 
 cannot,—and yet I have no resource left me. 
 The command is given and go I must. Dear 
 darling, oh! I pray God you are now better; 
 yes, dearest, since I read your note this morn¬ 
 ing, I have often knelt and prayed Heaven 
 for one so dear to me, one I love better than 
 life itself. Sweet one, I am interrupted by 
 Mr. M.’s return ; but to-night shall write 
 again. 
 
 Thursday night 1-2 past 1 o’clock. 
 
 At this late hour, mine own dearest, behold 
 me writing you. Every soul, save myself, is 
 asleep; no rest for me: I am far too misera¬ 
 ble to sleep. Oh! dear, dearest one, does 
 aot all this tell you of the devotion, the ado¬ 
 ration of this poor heart of mine. My God! 
 sever, never was there such love before. I 
 retired, dear one, but finding I could not sleep 
 stole out of bed, and now, if you could but 
 see me, darling, sitting here, all alone in the 
 leep silence of night, tracing these words, oh! 
 vould you, could you ever doubt the truth of 
 ny perfect affection. Oh! dearest one, what 
 nisery to think you are now ill, suffering, and 
 I, your own dear one, away from you. Oh ! 
 jod, would that I could be beside you this 
 noment, what joy, what happiness ; it crazes 
 ne to think of it. Oh ! that thy dear head 
 : vas now resting on this bosom; thy precious 
 land clasped in mine, and oh! God, that I 
 night now press those sweet lips to mine. 
 I Dear' love, you know not how I long to be 
 i lear you, now that you are suffering ; now, 
 vere I permitted, I might prove to you my 
 render, entire love. Oh ! how I would love 
 o nurse you; how I would delight to minis- 
 er to every want, and I should be so jealous 
 if the dear pleasure, that not one thing shotild 
 rou receive from another. These hands 
 jhould give you all; yes, all you wish. Oh! 
 
 41 
 
 how sweet 'twould be to sit and watch every 
 change in thy dear face, and anticipate and 
 read there every wish ere it was expressed. 
 Oh! that I could now fly to you, press you to 
 my heart, encircle you in the arms of tender¬ 
 ness and love; to have thy dear head rest¬ 
 ing on this arm, and soothe you to sleep 
 with the words of sweet love, and then, while 
 you slept, to bend over you, watch over 
 you, pray for you, to kiss‘those dear lips, 
 while you would be so unconscious of all, to 
 take thy dear hand and hold it close hi mine, 
 to entwine these arms around thy dear neck, 
 and feel that I then held in my embrace all 
 that I loved, all I adored; oh! this would be 
 bliss, yes, bliss unspeakable; the very idea of 
 such happiness thrills the inmost fibres of my 
 soul. But no, it cannot be. Oh! agouizing 
 reflection; you, mine own adored, idolized, 
 being now on a bed of sickness and pain, and 
 I cannot be beside you; I, who love you to 
 such desperation; I, who now would rush 
 through even the pains of Death to ba near 
 you, and yet I cannot. Oh! believe me; am 
 I not right, when I say there neven has existed 
 in all this world, so wretched a poor creature 
 as myself.—What have I on this earth to 
 make me happy,—nothing save thy dear love 
 —nothing save thy own precious self, and 
 loving you till every feeling of this bosom is 
 absorbed in the one burning passion. With 
 all this, we are separated, divided, perhaps 
 eternally; but oh! God, it cannot be; I will 
 not believe that two beings so indissolubly- 
 united by the purest affection, should be 
 severed for ever. Dear love, when I write, 
 or even think on this subject, it almost kills 
 me, and this night I am almost too miserable 
 for existence. I feel this instant 1 could 
 welcome death, so perfectly wretched am I. 
 I fear I shall be ill to-morrow, for I cannot 
 close my eyes in sleep; all I can pray it, that 
 God will have mercy on my soul, for ’tis a 
 bleeding, tom one. Good-night, love, would 
 that I were now watching by thy dear side; 
 then I should be so happy that I would fever 
 wish to sleep, for to sit and nurse you, mine 
 own dearest, would be sweeter than all the 
 rest and sleep I could have. 
 
 Friday, 11 o’clock. 
 
 , Again this morning, behold me writing 
 you. Dear one, I am so miserable I can do 
 nothing but write. Oh loved one, that I 
 could know how- you are now. I pray from 
 my soul that you are better—well. Oh 
 dearest one, would that I could be ill instead 
 of you! Would that I might bear every 
 pain—take from you every suffering. Oh 
 how cheerfully would I do it, for it would be 
 such happiness to think I was suffering in¬ 
 stead of you. Dear love, I have never had 
 these feelings before. My God! do they not 
 speak to you of worship — idolatry? I am in 
 a perfect state of excitement, till I receive 
 your lettei’. Nothing can picture to you my 
 anxiety. I am almost beside myself. Oh 
 that dear letter !=>may it tell me yen are 
 
42 
 
 TRIAL OF MYERS AMD OTHERS. 
 
 better, and thus send one feeling of happiness ] 
 to a broken heart. Now dearest one, I have 
 another, and the strongest proof to give you 
 of my love. Yesterday, when I read your , 
 last note, saying you would not be able to 
 come here on Saturday, I resolved, by some ! 
 means, to defer my departure for a few days, 
 hoping by that delay I should be able to have 
 one dear meeting in this room, consecrated 
 by so many happy associations with thy dear 
 self, mine own love. I cannot bid you adieu 
 anywhere save here, for I have so much to I 
 say to you, that I long for a few hours of | 
 perfect seclusion and privacy. This morning ! 
 
