UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 AT URBANA-CKAMPA1GN 
 STACKS
 
 SUPPRESSED SENSATIONS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LEAVES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 NOTE BOOK OF A CHICAGO REPORTER. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 Chicago : 
 RAND, McNALLY & CO. 
 
 1879.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, ty 
 
 RAND, McNALLY & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
 
 tf- 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 'HE collection of stories here 
 presented form the "abstract 
 and brief chronicle" of certain 
 events which from time to time 
 have come under the notice of the 
 writer. In a few instances a part of 
 the story has found its way into the news- 
 papers, but in the majority of cases the 
 "sensations" were literally "suppressed." For obvious 
 reasons some changes have been made in names and 
 locations, but the tales are substantially what they pur- 
 port to be Leaves from the Note Book of a 
 
 REPORTER.
 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGES 
 
 LEAF I. A MYSTERIOUS MURDER,- - 5 26 
 
 " II. THE ROMANCE OF A TRAMP, 27 48 
 
 " III. THE CARNIVAL'S VICTIM, - 49 74 
 
 " IV. THE STORY OP A WAIF, - 75 94 
 
 " V. THE TELL-TALE SKULL, - - 95122 
 
 " VI. -JANET AND JAMIE, 123138 
 
 " VII. THE WITNESS FROM THE DEAD, - 139154 
 
 " VIII. FANNY MORDAUNT'S LOVE, - 155174 
 
 " IX. THE MAN WITH THE COMICAL HAT, - 175186 
 
 X. TRUE LOVE AND FALSE FRIENDSHIP, 187198 
 
 " XI. "PizuN JACK" OF TEXAS, - - 199214 
 
 " XII. GLORIA A TALE OF FOUR CITIES, - 215242 
 
 " XIII. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER, - - 243 254
 
 LEAF I. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS MURDER, 
 
 HICAGO has always- 
 been notorious for its. 
 criminals. Other cit- 
 ies can boast of des- 
 perate thieves, thugs, 
 and murderers, but 
 for ingenious rascality 
 and blood - curdling 
 scoundrelism, the out- 
 laws of the Gardea 
 City carry off the 
 palm. No satisfactory explanation of 
 our excessive criminality has ever been 
 given, and it is not my purpose to attempt 
 one. It may be that the lax administration 
 of justice in the city encourages the thief and 
 midnight assassin ; it may be that our citizens 
 
 (5) 
 
 Cti
 
 8 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 have learned to look upon pre-eminence in vice 
 and wickedness as an additional feather in the 
 cap of the Northwestern metropolis ; it may be 
 that our unchecked gambling dens and our un- 
 bridled saloons have had the effect of making our 
 criminals more reckless and daring than the same 
 class in other cities. Whatever the cause, such 
 is the fact. 
 
 But it is not alone in the lower and brutal grades 
 -of crime that Chicago stands pre-eminent. A cer- 
 tain looseness of morals exists which has no par- 
 allel in any other city in the world. The divorce 
 courts are blocked with business, and the deadly 
 canker of domestic infelicity is daily destroying 
 thousands of homes which should be temples of 
 love and joy and peace. 
 
 Strange and horrible crimes often spring from 
 this domestic discord. This leaf will reveal one 
 of many features of horror and painful sadness. 
 It will show to what extent misguided passion 
 will lead its victims to what extreme a deceived 
 woman will go for revenge. 
 
 . In the spring of 1873 the community was 
 shocked by the murder of a prominent citizen 
 in one of the best known and most splendidly 
 appointed of our hotels. A number of mysterious
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 
 
 circumstances surrounded the case. The man a 
 large and prosperous merchant had visited the 
 hotel alone early in the evening, and registering 
 as "Jas. Russell, Cleveland, Ohio," engaged a 
 room for the night. He told the clerk that his 
 wife, who was visiting friends at Evanston, would 
 arrive at the hotel within an hour or two, and he 
 gave instructions that she should be shown up 
 to his apartment. In, the meantime he would lie 
 down and rest, as he felt somewhat sick. 
 
 About half-past nine, a lady closely veiled but 
 answering the description given, inquired for Mr. 
 James Russell, and was shown to the room. The 
 lights were burning very low, and the gentleman 
 was apparently asleep on the couch. The lady 
 sat down by his side and stroked his head caress- 
 ingly, but did not wake him. This much the 
 attendant saw before closing the door. 
 
 M. . Russell had requested to be called at eight 
 the next morning. At that hour a domestic 
 rapped at the door, but getting no response, she 
 knocked and knocked again, and, receiving no 
 answer, turned the handle. To her surprise the 
 door was not locked. She opened it and looking 
 into the apartment saw Russell was lying on the 
 couch. She approached with the intention of
 
 8 Suppressed, Sensations. 
 
 arousing him, but started back in horror when 
 she saw a bullet wound in his forehead, and a 
 pool of blood on the floor. 
 
 The rest of the house was speedily aroused, 
 and a scene of the wildest excitement ensued. 
 Messengers were hurriedly dispatched to the 
 police head-quarters, and the office of the coroner. 
 There was great commotion and consternation 
 among the guests. Doctors were summoned, and 
 declared that Mr. Russell had been dead a num- 
 ber of hours. Search was made for the weapon, 
 but none was found. No one remembered the 
 lady leaving the house. No one could give an 
 intelligent description of her appearance. She 
 was a stranger to the neighborhood. 
 
 The position of the wound, as well as the 
 course of the bullet, precluded the idea of 
 suicide. It was evident that Russell had been 
 murdered, and that the assassin was the lady 
 with whom he had an appointment the night 
 before. 
 
 These, in brief, were the facts which came out 
 on the inquest. Detective skill was employed to 
 ferret out the murderess. Days, weeks and 
 months passed, but the crime remained shrouded 
 in mystery. The house suffered greatly. It was,
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 9 
 
 although not one of the largest, yet one of the 
 finest in the city, and patronized by high class 
 customers, who preferred its quiet elegance and 
 home comforts to the more pretentious glitter of 
 the great hotels. But from this time its decay 
 was rapid, and it has never recovered from the 
 shock. 
 
 Mr. Russell was a married man, as well as a 
 member of one of the fashionable churches, and 
 his sudden and horrible death was a great shock 
 to those who knew him. For weeks the matter 
 was discussed in social circles, and expressions 
 of horror were heard on all sides. 
 
 The domestic relationships of the murdered 
 man had always seemed calm and felicitous. His 
 wife was a pretty, well-formed brunette, of rare 
 intelligence and accomplishments. She was de- 
 voted to her husband, who in turn appeared to 
 lose ro opportunity of paying her attentions gen- 
 erally deemed outside the regulation duty of a 
 well-established spouse. 
 
 Their residence on Michigan avenue was a 
 model of comfort and refinement. Each season 
 small parties had been given by Mr. and Mrs. 
 Russell, which were famed in social circles for 
 good taste and pleasurable success.
 
 10 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 At the inquest, and for several months after- 
 wards, the widow was bowed down with grief. 
 She testified always to the deep affection which 
 her husband had shown since marriage, and tears 
 coursed down her cheeks when she related the 
 many acts of love and kindness he had per- 
 formed. She was heart-broken at the manner of 
 his death, and any allusion thereto caused her to 
 break down in a painful fit of weeping. 
 
 Six months after the tragedy, still the same 
 sorrowing, grief-stricken woman, Mrs. Russell 
 broke up her establishment and went East. For 
 some time her most intimate friends lost sight of 
 her. 
 
 In due time the daily press dropped the sen- 
 sation. It ran the usual course. Other horrors 
 intervened, and the interest in the Eussell mur- 
 der was swamped. 
 
 While working up the case I became acquainted 
 with a young detective named Harris. He was 
 an enthusiast in his profession, and naturally 
 took a great interest in this mysterious affair. 
 Every now and then he would advance a theory 
 directly opposed to the popular one, and I would 
 as frequently pooh-pooh him into silence. But 
 Harris kept on in his course of investigation,
 
 12 Suppressed -Sensations. 
 
 and had great hopes of pocketing the $1,000 re- 
 ward offered by the widow for the apprehension 
 and conviction of the murderess. 
 
 In justice to the detective profession, without 
 going into details I may state that Harris' theory 
 did not turn out correct. 
 
 Its elaboration, however, resulted in the unrav- 
 -elment of the crime, and the motives which 
 prompted it. Harris was as much shocked at 
 the denouement as the writer was, and as the 
 reader undoubtedly will be. 
 
 One evening in the autumn of 1875 Harris 
 called upon me in the office, and said he had 
 something of unusual importance for my private 
 ^ar. I dispatched my work as rapidly as possi- 
 ble, and we repaired to an out-of-the-way beer 
 saloon, where we could talk with freedom. 
 
 The story which Harris unfolded was deeply 
 interesting. I will give it, as near as possible, in 
 his own words : 
 
 "You remember the Russell murder, Frank? 
 I have got the right scent at last. Don' t laugh 
 until you hear what I have to say. I' ve said 
 little about the matter lately, but I have been 
 working unceasingly on the case. I have dis- 
 covered the murderess ! ' '
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 13 
 
 I suppose I looked incredulous, for Harris con- 
 tinued, in a nettled tone, "Now, don't make a 
 fool of yourself until you hear the facts. You 
 must promise me faithfully that you will keep 
 the thing quiet until I give you permission to 
 publish." 
 
 Newspaper men are often called upon to give 
 pledges of this character, and I had no hesita- 
 tion in passing my word/ that nothing should be 
 revealed until Harris was ready. 
 
 "You remember/' resumed the young detect- 
 ive, "my old theory. I never told the circum- 
 stances upon which it was based, but I must 
 communicate them now for you to properly 
 understand what I am going to tell you. You 
 remember that the servant who ushered the 
 strange lady into the room where Russell was 
 resting on the couch, told of her caressingly 
 stroking the victim' s head. I need not tell you 
 that it is almost impossible for a woman to be so 
 near a man and leave no trace of her presence. 
 I am a married man and have often felt sheepish 
 when my wife has picked a long hair from my 
 coat, although I could take an oath that I had 
 been up to nothing wrong. Well, I carefully 
 examined Russell's coat collar, afH was rewarded
 
 14 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 by finding a hair six inches in length. It is 
 here." 
 
 Harris pulled out his pocket-book and pro- 
 duced a yellow hair, carefully wrapped in tissue 
 paper. I examined it, but could not see that it 
 differed from other yellow hairs. The detective 
 must have noticed this from the expression of 
 my face, since he proceeded with his yarn with 
 a smile indicative of superior wisdom. 
 
 "When I secured this prize, I knew I had a 
 clue which might lead to the detection of the 
 murderess. I jumped to the conclusion that the 
 man had been killed by a blonde, and for weeks 
 I tried to discover who the fair fiend was. My 
 first step was to find out whether Russell had 
 been in the habit of 'going around.' Careful 
 inquiries revealed the fact that, like some other 
 married men, he was not averse to forbidden 
 fruit. But all my efforts to connect him with a 
 fair-haired woman were fruitless. He seemed to 
 have had a special liking for dark beauties. 
 
 "I pumped the widow to ascertain whether 
 she knew aught of her husband's public habits, 
 but she persisted in the statement that Mr. 
 Russell acted in every respect like a model 
 husband. Theflrervants could give me no atis-
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 15 
 
 faction with regard to quarrels or jealous out- 
 bursts. Had it not been for the knowledge I 
 gained outside, I should have been forced to the 
 conclusion that the murdered merchant's charac- 
 ter was of the most correct and exemplary kind. 
 "While musing over the case in a country 
 hotel, one day, I happened to pick up an old 
 and tattered copy of a Chicago daily. My eye 
 came across the following * personal ' : 
 
 "OEAUTIFUL BLONDE. Will the lady who recognized the 
 *-* gentleman at the corner of State and Madison, yesterday, 
 send her address, in confidence, to R., Box 595, Post Office. 
 
 "It may have been the word 'blonde,' jump- 
 ing with the subject uppermost in my mind, or it 
 may have been some kind of magnetic inspira- 
 tion, but a queer sort of sensation ran through 
 my system, and I felt that I had struck another 
 link in the chain of evidence, which would lead 
 up to the detection and punishment of the assas- 
 sin. I looked at the heading of the paper. It 
 was dated six days before the murder. I seized 
 a time table and found that a train left for Chi- 
 cago in fifteen minutes. To settle my bill and 
 leave my job in the hands of an assistant, was 
 the work of but a few moments, and I was soon 
 speeding towards Chicago.
 
 16 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "On arriving, I took a carriage and drove at 
 once to the post office. My suspicion was con- 
 firmed. Box 595, at the time of the murder, was 
 held by Russell ! 
 
 "I at once sought a consultation with my 
 chief. He was almost as excited as myself. 
 'Harry, my boy,' he said, 'you have struck it; 
 go ahead.' We agreed upon a plan of opera- 
 tions, but I need not bore you with its details. 
 
 "I hunted up the domestic who accompanied 
 the strange lady to the room of Mr. R. She 
 repeated the story of the female visitor on the 
 fatal night being closely veiled, and added that 
 her voice was soft and bell-like, and she had 
 yellow hair. 
 
 "I searched the files of the daily paper in 
 which the advertisement appeared, but could 
 find no other ' personal ' which seemed to bear 
 on the case. Two things were certain : that Mr. 
 Russell had sought an appointment with a 
 blonde lady, and that the mysterious visitor at 
 the - - hotel had yellow hair. 
 
 "But what motive could a strange woman 
 have in murdering Russell ? Plunder was not 
 the object, since his gold watch, money and 
 other valuables were left untouched on his per-
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 17 
 
 son. There was no evidence pointing towards a 
 quarrel. The position of the dead body clearly 
 indicated that the man was lying peacefully on 
 the couch when the fatal shot was fired. 
 
 "I tried every means known to the profession, 
 to discover whether Russell had received a letter 
 from the blonde. No papers of any consequence 
 were found in the pockets of the murdered man. 
 From a former clerk in TCussell' s office, I learned 
 that the second day after the appearance of the 
 advertisement, among the letters was one ad- 
 dressed simply with an initial and the number of 
 the post office box. This the merchant read first, 
 and thrust into the rear pocket of his pants. 
 Two days afterwards another letter in the same 
 handwriting, but fully addressed, came, and was 
 torn up after being read by Mr. Russell. 
 
 "I sought an interview with the widow. She 
 told mo, through her sobs, that her husband had 
 stated he would not be home early, on the even- 
 ing of the murder. He gave no reason and she 
 did not ask one. 
 
 "This last remark struck me as rather singu- 
 lar. Was he in the habit of staying out late 
 without tendering '<* reason or excuse \ No, she 
 had never known it to happen before.
 
 18 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "This, also, struck me as singular. The 
 most exemplary husbands stay out now and 
 then, and I thought Mrs. Russell, instead of 
 trying to aid me in the search for the assassin, 
 was knowingly keeping back necessary infor- 
 mation. 
 
 "I left the widow, after making arrangements 
 for another interview. To my astonishment the 
 next day her residence was advertised for imme- 
 diate sale, the furniture to be auctioned the fol- 
 lowing day. 
 
 " I attended the sale. The goods were sold at 
 an immense sacrifice, and a chum of mine took 
 advantage of the opportunity to purchase a 
 bureau for his bedroom. Mrs. Russell had taken 
 up temporary quarters at the Palmer House. 
 
 "On getting the bureau to his lodgings, my 
 friend began to dust out the drawers. On open- 
 ing one he found an old yellow wig, done up in a 
 fashionable shape. He mentioned the circum- 
 stance to me, and I persuaded him to give me 
 the wig, on the ground that it would be useful in 
 my professional pursuits. 
 
 "I lost no time in taking my treasure to the 
 office, I compared the hair of the wig with the 
 one I picked from off Russell's coat collar.
 
 ; 
 
 A Mysterious Miirder. 
 
 They were exactly alike in color and texture. I 
 procured a strong microscope and by the aid of 
 its piercing vision found similarities which could 
 not be seen by the naked eye. I went in search 
 of all the yellow wigs in the city. With none 
 did the hair correspond in every particular as 
 with the wig found in the bureau. 
 
 "I became convinced that the person who shot 
 Russell wore that old ye] low wig! 
 
 "But to make assurance doubly sure, I con- 
 sulted an able scientist a gentleman who has 
 rendered valuable services in numerous intricate 
 murder cases. I entrusted the single hair to his 
 hands, with a request that he should make a 
 report as to its peculiarities, if it possessed any. 
 In two weeks' time I received his report. It was, 
 of course, full of technicalities and scientific 
 jargon, but the pith was that the hair had not 
 fallen from the head of a living person ! 
 
 "His reasons for this opinion were abstruse, 
 but were none the less convincing. He pointed 
 out certain peculiarities about the roots of hu- 
 man hair which he failed to find in the one I had 
 submitted for his inspection. This, he was pre- 
 pared to prove by scientific reasoning, was cut 
 from a woman's head.
 
 20 
 
 Suppressed Sensatibns. 
 
 "I next took him the yellow wig, and after a 
 few moments of comparison, he positively de- 
 clared that the hair which I had taken from the 
 coat collar dropped therefrom ! " 
 
 Harris paused at this juncture. He evidently 
 expected me to make some remark, and I asked 
 if he had imparted to me the full extent of his 
 researches.
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 21 
 
 "Yes," he replied, emphatically ; "But I can 
 lay my finger on the murderess at any moment ! " 
 
 "Who in the world is she?" I inquired, half 
 expecting what his answer would be. 
 
 "Mrs. Russell," was the rejoinder, given in a 
 stage whisper. 
 
 "But the finding of this wig in a bureau 
 which formerly belonged to her is not conclusive 
 proof that she committed the horrible crime," I 
 reasoned. 
 
 "Perhaps not to the reportorial mind, but it is 
 to mine. Listen. The stories the widow has 
 told about their happy marital relations are all 
 bosh. My theory now is, that she loved Russell 
 to distraction. His pecadillos became known to 
 her, and she was fired with jealousy. She saw 
 this ' personal ' I have spoken of. She answered 
 it, appointing a time and place of meeting. Her 
 whole moral nature revolted at this last evidence 
 of her husband' s infidelity. She worked herself 
 up to a frenzy of passion. She determined to keep 
 the appointment, perhaps at first with the hope 
 that she might win Russell back to a life of 
 rectitude. She disguised herself in the old wig, 
 the better to carry out her plans. She entered 
 the room and found her recreant spouse sleeping
 
 22 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 calmly while awaiting the coming of another. 
 The demon of revenge and hatred got possession 
 of her. She fired the fatal shot and sent the 
 guilty soul of her husband into eternity ! Then 
 she hurried from the house. I am ready to stake 
 my professional reputation on the correctness of 
 this theory." 
 
 I muttered something about its being strange 
 that none of the inmates of the house heard the 
 report of the pistol. 
 
 "Oh," said Harris, "there is nothing peculiar 
 about that. You know the racket that is 
 often kicked up in the parlors of .hotels. My 
 explanation is, that there was a boisterous 
 party in the house at the time, and the noise 
 of the shot escaped attention amid the general 
 confusion." 
 
 " Well, what do you propose to do ? " was my 
 next query. 
 
 "Do?" he rejoined, with a glitter of excite- 
 meiit in his eyes, "I am going to frighten her 
 into a confession. If I can bring this case to a 
 successful end, I am made for life. It's too good 
 a chance for a young fellow to miss." 
 
 He then told me that Mrs. Russell was in Boston 
 living quietly with some relatives. Next day he
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 
 
 was to start East to put his plan into execution. 
 I was to be prepared to write up the sensation 
 big on the receipt of telegraphic intimation of hi& 
 success. In the meantime I was to keep my own 
 counsel. 
 
 The following day I was surprised by an- 
 other visit from the detective. There was a 
 troubled, disappointed look on his face, and 
 I at once thought that his pet theory had 
 collapsed in some way or other. He did not 
 wait for questions, but in a sepulchral tone 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "It's all over. Mrs. Russell is dead ! " 
 
 After recovering from my astonishment, I 
 asked eagerly for particulars. 
 
 " Read these," he replied, thrusting two letters 
 into my hands. 
 
 The tirst contained a simple announcement that 
 Mrs. Russell had died very suddenly, and that 
 among her papers the second letter was found 
 securely sealed, with an indorsement that' it 
 should be sent to Harris immediately after the 
 writer' s death. 
 
 It is necessary for the purposes of this narra- 
 tive that the sealed letter should be given in fulL 
 It was as follows :
 
 24 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "To MR. H. HARRIS, 
 
 " 's Detective Agency, Chicago. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND I feel that my life is fast ebbing away. 
 Before I die I wish to make a confession which perhaps inter- 
 ests you now more than any one else. It is hard to do so, but I 
 feel I must. The shocking truth must come out. 
 
 " My husband met his death at my hands ! 
 
 "I know this horrible revelation will shock you deeply, but 
 I make it so that you need not look any further for the 
 murderer. 
 
 " I was driven to the deed by jealousy. I loved my husband 
 dearly so dearly that I preferred his death to dishonor, for 
 is it not dishonorable to leave a lawful, loving wife for the 
 embraces of lewd and mercenary women ? 
 
 "The appointment at the Hotel was made with me. I 
 
 saw a ' personal ' in a morning paper and answered it under a 
 false name. The burning words of love with which my husband 
 replied made me wild. I could think of nothing butmydis-, 
 -carded affection. I could not keep down the mad promptings of 
 revenge. 
 