 I entreated Mr. M -only to wait till W ed- ! 
 
 nesday, for I really felt too sick to leave home | 
 on Monday. At first he positively refused, , 
 saying I should go on that day. Dear love, ! 
 it was a great struggle to my own pride, to 
 beg and entreat a man thus, who treats me 
 thus cruelly. But oh dearest! what would 
 I not do to see you once more. He at length 
 told me there was but one condition on which 
 he would remain. He would stay until 
 Wednesday, if I promised what he asked. 
 Good God! When he named the condition, 
 m} r blood was chilled in my veins—for a mo¬ 
 ment I could not speak. Oh dearest! it is 
 a most frightful, awful condition to me, and 
 to yield, is like yielding up all my woman’s 
 pride—all my delicacy. You can imagine 
 the promise, dearest. 1 cannot write it. Dear 
 love Though I shuddered at such a propo¬ 
 sal, I promised it, even though to perform it 
 wifi be like death — for, dearest, I knew if I 
 left Monday, I might not see you but once— 
 perhaps not at all. If I remained, I would 
 see you. This and this only decided me—for 
 oh, mine own one! I would give up all on 
 earth to see you. Loved one, if I could tell 
 you the condition, then you would indeed 
 prize the love which prompted me to yield 
 feelings which you know are yours, and yours i 
 only. Now, dearest one, shall I not see you ' 
 many times ere 1 leave? and will we not ] 
 have one parting here? Oh, this will re- ^ 
 
 compense me for all I have done; and God 
 knows how mnch it is. Dear one, you say, 
 will not 1 come to you to-morrow? Yes, 
 sweet one, that I will, and I would walk so 
 long as I had strength to do so, just for one 
 kind word from those dear lips, I would not 
 be willing for you to come to me to-morrow 
 — for, dear one, I would not have you suffer 
 any fatigue—any exertion. No, not for 
 worlds; and dear one, I fear you thought 
 me unkind yesterday, in asking you to come 
 to the parlor. I knew it was wrong; but, 
 dearest one, forgive me — 1 knew not what 
 I asked. I was perfectly out of my senses | 
 when I wrote you—for love, misery, all, have 
 nearly taken my reason from me. Dearest 
 one, I read your note—it will either send 
 misery or gladness to the heart of your de¬ 
 voted -. Your note has indeed sent 
 
 misery to my heart. God only knows now 
 what will become of me. 1 cannot ■write, 
 
 dearest. All I can say, is to beg, to entreat 
 you to see me to-morrow. I ask it in the 
 name of mercy—in the name of love. I shall 
 be there at precisely half past 12 o’clock; 
 and oh! God grant that we may meet. Not 
 strength for one word more—miserable past 
 experience. 
 
 No. 13. 
 
 [This letter it will be perceived, was written 
 by Mrs. Myers whilst she was staying at her 
 father's in Nelson. It followed immediately 
 the one from the same place, introduced in 
 the body of the testimony.] 
 
 Alta Vista, June 16. 
 
 I wrote you, mine own dearest one, by the 
 last mail, and in that letter, I begged you to 
 send me a long one in return. Since that I 
 have thought over the matter deliberately, 
 and fearing there may be risk in receiving 
 your dear letter, I now write you, my darling, 
 to say you had best not write at all. You, 
 dearest one, who knows how devotedly I love 
 you, know full well what a trial this has been 
 to me, for I had anticipated, with such happi¬ 
 ness, the arrival of your precious letter, and 
 now to be disappointed. Ah! mine own one 
 believe me, it has been a great struggle; but 
 I only hope it will result for our future plea¬ 
 sure. There would be such danger, dearest, 
 for it might fall in other hands, and did I re¬ 
 ceive it I would be questioned closely as to 
 whom it came from; there are a thousand 
 risks to run, which I didn’t think of for the 
 moment; but since I have reflected and con¬ 
 versed with-on the subject, I have come 
 
 to the conclusion you must not write me 
 here. 
 
 When we meet, darling, I will explain 
 some things to you, which I cannot well put 
 on paper, and then you will sec the necessity 
 of my acting in this manner, for, dearest love, 
 nothing but necessity should debar me from 
 the beloved pleasure of reading your dear 
 letter. Oh! sweet one, your letter would 
 have made me so happy, and cheered me so 
 much in this absence. Alas! how hard it is 
 to say you must not write, for now, separated 
 from you, I am so utterly wretched, misera¬ 
 ble, forever fearing you do not love me. Oh! 
 that I could receive one assurance ot affection 
 from you. What joy would it not bring to 
 my poor heart. But, mine angel, I will 
 always believe you love me. When I for an 
 instant think you may change, my very 
 bosom is rent with agony. Oh! could you 
 see me in those moments of fear and doubt, 
 you, dear one, would pity me, for words can¬ 
 not tell how I suffer. To know all the agony 
 I then endure, you must see the hitter tears 
 coursing my cheek, feel the convulsive throb- 
 bings of my heart. 1 know not why it is, 
 dearest, but since I parted from you, I have 
 been tormented by these fears. They have 
 kept me from sleep, they have actually made 
 me too wretched for life, and I have never 
 suffered so much as I have since I last bade 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 43 
 
 jrou adieu; and the reason is, I am so afraid, 
 iear one, you will cease to lore me. My 
 3od, were this to be my fate, what in the 
 lame of Heaven would become of me. I 
 shudder at the thought of such a thing. Oh! 
 iear love, again and again, remember my 
 ife is in your hands, and spare me, darling 
 dol, who loves you to such perfect adoration 
 hat the power of language cannot express it. 
 Dh! dear one, I fear I shall die if I am not 
 :oon restored to you. You caDnot conceive 
 ill I have suffered and still suffer. I am so 
 niserable that I cannot conceal my feelings, 
 md at times so overcome that I am compelled 
 o rush to my room, and there in silence and 
 ears, pray God for strength to support me. 
 vfy only hope is to be with you on Tuesday, 
 he 30th of this month. I hope to remain at 
 he Exchange the first night of our arrival, 
 md as we shall not go to our house till the 
 norning following, perhaps that night I may 
 >e able to say a few words to you alone, 
 fou must remain in the parlor, and we may 
 lave an opportunity—if not, we may be so 
 brtunate as to have one in the morning be- 
 ore I go home. However, ’tis doubtful, as 
 te may remain and accompany me—however, 
 Iear love, I trust, I hope to be with you alone, 
 or I shall really go crazy, if I do not. We 
 must do every thing in our power to accom¬ 
 plish it. You must be at tea, the evening of 
 mr arrival, for I shall be so anxious, fearing 
 hese may have been intercepted, and you 
 lot received them, so dearest love, I beg you, 
 f you have received them, wear the dear ring 
 if love on your right hand, and by this man- 
 ler I shall know all. On the evening of our 
 
 irrival if Mr.-should go to some other 
 
 Hotel, instead of the Exchange, do dear one, 
 he next morning (Wednesday) send your 
 ;ervant to my house with a note, charging 
 lim to deliver it to no one save myself 
 - However, this, I hope, will not be necessary, 
 or I think we shall go to the Exchange. 
 
 Fearing, my dear love, we may have no 
 ipportunity of speaking alone, I shall write 
 'on a note, telling you what day I am coming 
 o the Exchange to meet you, and this note 
 shall contrive to give you as soon as I see 
 mu. Now, love, just one request: I want 
 mu to write me a dear, long letter, and you 
 oo can give it me when we meet, and it will 
 >e such a comfort to me, during the sad days 
 hat must elapse from my arrival in Rich- 
 nond, to the time I can come to you at the 
 
 I Hxchange. You can, in some way, slip it in 
 ny hands, so as to be unobserved by any one. 
 Ho, dear love—won’t you ? Oh, yes, I know 
 mu will. Let it be a long, long letter. Try and 
 vrite a letter every day, and remember what 
 tappiness every word will give your devoted 
 Virginia. Tell me, dearest one, you love 
 ne, and that will make me the happiest of 
 ■ :reated beings. Ah! dear love, would that I 
 tow might throw myself in your arms and 
 -ell you how I love you. When we meet I 
 tave a great deal to tell you. I have spoken 
 
 freely to my mother of my situation, and 
 have much to say to von. Now dearest, 
 sweetest one, till our happy re-union, fake- 
 well. I love you, love you, and you alone. 
 “ Kiss me sweet," and press me to your 
 bosom, as I am 
 
 Your pure, spotless, devoted 
 
 VIRGINIA. 
 
 If you should have written to me, dearest, 
 ere vou receive this, in some way get it out 
 of the Post Office, for I cannot receive a letter 
 frou you here. ’Tis impossible, without 
 running the greatest risk and danger. Have 
 for me a dear, long, kind letter, sweet darling, 
 when we meet, and oh! how I will love you 
 for it. 
 
 No. 14. 
 
 [ The following appears from Mr. Hoyt’s 
 endorsement to have been received “ Friday 
 Aug. 14, 1846,” directed to Mr. Hoyt, Ex¬ 
 change Hotel. It is one of the most impor¬ 
 tant and singular in the whole package. It 
 fully confirms Mosby’s testimony about the 
 interview in No. 18.] 
 
 Tuesday, 3 o’clock. 
 
 I have just returned home and would fain 
 seek relief from the agony I am now en¬ 
 during by writing you, mine own, and only 
 one: yet I cannot, my feelings are such that I 
 have not strength to write, I feel as if I was 
 lost forever—almost distracted. All I can do is 
 to pray Heaven to have mercy on one of the 
 most wretched creatures living. Would to 
 God you could look now in this heart and 
 read there its sorrow. Alas ! alas ! how 
 would your bosom yearn towards me so 
 utterly forsaken by the whole world and so 
 utterly wretched. 
 
 Wednesday Mokning. 
 
 I wrote you dearest, the above lines on yes¬ 
 terday. They speak to you of agonizing 
 emotions. Last night, what miserable hours 
 of waking sorrow! I have not closed my 
 eyes in sleep, and this morning, I am almost 
 exhausted from suffering—yet it is impossible 
 for me to support life, this livelong day with¬ 
 out writing you. Oh! dear, dear, dearest one, 
 I cannot picture to you my misery. It is now 
 overpowering, overwhelming, I can no longer 
 endure it— it must kill me. Dearest, what 
 moments of suffering were those passed yes¬ 
 terday! It chills my very blood to think of 
 them. Dearest darling, you did not love me 
 yesterday. Your manner was so changed 1 
 towards me that I could not fail to observe it. 
 You were actually cold towards me. Oh ! 
 dear, dear love, why is this change? Now I 
 need every kindness, every affection from you 
 to enable me to support life, and now, in this 
 hour of my agony, would you desert me ? 
 Would you, too, my only loved one, leave 
 me, forsake me? You, the only being who 
 has made me cling to this wretched existence. 
 Would you withdraw from me your blessed 
 support? You taken from me, then, then, 
 alas! am I utterly forsaken? Yes, altogether 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 44 
 