 "Ivisitedthe house, disguised in a blonde wig which I had often 
 used in private theatricals. My husband was asleep on the couch. 
 For & moment my resolution staggered. I stroked his head 
 gently, and had thoughts of falling at his feet and beseeching 
 him to give me back his love. He muttered a name in his sleep, 
 which froze my good resolve. 
 
 "I sprang from his side. A paroxysm of rage and jealousy 
 seized me. I raised a pistol and fired ! The bullet did its work 
 only too well. My husband neither moved nor groaned. I saw 
 the blood ooze from his temple and knew that I had killed 
 iiim ! I rushed from the house. The shot had not been heard,
 
 A Mysterious Murder. 25- 
 
 for the sound of the piano and of conversation and merry 
 laughter still came from the parlor. 
 
 . " I went home. My absence had not been noticed. I was. 
 possessed with a stony calmness. I undressed and went to bed 
 as usual, and, strange to say, I slept. 
 
 " No sooner had ! awoke in the morning than the terrible 
 crime flashed upon nie in all its naked horror. I thought of 
 giving myself up to justice, but eventually decided that enough 
 misery had been imposed on our families by my rash deed. I 
 nerved myself up to act the part which you witnessed. 
 
 "All the time my heart was breaking. Oh! the pangs of 
 remorse I suffered ! 
 
 " I tried to ease my conscience by telling of my husband's- 
 love and devoted attention. But the experiment only imposed 
 upon me two-fold misery. At last I was compelled to leave the 
 scene of my crime. 
 
 "But travel did not cure the canker of remorse. Wherever I 
 went I saw the dead body of my husband, with the blood oozing- 
 out of his ghastly forehead. 
 
 " I came to my relatives here. I knew I had not long to live. 
 The excitement of the previous year had undermined a constitu- 
 tion never strong. I write now with the cold sweat of death on 
 my hands. 
 
 " I make this confession to you freely. You deserve as much 
 from my hands, since you have spent many weary hours in 
 unraveling what is no longer a mystery to you. 
 
 " Do with this what you please. I have no request to make. 
 But oh ! remember that you have in your keeping the horri- 
 ble secret of a woman, soon to be cold in death, who was 
 driven to crime by an unrequited passion. 
 
 ''Farewell! God bless you ! ADA RUSSELL.'*
 
 26 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 I must say that the pathos of these dying 
 words of a wretched woman affected me deeply. 
 Harris seemed also very much cut up. We 
 consulted as to the advisability of publishing 
 full particulars of the crime. Harris, however, 
 sank all feelings of personal ambition, and 
 declared against publication on the ground that 
 it could do no possible good. Although such a 
 splendid "scoop" would have added vastly 
 to my reputation, out of feelings of humanity I 
 agreed to suppress the sensation.
 
 LEAF II. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A TRAMP. 
 
 LONG in the sum- 
 mer of 1878 I was 
 sojourning for a 
 few days in the 
 little town of 
 
 C- , on the 
 
 p Illinois Cen- 
 tral Road, en- 
 gaged in the 
 laborious task 
 ^of collecting in- 
 formation about the 
 crops, and naturally 
 enough I found a breath- 
 ing place in the only re- 
 spectable hotel the village 
 boasted of. The landlord, a 
 gossipy, genial fellow, had for- 
 merly been a hotel clerk in Chicago,
 
 28 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 and remembered me as an indomitable investi- 
 gator into the mysteries of his register in old 
 days. It wa.s, perhaps, to this circumstance that 
 I was indebted for an inside glimpse^ into the 
 strange, eventful history I am about to relate. 
 
 The village was suffering at the time from the 
 annual influx of tramps, and mine host had had 
 his full share of the infliction or, as he called it, 
 the inflation. 
 
 "The devil take them all," said he, in a burst 
 of honest indignation but, suddenly checking 
 himself, he added "and still, poor devils, they 
 are perhaps not all to blame for their miseries." 
 
 "There's a case," he continued, "that I have 
 somehow taken an unaccountable interest in, 
 because it don't seem quite a common case of 
 tramp." 
 
 The "case" referred to was sitting on the top 
 of an empty beer keg, munching a crust of bread, 
 and seeming to pay no attention to what was 
 going on around him, except when the landlord's 
 glance turned in his direction, when he would 
 make an uneasy movement, and pull his cap 
 down over his eyes as if seeking to shun 
 scrutiny. He was a haggard, woe-begone look- 
 ing individual, without anything to mark him
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 29 
 
 as distinct from the ordinary vagrant, save a cer- 
 tain something that denoted a kind of frayed 
 gentility. 
 
 U I have met that man somewhere," pursued 
 the landlord, " and I'm going to find out where. 
 I think I'll give him a bed for the night, just for 
 fun." 
 
 And he followed up his resolve by at once 
 going to the stranger and proffering him a shelter 
 for the night. 
 
 As the man turned round to say a word of 
 thanks, my Boniface, after a keen look into the 
 other' s face, seized him sharply by the arm, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Look here, haven't I met you somewhere 
 before?" 
 
 "That's hardly likely," said the man, " for I 
 have never been in this part of the country till 
 now." i 
 
 " Isn't your name Howson, and weren't you a 
 doctor of medicine in New Hampshire once?" 
 
 The effect of this question was to start the 
 stranger to his feet, and to cause the sweat to 
 stand in beads upon his brow. 
 
 " For God's sake," he gasped, in a beseeching 
 tone, "don't say a word. You wouldn't give
 
 30 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 me away, would you ? How did you know me ? 
 Do you know who I am ? " 
 
 "If I'm not mistaken, I think I know you 
 pretty well. I have a good memory for faces- 
 it's my business, you know. So your name is 
 Howson, then?" 
 
 " Well, what if it is," said the stranger, sul- 
 lenly, " did you never meet a fellow of that name 
 before?" [This was a bit of bravado evidently 
 aimed toward me, for I was listening intently to 
 the colloquy. I shifted my seat, but kept within 
 earshot of what followed.] 
 
 Said the landlord: "You gave yourself away a 
 minute ago. Now don't try and bluff, and don't 
 be scared about me. I know some things that 
 might astonish people. Don't you know what 
 became of Ellen Elroy ? " 
 
 "I heard that she had gone to the devil," said 
 Howson, ' ' and I suppose that' s the case. I know 
 /have, and if you mean to give me up, why 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the landlord, "I mean 
 to give you a bed. I suppose you led her to the 
 devil, as you say, but she never got quite there. 
 She found her way home in the long run." 
 
 The tramp began to look more nervous than 
 ever.
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 31 
 
 "Do you mean that she went back to her 
 father's house ? " he said, anxiously. 
 
 " Well, she got there finally, I believe, but be- 
 fore that, she was picked up in Chicago as a com- 
 mon vagrant and sent to the Bridewell. Some- 
 body, I won't say who, got her out, and she went 
 home East, and one day she was found dead, not 
 far from the old man's house." 
 
 This intelligence appeared to relieve the mind 
 of Howson, and he was visibly anxious to escape 
 further investigation by accepting the offer of 
 shelter. He was put into a vacant room, where 
 he crept into a "shake-down" in the corner, drew 
 a quilt over his head, and to all appearance fell 
 asleep. 
 
 We did not retire to rest that night, for the 
 landlord was considerably wrought up over the 
 meeting, and, as may be imagined, I was all agog 
 to pluck out the heart of the mystery. 
 
 "What a strange chance it was that brought 
 that man here," said he ; "it is just fifteen years 
 -ago this very month that Dr. Howson disappeared 
 from his home, and he has never been seen or 
 heard of since." 
 
 "Who is he, and who was Ellen Elroy, and 
 what did he run away for, and why did she jump
 
 32 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 into the Chicago Bridewell," said I ; "Come, old 
 man, this will be a good sensation." 
 
 "That's all you fellows think of," returned he, 
 ' ' a good sensation ! yes, a mighty curious one 
 this, if you knew it all. But I have good reasons 
 for keeping this thing out of sight, as no good 
 could ever come now of its publication, and may- 
 be lots of trouble. Besides I couldn' t identify 
 him, and if I could Tell you what I will do," 
 he said, after a reflective pause, "I will tell you 
 all about it, but only on condition that you give 
 me your word of honor not to write it up for the 
 papers. I have my reasons." 
 
 I reluctantly gave him my pledge, and he forth- 
 with put me in possession of a family history which 
 offers a striking illustration of the old adage that 
 truth is stranger than fiction. The narrative ran 
 somewhat as follows : 
 
 Not very long ago a woman was arrested in 
 Chicago near Polk Street bridge. She was evi- 
 dently a stranger in the city, and it was remarked 
 that while her clothes denoted a condition of ab- 
 ject poverty, the face was one of singular beauty, 
 and wore an expression such as belongs only to- 
 well bred people. On being taken to the police 
 she was denounced as an old bummer, and ten-
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 83 
 
 tenced as such to the usual term in the Bridewell. 
 She gave her name to the magistrate as Alice 
 Enright, but on searching her, as is customary, 
 the policeman found a small faded pocket book 
 containing a card, one pld photograph, and a few 
 apparently unimportant memoranda. These were 
 exhibited to the privileged professional gentle- 
 men at the station, and that seemed to be the end 
 of it. 
 
 To only one man in the city did these scraps 
 convey any significance, and he, for reasons best 
 known to himself, chose to give his surmises no 
 publicity. This man was none other than my 
 landlord, then a clerk in one of our hotels. 
 
 " I learned the whole truth afterward," said he, 
 4i and found that my suspicions had been correct!" 
 
 This woman was the daughter of a wealthy 
 gentleman of New Hampshire, whose family are 
 still living there. His name was Elroy, He was 
 :a haughty, imperious man, proud of his wealth, 
 and still prouder of his lineage, which he drew 
 from one of the aristocratic names of the mother 
 country. His only child, a daughter, was the 
 joy and pride of his heart. Upon her he lavished 
 all the aifection in his nature, and all that wealth 
 could do was devoted to her mental and physical
 
 34 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 nurture. And a bright and beautiful girl she 
 grew up to be, excelling in all the accomplish- 
 ments that conduce to make a charming woman. 
 
 The time .came when Ellen was of marriageable 
 age, and this was an event to which the father 
 had long looked forward with eager expectancy, 
 for he had set his heart on wedding her to a young 
 nephew who bore the family name, so that 
 the possessions might descend in an unbroken 
 line to his posterity. 
 
 The nephew was a young man of negative 
 qualities as to mind, but irreproachable in hi& 
 conduct, and devotedly attached to his beautiful 
 cousin. Ellen, on the other hand, regarded her 
 fiancee with only a mild respect, and she was de- 
 cidedly averse to marrying him. She rather pre- 
 ferred the companionship of. a young medical 
 student, between whom and herself there existed,, 
 it was whispered, a feeling warmfer than esteem. 
 In fact, the gossips remarked that the flirtation 
 between young Howson and Ellen was getting to 
 a point where it was time to put a stop to it. 
 
 By and bye matters came to a crisis. The 
 daughter was offered th6 alternative of marrying 
 her cousin, or of being disinherited, and fhe girl, 
 knowing the unrelenting temper of her parent
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 35 
 
 when his will was thwarted, after a struggle to 
 have her own way, succumbed. 
 
 The marriage took place; the happy couple 
 went through their honey-moon, like any other 
 happy couple ; and so/ the romance was at an 
 end, for the time being. 
 
 But only for a time. In these days the real 
 romance too often only begins at the tying of the 
 nuptial knot ; and so it was with our wedded pair. 
 To all appearance they were what the world 
 would call a perfectly well mated couple she 
 gracing her position with becoming dignity, and 
 he devoting himself to her with an affectionate 
 solicitude that could not but win her respect. 
 
 But there was k 'a little rift within the lute," 
 and there came a shadow on the horizon of their 
 wedded life, "no bigger than a man's hand," 
 which was soon to envelope them in the dark 
 s orm of fate. 
 
 Aboui a year after an heir to the house of Elroy 
 came into the world, there arrived again in the 
 neighborhood the young physician who has 
 already been introduced into this narrative. 
 Being of respectable connections he very soon 
 got into* a good practice, and there seemed to be 
 no reason why he should not resume his acquaint-
 
 36 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 ance with the friends of his youth. In fact, he 
 became a frequent visitor to their home, and was 
 welcomed both by the husband and wife as an 
 old friend. Nor did there arise in the minds of 
 the family a suspicion of any undue intimacy 
 between the young wife and her former lover ; 
 and indeed, their conduct was at no time such as 
 to warrant such an inference. On the contrary, 
 the husband and the doctor became fast friends, 
 so that when one day the former was seized witli 
 a serious illness, the latter was sent for to attend 
 him. The illness assumed an alarming phase, 
 and after lingering in sore agony for many days 
 the husband died. 
 
 He died, and the event made the customary 
 stir and tumult among the relatives until he was 
 quietly interred ; and the widow put on her 
 weeds, and received with quiet resignation the 
 condolences of her friends ; and the family 
 physician handed in his certificate, and attended 
 the funeral. 
 
 It was now that the conduct of the physician 
 began to arouse the curiosity of some of the 
 relatives, and people who have a happy knack 
 of "putting this and that together" were not 
 slow in hinting that there was something wrong
 
 38 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 somewhere. These murmurs grew more ominous 
 as the days went on, and eventually it was sug- 
 gested by a friend of the family, who said he 
 knew of something, that the body fthould be 
 exhumed, and an examination made. The "some- 
 thing" hinted at was the discovery in the bed- 
 room of the dead man, of certain preparations of 
 arsenic. There had been nothing in the disease 
 to warrant the administration of this drug, and 
 now it was remembered that the symptoms were 
 those which might be produced by arsenic. 
 
 When Howson was informed of the intention 
 to exhume the remains he turned deadly pale, 
 but controlling himself with an effort he sought 
 to pooh-pooh the matter, until seeing there was 
 a fixed determination to have a resurrection of 
 the body, he professed his acquiescence and 
 intimated his entire willingness to assist at the 
 autopsy. 
 
 But on the day when the remains of young 
 Elroy were to be exhumed and submitted to an 
 examination of experts, Dr. Howson was nowhere 
 to be found. He had disappeared, and it turned 
 out that his disappearance had been discovered 
 early on the evening preceding the day of the 
 exhumation.
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 39- 
 
 The post mortem revealed quite clearly the fact 
 that Elroy had been poisoned, and it only re- 
 mained to find the murderer. The missing 
 physican vas at once poin/ed out as the culprit, 
 and as a natural consequence tongues began to- 
 be busy in defaming the unhappy widow. Hi& 
 intimacy with the family and his former relations 
 with Mrs. Elroy were accepted as proof strong as 
 holy writ that there were a pair of guilty ones in 
 the dark transaction. And although none had 
 dared to point the finger of suspicion at her,, 
 there were not wanting those who circulated 
 bits of insidious gossip which slowly sapped her 
 fair fame, and began to make life a weariness 
 to her. 
 
 Worst of all, her father, to whose wish she had 
 sacrificed her first maidenly love, turned his stem 
 face coldly upon her. She had nothing now left 
 to her but her boy. 
 
 One evening, immediately succeeding the occur- 
 rences just narrated, the child was about to repeat 
 his "Now I lay me," when, looking up into his 
 mother's face, he lisped out these words, terrible 
 to a mother's heart : "Mamma, my gra'pa says I 
 must only say Go' bless papa now." 
 
 The horrible truth flashed on her mind that her
 
 40 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 father suspected her of complicity in the murder 
 of her husband. 
 
 The next day a new theme was furnished the 
 gossips of the district by the sudden disappear- 
 ance of Mrs. Elroy, who had of course gone off 
 
 to join her paramour and the partner of her guilt. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Had she gone to him ? Ah, murder, they say, 
 will out, but who shall say on what day the 
 mysteries of the human heart are to be unveiled ! 
 Perhaps not even at the judgment seat of the 
 Most High. 
 
 At the close of this sad history we may be 
 able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the truth. 
 
 Let the reader here imagine for himself where 
 that doubly, trebly forsaken woman went. There 
 would be many and various surmises. Did she 
 sneak away from her home and her child to unite 
 her fortunes with a murderer and a seducer ? Did 
 she burst away from her home in wrath and 
 agony, seeing nothing in the garden that she 
 loved but the angel with the flaming sword, for- 
 bidding her to re-enter the hallowed doors ? Or, 
 did she wander forth, like Hagar in the desert, 
 only without the solace of a Hagar her only 
 boy despair in her soul, and seeking after a just
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 41 
 
 retribution, which God only knew was her recom- 
 pense ! 
 
 All that was known was that Ellen Elroy was 
 gone from her home, and o^ly a few, a very few 
 kindly souls had the courage to say that per- 
 haps after all she was more sinned against than 
 
 sinning. 
 
 -x- * # * ' # 
 
 During the Colvin Administration one afternoon 
 a shabbily dressed woman, who had all the ap- 
 pearance of a lady, came into the Mayor's office, 
 and made a piteous appeal to his Honor. She 
 said her father was dying and she must go to him 
 before he died. 
 
 "Where does your father live?" said the 
 Mayor. 
 
 "In New Hampshire," said the woman; "it's 
 far away, but there's much depends on this more 
 than I can tell you, and I haven' t a penny nor a- 
 friend in the world. Can' t you help me on ? " 
 
 The good-hearted Mayor perceived a "some- 
 thing above the common ' ' in his petitioner, and 
 with his accustomed generosily, he, after suitable 
 inquiry, helped her along to her destination. This 
 circumstance was reported, with sundry other 
 items of municipal gossip, at the moment, and
 
 42 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 passed to where all good items go, without com- 
 ment. 
 
 [The narrator desires to say here that the above 
 circumstance has been inserted in this place after 
 a careful comparison of some old notes of events 
 with my landlord's narration. It is important as 
 a, link in the chain.] 
 
 Just at this time, in his palatial residence in 
 New Hampshire, an old man was lying in the 
 daily expectation of death. His worldly affairs 
 had all been arranged, and he was looking for- 
 ward to other prospects in the kingdom to come. 
 One evening he was told that a poor woman 
 a tramp had- been driven away from his door a 
 bad looking, miserable looking creature. 
 
 "Take her into the kitchen, 1 ' said the dying 
 man, "if she comes back again, and give her 
 something to eat." 
 
 The next night she came again, and they gave 
 her to eat and drink. She was a forlorn, haggard, 
 almost forbidding object, with hollow, bloodshot 
 eyes and hunger- bitten cheeks. 
 
 She said to the servant : " My father is dying, 
 and I want to see him." 
 
 The servant went up to the dying man and told 
 him the woman down there was mad.
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 43 
 
 They sent her away. 
 
 The day after she came back to the house. She 
 said to the housekeeper, "Tell Mr. Elroy that I am 
 his daughter Ellen, and that I must see him 
 before he dies." 
 
 "His daughter," said the housekeeper, "has 
 been dead many years. You must get away 
 from here, my poor woman." 
 
 Does my father know that his daughter is 
 dead ? 
 
 " He has known that long ago, but go away 
 from here, or you' 11 disturb him, and he's dying." 
 
 "My God ! it's because he's dying that I must 
 see him, and that at once. Let me go to him, 
 and he will know me." 
 
 The impassioned creature broke past the ancient 
 servitor and r-ushed up the long flight of stairs 
 till she reached the bedside of the dying man. A 
 physician and other attendants there tried to in- 
 tercept her, but she reached the bed, and kneeling 
 down cried out : 
 
 "Father, I am Ellen, don't yon know me ?" 
 
 Ragged, wayworn, defaced by misery, sorrow, 
 want, a-nd wrong it was perhaps no wonder that 
 the dying man shook his head and told the doctor 
 to take the poor mad creature away.
 
 *e* 
 
 .T^' 
 
 31 
 
 
 -/A 
 
 again thrust from 
 
 the doors and driven into 
 the dark, bitter midnight. 
 The next morning 
 the dead body of a 
 > woman was found in 
 a small pond adjoin- 
 ing the grounds of the 
 house. It was that of 
 poor mad creature who 
 had been twice thrust away 
 from her father's door.
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 45 
 
 The peace of God was in her looks. Death, 
 the great leveler, the great beautifier, had recog- 
 nized the wanderer, and With his merciful hand 
 had effaced all traces of her earthly sufferings. 
 The poor rags still clung about her wasted form, 
 but her face wore the smile her mother would 
 have known. The weary soul was at rest. 
 
 They bore her to her old home and told the old 
 man that his child had come. With his dying 
 eyes he looked upon the face he had seen the 
 night before but did not know that he saw now 
 and recognized. 
 
 In death they were not divided. 
 
 ***** 
 
 When the landlord ended his recital the dawn 
 was peeping through the casement, and I went to 
 bed. Before I fell asleep, however, I heard a 
 sound outside my window, and peeping cautious- 
 ly out, I was amazed to see our tramp and the 
 landlord engaged in a low but earnest conversa- 
 tion. Howson had a small bundle in his hand, 
 and after saying a hurried good-bye, he made his 
 way rapidly down the dusty road and was lost 
 to my view. 
 
 "In the name of all that's wonderful," I said 
 to the landlord in the morning, "what prompted
 
 46 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 you to connive at that scoundrel's escape? 
 Aren't you sure of your man ? " 
 
 "As sure as I am of my breakfast," he re- 
 turned, "but I have another secret to tell you, 
 since I have trusted you so far. I would not; tell 
 you that if you had not seen me let him go." 
 
 " What is that ? " I asked, in wonder. 
 
 " That man you saw go from my house this 
 morning you will keep this to yourself?" 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 "He is my wife's only brother." 
 
 "One thing more was Ellen Elroy guilty?" 
 
 " I would give the world to know," said the 
 landlord, "but he would not tell, and now we 
 may never know that mystery." 
 
 4t * * * * 
 
 Last winter a wretched vagrant was found half 
 dead from hunger and cold on the streets of 
 Chicago, and was carried to the County Hospital. 
 He absolutely refused to give his name, or tell 
 where he came from, so he was entered as plain 
 John Smith. He was dying. 
 
 About two hours before the end came, he called 
 the nurse to his bedside, and, fumbling in his 
 breast for something, drew forth a tattered and 
 greasy pocket book.
 
 Romance of a Tramp. 47 
 
 "There is nothing in it that's of any impor- 
 tance to anyone here," he gasped. "There is 
 but one man living that it G^ould have any mean- 
 ing for." He added, breathing hard as he neared 
 the grim portal, "if you have any pity for a poor 
 dying man, will you send this to the landlord of 
 the hotel at C 2" 
 
 " I promise to do it," said the nurse. 
 
 His thin wan fingers tightened for a moment on 
 the pocket book, and then relaxed their hold. 
 
 The tramp had entered upon the beaten road 
 
 we must all travel. He was dead ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 The pocket book contained nothing but an old 
 letter, and this was the contents : 
 
 " When I sought you it was to kill you. I meant to do it and 
 then die myself. But when I saw you and found what you had 
 become, I chose a better revenge. I thank God the guilt of 
 blood is not on my soul, as it is on yours. George, I once 
 loved you loved you blindly, madly, and now I hate you with 
 my whole heart that heart which you have crushed. Through 
 your horrible act I have been driven a wanderer upon the face 
 of the earth. You have brought upon me the scorn and wrath 
 of my kindred, and the darkest suspicion of the world. You 
 have made me dishonor an honest name, and bring a father's 
 gray hairs perhaps in sorrow to the grave. But I would not kill 
 you. I thank my God that wild temptation has passed. You 
 will never hear of me agaUttbut mark me, the curse of a
 
 48 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 wronged woman rests upon your head. God is just the eternal 
 law of Him will be satisfied. I am your accusing angel, and 
 this will be your doom : You will sink from your present 
 fancied prosperity by slow but sure degrees, until you, like me, 
 become a wretched wanderer on the earth. Men will shun you 
 as a pestilence. You will die in wretchedness and woe, and will 
 be buried in a pauper's grave. Amen ! Amen ! I wish it 
 from my soul. These are the last words you will ever hear 
 from 
 
 ELLEN."
 
 LEAF III. 
 
 'OW much 
 , romance, 
 what ag- 
 ony and 
 experi- 
 ence of 
 life's stern- 
 er realities are 
 sometimes con- 
 cealed in the curt and 
 5 carelessly written par- 
 agraphs of a daily 
 paper ! If we could read 
 on and discover the mo- 
 tives which actuated, the 
 springs which moved, the human 
 mind to do the deed so hastily 
 and briefly recorded, we should frequently have 
 
 (49)
 
 50 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 the particulars of a life's history more pregnant 
 and absorbing than are contained in the most 
 sensational fictions of a Dumas, a Reade, or a 
 Miss Braddon. 
 
 In the columns of a morning paper of May, 
 1879, the reader of this leaf perhaps perused a 
 paragraph similar to the following, and passed 
 it over without a further thought : 
 
 "Last evening, about half past 6 o'clock, the corpse of a 
 female, young and elegantly dressed, was discovered washed 
 ashore at t.hp rear of the Exposition Building, and conveyed to 
 the Morgue. The coroner was notified, who called a jury, whose 
 verdict was, that the unknown deceased came by her death from 
 drowning, but whether accidentally or suicidally the jury had 
 no means of ascertaining. There were no marks upon the linen, 
 or in the pockets of the drowned party, likely to lead to her 
 identification. The corpse remains at the Morgue for identifica- 
 tion." 
 
 That was all the papers ever contained of the 
 case, but not -all they could have published if 
 remarkable measures had not been taken to 
 suppress the facts, which I shall now endeavor, 
 very briefly, to lay before the reader. 
 
 I was delegated to hunt up the facts in the 
 case, and proceeded to that last sad caravansary 
 for the floater, the "found dead," and the un- 
 known suicide who takes the reins of Omnipotence
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 5L 
 
 in his own, hands, careless what becomes of his 
 remains. 
 
 On a rude tressel table 'lay the body of the 
 drowned woman, while on a line above hung un- 
 derwear of fine linen profusely ornamented with 
 Torchon lace, skirts heavily embroidered, stock- 
 ings of silver gray with a delicate carmine thread 
 of silk forming foliage upon the instep, black 
 satin corsets, a handsome walking suit of bro- 
 cade and velvet, while upon the coarse planks 
 upon which she lay were a pair of Spanish arch 
 boots and a hat, which had, until its freshness 
 was destroyed by the waters of the lake, been 
 jaunty with its broad buckle and long feather. 
 
 A long white sheet concealed the body, making 
 that unmistakable line of curves and angles 
 which tells, plainer than any words, the sad secret 
 of mortality which it rpveals rather than hides. 
 A wealth of light brown hair shot with gold 
 hung orer the end of the table dank and heavy, 
 yet, in its broad bands of light and shade showing 
 how carefully it had been cared for. 
 
 Removing the covering from the poor, dead 
 face, I looked upon one of the most beautiful 
 creatures it had ever been my lot to see. Death 
 could not, in so short a time, and with such rude 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 LIBRARY 
 
 o, OF iLL. JB.
 
 52 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 notice, mar its gorgeous lineaments. White as 
 chiseled marble, with the roseate lips slightly 
 parted and revealing even rows of pearly teeth ; 
 delicately penciled eyebrows and long black 
 lashes lying heavily upon the cheek, she lay as 
 though calmly sleeping. 
 
 The corpse had not been long enough in the 
 water to become discolored or disfigured, and 
 the supple form and rounded limbs were models 
 for a sculptor. 
 
 I started back in horror, for I knew her at a 
 glance. It was the worshiped beauty who on 
 the principal night of the Author's Carnival had 
 impersonated the ! 
 
 What her name was, from whence she came, or 
 why she had thus invited death, I did not know, 
 but of one thing I was certain that it was the 
 same splendid creature who with merely a diaph- 
 anous scarf and white silk fleshings had stood 
 upon the pedestal on the immense stage of the 
 Carnival to be seen and admired by thousands. 
 Then, that rounded form was instinct with life ; 
 now, it was awaiting its decay. Then, the ex- 
 tended arm and taper hand trembled with ex- 
 citement beneath the dove that perched upon 
 the outstretched finger ; now, they were pressed
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 
 
 close to the clay-cold figure, never to be lifted 
 again. 
 
 I concealed from the keeper'of the Morgue the 
 secret I felt sure I possessed, and determined at 
 the same time to discover to which of our wealthy 
 families she belonged, and the reasons which 
 impelled her to take her life and future in her 
 own hands. 
 
 Telling the man that I would look in again, I 
 left the place. My brain was in a whirl of ex- 
 citement. A thousand schemes for the elucida- 
 tion of the mystery flashed through my mind. 
 Nothing, however, could be done that night, and 
 I went about my "assignments in the most 
 mechanical way and without the slightest interest 
 in the petty cases of drunk and disorderly and 
 other items of ordinary police court intelligence. 
 
 When my final copy was in, I left the office, 
 and dropping into the usual midnight lunch place 
 ori Clark street, I took a single glass of beer and 
 a sandwich, and then repaired to my bachelor 
 room ; but not to sleep. Plan after plan throbbed 
 through my brain, but none seemed feasible. If 
 for a few moments I dropped into semi-uncon- 
 sciousness, the cold, white face of the corpse ap- 
 peared close to mine, and once, when positively
 
 54 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 asleep, I awoke with a start as I saw the rigid 
 form in all its horrible nudity arise from its tressel 
 table and assume the precise attitude of the 
 tableau at the Exposition. 
 
 I could bear it no longer. I jumped from my 
 couch, and putting on my clothes, lighted my 
 meerschaum and tried to read " U Assommoir." 
 The quiet sleeper at the Morgue became mingled 
 with the quarreling women in the lavatory. The 
 demon would not down, and it was a relief when 
 the rising sun, peering in at the window, pro- 
 claimed it day. 
 
 Making a hasty toilet, and taking a still hastier 
 breakfast at a restaurant, I again bent my steps 
 to the Morgue. 
 
 What was my astonishment to find that the 
 oorpse had been taken away in the night, and the 
 keeper was peculiarly reticent as to what disposal 
 had been made of it. Neither bribes, flatteries 
 nor threats would loosen his tongue, but a friendly 
 policeman, who knew me as a reporter, and whose 
 beat took him by the building, informed me that 
 a close carriage driven by a man in quiet livery," 
 bottle-green, as near as he could judge in /he 
 lamplight, had stopped at the Morgue about one 
 o'clock. An elderly gentleman with a long white
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 55 
 
 beard and close-cropped hair had descended and 
 entered the place. Returning after a consider- 
 able period, he had spoken some words in a low 
 tone to the coachman, who had driven rapidly 
 away. About an hour afterwards a hearse had 
 drawn up, without plumes or ornament of any 
 kind. A plain burial case had been carried into 
 the Morgue by two men, who immediately re- 
 turned, assisted by the keeper of the institution. 
 The coffin, evidently heavier, was replaced in the 
 hearse, and it was driven away. This was 
 absolutely all that I could learn. 
 
 What was next to~be done ? I inquired of the 
 policeman the color of the team, ascertained one 
 horse to be roan, the other a lighter gray, the 
 carriage dark brown or chocolate, not certain 
 which, and, with these particulars as my principal 
 clew, I determined on discovering all connected 
 with this case of suicide, for accidental drowning 
 it could scarcely possibly be. 
 
 My first endeavor was to ascertain, if the 
 slightest chance existed, who the lady was whose 
 partially undraped form at the Author's Carnival 
 had caused so much animadversion and elicited 
 anything but complimentary comments from the 
 daily press. It will be remembered that it was
 
 The Carnival' 's Victim. 57 
 
 stated at the time, that certain ^dies connected 
 with the leading families of Chicago Jad con- 
 sented to exhibit their personal charms, with an 
 abandonment almost equaling that of Matt Mor- 
 gan's Art Statuary, or the "Model Artists" of 
 Mabel Santley, on condition that their names 
 were not known, but that public opinion being 
 strongly against the initial exhibition, a greater 
 -amount of drapery had been used in the later 
 tableaux. 
 
 v 
 
 Some people looked upon the statement as a 
 mere trick of the manager to insure larger re- 
 ceipts, he thinking rightly that men about town 
 would bleed more readily for the chance of seeing 
 in such deshabille ladies of fashion, than for 
 gazing upon the meretricious charms of profes- 
 sional models and shameless creatures who would 
 for a few dollars denude themselves of drapery 
 just so far as the police would permit, and only 
 stop the process of undressing by the edict of the 
 authorities. Others declared that the manager of 
 the Carnival had brought with him these women 
 and that they posed as a mere matter of business, 
 which would have destroyed the zest of hunters 
 after prurience who estimate their excitement by 
 the difficulties surrounding its attainment.
 
 58 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Which of these theories was true I had no- 
 means of judging, but feeling certain that the 
 dead body in the Morgue was the living - of 
 the Carnival, and that the arrival of the carriage 
 and the carrying away of the corpse pointed to 
 her being one of our own leading citizens, I clung: 
 to the former, correctly, as it will be seen in the 
 sequel. 
 
 The manager I could not interview, as he had 
 received his twenty-five per cent, of the proceeds 
 of the charity entertainment, and was off to reap 
 fresh harvests in other fields. Even if he had 
 been on the spot, I could perhaps have obtained 
 nothing from him which would have assisted my 
 search. 
 
 I was acquainted with many of the gentlemen 
 and a few of the ladies who had taken part in 
 the Carnival, and I began assiduously and indus- 
 triously to question them. Some evidently knew 
 nothing, and others would say nothing, though 
 from one lady who had been one of the choicest 
 spirits in the affair from beginning to end, I 
 extracted a semi-admission that the love of praise, 
 and the consciousness of very fine physical de- 
 velopment, had induced several ladies to offer 
 themselves as classic statues so long as their
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 59 
 
 . 
 
 names were concealed, and the whitening process 
 precluded the possibility of recognition of their 
 facial lines, trusting, I suppose, to the hope that 
 the eagle eye of love might, in those they wished 
 to charm, pierce the thin disguise of a coat of 
 artistic calcimining. 
 
 I was at a stand-still. My next move was to- 
 scrutinize all the fashionable equipages I could 
 see on the principal drives and thoroughfares^ 
 but the chocolate carriage, the roan and gray, 
 and the white bearded old gentleman with the- 
 bottle-green coachman, eluded my search, until, 
 two weeks afterwards, my heart came to a sudden 
 stop and my brain actually throbbed with excite- 
 ment, as I saw, standing opposite the ladies* 
 entrance of the Palmer House, the carriage and 
 the horses. 
 
 I sauntered slowly by. A man with a tall hat 
 and small cockade, a bottle-green overcoat almost 
 down to his heels, held open the door, as from a 
 store next to the Palmer House entrance emerged 
 not an old man, but a tall elderly lady, seemingly^ 
 bowed with the weight of years, in deep mourn- 
 ing, and with a heavy crape veil reaching to the- 
 knee and effectually concealing her features,, 
 crossed the sidewalk and entered the vehicle.
 
 <>0 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The coachman mounted the box, drove slowly 
 into State street and turning north, followed by 
 myself, stopped at a bookstore, where with half 
 a dozen splendidly bound books, not made into 
 -a parcel, stood waiting an elderly gentleman 
 with a long wJiite beard and close-cropped Jiair. 
 Eureka ! I almost shouted to myself, as I saw him 
 hand in the books and then get into the carriage ! 
 
 Of course I set the couple down at once as the 
 father and mother of the victim. But it is not 
 well to hurry to conclusions, since in the course 
 of this narrative the reader will find that I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 What was I to do? was the next question. 
 Here was a carriage with a span of fast horses. 
 That was evident from the blood they showed. 
 I was on foot, and no carriage nearer than Mon- 
 roe street. Luckily at this moment one of 
 Tilden's men whom I knew came along with an 
 empty vehicle. I hailed him and he drove to the 
 curb-stone. I asked him if he knew whose team 
 it was standing by the door. He replied in the 
 negative. 
 
 "Then wait till it goes away, and follow it 
 at such a distance as to escape observation 
 without losing sight of the direction it takes,'* 

 
 The Carnival's Victim. 61 
 
 said I, and springing in I drew up the blinds and 
 lighted a cigar, certain that I had at last attained 
 my object. 
 
 In a few minutes the carriage turned south and 
 went up State street and I followed. At Twenty- 
 second street we turned to the east and then 
 south, and after going for a good half mile, the 
 carriage stopped at a palatial residence on one of 
 the most fashionable ayenues. 
 
 The lady and gentleman alighted and a male 
 help out of livery opened the door, descended 
 the steps and taking the books and parcels from 
 the carriage, followed his master and mistress 
 into the house, the coach driving up the alley to 
 the mews in the rear of the building. 
 
 I had bagged the game, and my next proceed- 
 ing was to go and take a drink at a handsome 
 sample room on the corner of an adjacent cross- 
 street. 
 
 " Who lives at such a number ? " I asked of the 
 bar-keeper, pointing to the residence as I spoke. 
 
 He gave me the name without hesitation. 
 
 " What family have they ?" I inquired. 
 
 "None," he replied. 
 
 " What ! no daughter ? " I asked. 
 
 "No," said he, "but they had a very beauti-
 
 62 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 ful young lady staying with them during the 
 Carnival, who left as soon as it was over, and the 
 blinds have been down and the house has looked 
 as dull as the devil ever since." 
 
 " Do you/know where she was from ? " I asked, 
 in the most off-hand way. 
 
 "Well, so far as I know," the bar- tender 
 replied, "their coachman told me that she was 
 from Buffalo, K Y." 
 
 Paying for my drink and the driver's cigar, I 
 left the bar-room, and dismissing my carriage at 
 Wabash avenue I took a street car and hurried 
 to the office. I dropped into the editorial room 
 and hunted up the Buffalo dailies. A short 
 search discovered what I wanted, or at least 
 I thought so. In the obituary column of the 
 leading daily I found a notice of the death of 
 
 Miss Blanche , age nineteen, suddenly, in 
 
 Chicago, May , 1879. I waited impatiently for 
 the two or three next issues of the paper, and 
 sure enough there was a detailed description of 
 the arrival of the body and its interment, so 
 strictly according in date and detail as to leave 
 no doubt at all on my mind that she it was whose 
 corpse I had seen in the Morgue. 
 
 But this was only half the mystery. How was
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 63 
 
 she drowned? Why did she commit suicide? 
 
 Was it really felo de se or ? I could carry 
 
 self-questioning no further. But now the strang- 
 est part of this true suppressed sensation comes 
 so wonderful, so extravagantly outre, that it is 
 indeed " too strange not to be true/' If ever fact 
 was stranger than fiction, and if ever the iniqui- 
 ties of a large city were so thoroughly brought 
 to light as to be a* warning for all time, it was in 
 the denouement of this history. Why Fate 
 should have made me, a penniless Bohemian 
 reporter for a daily paper, the means of its dis- 
 covery, is more than I can tell, but that so it was, 
 the reader will see. 
 
 I had not been at the office more than half an 
 hour when I was told by the city editor that a 
 dying gambler who had been shot by a compan- 
 ion over a little game of faro, wished to see me 
 in a room over a tiger-bucking den on Clark 
 street. The reader will remember the newspaper 
 account of the shooting published at the time, 
 and the name of the man is familiar to all the 
 sporting fraternity. 
 
 I shouldered my note book and departed for 
 the place, vexed at the thought that my search 
 after the Morgue mystery should be thus delayed,
 
 64 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 and not for a moment supposing that I was going 
 post haste towards its denouement. 
 
 Does the outside world know how professional 
 gamblers in Chicago live? None of that feverish 
 struggle after a resting place, that utter disregard 
 of every convenience beyond the board of green 
 cloth, that carelessness of everything except the 
 excitement of the gaming table which we read 
 of in the novels of the day, distinguishes their 
 career. A prince of the blood could not have 
 occupied a more luxurious apartment than the 
 one in which I found the wounded card sharper, 
 lying on an elegant couch, covered with a spread 
 of pink satin and propped up by immaculate 
 pillows bordered with lace. His face was of a 
 greenish pale hue, arid from the pinched-in nose, 
 and sunken eye, it was plain to see that his end 
 was drawing near. 
 
 He recognized me at once, and languidly rais- 
 ing his arm pointed to a chair. I drew it to his 
 bedside, and sitting down took his hand in mine. 
 1 had once befriended him when he was strug- 
 gling to regain a foothold in the paths of recti- 
 tude and virtue, and it was this circumstance 
 which had induced him to send for me to receive 
 his dying words.
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 65 
 
 He, by a sign, dismissed the colored man who 
 was attending upon him, and then said: "Put 
 jour hand beneath the pillow and you will 
 find " 
 
 "A packet of letters," I replied, as I drew forth 
 a small bundle, tied round with a pale blue 
 ribbon. 
 
 "I could not die in peace until I had confessed 
 to some one,'' he commenced, "and in all this 
 great city I know of no one in whom I can place 
 any confidence but you." 
 
 "Well, Jack," I interrupted, "you are safe 
 in my hands ; but how came you in this predica- 
 ment?" 
 
 "Of that anon," said he; "but first let me 
 ask if you have heard anything of a young 
 woman's body which was found - 
 
 "In the lake," I interrupted, "and conveyed 
 to the Morgue ; a golden-haired, fair, black-eyed 
 
 "Enough, enough, I see her now. She is 
 here; she is there; she is everywhere. She has 
 not been absent from my sight for a moment 
 since she was picked out of the lake," he replied, 
 wildly. "She is standing by your side now, 
 looking sadly down upon her murderer."
 
 66 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 I recoiled in horror, saying, "Yon don't mean 
 to say, Jack, that you - 
 
 " Oh no, I did not actually throw her into the 
 lake," he replied. "Better a thousand times 
 that I had done . so ; but it was my damnable 
 conduct which ruined her, which drove her to 
 despair, which compelled her to seek rest in the 
 cold, cruel waters of Lake Michigan." 
 
 How inscrutable are the workings of myste- 
 rious Fate ! Here, where I least expected it, I 
 was to obtain the information I had been so 
 diligently but uselessly seeking. 
 
 " Go on, Jack, go on," I hurriedly exclaimed. 
 
 "Let me tell my story my own way," he 
 replied, "and that while my strength remains, 
 for the doctor tells me I have not twenty-four 
 hours to live." 
 
 " Let us hope he is mistaken, and now I will 
 interrupt you no more." 
 
 " I do not want to live longer than it will take 
 to post you on the items, old fellow," he rejoined, 
 a sad and sickly smile stealing over his atten- 
 uated cheeks. "Now to my story. I and a pal 
 had been down to Buffalo, queering the greenies, 
 and had made a big haul. We were both in high 
 feather and well dressed. My chum went on to
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 67 
 
 New York, I took the train for Chicago. On 
 board the car, traveling alone, was the loveliest 
 creature you ever set your eyes upon. I took 
 a seat opposite to hers, and without obtruding 
 myself upon her, did her all tjie little services in 
 
 my power. On reaching the train stopped 
 
 for refreshments, and seeing she did not get out, 
 I brought a cup of coffee and some cakes to her 
 car. She accepted them with but slight demur, 
 and this led to a conversation in which I assumed 
 the character of a well-known millionaire upon 
 the Board of Trade. I soon found that I had 
 made a favorable impression. In seemingly 
 giving her my confidence I secured hers, and she 
 told me that she was going to spend a month 
 
 with her uncle on avenue, whose name she 
 
 mentioned, and that she should remain during 
 the Carnival. 
 