 desolate; for, deafest, are you not my all, in 
 this wide world? My family, my friends, 
 have each one proved false to me, and would 
 you too, mine angel! Oh ! what tenfold 
 agony in the very reflection ! But dear 
 adored one, even if you despise me, I cannot 
 blame you, for they tell you I am unworthy 
 of you; they tell you I possess nought to 
 make a woman beloved, and, dear love, it 
 may be you believe them. You may spurn 
 me, cast me from you, as a being altogether 
 worthless; yet I will not utter one complaint. 
 No dearest, I will never reproach you. Ee- 
 jected, spurned, jet I must ever love you ; 
 for to you I am indebted for all the happiness 
 I have ever known in this life, your love has 
 given me such joy as can only be felt in Para¬ 
 dise. You are the only creature who has 
 shown me kindness; you alone, as mine own 
 dear guardian angel, has taught me to bear 
 my sorrow; and can I, will I ever forget these 
 acts of mercy ? No! I call God to witness I 
 never shall, my latest breath shall be spent in 
 praying Heaven to bless you. Yes, I pray 
 my God to bless one, whom I love far better 
 than mine own life. Dear darling one, per¬ 
 haps you no longer love me, but oh! God, cast 
 me not away as unworthy. That you should 
 think me unworthy hreaks my very heart. 
 Dearest, in all humility I kneeel to you, and I 
 implore you, think not too hardly of me.— 
 Oh! believe not all they tell you. Believe not 
 your poor distracted Virginia is not as pure 
 as seraphs above? If you cease to love me, 
 for God’s sake cease not to respect me. Tell 
 me, I entreat you, that 1 shall ever possess 
 your respect, and that at least will take one 
 pang from my agonized bosom. Dear love 
 though they may endeavor to make you be¬ 
 lieve that I am the vilest woman, oh! I have, 
 with all my faults, one virtue left. I love you, 
 dearest one—till words fail to speak such 
 depth, such strength of devotion. But, dar¬ 
 ling, how can you believe what they say of 
 me? Have I not confided to you every feel¬ 
 ing of this bosom? Have I not told you 
 every thought? and oh! dearest, knowing me 
 as you do, my God, how can you lend a lis¬ 
 tening ear to such words as they speak against 
 me? When I think of how I have been 
 wronged, accused, my very heart feels as if it 
 would break; and, dear love, is it not natural 
 I should suffer thus? I am a human being, 1 
 have some of the feelings of humanity, tho’ 
 they would say I had not. My heart is not of 
 stone. I must and I do feel, oh! God alone 
 knows how—it has rent my very soul. But, 
 darling, I care not what they and the whole 
 world think of me, but oh! good God, that 
 you should think harshly of me! This fills 
 the bitter cup of sorrow to overpouring. But, 
 dearest, in your moments of calmness and re¬ 
 flection, you cannot believe what they tell you 
 of me. See with what confidence, what faith 
 I have entrusted to you my happiness, my very 
 life; and would you now deceive me ? Oh! 
 my God, if yon have ceased to love me, then 
 
 I cannot, will not lice -, for hope then, alas! 
 is a blank, an agony. But, darling one, for the 
 sake of mercy, tell me you still respect me . — 
 Dear, dear angel, I blame you not. Mine 
 own brother has told you I was unworthy of 
 you, and 1 cannot blame you for believing him. 
 Man has not power to see every thought of 
 this bosom, but I thank God, he can see all — 
 he knows my sorrows, and as a heavenly fa¬ 
 ther he pities me. This poor heart, broken, 
 torn though it be, is as pure as Heaven itself. 
 Never has one improper thought sullied its 
 brightness. It is filled but with one feeling, 
 and that is love, adoring, idolatrous love for 
 thee. Oh ! dearest, when I think they have 
 made you despise me, good God! whither 
 shall I go? I am alone, unprotected, all de¬ 
 sert me. He whom I worshipped as my idol— 
 my angel—he forsakes me. Now there arc 
 none, none left. Dear one, you have made 
 me love life —you have made me cling to ex¬ 
 istence, and now that you too forsake me— 
 farewell—yes, farewell. I dread not death, I 
 hesitate not to end this wretched existence by 
 my own hands. God will have mercy on my 
 soul, for he will forgive me for taking a life 1 
 can no longer endure. Dear beloved one, I 
 have naught now to live for, and 1 am so mi¬ 
 serable that I have lost my very senses. By 
 my side I have a vial of laudanum, enough 
 and thrice enough to cause death. Only think 
 how happy 1 am to know'just by one draught, 
 I can still the tlirobbings of this heart. I will 
 doit, for oh! I can no longer live. Then, 
 dearest, farewell—yes ,forever ! In one hour, 
 perhaps, you may hear that she wdio loved you 
 so fondly is now no more. Pray for me, dear¬ 
 est—pray God to have mercy on my soul.— 
 But I must die. Oh! God give me strength 
 to drink it. Forgive me, dearest !—oh ! 
 forgive me, for the sake of Heaven. I love 
 you, love you till reason has left me, My 
 God! perhaps this is the last word I shall ever 
 write. Good God! Iam deranged—yes, ac¬ 
 tually deranged! My pen falls from my 
 hand. Oh, God! what wretchedness. 
 