 "Before we reached the city I saw that I had 
 made a conquest, and with devilish ingenuity I 
 concocted a specious tale to account for my not 
 calling upon her people, and made arrangements 
 for meeting her down town. Insinuating myself 
 by degrees into her most intimate confidence, I 
 found that she had been induced by some of her 
 female friends who knew how exquisite was her
 
 68 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 form, to impersonate the - at the approach- 
 ing Carnival, confident that her incognito would 
 be strictly kept, and that it would be impossible 
 for those who knew her best to penetrate the dis- 
 guise of a whitened face and Pompadour wig. 
 
 " She was there. She appeared upon the stage, 
 and if before her exquisite face had brought the 
 blood bounding to my brain, how much more did 
 her splendid figure. It maddened me to think 
 that in a few short days weeks at the most 
 I should lose her for ever. She would return to 
 her friends where I dared not follow. I had 
 woven around me such a network of lies and 
 deceit that I lived in hourly apprehension of dis- 
 covery. I did not know but that even in that 
 very building might be the man whose name I 
 had assumed, and from a chance word which 
 Blanche had dropped I knew that her uncle and 
 the great "grain king" were intimately acquaint- 
 ed. Detection stared me in the face. It was 
 not that I feared anything for myself. You 
 know that I never quailed before the face of man. 
 But to lose her the thought was madness. 
 
 " I resolved to stake all upon the cast of one die. 
 A gambler by instinct and education I never yet 
 refused to play for big stakes, and were I in rude
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 69 
 
 health to-morrow I would throw dice for my life 
 as coolly as if the bet were but a five dollar bill 
 or a bottle of champagne. 1 resolved to pour 
 out my heart to her to tell her my devotion, and 
 to assure her of my life-long love. That same 
 evening we met. From her sweet lips I learned 
 that she too loved. Alas ! had she but kept 
 back the confession she might have been alive 
 and even happy to-day. 
 
 "It had been my intention to supplement my 
 declaration of love by a full avowal of my real 
 name, my occupation I was going to say my 
 character. I intended to throw myself upon her 
 mercy, to beg of her for the love I bore to her to 
 give me an opportunity to show by my amended 
 life and altered ways, my genuine desire to 
 make myself worthy of her. Can you believe it ? 
 Tet I could have done it but for the frankness 
 with which she confessed to me amid the blushes 
 which rendered her far more beautiful than ever, 
 that I had won her heart. 
 
 "I forgot everything but that she was mine, and 
 I dared not then risk my all upon a chance. The 
 cool, calculating gambler turned coward before 
 this woman this "embodiment of all that was 
 good and pure and lovely.
 
 70 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The acquaintance I had 
 begun in sport had ended in 
 bringing me captive to Cu- 
 pid's yoke for the first time 
 in my life. 
 
 "A wild thought darted through my brain. I 
 would wed her first, and then my confession. 
 The tie of love bound stronger by the chain of 
 Hymen she could not then give me up. Woe 
 is me ! I little knew her. Born and reared in 
 sentiments of piety and virtu'e, her whole moral 
 nature revolted against evil but I anticipate. 
 
 "By prayers and promises, by specious pleas 
 and vehement protestations, I won from her a.
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 71 
 
 reluctant consent to an immediate and secret 
 union. Two causes operated in my favor. Her 
 large fortune depended in a great measure upon 
 the caprice of a wealthy uncle, and she feared 
 that did he but know of her marriage contracted 
 without his consent, she might forever alienate 
 his affection. But he was stern and hard, and 
 she feared him almost as much as she loved him. 
 The other favorable argument was the romantic 
 glamour which to the female mind attaches to 
 the idea of a secret marriage. She consented. 
 
 "To avoid publicity we arranged to be married 
 in the neighboring State of Wisconsin. In the 
 beautiful little town of Kenosha, just beyond the 
 State line, we found a complaisant minister of the 
 Methodist church, who, in consideration of a 
 liberal fee, agreed to marry us. In five minutes 
 we were one man and wife beyond all perad ven- 
 ture. We returned to Chicago and drove at once 
 - here. Seated by her side in this very room, 
 as the shades of evening fell, I broke to my bride 
 the truth which you and ten thousand others 
 know so well. Instead of being a wealthy mer- 
 chant engaged in legitimate business, I was a 
 gambler, dependent upon faro for a living. 
 
 "She gave me no time for explanations, as I
 
 72 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 said. I had intended to give up my old associa- 
 tions and strive to live honestly for her sake. But 
 my confession seemed to freeze the blood in her 
 veins. The beautiful face took on a look of stony 
 calmness, strangely at variance with the dan- 
 gerous steel-like glitter of the glorious eyes. 
 
 "'You have betrayed me,' she cried. 'The 
 ceremony we have performed gives you no rights 
 over me. I leave you now and forever. Follow 
 me not ; your touch is pollution ; your presence 
 is an insult/ And as she spoke, she rose from 
 her seat, and in an instant gained the door. How 
 it happened I can never tell, but for the first time 
 in my life I had left the key of the dead-latch on 
 the outside of the door. I was too late to arrest 
 her progress, and as the door slammed behind 
 her I was left a prisoner in my own room, from 
 which I was unable to effect my release for more 
 than an hour. When at last my frantic knock- 
 ings brought the janitor to my assistance, I was 
 
 almost raving. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "I never saw her again alive. The next day I 
 received, at the address I had given her, those let- 
 ters, and learning from them what her intention 
 was, I immediately, not caring for the conse-
 
 The Carnival's Victim. 73 
 
 quences, called at the house of her relatives on the 
 avenue, merely to find them in the wildest de- 
 spair at her absence, she never having been seen 
 since the night of the Carnival. 
 
 "Of course they knew nothing of me, and I 
 turned from the house, determined to search the 
 city over until I should discover her whereabouts. 
 Oh, God ! the search was but a brief one, for I 
 heard of the corpse of a woman having been 
 found at the rear of the Exposition Building, and 
 with the raging fires of hell in my heart, I went 
 to the Morgue. I saw her for a moment. My soul 
 died within me. I would have given myself to 
 the nethermost hell for ever and ever to have 
 brought her back, but that was impossible, and I 
 determined to follow her. My cowardly nature 
 recoiled at suicide, and I concocted a scheme to 
 attain my ends without actually raising my own 
 hand against my life. I explained to my brother 
 gambler a plan by which I proposed to make a 
 big haul. It was to culminate by a quarrel be- 
 tween us, during which, pistols charged blank 
 were to be exploded, and in the confusion we 
 were to make off with the swag. I loaded the 
 pistols, one with powder only, the other with sure 
 death. I retained the harmless one and gave the
 
 74 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 loaded one to ray companion. The plan succeed- 
 ed admirably. At the appointed time I gave the 
 signal, the quarrel commenced. I fired my blanl 
 charge at my chum, he returned the shot whicl 
 passed, thank God, clean through my lung." 
 
 Of course I have not, in this relation, indicatec 
 the breaks and pauses occasioned by the spasms, 
 and fits of coughing up from time to time of th< 
 coagulated blood which hindered the gambler' i 
 utterance. 
 
 As he finished his narration he fell back upoi 
 the pillows, pointed his finger in the direction of 
 the door, hoarsely whispered in his contractec 
 throat, "She is there ! She beckons ! I come 
 I come !" and with a smile upon his lips, expim
 
 LEAF IV. 
 
 THE STORY OF A WAIF. 
 
 NE evening in the 
 early part of May, 
 1876, I was handed 
 by the city editor 
 of the Chicago daily 
 paper to which I was 
 then attached, a brief 
 note couched in the fol- 
 lowing terms : 
 
 " If the would like to know 
 
 the truth about the baby which 
 died yesterday at the Protestant 
 
 Orphan Asylum, let a reporter call on Mrs. 
 
 Garvey, No. , De Puyster street." 
 
 This note came by mail, ad- 
 dressed to the Editor of the , 
 and was apparently the produc- 
 tion of an imperfectly educated person, although 
 
 (75)
 
 76 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 the spelling was correct and the wording direct 
 and to the point. Newspaper men generally look 
 with considerable distrust upon anonymous com- 
 munications, but this scarcely came under that 
 head. Turning to the Directory I found that a 
 Mr. Garvey did live at the number given, and 
 that he was a shoemaker by trade. Referring to 
 the paper of that day, I found a brief mention of 
 the death of the child, and a statement that it 
 was the one which had been discovered, about 
 eight nights before, in front of the Orphan Asy- 
 lum. I looked up the paper of that date and 
 found the following : 
 
 v. 
 
 " ANOTHER FOUNDLING. 
 
 " Last night about nine o'clock one of the nurses 'at the Prot- 
 estant Orphan Asylum on Michigan avenue, near Twenty-third 
 street, while locking the outer door, preparatory to retiring for 
 the night, heard a faint, wailing sound proceeding from some 
 point on the lawn in front of the building. She listenodVand the 
 cry was repeated unmistakably, this time, the cry of a child. 
 It was as Wordsworth has it : 
 
 " 'An infant crying in the night, 
 An infant crying for the light, 
 And with no language but a cry.' 
 
 "She called for assistance and a light being obtained, they- 
 found under a tree in the centre of the lawn, a basket containing 
 a beautiful female child, apparently about six months old. It was
 
 The Story of a Waif. 77 
 
 well dressed, its clothing being of fine linen, and heavily em- 
 broidered, but the night was very cold, and the poor child was 
 almost chilled to death. It was carefully tended by the matron 
 and her assistants, and may possibly survive. It is stated by per- 
 sons connected with the institution, that about half-past seven 
 o'clock a carriage drove up to the outer gate. It stopped but for 
 a moment and then passed on a few yards, as if the driver had 
 pulled up at the wrong house. One of the nurses fancied that 
 she heard the outer latch click, but on looking out saw no one, 
 and found that the carriage had driven off." 
 
 It appeared, therefore, that in spite of the care 
 which had been bestowed on the unfortunate 
 baby, it had succumbed to the exposure to which 
 it had been subjected. It seemed likely, also, 
 that the writer of the letter might have some facts 
 to communicate which would be of importance, 
 and accordingly I proceeded to the address given. 
 
 Mr. Garvey turned out to be a very decent- 
 looking Scotchman, and his wife a motherly wo- 
 man of the same nationality. They had three 
 children, one a baby about six months old. I 
 stated my business and showed the note which 
 had been received at the office. Contrary to 
 my expectation, Mrs. G. at once avowed its 
 authorship. "We thought," she said, "not 
 to have said anything about it, but we thought 
 when the poor wee thing died, that it was
 
 78 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 time somebody should know about its cruel 
 mother as she calls herself, though it's no bairn 
 of hers." 
 
 The story which these good people had to tell 
 was a strange and peculiar one, and yet what they 
 knew was but the smallest half of the truth. 
 They explained that a little over five months be- 
 fore, a lady richly dressed in black and wearing a 
 profusion of .jewelry, alighted from a carriage at 
 their door. She had heard how, they did not 
 know that Mrs. Garvey was willing to take a 
 child to nurse. She said that her sister had a 
 young child which she was unable to nurse, and 
 offered what was to the Garveys a considerable 
 sum for taking care of the child. 
 
 As a guarantee of good faith she paid fifty 
 dollars in advance, and agreed that Mrs. G. should 
 have the care of the infant for a year. Upon 
 these terms they agreed, and for about two 
 months all went well. The lady came at fre- 
 quent intervals, always bringing sweetmeats for 
 the Garvey children, and occasionally presents 
 for the mother, while the payments were regu- 
 larly made. But curiously enough the alleged 
 mother of the infant did not appear on the scene, 
 nor did Mrs. Mortimer, for that was the name
 
 The Story of a Waif. 79 
 
 the lady gave, display even an aunt's affection 
 for the little one. 
 
 About the middle of January Mrs. Mortimer 
 made to the Garveys a new proposition. She 
 said that her sister had to go to California to join 
 her husband, who was a wealthy merchant in 
 San Francisco, and that of course she would take 
 the child along. She was especially anxious to 
 get the nurse to go with her, and promised her a 
 large remuneration. But Mrs. Garvey could not 
 leave her own family, even though tempted by 
 liberal offers of reward, and the end of it was, 
 that on the next day Mrs. Mortimer came again 
 in the carriage, bringing with her a younger lady, 
 who remained in the vehicle, and who was the 
 mother of the infant. So at least said the reputed 
 aunt. But the Garveys only got a glimpse of 
 this person, who was closely veiled, and who 
 never spoke, even when the child was handed 
 into the carriage. The pair drove off, and the 
 shoemaker and his wife, although there existed 
 in the minds of both an undefined idea that there 
 was something peculiar about the whole matter, 
 could do nothing more than, surmise. They felt 
 the existence of a mystery, but had no idea of 
 the truth.
 
 
 About six weeks 
 later they were again 
 surprised by the reap- 
 pearance of Mrs. Mor- 
 timer. She had in- 
 formed them that it 
 was her intention to 
 reside for a year at 
 least upon the Pacific 
 Slope with her sister 
 and that lady's hus- 
 band. Yet here she was again, more 
 I handsomely dressed than ever, with a 
 pair of magnificent solitaire diamond 
 
 . (80)
 
 The Story of a Waif. 81 
 
 -ear- rings sparkling in the light as she moved, 
 and once more she asked Mrs. Grarvey to take 
 charge of the child. 
 
 If it seemed strange before that the child of 
 -wealthy parents should be committed so freely 
 to the care of an utter stranger, to be brought up 
 with the children of a mechanic, it seemed 
 doubly strange that it should now be returned 
 to its foster mother in this summary fashion. 
 
 Mrs. Garvey's womanly curiosity was excited, 
 and she asked a series of questions, the only 
 effect of which was apparently to render Mrs. 
 Mortimer rather uncomfortable. She said that 
 her sister had poor health in California, and had 
 been ordered by the physicians to travel in 
 Europe. The child was too great a task for her, 
 and if the nurse would take it again she might 
 bring it up with her own children. She should 
 be liberally paid, but she must ask no more 
 questions. Some day the infant should be re- 
 claimed, but in the meantime it needed more 
 care than the mother could give it. 
 
 After considerable demur the terms were agreed 
 upon, and once more Mrs. (jrarvey took charge 
 of the little one. She was horrified to find that 
 during its short absence it had been scandalously
 
 82 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 neglected, and seemingly not more than half fed. 
 But under her care, and that of a doctor whom 
 she called in, it rapidly began to recover ita 
 strength, and was soon in good health. 
 
 But for some reason or other Mrs. Mortimer 
 did not seem either so attentive or so responsive 
 with her payments as upon the previous occasion, 
 and after three weeks had passed she ceased com- 
 ing altogether to the little house on De Puyster 
 street. Garvey became alarmed, and called at 
 the address which, she gave upon her first visit. 
 This was at one of the most fashionable boarding- 
 houses in the city, situated in the most aristo- 
 cratic quarter, and known to receive only the very 
 cream of society. Here he learned that the lady 
 had left there about two months before, saying 
 that she was going to Europe. 
 
 Garvey began to be afraid that he was saddled, 
 with one more incumbrance than he had bar- 
 gained for, but being a persevering fellow he 
 resolved to search the hotels through, and to 
 track Mrs. M. if it were possible. 
 
 He tried them all and without success. No 
 such person boarded at any of the more promi- 
 nent hotels. But chance threw in his way what 
 patient search might never have revealed. He
 
 The Story of a Waif. 
 
 83 
 
 had made his inquiry of the clerk at the - 
 House, received the usual answer, and was turn- 
 ing away. A gentleman standing by was at- 
 tracted by the earnestness of the man and asked 
 him, half in joke, what the lady was like. Gar- 
 vey described her, and the gentleman, turning to 
 the clerk, said: "By George! he means Mrs. 
 Baxter." True enough, Garvey had ran his 
 game to earth. Mrs. Mortimer was none other 
 than the dashing widow who, under the name 
 of Baxter, had recently attracted great attention 
 from the boarders at the - - Hotel. At this 
 time she was the recipient of assiduous attentions 
 from one of the most prominent of Chicago's 
 merchant princes, a widower of about forty-five 
 years of age, and who has since received a great 
 deal of newspaper notoriety as the chief engineer 
 )f one of the most gigantic "corners" ever run 
 in the Chicago wheat market. 
 
 Garvey waited until the l^dy returned to the 
 lotel and then almost forced himself into her 
 )resence. This he could scarcely have done but 
 for the assistance of the gentleman to whom he 
 had spoken, and who was a boarder in the house. 
 Beside this he was a man-about-town and pretty 
 well posted on a good many matters. The pecu-
 
 84 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 liarities of the case struck him somewhat, and he 
 took an opportunity to question the shoemaker 
 about it. What he heard only made him desir- 
 ous of knowing more, and it was from him that 
 I learned the inside history of this strange case, 
 as will be hereafter shown. 
 
 But to resume our story. The lady was indig- 
 nant at what she was pleased to consider an 
 intrusion on her privacy, and angrily told Gar- 
 vey that she would call upon him the next day. 
 She did so, and announced that she would re- 
 move the child. This promise she carried out 
 on the night of the 27th of April, coming in a 
 hired carriage and accompanied this time by one 
 of the most prominent physicians of the South 
 Division. The Garveys were told that the child 
 was to be placed in the care of an asjdum, and 
 although they protested against this, they were 
 powerless in the matter. 
 
 Such was the story told by Garvey and his 
 wife, and of this I received the fullest corrobora- 
 tipn from other quarters. I found out much 
 more. Acting upon a clue which I received in a 
 very peculiar way, I found the coachman who 
 drove Mrs. Mortimer-Baxter and her medical 
 companion, first to De Puyster street, and after-
 
 The Story of a Waif. 85 
 
 wards to Michigan avenue and Twenty-second 
 street. He told me who the doctor was, and 
 conclusively proved that this prominent physi- 
 cian, who to-day has a reputation as one of the 
 most skillful in Chicago, in the treatment of 
 difficult surgical cases, and who is a member of 
 half a dozen learned societies, was the man who 
 placed the helpless infant on the lawn of the 
 Asylum, and by thus exposing it to the inclem- 
 ency of the weather caused its death. 
 
 There remained only to find out the motive for 
 this atrocious piece of cruelty. The death of 
 the child might not have been desired, but the 
 means taken to dispose of it were of such a char- 
 acter that the woman and the doctor were really 
 the instruments of its death. I wrote the story 
 up as I got it from the Garveys, being amply 
 satisfied of its substantial truth. One of my 
 associates called upon Mrs. Baxter, at the - 
 Hotel, and as delicately as possible asked her 
 what she knew of the case. She was indignant 
 in the highest degree, and threatened the direst 
 vengeance on any one who should assail her 
 good name by such a publication. No sooner 
 had he left than she summoned her French maid, 
 and all night long the two women sat up packing.
 
 80 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Before the eight o'clock train left for the East, 
 Mrs. Baxter sent for her bill, and in half an hour 
 she was speeding over the Lake Shore Railroad, 
 tickets for New York in her pocket. Three 
 days later, I was informed by telegraph from our 
 New York correspondent that she had sailed for 
 Europe in the Germanica. 
 
 The reader can not have forgotten the thrill of 
 horror which ran through the country when the 
 news came of the terrible catastrophe in the 
 British Channel, when the Germanica was run 
 down by a heavily-laden merchant vessel, and all 
 on board, with the exception of a few sailors, 
 perished. Among those who found a watery 
 grave were Mrs. Mortimer - Baxter and her 
 maid the same woman who played the role 
 of the. mother of the child on the night that 
 it was first taken from the house on De Puy- 
 ster street. 
 
 -* # * * # 
 
 On the night of - - I met in the card-room 
 of one of Chicago's fashionable clubs the gentle- 
 man who spoke to Garvey on the night of his 
 visit to the - - Hotel. I had gone to the club 
 to hunt up a New York gentleman visiting in the 
 city, and there met Mr. - . "Oh, by the
 
 88 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 way," said lie, "have you ever found out who 
 Mrs. Mortimer-Baxter was?" 
 
 " No," I replied, " have you ? " 
 
 " I have," was the quiet answer ; " would you 
 like to hear the story ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " I should like to know the 
 motive for all that mystery." 
 
 "Sit down, then," said- , "and Til tell 
 you all about it." And with this preface he 
 told me a story, which I condense as follows : 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer was the daughter of one of the 
 wealthiest of the Virginian planter aristocracy, 
 who in ante- war times maintained upon his es- 
 tates in the beautiful country south of the James 
 river, a degree of state and a free-handed hos- 
 pitality, which was considered prodigal, even for 
 that time, and among the society of which the 
 family were hereditary leaders. The war broke 
 out when Victorine Markham had just reached 
 her sixteenth year. Her personal charms were 
 great, and her father's wealth and social position 
 would have rendered even a less highly-gifted 
 girl a great prize in the matrimonial market. 
 But she had no need of any adventitious aids, 
 her beauty alone sufficed to attract to her side 
 .many wooers, and the lady of Kinsley Hall was
 
 The Story of a Waif. 89- 
 
 recognized even by women as the belle of that 
 whole section. 
 