 Wednesday Evening. ‘ 
 lily God, beloved, could you know what 
 were my feelings a few hours since, you 
 would believe what I have often told you, 
 that 1 shall die a maniac. I can scarcely re¬ 
 alize that I am now- living, for I was so near 
 death. Why, why was it that I feared to die? 
 The sweet hope that you might still love me; 
 for this love makes me cling to life—deprived 
 of that love, death has not one sting. I have 
 suffered so intensely to-day, that I was com¬ 
 pelled to take an opiate, under the plea of 
 violent headache. I have slept for several 
 hours, and this has, in some degree, calmed 
 the excitement of feeling. Last night 1 did 
 not even close my eyes, and this bodily ex¬ 
 haustion has augmented the misery of my | 
 mind. When these attacks of perfect agony ! 
 come over me, I verily believe, for the time 
 being, I have not my senses, and I actually 
 fear now to be left alone — I tremble lest, from 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 the desperation of sorrow, I may in a mo¬ 
 ment of rashness put an end to my own ex¬ 
 istence. I tremble when I think what is to 
 be my fete in this world. Oh! dearest, if 
 you could look in this heart and see how 
 wretched, how perfectly miserable I am, you 
 would pity me. There does not beat in the 
 breast of mortals a heart so broken, so lacer¬ 
 ated as mine. You know, beloved one, all 
 my trials, and you do not blame me for being 
 wretched; for, Oh God! I have not hope 
 save the hope of death. Dearest, I pray you 
 forgive me for having thought, for a moment, 
 that you had ceased to love me. On yester¬ 
 day I thought you were very cold towards 
 me; but perhaps because I was suffering so 
 much. I may have wronged you even by 
 thinking so. Forgive me, for I was so un¬ 
 happy that I longed in that hour of sorrow 
 for every proof of affection. I felt that your 
 dear words of love alone could support my 
 sinking heart, and I knew your dear voice 
 alone could revive in my soul the springs of 
 life. But darling, remember I did not blame 
 you. You were given to understand I was 
 unworthy of you; and could I then blame 
 you for ceasing to love so unworthy an ob¬ 
 ject. But Oh! darling one, believe not this 
 of me. This life shall prove to you I am 
 worthy of thee. Dear love, only see how I 
 adore thee; every action of this life shall 
 convince you of the truth, the devotion, the 
 purity of this heart. Oh! dearest, once 
 more let me intreat you, implore you, to love 
 me. ’Tis myall; ’tis my very breath, Oh! 
 to know that you love me—to hear it from 
 thy sweet lips, to see in those dear eyes, those 
 eyes, more eloquent than words. This, this 
 is my happiness, and what trouble, what suf¬ 
 fering, would be too high a price for thy love. 
 Oh! darling, can you ever desert one who 
 loves you as I do? Dearest, when I dwell 
 on the deep, exalted feelings of this heart, 
 which no language can express, I cannot 
 merely say I love you. No, it is something 
 more than love, more even than idolatry to 
 a feeling I cannot describe; but ’tis a sort of 
 worship of intense idolatry which exceeds the 
 very bounds of imagination. Darling, if you 
 could only know how 1 love you, then you 
 would know I was -worthy of you. Mine an¬ 
 gel, I love you to that degree of adoration, 
 my life is in your hands; with you it rests 
 whether I live or die; for this love taken 
 from me, then, alas! death is inevitable. Re¬ 
 member THESE WORDS, AND PAUSE ERE YOU 
 
 decide my rate. Dearest angel, ’tis this 
 fear which makes me so miserable, it almost 
 kills me; and darling, you cannot blame me 
 for feeling thus when you reflect that you are 
 my all in this world; and as the only being I 
 love, it is but natural I should cling to you 
 with such fondness, such tenacity. Darling, 
 1 am so miserable when away from you that 
 hours actually seem days, and since yesterday 
 appears an eternity. * On to-morrow, God 
 grant I may get a dear note from you telling 
 
 45 
 
 me the heavenly words that you still love me. 
 Ah! when shall I meet you? for heaven’s 
 sake let it be instantly, instantly, for this ab¬ 
 sence almost takes from me life itself. I left 
 No. 18 at a most unfortunate moment, I fear, 
 for I observed several persons in the room 
 opposite, whose faces I could not distinguish 
 for my veil, also a servant in the Rotunda. 
 Now I am afraid they will speak of it, for 
 of course they saw the door tried, and then 
 my coming out looked suspicious. I wished 
 I had remained a few moments longer, then 
 I might have left unobserved. Do, darling, 
 try every way and ascertain if any thing has 
 been said by the servants, for 'tis them. Ifear. 
 I can only hope you did not come out the 
 same door I did, for if you did, of course it 
 gave rise to remarks. However, I trust, 
 these are only my fears—but should you find 
 that anything has been said you had best en¬ 
 deavor to explain it away. I think it strange 
 the door should have been tried twice, and I 
 should like you to find out the person so in¬ 
 quisitive. I am almost afraid to go to 41; 
 for there I am so apt to meet-. How¬ 
 
 ever, dearest, I leave it for you to make the 
 arrangement; but I beg you will use all 
 means to find out if any thing has been said, 
 as I feel very anxious to know. I can but 
 regret I left at the time I did; however no 
 one may have recognized me through my 
 veil. You can find out surely. Oh! dearest, 
 if I do not soon see you, I know not what 
 will become of me. Again darling, I be¬ 
 seech you let it be the first moment that it is 
 possible; for loving you as I do, absence is 
 insupportable. From the loss of rest, and 
 opium together, my head aches so badly that 
 I must write no more till to-morrow. Dear 
 love, won’t you kiss your poor, poor Virginia, 
 and say you still love me. 
 
 No. 15. 
 
 3 o’clock Tuesday. 
 
 [No date, but presumed to have been writ¬ 
 ten August 25th.l 
 
 Darling one, I have just returned from the 
 Exchange,, and you can conceive what my 
 feelings are at the bitter, bitter disappointment 
 of not seeing you. Dearest you must forgive 
 me, I cannot write. Could you know half the 
 agony of this heart, you would see how im¬ 
 possible ’tis for me to write. Oh ! mine own 
 dear one, I have never known such suffering 
 before : and if ’tis to endure much longer, 
 death is far preferable. The only thing that 
 supports me now is the hope of seeing you 
 to-morrow. Oh! mine own loved angel, if 
 ’tis possible I implore you to see me. If you 
 can manage it so far as to meet in 41, there 
 you can rest on the sofa ; and think dearest, 
 what happiness you will give her who loves 
 you above the whole world. If you cannot 
 see me, send me a note at 12 o’clock, so if I 
 do not receive one at that hour, I shall fly to 
 you on the wings of love. My God ! the very- 
 thought of it, thrills me with joy. Dearest, 
 
46 TRIAL OR MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 sweetest darling, once more I implore you 
 see me and send happiness to the poor dis¬ 
 tracted bosom of your own VIRGINIA. 
 
 No. 16. 
 
 [On the back of this letter is endorsed 
 “ Wednesday, August 26th, 1846.”—in Mr. 
 Hoyt's hand writing.] 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Dear darling, how awfully, bitterly, disap¬ 
 pointed I am again to-day. Oh ! dearest, I 
 feel as if I should die this day. My God ! I 
 am dying to see you. Dear, dearest one, 
 won’t you write me this morning! Yes, I 
 know you will sweet one, every word will 
 comfort me so sweetly. Darling, you made 
 me so happy last evening by telling me you 
 still loved me. Oh ! could you know the joy 
 those dear words give me, you would not 
 blame me for so often saying—“ Dearest, do 
 you love me !” As I have told you before, 
 ’tis not that I doubt you beloved one, that I 
 ask the question, ’tis only the delight of having 
 you say— 11 Yes, I do love you.” After I left 
 you yesterday, dear one, I repeated to myself 
 those magic words of thine, and oh ! what 
 feelings of bliss did they not create in this 
 bosom—dear, dearest angel, so long as you 
 love me I am perfectly happy. Think of this 
 mine angel, and never, never take from me 
 this precious treasure. Oh God! mine own 
 worshipped one, how I do love you. 
 
 In that hateful letter he says, “ what will 
 you give him next, your very soul?”—yes, 
 1 love you to perfect idolatry, utter adora¬ 
 tion. Yes! I love you to distraction itself. 
 
 No. 17. 
 
 [Endorsed Friday, August 31st- 1846.] 
 Thursday, 30th. 
 
 Darling, 1 do feel sad, sad to-day. For 
 the last hour I have been all alone weeping. 
 Yes! weeping, over a fate as dark, as gloomy 
 as mine. Oh, dear one, you do not know all 
 I have to make me wretched. Dearest, only 
 see how I am situated in this world; bound 
 former to a man who does not hesitate to 
 tell me he cares nothing for me— treated, 
 alas! my God only knows how cruelly'. The 
 affection of my father, mother, all ray family, 
 alienated from me. Living in this unhappi¬ 
 ness, nay, wretchedness, and yet, not one 
 hope in the future — I can look for no relief 
 save that of death. Each hour liable to be 
 turned from this my only home and cast upon 
 the world a perfect outcast. Oh ! dearest, 
 was ever woman so lost, so wretched. 'Tis 
 in these moments of sorrow, that 1 long for 
 thee to lay my head on thy bosom, and let 
 thee breathe away the cloud from my soul. I 
 am yours so entirely that you can make me 
 just what you please. 
 
 1 would not quit one thought of thee, 
 
 Nor bid my dream of joy take wing, 
 
 I would not from thy spell be free, 
 
 For all the treasures earth can bring. 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 No. 18 . 
 
 [The following is endorsed, Monday, 21st 
 September, 1846. The letter through Boy- 
 den, that she says she is so anxious about, 
 had been intercepted by Col. Myers on the 
 16th.] 
 
 Monday, half-past 2 o’clock. 
 
 T shall be at the window, front, just above 
 the front steps, to-night, at 12 o’clock pre¬ 
 cisely —that is, if the family have retired. If j 
 not there at that hour, icait till I come. I 
 will give you a farewell note, attached to a 
 string. After you take mine, tie your note 
 to the string and I will draw it up—I will 
 know it is you by your waving your white 
 handkerchief. Write me every moment this 
 afternoon; for remember I shall not hear 
 from you again for a long while. Answer every 
 word of this letter; tell me how you feel for 
 me. Remember those words are to support me 
 to-morrow through the greatest trial woman 
 has ever been called to endure. Tell me you 
 are for ever mine, and then they may condemn 
 me. I will only cling closer to thee. Have 
 no fear of writing, for every word is burned 
 instantly. Tell me you will write me so soon 
 as I get every thing safely. Dearest, on this 
 promise life depends. Till to-night, farewell. 
 
 Your poor miserable, but devoted --. 
 
 Did you receive a letter through Boyden? 
 
 I sent you one, and am anxious about it. 
 
 No. 19. 
 
 [The following is, no doubt, the “ farewell 
 note,” which he received “ attached to the 
 string.” It was probably the last token of 
 affection he ever received from this guilty, 
 but unfortunate woman:] 
 
 Monday, 21st Sept. 
 
 Oh God! was ever misery like mine! 
 wretched days and sleepless nights. Oh God! 
 what is hope to me now ! To-morrow de¬ 
 cides my fate. I am separated from my hus¬ 
 band, and compelled to return to a home 
 where I know not how 1 shall be received. 
 My father is a stem-hearted man —from him 
 I can receive nothing but unkindness, per¬ 
 haps cruelty; but, oh God! defend me from 
 this fate ! Oh, what is it that stays my hand, 
 when all this misery may be ended in one 
 moment? My God ! this life must be taken! 
 