 Like all her fair sisters in the South, Miss 
 Markham was carried away with enthusiasm 
 over the Secessionist movement. Her father was 
 a trusted counsellor of the late chief of the 
 Southern Confederacy, and of all her male rela- 
 tives, friends and admirers, there was not one but 
 felt ardently the fighting flame, and went forth to 
 battle for their State, and against the Northerner, 
 whom they hated so fiercely. In those times 
 events marched rapidly, and conventional delays 
 were swept aside with a rude hand. Thus it 
 came that when Henry Mortimer, a young Caro- 
 linian who had greatly distinguished himself as 
 a cavalry officer, and who was at that time in 
 high command at Richmond, proposed marriage, 
 the consummation of his hopes was not long 
 deferred. 
 
 But the dream of happiness was short. Mor- 
 timer was assigned to active duties in the West, 
 and fell at Chickamauga. Thus Victorine- 
 found herself at nineteen the widow of a Major 
 General, and yet a beggar. Her father's estates 
 were devastated and his property destroyed by 
 the victorious Union soldiers, and the proud man,
 
 90 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 who had borne himself so high in his prosperity, 
 died in the latter part of 1865, the victim of a 
 broken heart. 
 
 Left thus alone, the young widow, still charm- 
 ing and even more lovely than when as a girl she 
 graced her father's mansion, was compelled to 
 cast about for a means of livelihood. She was 
 accomplished as well as beautiful, but unhappily 
 her early training had ill-litted her for a battle 
 with the stern realities of life. She was fond of 
 power and pomp, of money not for its own sake 
 but for that which it commanded, and she was 
 sadly deficient in moral principle. 
 
 She drifted, after one or two adventures which 
 need not be here especially mentioned, to Wash- 
 ington, and there in the meretricious society 
 which cursed the National Capital, she reigned 
 once more a queen. She became a lobbyist, and 
 executed alone two or three of the most daring 
 coups made at that time. It was an era of cor- 
 ruption and bribery, when tens of millions of 
 acres of the public domain were unblushingly 
 voted away by the sworn guardians of the people, 
 and when honesty hid its head, and the specula- 
 tor, the legislator and the lobbyist formed part- 
 nerships by the score.
 
 The Story of a Waif. 01 
 
 This could not last, and few years had passed 
 before Mrs. Mortimer found that her occupation 
 as an influencer of senile Senators and corrupti- 
 ble Congressmen had passed away. She became 
 an adventuress, pure and simple. From Sara- 
 toga to Newport, Long Branch to Cape May, 
 she moved with the seasons, and finally, in 
 the spring succeeding the great fire, she removed 
 to the West. In Chicago she met for the first 
 time a recently elected Senator from a far 
 Western State, one for whom lavish nature has 
 laid bare her laboratory of glittering ore, and 
 whose wealth in mining property is reckoned by 
 millions. 
 
 It is said, and there appears to be considerable 
 foundation for the statement, that, during her 
 residence in Washington, the wily lobbyist was 
 herself deluded and wronged. Almost every 
 swindler finds some one more unscrupulous and 
 daring than himself, and it was so in this wo- 
 man's case. An Englishman named Baxter, a 
 worthless scion of a good family, and with a 
 title in expectancy, but no immediate reliance 
 other than cards and billiards, proved more 
 than a match even for the skilled female diplo- 
 matist. They were married, it is said, pri-
 
 92 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 vately, and as we have seen, she bore his name- 
 at times. 
 
 What has become of Baxter is not known, but 
 it seems that the dashing Southerner considered 
 herself a free agent, for during her first stay in 
 Chicago it was openly bruited that she would 
 marry the legislator from the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Somehow or other this fell through, and partly 
 for revenge partly, no doubt, with a view to the- 
 extortion of a large sum of money she procured 
 the child whose melancholy fate we have re- 
 corded. Its mother was induced to part with it 
 by liberal promises of reward, and the adven- 
 turess, with her colleague and assistant, the- 
 French waiting-maid, visited California as nar- 
 rated. 
 
 Their scheme partly succeeded and partly 
 failed, for although the Senator, with a whole- 
 some fear of exposure, bled freely of his wealth, 
 he was shrewd enough to couple with the com- 
 promise which was made, a written stipulation! 
 that he should be freed from all further claims. 
 Thus the unhappy infant, the unconscious in- 
 strument of a wicked woman, became an incum- 
 brance to her, and this was the reason why she 
 and her confederates removed it from the care of
 
 The Story of a Waif. 
 
 93 
 
 the Garveys, and placed it at the door of the 
 institution. To judge her charitably for she 
 has gone now where He who knows all will act 
 as Judge we may hope that her intent was not 
 murder, and that the death of the poor child 
 was not anticipated. But the case taken in all 
 its bearings, was one of the strangest I ever met, 
 and it is told to-day for the first time. 
 
 'CO
 
 LEAF V. 
 
 THE TELL-TALE SKULL. 
 
 VEN in this anything 
 but romantic age the 
 indefatigable seeker 
 after sensational items 
 for the daily papers 
 occasionally drops 
 upon something so 
 strange that the wild- 
 est imagination of the 
 professional novelist is 
 commonplace in com- 
 parison. How the fol- 
 
 lowing strange story came to the 
 knowledge of the writer concerns not the 
 reader. Every word of it is true, and though the 
 names have been carefully concealed by the use 
 of fictitious rather than real ones, yet there are 
 
 (95)
 
 96 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 many residents of Chicago who will recognize 
 the parties concerned, and find the main inci- 
 dents familiar. 
 
 There was nothing strange about the house, No. 
 - Wabash avenue. It was one of those compara- 
 tively old-fashioned red brick structures with a 
 high stoop, of which whole rows vie with each 
 other in the exquisite cleanness of the steps, the 
 trim order of the small garden, and the luxuriance 
 of the window plants. A smarter darkey than the 
 one who here answered the door bell could not 
 be found on the avenue, a more faultless turnout 
 than the dark green and brown glass-fronted 
 carriage, with its pair of coal black horses, never 
 carried a prettier couple than Hattie and Selina 
 Smith, the daughters of Hiram Smith, the retired 
 broker who occupied this genteel residence. 
 
 Hiram Smith was reputed one of the wealthiest 
 citizens of Chicago, and although never seen 
 more on 'Change, he was largely interested in 
 stocks of various kinds, and there was scarcely 
 a dividend declared on any of the safe and profit- 
 able investments connected with the city, or, 
 indeed, the Northwest, which did not add con- 
 siderably to his bank account. 
 
 On a fine morning in January, some eighteen
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 97 
 
 months before this fourth of July, 1879, Smith was 
 seated at an elegant rosewood escritoire in the 
 luxurious library, which fronted on the avenue, 
 overlooking a large package of deeds, bonds, 
 mortgages, and other securities, which for some 
 purpose or other he had that morning removed 
 from the Fidelity vaults. 
 
 "There," said he, "those West Side street 
 shares will realize at least sixty thousand, those 
 North Side shares will bring me half as much, 
 the Express scrip at 58 will net close upon forty 
 thousand, my Rock Islands are good for twenty- 
 five, and that Lockport property has sold for 
 half cash and half Toledo and Wabash, the title 
 is accepted, no suspicions are aroused, and the 
 old place with all its unpleasant recollections is 
 off my hands. The great secret is now a secret 
 forever ; dead men tell no tales. I have only 
 now to transfer this house and the rest of my 
 Chicago real estate, and the vast stake I played 
 so boldly for is won. Vivian returns this week, 
 the marriage must not be delayed, once get him 
 .safely tied to Hattie, and Selina the wife of Clar- 
 ges, the scheme is complete, my hands are unfet- 
 tered, and I am free. All good Americans when 
 they die go to Paris, but I prefer seeing the me-
 
 98 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 tropolis of luxury in the flesh. What a lucky 
 
 thing Vivian did not return until Here his 
 
 soliloquy was interrupted by a rattling voice in 
 the hall "All right, Snowball, I'll introduce 
 myself." 
 
 We can not be as nonchalant about so impor- 
 tant a character as the hero of our little life 
 drama was about himself, and must try to de- 
 scribe the dashing young fellow, who, at the 
 conclusion of this off-hand speech dashed into 
 the presence of the millionaire. Vivian Denston 
 was a tall young "main* of some five and twenty 
 summers, whose profession was the law, but 
 whose business was pleasure. His face was 
 almost a regular oval, his eye a piercing hazel, 
 his hair ebony black, and his lips thin, and 
 when the face was in repose decidedly cruel. 
 He was thoroughly chic in his dress, and his 
 boots, gloves and hat were unmistakably Pa- 
 risian. 
 
 As he entered, Smith's back was towards the 
 door, but Vivian crossed the room unhesitatingly 
 and tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 Smith started, exclaimed " Who' s there ?" and 
 turning, continued, "Talk of the devil and 
 Denston, my boy, how do you do ? "
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 99 
 
 "Oh," replied Denston, "salubrious. Euro- 
 pean air has not spoiled my complexion, Paris 
 girls have not stolen my heart, French suppers 
 have not ruined my health nor destroyed my 
 appetite ; but Hiram, my Cro3sus, what are 
 these?" and he unceremoniously seized upon a 
 bundle of deeds and bonds. 
 
 "Those," answered Smith, "those, my boy, 
 are the blood of life, the stuff we Yankees dig, 
 delve, slave, travel, - 
 
 "And murder for, eh ? " interrupted Vivian. 
 
 " What's that you say ? Oh, ah, 1 see, a joke, 
 eh? Devilish good, upon my word. But have 
 you seen Hattie?" 
 
 "Why," replied Denston, "that is just the 
 business I want to talk about to you. You see 
 I'm- -" 
 
 "In a deuce of a hurry to make her Mrs. 
 Vivian Denston ; of course it' s quite natural in 
 you young fellows." 
 
 " Yes," said the young man, " I dare say it is ; 
 but you see, Smith, that don' t happen to be my 
 case. I've altered my opinion." 
 
 "What? altered your opinion? Did you not 
 propose, were you not accepted ? I gave you my 
 consent, and -
 
 100 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "Ha! ha ! " laughed Vivian. "All very right, 
 strictly O K, most paternal papa, but you see 
 since I've been to Paris and seen more of the bon 
 ton, as the parlez vous call it, I've changed my 
 mind and must decline - 
 
 "An alliance with my family," roared Hiram 
 Smith. 
 
 ' Soft and easy, soft and easy. Don' t let your 
 dander rise. That's not exactly the case, but 
 then, you see, Hattie is one of those divine little 
 domestic creatures, decidedly without dash. 
 Now I find that dash is the thing, and I propose 
 asking you for the hand of her sister." 
 
 At this audacious proposal, Smith lost all 
 control of his temper, and he shrieked rather 
 than replied, " Her sister ! Sir, is my family to 
 be at your beck and call ? Am I to submit to the 
 affections of my child being thus trifled with ? 
 You know how she loves you, how popular 
 report has already mated you, and how her fair 
 name will be compromised. No, sir, it can not 
 be, neither would Selina submit to it, and I, sir, 
 as the father of a family - 
 
 " I know all that, my friend, have read it in 
 the romances of the period, but - " Here 
 Vivian spoke very slowly and with a tantalizing
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 101 
 
 pause between every word, at the same time dis- 
 engaging a somewhat bulky and peculiar looking 
 parcel tied up in a silk handkerchief, from his 
 <joat-tail pocket; "we will change the subject. 
 I have a curiosity here." He deliberately untied 
 the bandanna, and produced a bleached and grin- 
 ning skull. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried Smith, " Denston, are 
 you mad \ What on earth do you mean ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," said Vivian, "not mad, merely a 
 modern Hamlet, with all his philosophy, but 
 none of his mania. I only wished to call your 
 
 attention to a peculiarity about this cranium. 
 
 
 
 Do you see it has a perforation at the back, 
 which, although evidently arising from collision 
 with a pistol ball, could hardly have been received 
 in this location during the exchange of civilities 
 in an honorable duel." 
 
 During this speech, Smith, evidently overcome 
 by some internal struggle, sank into his chair and 
 stared with blank astonishment at the speaker. 
 The effort to control his feelings was useless, and 
 he exclaimed in an agony of terror, "Help! 
 help ! air ! I choke ! ' ' 
 
 With the utmost coolness Denston continued. 
 " Strange effect it seems to have on the old
 
 102 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 gentleman." He placed the skull upon the 
 table, and unbuttoned the collar of his com- 
 panion, whose staring eyes and engorged tem- 
 ples seemed to threaten .apoplexy. By vig- 
 orous fanning, however, on the part of Vivian, 
 and a violent mental effort on his own, Smith 
 overcame his silent terror, and ^exclaimed, "A 
 pistol ball, ball, ball ! Take it away ! take it 
 away ! " 
 
 4 'Why, what's the matter, Smith?" coolly 
 asked Denston. "Are yon personally interested 
 in that specimen of defunct humanity ? " 
 
 Smith, recovering his presence of mind, ex- 
 claimed, " Ha ! ha ! a joke, a devilish good joke. 
 Interested ? Not I, but my nerves are none of 
 the strongest, and having that nasty thing 
 popped under my nose - 
 
 "Do you know where that skull was found ? " 
 asked \ 7 ivian. 
 
 " How should I ?" queried Smith. 
 
 " Well, it was accidentally dug up at Lock- 
 port. I can tell you the exact spot." 
 
 "No, thank you, my boy, I take no interest 
 in antiquarian researches." 
 
 "Nor the clearing up of long-hid mysteries, 
 eh?" 
 
 i
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 103 
 
 "Say no more about it, Denston. What can 
 I do for you, my dear friend ? " 
 
 ''Well, my dear prospective father-in-law, I 
 wish you to use your, influence with Selina. I 
 must and will, mark me, will marry Selina, and 
 then, you see, I shall take no further interest in 
 antiquarian researches, and get rid of my speci- 
 mens." 
 
 To this modest request, Smith, now completely 
 humbled, replied, "Well, of course, as long a& 
 you honor my family with an alliance, it matters 
 but little which daughter you take. But no 
 more of it at present, I hear her footstep in th& 
 
 hall." 
 
 * 
 
 At this moment the door opened and a tall, 
 elegantly formed, dashing blonde, whose dusky 
 golden ringlets hung like a sheaf of sunbeams 
 round a face fair as the bosom of the sea-born 
 deity, came tripping into the room, saying as she 
 entered, "Oh, papa, you promised- ' then 
 seeing Vivian she added, "I beg your pardon, 
 sir, I fancied pa was alone." 
 
 " Come in, child," replied her father. " Thia 
 is an old acquaintance, fresh from Paris, 
 with a complete knowledge of bonnets and 
 bijouterie."
 
 104 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "Miss Smith," said Vivian, bowing politely, 
 "permit me to congratulate you upon your 
 -appearance ; you are as charming as ever." 
 
 To this flattering speech Selina replied, haughti- 
 ly, "Mr. Denston will reserve his French com- 
 pliments for more welcome ears." 
 
 "For shame ! Selina," almost angrily retorted 
 her father. " Have you no word of welcome for 
 an old friend \ You who were the subject of our 
 conversation as you came in ? " 
 
 Selina asked, "To what cause do I owe the 
 honor of Mr. Denston' s remarks ? " 
 
 Not knowing how far the sudden interest taken 
 in his affairs might lead Mr. Smith to go, and 
 recognizing discretion as the better part of valor, 
 Mr. Denston checked him as he was about to 
 reply, and said, "Miss Smith, it will probably be 
 more fitting that I should retire and leave a mat- 
 ter of some delicacy in the hands of your 
 respected papa. So au revoirSind. Mr. Smith 
 I will see you again about about those anti- 
 quarian researches I was speaking of." 
 
 Taking his hat he then retired, saying to him- 
 self as he crossed the hall, "And now, John 
 Fleming, I think I have checkmated you." 
 
 The gentleman thus cavalierly alluded to was
 
 106 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 a highly prosperous merchant, whose business 
 was one of the most lucrative in the city, and 
 between whom and Vivian Denston there was 
 a bitter enmity, and who, it was whispered 
 among fashionable society, was the accepted 
 lover of Miss Selina Smith. 
 
 "No sooner had the gallant gay Lothario 
 quitted the library than Selina asked her father 
 the meaning of this mystery, this matter of some 
 delicacy. All the satisfaction she obtained was 
 in the form of a question. "Do you love your 
 father?" 
 
 ' ' Has he ever had reason to doubt my affec- 
 tion ? " * was the response. 
 
 Her father replied, " Words of mere compli- 
 ment mean but little, except accompanied by 
 obedience." 
 
 " Did I ever disobey you, papa ? " 
 
 "No, child, but you must prepare to accede 
 to a very abrupt proposition." 
 
 "And that is ?" 
 
 "To marry Vivian Denston." 
 
 "Never! never !" exclaimed the astonished 
 and frightened girl. 
 
 "Selina," replied her father, I tell you he 
 must be your husband, or -
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 10T 
 
 " Father," almost shrieked his terrified daugh- 
 ter, ' ' in all that doth become a dutiful child, I 
 have ever been obedient, but to prove false to the 
 man I love and I do love, papa to be the slave 
 of a man's caprice, the rival of a sister, and the 
 bride of one whom I fear and loathe, would as 
 little become me to endure as it seems to me 
 unfatherly in you to require. Who is this grand 
 Turk who has liberty to enter our house and fling 
 his handkerchief first at one and then at the 
 other according to the idle fancy of the hour?" 
 
 Angry and ashamed of himself, but borne 
 down by what he knew to be a fatal necessity, 
 he sternly replied, u You shall know what it is 
 to thwart a fathers will. Prepare this night to 
 receive Vivian Denston as your accepted lover, 
 or I will show you that such punishment awaits 
 a disobedient child as she little dreams of." 
 
 "Oh, father!" exclaimed the poor girl, "by 
 my sainted mother's memory, by your recollec- 
 tions of your own wedded love, you can not, you 
 will not 
 
 "No more," he cried, interrupting her. "It 
 must be as I say. You marry Denston, or a 
 dying father's curse will drag you to perdition. 
 Love, bah! choice, nonsense! a sick girl's
 
 108 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 dream. Marriage now-a-days is but a convent 
 ience; fortune, a home, a position in society all 
 these will be yours. I can lavish wealth upon 
 you, and Denston is rich. I'll hold no Barley 
 with a disobedient daughter. Make up your 
 mind to marry him. Be brave and you can 
 command happiness. I will see him again this 
 afternoon shall tell him to call this evening. 
 Receive him as your lover, accept him as your 
 husband, or dread the consequences of your 
 folly." 
 
 Saying this, and spurning her from him, he^ 
 abruptly left the room, leaving her upon the 
 floor where she had flung herself in a last appeal 
 to her father's generosity. Rising from her pros- 
 trate position, and with an effort nerving herself 
 for the struggle she felt must come, she ex- 
 claimed, "Marry Denston! a father's curse I 
 Oh, no ! he could not curse his child. But he is a 
 harsh man and will not be thwarted. Meet 
 Vivian to-night to-night ! No ! sooner shall the 
 calm bosom of the lake receive one more victim, 
 sooner shall death bear me to my mother's arms, 
 than I become the bride of this man, this mon- 
 ster without a heart." 
 
 Her mind was made up, her resolve taken, and
 
 TJie Tell -Tale Skull. 109 
 
 quietly she went about making her preparations. 
 Liberally supplied with pocket money, she was 
 not without funds, and packing up a few neces- 
 sary articles in so small a compass as to avoid 
 suspicion, she watched for a favorable oppor- 
 tunity, and when her father went down town to 
 report to Denston the result of his negotiations, 
 she silently quitted the house. Great was the 
 astonishment of the household at the evening 
 meal when Selina was found missing. Of course 
 no one except her father could imagine any 
 cause for her absence, and her sister, until late 
 at night, imagined that she had been detailed 
 at the house of some friend. Hour after hour 
 passed away. 
 
 The expectant lover came according to the 
 appointment made with her father, attired in all 
 the glory of full evening costume, and it may 
 be imagined how constrained and awkward was 
 his interview with the sister, whose love he had 
 sought and whose affection he now scorned. 
 Hattie, however, was so troubled at the unac- 
 countable disappearance of her sister that she 
 sitspected no wrong, and when all hopes of her 
 return had passed away, she had the horses put 
 in the carriage, and made a round of inquiry
 
 110 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 among her aristocratic friends of the South and 
 North Sides. The father and Vivian Denston, 
 both feeling that something dreadful had hap- 
 pened, went to the bureau of a detective force 
 and instituted a rigid search. The police were 
 notified, the most indefatigable agents were en- 
 listed in the search, but day after day passed, 
 
 and nothing was heard of the missing Selina. 
 ***** * 
 
 In a gloomy old house, fronting on a square, 
 which, once trim and highly cultivated, looked 
 the more untidy and dilapidated from the neglect 
 into which it had fallen, in a portion of the city 
 of New York from whence Fashion had departed 
 up town wards, the rooms were let out at reason- 
 able rates to the artistic and literary Bohemians 
 who congregate in the great metropolis of the 
 Union. 
 
 Here the student struggling against poverty 
 arid want of patronage dreamed of, exhibitions 
 and commissions, and drew from the models who 
 for a dollar or two permitted their unadorned 
 charms to be portrayed by the artist. Here the 
 industrious essayist, the plodding itemizer and 
 the writers of precarious editorials or occasional 
 sensations, burnt the midnight oil, and too fre-
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. Ill 
 
 quently made night hideous by the chanting of 
 snatches of slang songs picked up at the gardens 
 or music halls. It was a strange but kindly 
 commonwealth, and a pipe full of tobacco, a 
 crayon or a color was as readily given, as freely 
 asked for, among the denizens of this roomy old 
 dwelling. 
 