 I cannot support it. Oh that I had strength 
 to WTite you, but this poor bosom is too ago¬ 
 nized for one wefrd. Oh that I could see you 
 but for one moment— just one instant; but 
 no, alas! it cannot be! Dearest, for one 
 hour last night did I sit at the window just 
 over the steps, hoping to see you; but you 
 did not come. My God! just for one hour 
 with thee, 1 would give up life itself. You 
 
 ask me if Dr. and Mrs.-are kind to 
 
 me? Dr.-is so incensed against me, 
 
 that he will not even see me. He believes I 
 wrote the letters. He says they are so filled 
 with love and idolatry, that he never believed 
 before woman could iove with such intensity. 
 They are indeed awful letters —every word 
 
TRIAL OP MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 breathing the deepest, fondest love. Mrs. 
 
 —-has been like an angel to me. She 
 
 believes me innocent, pure and heavenly.— 
 She feels for me more than I dared hope any 
 one would feel for me. She sleeps with me, 
 soothes me, prays for me, when I am in such 
 agony that I am almost a maniac. Some¬ 
 times I have suffered so, that in order to allay 
 my miseries, I have taken 40 drops of laud¬ 
 anum. Every day since that fatal Thursday 
 |;I have taken opium every five hours; for 
 without it I should have died, No mortal 
 could endure agonies like mine. Oh God 1 
 when I think on my future fate, I am beside 
 myself—going to a house where I shall meet 
 nothing save harshness—no being to speak 
 one word of comfort—one word of kindness 
 —all cold, chilling to me—perhaps on a bed 
 of illness, death—no creature to smooth my 
 dying pillow. Oh Godl God! God! the 
 thought kills me; alas! what may be reality? 
 Dearest, never forget—never forget— swear 
 *to me you never will, your promise that my 
 last moments shall be spent with you. You 
 shall be sent for—that I promise; and oh, tell 
 me you will not refuse to come—promise me 
 —nay, swear it, then I will be happy, know¬ 
 ing the last breath will be in thy arms. I 
 expect nothing from my family but unkind¬ 
 ness ; and now I wish you to advise me on 
 this subject. Dear one, you are my all, and 
 on you I depend for every thing. I have told 
 you that I have means sufficient to support 
 myself for a year: should my treatment at 
 home be such as I fear it will be, what would 
 you advise me to do? If they treat me cru¬ 
 elly, you certainly would not wish me to en¬ 
 dure it. I have a very dear friend at Washing- 
 ton, Mrs.-, a woman of the very first fa¬ 
 
 mily and standing. She is so devoted to me, 
 that she will refuse me nothing. She loves 
 me she says as her child. Shall I apply to 
 her to get me a situation as teacher in some 
 school, or any other employment she might 
 see fit? I can write to her and go to her 
 unknown to my family, for perhaps if they 
 knew it, they would not let me go. Will not 
 this be a good arrangement? I have such 
 confidence in her devotion to me, that I know 
 she will not refuse me any favour, however 
 great—indeed I know she would insist on my 
 remaining with her;—but that I would agree 
 to only on one condition—that she allows me 
 to earn my own support. Did you know how 
 she loves me, you would be sure that I would 
 meet from her unbounded kindness. Now, 
 dearest, know how coldly, how unkindly I am 
 to be treated at home. They will treat me 
 so as to break my heart, and oh ! I cannot 
 endure more than I am now suffering! In 
 your letter to -night, tell me how I shall act in 
 this affair, for I will do nothing without your 
 advice. Oh, my very heart bleeds, when I 
 think of the trials before me! Oh, you do 
 pity me! Think of me to-morrow, when my 
 fate is to be decided; and oh, pray God to 
 have mercy on me! Dear one, I trust you 
 
 47 
 
 will send me the ring, for now I need every 
 kindness from you, to strengthen and support 
 me; and oh that ring will be such a solace. 
 For the sake of mercy refuse it not. All my 
 friends, believing me to be ill, not haying 
 heard of my distress, have been to see me, 
 but my mind is in such a state, I have seen 
 no one. Every hour I receive some message 
 
 from some of them. J. W-has been 
 
 every day, but I can see no one. I am in too 
 much agony ; and Col. M—-— forbids my 
 mentioning the subject to a creature ; and 
 dearest, do you not think, in justice to myself, I 
 should have told my friends of this—for when 
 I am gone, they will hear Col. M-’s state¬ 
 
 ment. He will be believed, and I shall not 
 be here to defend my friends of all, but I am 
 not allowed to do so. They will hear my 
 accusers when I am gone, and I shall not be 
 here to say I am innocent. Oh, how unjust 
 they are to me ! In those letters there is not 
 a word said of our meeting once in the par¬ 
 lour. Dearest, once moie, promise never 
 
 to speak to P. B,-. Col. M-told 
 
 Dr. C-, that P. E- told him of 
 
 things which occurred between us, saying he 
 had them from Boyden, who was “our friend.” 
 
 P. E-spoke of you vilely, to Col. M-, 
 
 saying you were not a fit associate for men; 
 also told him of a certain woman whom you 
 
 had as a-; but my God! all I ask is, 
 
 shun him, for he is the ruiner of my peace— 
 as such, could you speak to him? Dearest, 
 I know I shall leave here either to-morrow 
 or Wednesday, for home. After I am at 
 home, I shall write you, telling you all, for 
 fear of danger. I shall enclose the letter to 
 Boyden, putting it in the office with my own 
 hands. In that letter, I shall form some ar¬ 
 rangement by which you can write me. It 
 shall be without risk—for all shall be fixed 
 with the greatest precaution. I think now, 
 of getting a friend of mine, with whom I am 
 exceedingly intimate, to allow me to receive 
 your letters through him. He is very fond 
 of me, and I know will agree to it—perfectly 
 honorable, and therefore there cannot be the 
 least danger. He will deliver your letters to 
 me in person. In your letter to-night, tell 
 me if you will agree to this. I know you 
 will, for could you refuse me such a happiness 
 —separated from you, and not hear from 
 you—this is utterly impossible, impossible. 
 Oh dearest! tell me you will do this, when 
 I write you it has been arranged perfectly 
 safe, I entreat you, as my last request, refuse 
 me not—for, refuse me this, and take, take 
 away life. Oh dear! how we will pass the 
 days of absence, knowing that we are faith¬ 
 ful, constant—and I feel that ere long, God 
 will make us happy. Yes, dearest, I some¬ 
 times think this trial which is now so grievous, 
 is to be the means of finally uniting us for¬ 
 ever. If you are faithful, it will be so; for 
 ere long, I may be free, honorably free, and 
 then I am yours. Tell me, beloved, do you 
 not believe I shall one day be thine? Do 
 
TRIAL OF MYERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 48 
 
 you not believe this very circumstance is to 
 bring me to thee? Oh, God grant it. There 
 is only one fear—that is— change. If we 
 continue to love, God says, we shall be happy. 
 Dearest, now tell me you will always love 
 me, and we will wait patiently for the hour 
 of our re-union. If we love always, there 
 can he nothing to prevent our being united 
 —for I shall be free, and then I am thine. 
 Dearest, do you think you can stand this 
 test? When you write in your note to-night, 
 tell me, for that will support me when all 
 else fails. The' hope, the belief, that we are 
 to bo one day happy, and I swear nothing 
 shali prevent it, if you love me. To-morrow, 
 dearest, we part, yet ’tis not forever. No, 
 the h jut comes when we shall be happy. 
 Oh di>arest, the belief that we shall be faith¬ 
 ful, constant, supports me. I can stand eve¬ 
 rything while you love me. Promise me 
 that no being shall have one thought, one 
 feeling of thine. Love me, and I again 
 swear, nothing shall prevent my being yours, 
 and honorably yours. This separation is a 
 grievous trial, but we will look beyond it to 
 the blight day of our meeting. I cannot 
 write, for alas! alas! I am too wretched. 
 Oh dearest, pray for me. Tell me, when I 
 am gone will you pray for me? Oh that 
 those letters had not been intercepted! But 
 alas ! it was from no carelessness of mine. I 
 knew not that the servant was my spy. I 
 coul 1 not forsee this. No, it was decreed by 
 God all these trials should come on me. I 
 havo learned one lesson. I will never trust 
 a human being again with a letter. I put 
 then i in the office with mine own hands, and 
 I retewe them in those hands. No one will 
 I trast, exept a man whom I know to be 
 worthy of my confidence. He shall be our 
 frieiid. 
 
 No. 20. 
 
 [The following letter was written by Mrs. 
 Myers after she had been taken to her father’s 
 house .and is dated the very day upon which 
 Hoyt died. Consequently, he never saw it, 
 and it must have been placed in the package 
 with the others, by some of his friends.] 
 
 Alta Vista, Oct. 9tli. 
 
 Having learned, through the medium of a 
 friend, that all my letters addressed to you 
 duriag the whole period of my acquaintance, 
 havo been placed in the hands of Dr. Mills, 
 with directions from you to circulate them 
 freely and extensively through Rihhmond, in 
 order to show the public that you were sought 
 and nduccd by me, thus increasing popular 
 
 prejudice against me, you can surely imagine 
 how I was shocked and astonished at this in¬ 
 telligence. 1 could scarce believe that you, 
 whom I had deemed so honorable, so gener¬ 
 ous, should have acted in this manner to¬ 
 wards me, overwhelmed as I am by grief and 
 anguish. Those letters were written in the 
 most confiding spirit, and without one thought 
 that, in the tempest of public feeling, they 
 would be exposed by you indiscriminately to 
 the perusal of a mixed community. Had 
 they been written fof public inspection, how 
 differently would they have been penned! 
 
 I do not write with a view to upbraid or 
 reproach you; but conscience will have its 
 empire, and so cruel an exposure of what I 
 once deemed sacred, will not be without its 
 reward. I now beg you that you will at once 
 surrender to me all my letters and communi¬ 
 cations to yourself. I cannot believe that 
 you will momentarily hesitate to send them 
 to me without any delay, inasmuch as the 
 request you made me to destroy every line 
 penned by you to myself, was so trustingly 
 performed. If you are acting from revenge, 
 you may be assured the communications in¬ 
 tercepted by Colonel Myers, and now in the 
 possession of my enemies, are sufficient to 
 crush me forever, devastate every hope, and 
 destroy all my prospects of happiness. I en¬ 
 treat you pause, and reflect that the wreck of 
 my destiny is complete, without further assis¬ 
 tance from your hand. I trust you will re¬ 
 frain from exposiug any of my letters to you, 
 now in the hands of Dr. Mills, in the public 
 Court. This I entreat of you. You can 
 imagine how I shrink from such an exposure 
 of letters, written in such sacred confidence. 
 Spare me this blow, at least, for I am over¬ 
 whelmed with sorrow. Grant this my last 
 and only request. You would not, surely, 
 by such a course, lacerate more deeply the 
 wounds already and forever inflicted on my 
 peace, my reputation and my hope. 
 
 In anguish and grief, 
 
 Virginia Myers, <| 
 
 You can seal up my letters in a package 
 and send them to me by mail, or put them iu 
 a small box and send them by the boat. 
 Direct, Warren, Albemarle, Va. 
 
 [There were many other letters produced 
 in court to which we could have had access, 
 but as these were the only ones that were 
 offered in evidence, we considered that they 
 were the only ones the public had a right to 
 see.] 
 
 TEE END. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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