 There was one room, however, which bore a 
 striking difference from the rest, and it was long 
 before any of the inmates of the house penetrat- 
 ed beyond the jealously locked door. Evidently 
 its occupant was a hard working student, who 
 merely left his room when he had work 
 completed, and then, merely long enough to 
 go down to Sarony's, or some other photog- 
 rapher's, with the contents of a red morocco 
 portfolio, neatly tied, and containing exquis- 
 itely finished portraits in water color. It was 
 in this way the young man made his living, 
 but his work was so perfect, his taste so refined, 
 that he readily obtained all, and more than 
 all he could do. 
 
 He was fair haired and extremely handsome, 
 and always dressed in a frock coat of splendid 
 fit ; the balance of his costume far above the 
 usual style of garb worn by struggling artists,
 
 112 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 both as to quality and style. From his beauty 
 and his reticence he was christened by his house- 
 mates the " dumb Apollo." He took no part in 
 the bacchanalian revels which too often character- 
 ized the house in which he lived, and beyond a 
 walk in the square, or a ride up to the park after 
 his day's work was done, he seemed to care for 
 no amusement. 
 
 Months passed thus, but by degrees nodding 
 acquaintanceships with the better class of room- 
 ers were formed, and one or two of the more 
 talented young artists who lived lives of indus- 
 trious seclusion were admitted into his rooms, 
 one of which was used as a studio, and the 
 other furnished in the most fastidious taste 
 as a bed-room. It was evident that the mys- 
 terious student did not confine himself alto- 
 gether to working for the photographers, for 
 many landscape sketches and beautifully fin- 
 ished miniature pictures adorned his walls. 
 Very frequently would his visitors ask him to 
 accompany them to the theatre or concert rooms, 
 but these invitations were kindly though firmly 
 refused. 
 
 On one occasion, however, New York rung with 
 the praises of a lovely young girl about whose
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 113 
 
 life and origin there hung a strange mystery, and 
 who. was singing at a decent though not very fash- 
 ionable music hall, in one of the most retired 
 streets of the metropolis. In this young girl the 
 artist seemed to take a strange interest, and when 
 all curiosity was piqued by tl ? 3 impossibity of 
 learning her story, he felt an irresistible desire to 
 see and hear the beautiful creature of whom he 
 heard so much from his companions. Pressed 
 to go, he at length consented, and in company 
 with a student whose tastes and habits were 
 almost as refined as his own, he, for the first and 
 only time in his life ventured over the threshold 
 of a New York Music Hall. 
 
 The room was crowded. The galleries set apart 
 for those who preferred lighter viands than the 
 beer and liquor served out below, were adorned 
 with heavy evergreens in large tubs, between 
 which were placed tables for the refreshments 
 which might be required. At one of these our 
 two artists were seated. But little attention was 
 paid to the first two or three numbers, all anx- 
 iously waiting for the appearance of the myste- 
 rious lady whose original songs, pretty voice 
 and still prettier figure, had created so great 
 a furore.
 
 114 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 At length, the orchestra commenced one of her 
 favorite airs, and she bounded like a sylph before 
 the curtain. She was a brunette of glorious 
 beauty, young and lithe as a wand, dressed in a 
 fancy Spanish costume, which set off the splen- 
 did contour of her bust and form to perfection. 
 She sang with a pathos and a power which elec- 
 trified the audience. Our artist, who had during 
 the previous songs kept retired behind one of the 
 evergreens, was enchanted, and forgetful of every- 
 thing but the music he heard, and the gorgeous 
 creature who was upon the stage, leaned forward 
 over the slight bannister which surrounded the 
 gallery. 
 
 His hat was off, and the crisp yellow curls 
 which surrounded his head like a glory, added 
 an almost supernatural beauty to his fair face. 
 Many eyes were turned upwards to gaze upon a 
 young man so singularly handsome, when all at 
 once a dark, elegant gentleman rose from the 
 body of the hall and made rapid strides for the 
 gallery. Pushing his way through the crowd 
 of waiters at the entrance, and going down 
 the aisle between the tables, he approached 
 the one at which our artist friends were 
 seated.
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 115 
 
 The unknown turned his head, recognized in a 
 moment the party who was hurrying towards 
 them, and shouting, " It is John Fleming, " im- 
 mediately swooned away. It was no longer a 
 secret; the golden-haired artist was a woman, and 
 in another instant was locked in the embrace of 
 the gentleman who had hurried up on recogniz- 
 ing her. Of course there was considerable ex- 
 citement, but, under the powerful protection of 
 her lover, Selina Smith in male attire was con- 
 veyed from the scene. 
 
 Taking her to one of the leading hotels he 
 placed her in the care of an estimable and 
 discreet lady, an acquaintance of his who was 
 boarding there, and, after confiding as much 
 of her story to his friend as was absolutely 
 necessary, he retired, and waited until she 
 could receive him in more befitting if not 
 becoming attire. It was not long before he 
 was summoned to her presence, and found 
 her seated on a couch in an elegant morning 
 wrapper which had been provided by his 
 friend. 
 
 "Quite a metamorphosis you see," said the 
 lady, as she entered ; and then, feeling that they 
 would have much to say to each other, which no
 
 116 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 third party could be interested in, she retired to 
 another room. 
 
 ' ' You will forgive me, and keep my secret, 
 John," she said, while blushes of maiden 
 modesty suffused her cheeks. ' ' It was for your 
 sake ! " 
 
 " My darling girl," he replied. " How cruel of 
 you it was thus to desert us and keep us in 
 agony so long. Of course I do not know the 
 reasons for this flight, for for the curious 
 disguise and the queer place in which I found 
 you. A thousand idle rumors, a hundred idiotic 
 scandals, have been launched, none of which, I 
 feel certain, are true. I never gave you up, when 
 week after week passed, when your friends 
 mourned you as one dead. I hoped on, I have 
 never rested, never ceased a moment in my 
 search. It was the fame of the Spanish canta- 
 trice which led me to that place to-night. I 
 
 thought, in my folly, that that singer might be 
 
 / 
 
 you. Of course I was deceived, but who can 
 deny the fact that a mysterious Providence 
 guided my steps in that direction. And now, my 
 angel, my wife, my own, tell me the cause and 
 the particulars of your flight, and why you 
 chose 'so strange an attire ; where you have lived,
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 117 
 
 and what you have done since the fatal night you 
 fled from Chicago." 
 
 Selina opened her heart fully to her lover, gave 
 him the story of her persecution, her father's 
 infatuation and strange commands. She then 
 inquired of her sister's condition, her father's 
 welfare, and what had become of her tor- 
 menter. 
 
 " I am sorry," her lover replied, " that I have 
 such bad news to convey. Your sister, almost 
 broken-hearted at your loss for she has long 
 deemed you dead, and the perfidy of her lover, 
 still lives at home, but visits nowhere, and sees 
 no company. Vivian Denston seems to have 
 some mysterious influence over your father, and 
 I fear has led him into haunts of vice, where 
 gambling for large stakes has sadly impaired a 
 once colossal fortune. Bond after bond, security 
 after security, has, I fear, found its way into the 
 pockets of this man and his abandoned compan- 
 ions, but his malign influence over him seems as 
 strong as ever. What is this tie \ Do you know 
 how or why a man like Hiram Smith should be 
 the companion, the forced companion, I verily 
 believe, of a man so notoriously known as a chief 
 among the gambling fraternity of Chicago?"
 
 118 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "I do not know, but am convinced that this 
 man, who would have married me, holds some 
 dreadful secret of my poor father' s, and that he 
 dare not disobey him or throw him over, but I 
 will dare all to save my father from ruin. I will 
 accompany you to Chicago and confront the man 
 I hate and wrest from him the secret he pos- 
 sesses?" 
 
 "Will you go as my wife, Selina ? Say you 
 will be mine. You are your own mistress, 
 nobody dare control you, and we will together 
 work to save your parent from this fiend in hu- 
 man form ? " 
 
 "No, John, I can not do this, I can not marry 
 until this fearful enigma is solved. I feel that it 
 is my mission to attempt its solution, and any- 
 thing, save one dreadful alternative, that will 
 secure my parent from the machinations of this 
 man, I will do. Your honorable character is 
 well known, and mine is safe in your keep- 
 ing. I will accompany you to Chicago, and 
 together we will see what can be done to 
 remove the baneful influence of the monster 
 from my father." 
 
 "Brave girl, while grieving at your decision r 
 I admire your motive, and when we together have
 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 11 
 
 restored your father to himself, I shall claim my 
 reward." 
 
 "Which shall be yours," she blushingljr 
 replied, and the two then parted for the night. 
 
 The following day they started for Chicago, 
 a letter breaking the news having been dispatched 
 to the sister by that night's mail. Little did they 
 think what a welcome awaited them. The- 
 letter arrived twenty-four hours before the train 
 by which they traveled. 
 
 When within some forty miles of the city, the- 
 newsboys cried the Chicago papers through the- 
 cars, and, purchasing one, John Fleming was hor- 
 rified to see among the most prominent news, a 
 long account headed "Mysterious murder or 
 suicide on the steps of the Court House." 
 
 It was only by the most energetic will-power 
 that he was able to conceal his emotion, and 
 flinging tLe paper out of the car- window, he- 
 carefully abstained from making any allusions 
 which could arouse the curiosity of his affianced 
 bride. It appeared that on receiving the intelli- 
 gence of the recovery of his daughter, long^ 
 supposed dead, the infatuated man had commu- 
 nicated the intelligence to Denston, whose 
 inflammable nature, aroused by the intelligence,
 
 120 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 at once determined on a cruel revenge, and de- 
 manded of the poor old man the immediate con- 
 summation of their nuptials upon her return. 
 
 This was the last straw. Weakened mentally 
 by long suffering, ruined in purse by the constant 
 raids made upon it under threats of denounce- 
 ment ; the grinning evidence of an undiscovered 
 and unpunished crime forever beneath his eyes, 
 he could bear up no longer. Writing a full con- 
 fession of the crime he had committed, and which 
 had indeed, been a scorpion whip to him, he left 
 it on his escritoire, kissed his remaining daugh- 
 ter with a kinder fervor than usual, and pro- 
 ceeding at midnight to the Douglas Monument, 
 he had placed a pistol to his head and blown out 
 his brains. 
 
 The secret of the skull was at length revealed. 
 Some thirty years before, he had entered into 
 speculations in the canals at Lockport, in con- 
 junction with a friend, who placed implicit con- 
 fidence in his honor. By his friend's death, an 
 immense sum of money and real estate, rapidly 
 increasing in value, would be his alone. He 
 struggled against temptation, but mammon was 
 too strong for him, and, in a moment of utter 
 abandonment to the evil influence, he became a 

 
 The Tell -Tale Skull. 121 
 
 murderer, hiding the victim of his crime in the 
 grove at the bottom of the garden. The myste- 
 rious disappearance caused much comment at 
 the time, but Smith escaped suspicion. He be- 
 came the possessor of the wealth of his friend 
 by a false will, and thought all was safe. Many 
 years after, while digging the foundation for a 
 new house which Vivian Denston was intending 
 to build, on property purchased from the specu- 
 lator who transferred the Toledo and Wabash. 
 shares to Hiram Smith, a skeleton was found. 
 Denston was notified, and examining the skull, 
 found the mark of the pistol shot. The disap- 
 pearance of the former partner, the suddenly 
 acquired wealth, the peculiar will, and the own- 
 ership of the property, led him to make his own 
 conclusions, which were verified by the terror of 
 Smith upon beholding the skull. All these 
 things were made known at the time of the sui 
 cide, but were carefully suppressed, and this is 
 the first time the mystery of the Court House 
 suicide has been cleared up. 
 
 We must pass over the grief of the children, 
 the horror they felt at the discovery of their 
 father's turpitude, and the excitement caused by 
 the occurrence at the time. It is sufficient to say> 

 
 122 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 that John Fleming is to-day the honored husband 
 of the handsomest blonde in Chicago ; the elder 
 sister living with them unmarried and resigned ; 
 while the author of so much misery, the elegant 
 Vivian Denston, is serving out a long term of 
 imprisonment at Joliet for a participation in one 
 of the most notorious forgeries which has aston- 
 ished the commercial world of America since the 
 formation of the Union.
 
 LEAF VI. 
 
 s a queer 
 
 case down stairs," said 
 Captain Simon O'Don- 
 l, chief of the First 
 Precinct Chicago Po- 
 lice, to the writer, as 
 entered the Har- 
 iri son Street Station 
 one evening, in 
 pursuit of such 
 iL_ news as falls 
 Pteto the prov- 
 ince of a night 
 reporter on a great 
 morning daily. "It's 
 a very queer case in- 
 deed," he continued, "and I 
 must say I think the poor girl's story is true." 
 
 (123)
 
 124 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Now queer cases are so continually occurring, 
 which take on the most prosaic of forms when 
 subjected to the light of scrutiny, that the burly 
 Captain's announcement met only an indifferent 
 reception, and, after collecting from the station- 
 keeper whatever of interest had come within the 
 limits of his observation, I was about departing, 
 when the turnkey met me on the outer stairs, 
 and remarked, "Of course you've been below to 
 see that poor Scotch lassie and hear her story ? " 
 
 " No. Is it worth the listening to ? " 
 
 "Come and see." 
 
 And thus saying, the keeper of the keys led 
 the way to the basement floor, which was his 
 peculiar domain. 
 
 I wonder if one reputable citizen in a thou- 
 sand has the remotest idea regarding the cell 
 portion of a city prison, or gives a thought 
 to the possibility of reform in the appointments 
 of such a place. To be sure, it is neither a 
 Marshalsea nor a Newgate. Its walls are clean 
 and sweet as water and whitewash can make 
 them. Its temperature is regulated by steam 
 and thermometer. Its guardians are men of 
 integrity and kindly purpose. Yet the cells, 
 ranged in line, with their barred fronts, their
 
 Janet and Jamie. 125 
 
 stone floors, their one wooden bench, and their 
 noisome insect inmates, are anything but at- 
 tractive for those not born to the dungeon. 
 Great rats, grown fat and foul, wander about 
 with a fearlessness bred of familiarity ; nnd 
 drunken prisoners, reckless through years of sin 
 and degradation, fill in the hours with loud- 
 voiced ribaldry. 
 
 As the first huge door opened to admit us, a 
 shriek rang out on the air, so despairing, so 
 awful in the intensity of its fear, that we invol- 
 untarily paused. 
 
 " What is that " 
 
 "Oh, it's a fellow brought down here awhile 
 ago to sober up. I should judge from the noise 
 he makes that he was crossing the frontier into 
 the land of delirium tremens. But come on, and 
 never mind him now. If he is suffering, he has 
 himself alone to blame." 
 
 So the turnkey strode ahead down the second 
 corridor to where stood a cell with wide open 
 portal, so situated as to catch every breeze , 
 wafted in through the window from the hot July 
 night. 
 
 "Miss Ross," he said and it was wonderful 
 to note how his voice of harsh command toned
 
 126 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 down to gentlest courtesy" here is a gentleman 
 who would like to hear whatever you may choose 
 to tell him, and who, I have no doubt, will be 
 glad to serve you by every means in his power." 
 
 At this there came from out the darkness of 
 the place a woman whose large gray eyes were 
 dominated by an eager, questioning look, which 
 often gave place to an expression of unutterable, 
 hopeless sadness. A woman ? As she reached 
 the full glare of the gas, she seemed hardly more 
 than a child a wee thing to be taken home by 
 loving parents and cared for and petted. 
 -But for all that there was something in her 
 face of dignity and loveliness which fascinated, 
 and drew off all obtrusive attention from her 
 coarse and scanty garments. She seemed one who 
 had arrived at queenhood through suffering, and 
 the crown she wore was a glorious coil of auburn 
 hair, which shimmered in the light as the sea 
 glints in the sunshine. 
 
 "Can you help me to find my Jamie?" she 
 asked, in a sweet contralto voice. 
 
 " Who is your Jamie ?" I queried. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well, sir, to tell you 
 thp whole story, and then you may be able to 
 advise me better. You see, sir, I am from the
 
 Janet and Jamie. 127 
 
 old Scotch cathedral town of Elgin, away off 
 among the Morayshire hills, and Jamie and me 
 were born in High street, only a short distance 
 from each other. He was older than I, and very 
 clever. His father wanted him to clerk in a dra- 
 per's shop, but he didn't care to be a tradesman 
 and ran away from home. He came back a 
 couple of years ago from Aberdeen, where he had 
 been working in a solicitor's office. By this time 
 he was of age, and his visit was that he might 
 see me. 
 
 ' ' He told me what I already knew. He said 
 he loved me and wished me to marry him, but 
 that when I was his wife, he couldn't bear to 
 have me work and be poor all my life, so he had 
 come for my promise, and then he was going 
 away to America, where a willing man could be 
 and do something. Ah me ! I was proud and 
 happy, and yet so sorry, for you see I didn't 
 want to let him go so far away. But it all seemed 
 for the best, and after we had plighted our troth, 
 he strode off down the street, to catch the Glas- 
 gow train. It was just at sunset, and I can 
 almost see him yet so tall, so manly, so bright, 
 so bonny. 
 
 "Well, sir," she continued, "he sailed as he
 
 128 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 said he should, and then the letters began 
 to reach me. First he wrote from New York 
 about the great busy land in which he found 
 himself, and then there followed word that he 
 had decided to make Chicago his home, because 
 some friends there were going to help him 
 finish his studies, and get to be what you 
 call a lawyer. About two months ago he sent 
 me 50, and said I should come to him ; 
 that he was doing well ; and that there was 
 no reason why we should wait longer. So I 
 got ready, bade dear old Elgin good ^bye, and 
 reached here three weeks ago. 
 
 " How glad I was when they said the train 
 would be in Chicago in an hour ! for you see I 
 thought Jamie would be waiting for me at the 
 station. But he wasn't. So I had to go to a ho- 
 tel all by myself, and the next morning I went to 
 the place where he was working for some attor- 
 neys. What a cruel lie they told me ! They said 
 Jamie had lost his place because he drank too 
 much. I came away from there sick at heart. I 
 advertised in the papers for him, and went to all 
 the lawyers' offices, but no one knew where he 
 was. 
 
 " Then a few days ago my money gave out, and
 
 Janet and Jamie. 129 
 
 the innkeeper held my things for board, and 
 turned me from his house. To-night I was al- 
 most starving, and a kind policeman brought me 
 here. They are very good, but it's a horrid place, 
 iind those men they have locked up say such 
 wicked words that I' ve been sitting away back 
 in the dark to try and not hear them. Do you 
 think," she wistfully closed, "that you can help 
 me to find my Jamie, for you know I feel sure 
 lie is looking for me as eagerly as I am for him ?" 
 
 All the while the poor girl had been telling of 
 her love and loyalty, demoniac yells had con- 
 tinued to issue from the cell of the rum maniac, 
 and toward the last, the turnkey had gone away 
 to call a physician, who might do something for 
 the agonized sufferer. He now returned, and 
 said: 
 
 "Perhaps there'll be another item for you 
 before morning. That crazy man r the doc- 
 tor says, has the worst case of ' snakes ' he 
 ever saw, and can't last many hours longer. 
 Seems to be a nice young fellow, too, for 
 very little while when his senses kind o' 
 come back to him, he is calling for Janet a 
 sweetheart of his, I suppose, or something of 
 that sort."
 
 Janet and Jamie. 131 
 
 "Why, how strange!" exclaimed the little 
 Scotch lady ; "my name is Janet." 
 
 The turnkey started. " By Jove ! " he inut 
 tered to himself, "I never thought of that," and 
 he hurried away up stairs to the station-keeper's 
 office. He came back in a moment very quietly, 
 and said, with a pitying look : 
 
 " Miss Ross, what is the full name of the gen- 
 tleman you wish to find \ " 
 
 " James Gordon Campbell," she replied. 
 
 "All right," he responded, with a forced 
 attempt at cheerfulness. " Now you take a 
 little -rest while I show this gentleman about, 
 and then we will decide what we can do for 
 you." 
 
 As she tripped back into her dismal abiding 
 place, the turnkey whispered in my ear 
 
 " Great God ! what shall we do ? That poor 
 little grTs lover is the man with the tre- 
 mens ! " * 
 
 " Is there any chance that he will recover ?" 
 
 "Not the slightest in the world. He's a 
 nervous wreck, and may go to pieces at any 
 moment." 
 
 "Does the doctor think he will be rational 
 before he dies ? "
 
 132 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 " Yes, lie says that when exhaustion takes 
 the place of delirium the rnan may have a 
 quarter of an hour of sanity, but that such 
 a symptom is the immediate precursor of 
 death." 
 
 "Well, then, watch him closely, and wait 
 till that moment arrives. Janet Ross must 
 never know the man she worships is dy- 
 ing of drink. So tell me when it comes to 
 the last, and leave what remains to be done 
 to me." 
 
 With these words I went up stairs and out in 
 front of the frowning building, which had seen 
 the burial of so many high hopes, but in all its 
 existence no sadder tragedy than this. The 
 clouds which had flitted across the moon and 
 stars ever since sundown, now gathered in great 
 black masses, from out which darted angry 
 lightnings. The thunder rolled heavily above 
 the subdued murmurs of a' sleeping city, 
 and big drops began to fall in presage of a 
 storm. 
 
 A hand touched me lightly on the shoulder, 
 and a voice said simply, " Come." I understood, 
 and followed. 
 
 Once more we entered the gloomy, iron-bound
 
 Janet and Jamie. 133 
 
 portals ; but already there was a change. A sol- 
 emn hush had succeeded the noisy outbreaks of 
 an hour before. A little group of men were gath- 
 ered in front of an open cell. Among their 
 number was a physician who was kneeling 
 above a prostrate form, with something more 
 than professional gravity and interest in his 
 air. 
 
 The patient who was receiving his attention lay 
 on his back on the floor, a blanket under his 
 head, and the bare stones his couch. There was no 
 sign of delirium about him now, and as he threw 
 back his damp, blonde locks, or absently twitched 
 at his tawny mustache, his dark blue eyes 
 seemed to be gazing far away beyond the 
 present into a past li'lled with tender recol- 
 lections. 
 
 "Can we do anything for you, my poor 
 fellow?" asked one from among the number 
 standing about. 
 
 "Nothing,-' came the reply, "I only long 
 for the impossible. I want to see the dear 
 old town, and wander among the heather 
 blooms again with Janet. Poor girl ! If I 
 could only tell her all, and knew that she 
 ionrave me!"
 
 134 Suppressed Sejisations. 
 
 The turnkey looked at me. ''Bring her here,'* 
 he whispered. I went, and found the wanderer 
 seated as before in her chosen dark corner, 
 waiting. 
 
 "You have come back," she cried, stepping 
 out into the light. " I felt sure you would keep 
 your word. Can you tell me anything of Jamie, 
 yet?" 
 
 "Yes, much," I answered, " but first promise: 
 me to summon all your courage and fortitude, for 
 while you shall see Jamie, it will be only for a. 
 short, very short time." 
 
 The girl's face grew white, and her eyes filled 
 with tears. " Yes, yes," she cried, " I will be 
 brave, only tell me is he sick, or hurt, or any- 
 thing ? and can I go to him ? " 
 
 " Yes," and my lips framed a lie which wa& 
 merciful. "We found him out of work and 
 dying in a noisome lodging house. His only 
 thought is for you, and we have brought him 
 here that you may be together. Come." 
 
 Janet staggered back and pressed her little 
 hand to her heart. She seemed about to faint, 
 and then with desperate energy rallied and 
 said: "Take me to him quick, and God 
 help me ! "
 
 Janet and Jamie. 135 
 
 As we approached, the group of lookers-ori 
 fell back. Jamie was lying as before, but his 
 senses were already wandering, and his only cry 
 was, " Janet, where are you, my darling ? " 
 
 She stepped to his side, and leaning over, put 
 one cool soft hand on his fevered brow. " Here 
 I am, Jamie." 
 
 The closed eyes opened, and the vagrant 
 mind rallied to this supreme call of love. " I 
 am dying, dear," he murmured, "and all 
 our dreams and plans can never come to 
 pass." 
 
 "It is the dear Lord's will," Janet whispered, 
 with something of the old Scotch fatalism, " and 
 we must submit. There is nothing else to do, but 
 while you live, we will be together," and sitting 
 down she gently drew his head into her lap. He 
 breathed a sigh of relief, arid lay silent for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Do you remember, Janet," he finally said, 
 "those songs we sang together in auld lang 
 syne? Well, do you know I can't live but a 
 little while, and it seems I should die happier if 
 the last sound I heard was your voice as I used 
 to hear it when we sat side by side to see the sun 
 go down below the hills."
 
 136 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The maiden choked back a rising sob with 
 a mighty effort, and began in a low, rich 
 contralto, that sweet, sad ballad of Highland 
 Mary : 
 
 " Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The castle of Montgomery, 
 Green be your fields and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie. 
 There summer first unfolds her robe, 
 
 And there the longest tarry, 
 For there I took the last farewell 
 
 Of my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 *' With many a vow and locked embrace, 
 
 Our parting was full tender, 
 And pledging oft to meet again, 
 
 We tore ourselves asunder. 
 But, Oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipped my flower so early ! 
 How green's the sod, and cold the clay 
 That wraps my Highland Mary." 
 
 The tones echoed out through the corridor, un- 
 ialtering, pure, yet hopeless, and more than one 
 listener turned away to hide an unaccustomed 
 tear. The singer closed the second verse, when 
 Jamie raised himself with a last convulsive effort, 
 threw his arms about her neck, kissed her, and
 
 Janet and Jamie. 137 
 
 gasping "Good bye, my love," fell back a 
 corpse. 
 
 Then the poor heart, so sorely and suddenly 
 overburdened, gave way, and a rain of tears 
 showered the face of the dead. We left her 
 alone with her grief, but before we departed, a 
 small purse was deposited with the station- 
 keeper for her benefit. 
 
 * * * * * # 
 
 Next day found me again at the station. 
 
 "Where is the little Scotch lassie?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " At the Morgue." 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 "Fact. We gave her that money this morn- 
 ing, and she thanked us pretty as could be. She 
 was quiet, but with the strangest fixed look on 
 her features you ever saw. About two hours ago 
 a policeman of the day squad came in and report- 
 ed a suicide just found in the lake at the foot of 
 Twelfth street. I went and took a look at the 
 body. It was Janet Ross." 
 
 " And the money \ " 
 
 "She'd used it to pay what she owed that, 
 infernal hotel keeper who put her oat."
 
 138 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Peeping above the rank, uncared-for grass of 
 summer, a gravestone at Graceland bears the in- 
 scription : 
 
 JANET AND JAMIE. 
 
 And that is all.
 
 LEAF VII. 
 
 OST of the 
 representatives 
 of the numer- 
 ous nationali- 
 ties congrega- 
 ted in this 
 most cosmopoli- 
 tan of Western 
 cities, naturally, 
 and of their own 
 choice, gravitate 
 around separate and 
 almost distinct centres, 
 and although, of course, 
 the native element is everywhere 
 represented, localities may be 
 found, and, indeed, are well denned, 
 ^ in which the large majority of the 
 residents are children of adoption 
 and not "to the manor born." 
 
 (139)
 
 140 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Thus the North Side is largely German ; the 
 explorer of Halsted street will find the Hibernian 
 element predominating largely as he travels 
 south ; and the traveler by a Milwaukee avenue 
 car passes through a couple of miles of territory 
 in which a large majority of the residents are of 
 Scandinavian birth. South Canal street and 
 Canalport avenue are so distinctively Bohemian 
 in their character that this quarter is popularly 
 known as "Bohemia." At the foot of Indiana 
 avenue, between Twelfth and Fourteenth streets, 
 is a closely-packed colony of Italians, while 
 French, Swedish and other foreign-born citizens 
 abound in other districts. 
 
 The scene of this brief story, one of the most 
 startling and strange that ever came under the 
 notice of the writer, is laid in the Polish colony 
 in the northwestern part of the city, in the vicin- 
 ity of Elston road. Possibly a condition of 
 things to be found nowhere else in the Union 
 exists here. The people are chiefly of the lower 
 orders from Warsaw, Cracow, and the divisions 
 of Czersko and Sandonura. Bred up in almost 
 total ignorance, and looking upon their priests as 
 their only governors, they are for the most part 
 bigoted and superstitious. At the same time
 
 The Witness from the Dead. 141 
 
 they are industrious and economical. Their 
 affairs, both spiritual and temporal, are managed 
 almost exclusively by their priests, who carry on 
 their correspondence, superintend the investment 
 of their savings, examine into the titles of the 
 homesteads they acquire, and forward money for 
 them to their relatives and friends on the banks 
 of the Weisel or Vistula. 
 
 That popular belief in the existence of ghosts 
 and other apparitions, which with the modern 
 American and his advanced theories has become 
 almost a thing of the past among the native born, 
 still remains strongly fixed in the minds of the 
 Polish settlers. That such things really are, I 
 would be the last to declare, yet in the face of 
 the remarkable 'case which I have to narrate, 
 and which came under my personal observance, 
 I can not overlook the possibilities. Expo- 
 nents of spiritualism and correlative beliefs may 
 find in these, in electro-biology or in physic- 
 force, mesmerism or some one of half a dozen 
 "isms," an explanation which may satisfy 
 them. I can not explain, and it is simply my 
 task to record the facts as they were brought 
 to my notice. They are vouched for by 
 credible witnesses, some of them gentlemen 
 
 to
 
 142 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 of much more than ordinary intelligence and 
 ability. 
 
 Bernhard Rubas, by trade a striker in a black- 
 smith's shop, was a man of massive build, drunken 
 and quarrelsome in his habits, and the terror of 
 the neighborhood in which he lived. The loose- 
 ness of his life and his evil disposition had made 
 him a scandal and a reproach, and it was cur- 
 rently reported that he feared neither Grod, man, 
 nor the devil. For several years prior to August, 
 1875, his wife had been ailing, scarcely able to 
 drag her weary feet day by day to the mills with 
 the little tin can containing her husband' s lunch, 
 and too much of an invalid to accompany him 
 to the saloon or beer-garden in which he nightly 
 spent the most of his hard earnings. 
 
 As her malady increased, the poor woman was 
 more and more neglected by her brutal husband, 
 and she was indebted to the care and kindness of 
 a widow of her own nationality, whose husband 
 met his death by the explosion of a mould, for 
 what few small comforts she enjoyed. Her hus- 
 band, while neglecting her, had, it appeared, 
 formed an intimacy with a woman of somewhat 
 notorious character, a "squatter" on some un- 
 occupied land near the Rolling Mills, where she
 
 The Witness from the Dead. 143 
 
 obtained a living by managing a garden patch, 
 which she had herself fenced in, and by keeping 
 a cow, some chickens, and other farm animals. 
 In fact Rubas was more frequently to be found, 
 when not at the beer-garden, in the company of 
 this person, a congenial associate for a man of 
 such habits and temper. 
 
 One morning when the poor widow before men- 
 tioned came in about the usual hour to visit her 
 sick friend, she found, to her intense astonish- 
 ment, the house deserted entirely. On the pre- 
 vious afternoon she had left Mrs. Rubas very ill 
 in bed, and it seemed scarcely credible that she 
 should have been able to leave her couch. The 
 bed had been occupied but the sheets were cold, 
 there was no fire in the stove, and portions of the 
 woman's apparel were lying on the chair by the 
 bedside as usual. The widow inquired among 
 the neighbors, but none of them had seen aught 
 of Terena Rubas. It should be stated that the 
 cottage occupied by the ill-assorted couple stood. 
 in a somewhat retired position, and that the 
 nearest inhabited house was distant from it at 
 least one hundred yards. 
 
 The widow sought next the man Rubas, whom 
 she found with his sleeves rolled up over the
 
 144 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 elbows of his brawny arms, and hard at work. 
 Leaning upon the sledge-hammer with which he 
 was busied, the man declared, with a great oath, 
 that he neither knew nor cared what had become 
 of his wife. There were few to interest them- 
 selves to any great extent in regard to the wel- 
 fare of the poor patient creature who had so long 
 borne the brutality of her so-called protector, but 
 her disappearance caused some talk in the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 Before, however, the story had time to crystal- 
 lize into suspicion and doubt, all surmises were 
 set at rest. On the evening of the same day a 
 workman employed on the excavations in Lincoln 
 Park discovered the dead body of the woman 
 lying face downward in a pond near the lake 
 shore. The depth of the water was not more 
 than three feet, and the most natural hypothesis 
 was, that the poor woman, tired of the constant 
 abuse to which she had been subjected, had 
 decided to end all her troubles at once by 
 suicide. 
 
 An inquest was held, as a matter of course, 
 and, without much investigation, beyond ascer- 
 taining the fact that the woman lived unhappily 
 with her husband, a verdict of " suicide by
 
 The Witness from the Dead. 145 
 
 drowning" was returned. There were not want- 
 ing at the time many who argued that the hus- 
 band was morally to blame for the death of his 
 maltreated wife, and that he had driven her to 
 self-murder by his infernal brutality, but it did 
 not occur to any one to impute to him the actual 
 commission of murder. The body was handed 
 over to the husband for burial, and was decently 
 though plainly interred in the Polish Catholic 
 Cemetery, although not in consecrated ground. 
 The husband followed the remains to the grave- 
 yard, the only other attendant being the Pol- 
 ish widow, and in a few minutes the grave 
 closed on all that was mortal of poor Terena 
 Rubas. 
 
 The death of his wife seemed in no way to 
 act as a warning to Bernhard. He behaved 
 fairly well on the day of the inquest and 
 the funeral, but on returning from the latter 
 in the evening, started straightway for a sa- 
 loon, and long before midnight had drank 
 himself into a state of complete intoxication. 
 He now made no secret of his connection with 
 the woman before referred to, and actually 
 sold his homestead and removed his furniture 
 to her house.
 
 146 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Terena's friend, the poor widow who had 
 so carefully tended her while alive, mourned 
 deeply, and felt almost tempted to question 
 the over-ruling power of Providence, as she 
 thought of her sufferings and death, while the 
 brutal husband reveled in health and indulged 
 to the full in his career of profligacy and dis- 
 sipation. 
 
 And now comes the strangest part of this 
 history, which, if it had not been sworn to 
 in court before a judge, and corroborated by 
 still more mysterious circumstances, would be 
 looked upon as too romantic to deserve for a 
 moment the consideration of the intelligent 
 reader. 
 
 One evening, a few months after the death of 
 Mrs. Rubas, the widow was sitting on a bench 
 in front of her cottage, a retired one near to 
 Clybourne place, when she heard footsteps 
 approaching, and, turning her head, saw Terena 
 Rubas by her side. The sweetness, mildness, 
 and naturalness of her appearance completely 
 overmastered that terror which it would be 
 thought such an apparition would have occa- 
 sioned, and, instead of being horrified, the widow 
 was really rejoiced to see her. She was dressed
 
 148 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 in her habit as she lived, and there was nothing 
 ghostly or shadow-like in her appearance. Ac- 
 cording to the sworn testimony of the widow aa 
 taken before a Notary Public, and afterwards 
 repeated in the private room of Judge - - to 
 that estimable jurist, the following conversation 
 then took place : 
 
 "The Saints in Heaven preserve us ! Terena, is 
 that you ? Where have you been ? We all 
 thought it was your body they found in the pond 
 at Lincoln Park." 
 
 "And who did you think put me there ?" 
 "We thought you had drowned yourself." 
 " How could you do me such an injustice ? " 
 " What could I do ; what could I say ; what 
 could I think ? But where have you been, 
 Terena?" 
 
 " I have been on a long, long journey." 
 "But why did you go without letting me 
 know ? You know I was always a friend of 
 yours." 
 
 " I was hurried away, and had no time." 
 " But you were so ill. How could you get 
 away?" 
 
 " I am better now. I never was so well in my 
 life, not even when, a light-hearted girl, I danced
 
 The Witness from the Dead. 
 
 at home by the banks of the dear old Vistula. 
 My husband cured me." 
 
 "What, your husband? Why, how did he 
 cure you ?" 
 
 "With a. bottle." 
 
 "Why didn't he tell me I don't under- 
 stand it at all. But where have you been, 
 Terena r " 
 
 "I have been on a journey to a strange place. 
 But you know nothing of it. You only know 
 that dreadful place in the Park, where I rested 
 the first night, and a cold, damp place it 
 was." 
 
 "Heaven help me! why that was the pond 
 where they found what they said was your 
 body. But tell me, Terena, are you really not 
 dead?" 
 
 "How can you ask suck a question? Do 
 you not see me alive and well, and happy ? Oh, 
 so happy ! " 
 
 " I know and believe that the soul cannot die. 
 But was it not your body that was found in Lin- 
 coln Park, and that the Coroner's Jury sat 
 upon?" 
 
 "You are right, but 1 am come again for 
 your sake, that you should not think hardly
 
 150 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 of me. How could you believe I would kill 
 myself? My husband knocked me down with 
 a blow from a bottle on the back of my head, 
 fracturing my skull. He then put my body 
 into an old sack and carried it to the Park, 
 watched his opportunity, and threw it into the 
 pond." 
 
 The strain upon the widow's nerves was too 
 great for endurance. She fainted, and when she 
 returned to consciousness, the apparition, or 
 whatever it was, had disappeared. The truthful- 
 ness, the reality, the importance of what she had 
 seen and heard, were so impressed upon her mind 
 that she went early next day to visit the Coroner, 
 to whom she told the story. 
 
 Of course, that official laughed at the tale, 
 called her a monomaniac, and told her to go to 
 some spiritualist with her yarn, for that they 
 only needed a thing to be impossible in order to 
 believe it. The advice was given in scorn, for the 
 matter-of-fact Coroner had no sympathy what- 
 ever with spiritualist manifestations, and proba- 
 bly held rather hazy views about a future life 
 anyhow. But the woman persevered, and carried 
 her story from one high official to another, until 
 she saw and was introduced to a legal gentleman
 
 The Witness from the Dead. lf)l 
 
 well known as a believer in actual manifestations 
 from the Spirit Land. 
 
 He determined to quietly investigate the mat- 
 ter, and ascertain what credit could be attached 
 to so singular a circumstance. His first act was 
 to have the body exhumed and examined. This, 
 his official position enabled him to have done. 
 It was evident at once that the woman had 
 died from a blow on the head. The skull 
 was broken ; the fracture was semi- circular, 
 and the long hair had been carefully folded 
 over the wound, and kept in place by one of 
 those head-bands so constantly worn by Polish 
 women. 
 
 Next, without the issuance of a warrant, the 
 man, Bernhard Rubas, was brought before the 
 
 J , who closely questioned him in his private 
 
 office. The man was defiant, and denied, in toto, 
 every accusation or insinuation that he had any 
 hand in his wife' s death. Finally, he offered to 
 make oath that he knew nothing of her, except 
 that she was still in bed when he left home in 
 the morning, and must have got up and walked 
 to the Park. But in the very act of lifting the 
 sacred volume to his lips, retribution, swift and 
 terrible, overtook him. His tongue seemed par-
 
 152 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 alyzed, his lower jaw dropped, his eyes almost 
 started from their sockets, and he stared fixedly 
 at a spot a few feet off. All looked in that 
 direction, but could see nothing. With a violent 
 effort, the murderer broke the silence, exclaim- 
 ing : 
 
 ' ' Terena ! Terena ! forgive me ; forgive me. 
 Let me rest ; let me rest." 
 
 He then fell to the floor in terrible convulsions. 
 He was placed under the care of a physician of 
 good standing, and his ravings clearly proved the 
 manner of his crime. Again and again he acted 
 it over in his delirium, and ever imagined that 
 the spirit of his murdered wife stood just at the 
 head of the bed, but always beyond his reach. 
 He never recovered his senses, and is now an in- 
 mate of one of the "violent" wards in the Insane 
 Asylum. 
 
 The facts as given above were suppressed at 
 the time, but an examination of the records will 
 establish their substantial truth ; only the names 
 being changed. Of course the criminal code con- 
 tains no provision for the reception of evidence 
 from the spirit world, and during the continu- 
 ance of Rubas' insanity, he can not be placed on 
 trial. We have no theories to advance, and the
 
 The Witness from the Dead. 
 
 153 
 
 reader must take this mysterious history on its 
 merits, premising only that the scene in the 
 private office of the legal official spoken of, 
 was witnessed by no less than seven reputable 
 persons, and that the Polish widow to whom 
 the apparition confided the dreadful secret, is 
 a woman of good character, and had no motive 
 for deception.
 
 LEAF VIII. 
 
 PRETTIER girl than 
 Fanny Mordaunt 
 did not live be- 
 tween Ashland 
 avenue and the 
 Lake Shore. 
 Her station in life 
 was a humble one ; 
 
 rfc- 
 
 for her mother was a 
 soldier's widow, eking 
 the bare subsistence 
 _r afforded by a pension by 
 
 taking in plain sewing. 
 When I first knew Fanny she 
 
 ._?* I _ J ^^---^=T-^^ -* i r 
 
 :^^^g^? [ ' was a pupil at the Scammon School, 
 ^ and as she tripped along Madison street, 
 in her simple calico dress and broad sun-bonnet, 
 with her books under her arm, she was a subject 
 of observation to all who passed her. 
 
 (155)
 
 156 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The busy clerks engaged in dressing dry goods 
 store windows paused, with articles of merchan- 
 dise in their hands, to gaze on Fanny as she 
 passed, and her big blue eyes, rosy cheeks and 
 long flaxen curls haunted them through their 
 business hours and were in their thoughts by 
 night as well as day. 
 
 When Fanny left school she assisted her 
 mother, and carried home the sewing she had 
 completed. She was a good girl, and paid no 
 attention to the rude remarks or fulsome com- 
 pliments which were uttered in her hearing at 
 crossings and wherever groups of young men 
 congregated. 
 
 In this precocious age, when misses of seven 
 give parties and wear diamonds, and when boys 
 who ought to be in pinafores are dressed up 
 man-fashion, to chaperon the darlings, Fanny 
 had arrived at seventeen without ever having had 
 a beau. She was of a retiring disposition, and 
 if her glass had told her that she was beautiful, 
 it had not spoiled her; for she was as modest 
 as pretty, and the wish of her mother was to her 
 the highest law, while to fondle her baby brother 
 Arthur was her greatest pleasure. 
 
 But a change came over the spirit of her dream,
 
 Fanny Mor daunt" 1 s Low. 157 
 
 and that pure, simple heart, which had never felt 
 a ripple in the current of its existence, was to 
 become a whirlpool of passion. That fair-haired, 
 blue- eyed girl, whose wrath had never yet out- 
 lasted the shades of evening, was to prove herself 
 a woman of passions as strong, hatred as bitter, 
 and revenge as dire as a Borgia or a Catherine. 
 
 On the West Side, near to Union Park, there 
 lived a young man, whose name was Beauchamp. 
 English by birth, he had in his boyhood been 
 sent out to the East Indies as a clerk ; but, fall- 
 ing into evil hands, had appropriated funds to 
 which he had no right, dissipated them with dis- 
 solute companions of his own age, and, dreading 
 discovery, had secured a passage to California, 
 where he soon became thoroughly vitiated in the 
 society of hoodlums and gamblers. Getting into 
 difficulties there, and becoming known to the 
 police, he nad journeyed farther east, and, find- 
 ing Chicago a fit field for his operations, he 
 halted here, and was well known to the faster 
 portion of our men-about-town as an expert 
 roper-in and successful fleecer of greenhorns. 
 He was extremely handsome, dressed well, and 
 had all the outward appearance of a gentleman ; 
 while a good education, a ready tongue and a 
 11
 
 158 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 polite exterior readily procured him admission 
 into society circles on the West Side, where he 
 was not known, but regarded as a young English- 
 man of means, who had some kind of position 
 among the merchants of the city. 
 
 One evening, while passing through the park, 
 a rough and partially intoxicated man had ad- 
 dressed some rude words to Fanny, who was 
 hurrying away, her face suffused with blushes 
 and her eyes radiant with tears. At this moment 
 Alfred Beauchamp appeared upon the field, and 
 having noticed the poor girl's distress, politely 
 offered her his protection. She, in her fear, not 
 stopping to reflect, permitted him to see her 
 home. He, with the ease of a man of the world, 
 introduced himself to her mother, and that even- 
 ing g?SLS the first of a series of . visits which 
 terminated in Alfred's being considered the 
 accepted* lover of Fanny Mordaunt. 
 
 He was the most attentive of swains, and 
 scarcely a day passed without some little present 
 or some delicate act of kindness, showing how 
 much she was admired by her lover. 
 
 He used frequently to take her to places of 
 amusement, at first with her mother ; but gradu- 
 ally, the mother was dropped, and they went
 
 Fanny Mor daunt' 's Love. 'lf>9 
 
 together, the poor widow having all the confi- 
 dence in the world in the virtue of her daughter 
 and the honor of her daughter's lover. 
 
 Of course little suppers and prolonged visits 
 to ice-cream rooms and other after-theatre resorts 
 followed, and it was usually very late before 
 they returned. 
 
 Slowly, methodically and satanically, with all 
 the art of the libertine, all the wiles of a Mephis- 
 topheles, did this handsome roue undermine the 
 virtue of this poor young girl. She loved him, 
 she believed in him, she thought him the Cheva- 
 lier Bayard of truth and honor, and it was the 
 same old, old story trust, passion, delirium, 
 remorse. No longer the regal mistress, but the 
 slave of the whims and humors of a being with- 
 out principle and without truth. ,. 
 
 Petted in his idle hours, fondled when the 
 love-fit was on, and left to pine for long",' dreary 
 hours, poor Fanny now lived in a fashionable 
 suite of rooms on Washington street, under the 
 name of wife, it is true, but knowing, feeling, 
 every hour, that she was but tenant at will. 
 
 The great fault had brought bitter repentance, 
 the unguarded half hour had been succeeded by 
 months of sorrow, and her sad face and down-
 
 160 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 cast eye, her refusal to go into such company as 
 he would have chosen for her, soon tired him of 
 his victim, and she saw herself neglected by the 
 man who had sworn to love her, to cherish her 
 through good and evil report. 
 
 There were plenty of women, he told her, 
 living in Chicago, in the same condition, who, 
 satisfied with dress and diamonds, formed a 
 society of their own and lived a life of continued 
 pleasure. 'Poor Fanny had not been nurtured in 
 a preparatory school for such a life, and its very 
 idea shocked her. She had fallen, it is true, but 
 oh, not so low. 
 
 But deeper sorrow, more bitter humiliation, 
 still lower degradation, if possible, awaited 
 Fanny. 
 
 The fires of jealousy were added to the pangs 
 of remorse and the feelings aroused by neglect. 
 A letter which she found in Beauchamp' s pocket 
 was the first intimation of his intention to desert 
 her, and by an honorable (?) alliance with an- 
 other, secure a fortune of considerable amount. 
 Of course she did not ascertain all the facts at 
 once, but she kept her own counsel. The note 
 gave her the clue, and she had plenty of time to 
 follow it up. She discovered where he spent
 
 Fanny Mor daunt* s Love. 161 
 
 many of his evenings ; that he passed for a 
 wealthy member of the Board of Trade ; that he 
 had managed to exhibit to the guardian of the 
 wealthy orphan such evidences of respectability 
 as had satisfied him ; that he had secured the 
 affections of the young lady, who was as beauti- 
 ful as rich, but of a totally different style of 
 beauty from her own tall, dark, queen-like ; 
 that he had proposed for her hand, and had been 
 accepted. 
 
 No sooner had she, by patient search, discov- 
 ered these facts, than her mind was made up. 
 Neglect and scorn had long killed in her that 
 love which had led her to ruin, and a life cut off 
 from all communication with sympathy had 
 blunted the feeling of shame which would make 
 her suffer in silence and despair. Nothing was 
 left in her heart but a desire for revenge a deter- 
 mination to thwart his designs and prevent his 
 marriage. 
 
 Her resolve once taken, she was not slow to 
 carry it out. Dressed in neat yet elegant attire, 
 and still resplendent in her blonde beauty, she 
 called at the house of her rival, sent up her 
 maiden name, and was admitted. 
 
 "To what do I owe this honor?" asked the tall 

 
 162 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 and stately Miss Atherston, as she swept with 
 her hazel eye the well dressed and beautiful girl 
 before her. 
 
 "Have I the privilege of speaking to Miss 
 Honoria Atherston?" asked Fanny Mordaunt. 
 
 "That is my name," replied Honoria, "and 
 yours, -I see," glancing at the card she held in 
 her hand, "is 
 
 "Never mind my name," impetuously inter- 
 rupted Fanny. "Who I am matters not, but I 
 am come to save you from misery worse than 
 death. You are engaged to Alfred Beauchamp 
 
 "But, madam, by what right - 
 
 "By what right? By every right, by every 
 wrong, by every duty, by every feeling which 
 can swell and break a woman's heart." 
 
 "But " 
 
 "Do not interrupt me. Let me, if I can, save 
 you from a fate as cruel as mine. Would you 
 place your happiness in the hands of a system- 
 atic seducer? your fortune in the power of a 
 professional gambler ? " 
 
 "Really, Miss Mordaunt, I can not bear one 
 in whom I may take an interest thus attacked." 
 
 "You would rather rush blindly on your fate 
 than listen to words of truth and warning."

 
 164 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 " What proofs have you ?" 
 
 "What proofs? Look at me. I was once a 
 pure and happy girl, happy in my innocence 
 and my poverty, the delight of a widowed 
 mother's heart, the pride of a darling brother. 
 What am I now \ Nay, do not start. I will 
 not long disgrace your, house with a pres- 
 ence so loathsome. The tempter came in the 
 form of Beauchamp wormed himself into my 
 affections, slowly, deliberately and damnably 
 sapped the principles of womanly virtue in 
 which I had been reared, deceived my mother, 
 deceived me, and now, when the novelty of his 
 poor conquest has worn off, would secure you ; 
 not for your beauty, though that is glorious, not 
 for your companionship, but that he may risk 
 your fortune at the gambling table, may take 
 your money to the race-course and the betting- 
 room, may make you the plaything of his 
 idle hours, and the hostess, doing the honors 
 of your table to such as he will bring about 
 you." 
 
 "Really, Miss Mordaunt. I can not listen to 
 such language as this. Mr. Beauchamp is a gen- 
 tleman, and is, I admit, my accepted lover, and 
 if at any time he has, like all men of the world r
 
 Fanny MordaunV s Love. 165 
 
 stooped to a dishonorable amour with some mer- 
 cenary woman, whose presence is - 
 
 "Contamination, you would say. It is well, 
 proud lady. Heap insult upon the head of the 
 woman who would save you ; but I tell you that 
 Fanny Mordaunt will not be deserted, will not 
 see you the wife of the man who lias driven her 
 thus far on the road to perdition. Love may be 
 dead ; fascination may have lost its power ; my 
 rharms, once as great and attractive as your 
 own, may have faded, but in this bosom there is 
 yet one passion which can not die, which shall 
 not sleep, which will not fail, and that passion is 
 revenge. I would have blessed you you refuse 
 my aid. Go on. Make Beauchamp your hus- 
 band, and then then we shall meet again." 
 
 Fanny, without another word, withdrew, and 
 left Miss Atherston perturbed and annoyed. Her 
 first impulse was to send at once for Alfred ; but 
 on second thought she determined to bear the 
 suspense until night, when he would be sure to 
 call, and then an explanation might ensue. 
 
 Evening came, and with it her lover, gayer and 
 more charming than ever. His appearance was 
 so elegant, his voice so sweet, his manner so in- 
 genuous, that Honoria had not the heart to make
 
 166 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 him unhappy. She thought of course that the 
 story she had heard was an exaggeration of pique 
 and unprincipled slander, that the woman be- 
 longed to that class who by similar stories man- 
 age to extort money from their victims, and it was 
 late in the evening before she ventured to ask him 
 if he knew a lady named Fanny Mordaunt. 
 
 For a moment he was disconcerted ; but he 
 had been bred in a school where sudden sur- 
 prises are received with a nonchalance so well 
 contrived that the face is no index to the mind, 
 and in a few curt and cruel sentences he dis- 
 missed the doubts which had found a lodging in 
 his fair one's breast. In his heart of hearts, 
 however, he registered an oath to make Fanny 
 suffer ; and when he left his lady-love that even- 
 ing it was to hurry to his mistress and effectu- 
 ally silence her pratings for the future. It is 
 impossible to say what dark feelings possessed 
 him, what were his plans, and how he would 
 have secured her non-interference ; for when he 
 reached her rooms all was dark, and no one 
 answered his demand for admission. 
 
 Coming down the stairs, a head was obtruded 
 from one of the lower doors and he was asked if 
 he required the key, which had been left there
 
 Fanny MordaunVs Love. 167 
 
 for him. He took it and ascended again. Open- 
 ing the door, striking a match and lighting the 
 gas, he found everything in confusion. Boxes 
 and drawers were open, heaps of clothes and 
 other things were upon the floor, letters were 
 torn to shreds and scattered around ; but not a 
 line, not a word left to explain the absence of 
 Fanny. 
 
 Days passed away, but he could learn nothing 
 of her whereabouts. He closely watched the 
 daily papers, carefully scrutinized the accounts 
 of suicides and " bodies found ;" but nothing 
 could he discover. He employed spies, but to 
 no purpose ; and he finally concluded that the 
 poor, deceived girl had changed her name, left 
 the city, and probably accepted, in her rage and 
 despair, a course of life which would effectually 
 secure her from sympathy or from likely recog- 
 nition. 
 
 He was not the man to permit such an episode 
 in his life to disturb his plans, and having cun- 
 ningly succeeded in setting himself right with 
 Honoria, the wedding-day was fixed, and every 
 preparation was made in the way of trousseau 
 and arrangements for a nuptial trip to the East. 
 
 Far from these circumstances having made
 
 168 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 him shy of his old haunts, he became among his 
 gambling friends more reckless than ever. He 
 scarcely ever failed to secure some new pigeon to 
 be plucked, and took a hand in the operation. 
 The night before the day appointed for his wed- 
 ding, he had formed the Acquaintance of a couple 
 of young men who had come to Chicago for the 
 purpose of purchasing a crushing mill to carry 
 out to the Colorado mining district, and who 
 were both well loaded down with money, lavish 
 in their display of it, and reckless in its expen- 
 diture. One of them was a burly, dark-eyed, 
 black-moustached fellow of some five and twenty, 
 the other one a light-complexioned youth of re- 
 tiring disposition, who seemed to studiously 
 avoid notice, who sat apart and refused to 
 indulge in either the drinking or social converse 
 of his companions. He was suffering from a 
 violent fit of neuralgia, and was closely muffled 
 up in an overcoat and large scarlet comforter. 
 
 It was at a well-known saloon in Theatre alley, 
 that these parties met early in the evening, and 
 an appointment was made for a quiet game of 
 faro, after the theatre, at a notorious hell on 
 Clark street. 
 
 All the parties were prompt, and, once intro-
 
 Fanny Mordaunf s Love. 169 
 
 duced, play ran high. The two western men 
 seemed careless whether they won or lost, and 
 after the usual drawing on by minor winnings on 
 their part, heavier stakes were proposed, and the 
 inevitable fleecing began. The younger one, 
 however, took no active part in the game, per- 
 mitting his partner to play for him, and merely 
 producing, from time to time, rolls of notes from 
 his pockets, as they rapidly disappeared and be- 
 came the property of Alfred Beauchamp and 
 his companions. 
 
 Much larger sums than had been staked in the 
 earlier stages of the game, were still further aug- 
 mented by bets on the turn of the various 
 chances, and once the younger man, while hand- 
 ing over to his companion a roll of notes, 
 carelessly laid his hand upon the neck of 
 Beauchamp. 
 
 In an instant, before even the action had been 
 remarked, Beauchamp uttered a short, sharp 
 cry, stifled in its birth, dropped his cards, threw 
 back his head, extended his limbs, his hands 
 dropped by his side, his mouth opened, his eyes 
 closed, and it was thought he had fainted. But 
 he was dead. 
 
 No pen can portray the excitement. They
 
 170 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 threw open his vest, undid his collar, dashed 
 water in his face, forced brandy down his throat, 
 but it was useless. He lay there limp as a rag, 
 all muscular contraction gone, and the pulse no 
 longer beating. There was certainly no one to 
 blame for his death, there had been no quarrel, 
 no weapon used ; and the only thing to be done 
 was to send for a medical man, clear away the 
 evidences of their employment, and summon the 
 police. 
 
 During the excitement caused by this fatal in- 
 cident, it was scarcely noticed that the younger 
 of the two strangers had abruptly taken his 
 leave, but as no suspicions were aroused, no one 
 could be blamed, and he had taken so little in- 
 terest in the game, being mostly employed in. 
 holding the handkerchief to his face, he was for- 
 gotten, or rather the gamblers were relieved by 
 his absence, holding as they did several hundred 
 dollars of his money. 
 
 When the doctor arrived, he carefully stripped 
 and examined the corpse, and without being able 
 on so cursory an inspection, to give any diagnosis 
 of the cause of death, beyond his opinion that it 
 was from internal rupture of some important 
 vessel connected immediately with the heart, he
 
 Fanny MordaunVs Love. 171 
 
 retired to give the usual notice for the impanel- 
 ment of a coroner's inquest. 
 
 The inquest was held. An autopsy was made, 
 and no cause could be assigned, as every portion 
 of life's machinery was healthy and perfect, and 
 a verdict of " Died by the visitation of God," 
 was insisted upon by a jury of which the major- 
 ity chanced to be Englishmen. 
 
 Of course the manner of Beauchamp's life 
 was no longer a secret, and the Atherston fam- 
 ily saw what an abyss had been escaped by 
 Honoria. She was shocked and horrified at the 
 awfully sudden death of her lover, but saw now 
 that she had been deceived by him, and that she 
 had in all probability been spared a life of mis- 
 ery and humiliation. 
 
 There was, however, one man in Chicago, a 
 member of a noted detective corps, who was not 
 satisfied with the result of the Coroner' s inquest, 
 and who felt assured that there been some foul 
 play ; he in some way or other connected the 
 young man with the death of Beauchamp, and, 
 with quiet alacrity, endeavored to trace out the 
 whereabouts of the couple from the West. 
 
 He discovered all he was in search of, but the 
 story never became public. He is now in Eu-
 
 172 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 rope, and a beautiful blonde was his companion 
 on the journey. In his possession is a singularly 
 made ring, having on its surface a tine point 
 not larger than the spore of a Canada this- 
 tle. This point is hollow, and in the body of 
 the ring is a receptacle so arranged as upon 
 pressure of the ring to emit a minute globule 
 of fluid. 
 
 That ring was the implement in the hands of 
 Fanny Mordaunt to revenge her wrongs. 
 
 The dark young man was professor of toxicol- 
 ogy in a western college. During his researches 
 after the history of poisons, he encountered in 
 New York an old German chemist, who had suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining from a Patagonian Indian a 
 small quantity of the deadly Wourali, that viru- 
 lent poison which is made by the savage tribes 
 of South America for the anointing of their 
 arrows. 
 
 It is a grayish powder, resembling pepper in its 
 appearance, of which the smallest dose in solu- 
 tion is instantaneous death. It may be swal- 
 lowed with impunity, but once coming in contact 
 with the blood, has no antidote. Contrary to the 
 . .strychnine class, it totally suspends spasmodic 
 and muscular action, so that death is painless,
 
 Fanny MordaunVs Love. 173 
 
 from the heart's ceasing to beat, or the nerves 
 to act. 
 
 Fanny Mordaunt had known this young man 
 when he was in a drug store on Madison street ; 
 had heard of his researches, and had once heard 
 him describe this poison, when he was on a vaca- 
 tion visit to Chicago. 
 
 She had made up her mind, and when she left 
 Chicago, she went to Iowa City, determined to 
 bend him to her will. How well she succeeded, 
 this narrative has shown. He has since given up 
 his professorship, and is now traveling in China 
 and Japan. 
 
 Fanny remains in Europe, and Honoria is still 
 unmarried.
 
 LEAF IX. 
 
 THE MAN WITH THE COMICAL HAT. 
 
 HEN upon the 
 
 staff of the , my 
 
 assignments usually 
 led me where great 
 crowds of people, for 
 either business or 
 pleasure, congregated, 
 and there was scarcely 
 a monster gathering of 
 
 - i f 
 
 j people, from Bridgeport to 
 
 ,1 
 
 II Lake View, or from the 
 
 shores of Lake Michigan to 
 Central Park, of which I did 
 not form an integral part. 
 
 Upon one occasion, at a large 
 political mass meeting in the 
 vicinity of Twenty-second street, 
 
 (175)
 
 176 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 I, by chance, noted a tall and well-dressed man, 
 standing in the crowd, not far from the platform 
 upon which the reporters were seated. There 
 was nothing peculiar about this individual to 
 invite scrutiny, except his hat. He had on a 
 loose overcoat of a quiet Oxford mixture hue, 
 a stand-up collar, and a full flowing beard, like 
 many others in the crowd ; but what a hat ! You 
 couldn't help seeing that hat. Although so 
 prominent an object, it would be hard to give 
 any description of it which would not equally 
 portray numerous other hats, and yet, once seen 
 it was recognized forever 
 
 It was a plug no, a felt no, I really can 
 not say what the material was. It was not 'fluffy, 
 it was not smooth ; it was not a short hat, it was 
 not a tall hat ; it was not what you would call a 
 glossy black hat, neither was it a drab or a brown 
 or a white hat. It was as indefinite in color as it 
 was in shape. There was nothing excruciatingly 
 peculiar about the turn of the brim, it was not so 
 much unlike the turn of other hats, and yet you 
 couldn't help noticing it, and once your eye set 
 upon that hat, it had a sort of fascination about 
 it, and you could not at least I could not keep 
 eyes from it.
 
 Tlie Man with the Comical Hat. 177 
 
 There the mm stood in that dense crowd, 
 seemingly stolidly listening to the spread-eagle 
 oratory of the evening, without making any 
 demonstration of dissent or appreciation. I got 
 nervous about that hat. I should have liked to 
 interview its owner, and had fully made up my 
 mind so to do at the close of the meeting, but 
 having to pay particular attention to a very rapid 
 speaker, who was the lion of the evening, and 
 whose remarks were expected by the political 
 editor to be reported in full, I kept my head over 
 the table at my short-hand notes for probably 
 half an hour. When I looked again for my hat, 
 it was gone. But the memory of that hat did 
 not depart with it, and when copying out my 
 notes, I found myself saying, involuntarily, 
 " What a comical hat." 
 
 On the following Sunday, the great Plymouth 
 divine was to preach at the Moody Church, on 
 the North Side, and my assignment led me there. 
 There was an immense crowd the sidewalks, 
 and even the roadway, for several blocks, were 
 full of people. With the press talisman, which 
 is the true American "Open Sesame," I made 
 my way to the chief entrance, and while standing 
 among a bevy of elegantly dressed ladies, I ex- 

 
 178 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 claimed aloud, not being able to repress my 
 sensations, "There it is again!" There it was 
 again, sure enough. The same identical hat tow- 
 ering above the marabout feathers and chignons 
 of the fashionable crowd, evidently waiting to 
 get into the place of worship. ' ' Now, ' ' I thought 
 to myself, "I have you certain, and before I take 
 my notes in this evening, I will know the history 
 of that hat." 
 
 There was, however, one very strange circum- 
 stance about its wearer which puzzled me, and 
 which I could not elucidate to my own satisfac- 
 tion. The hat was the same ; there was no mis- 
 taking that. The figure was the same the same 
 tall man of military bearing. The face was the 
 same ; but where were the whiskers ? Certainly, 
 when last I saw that hat, that face, the chin and 
 cheeks were fringed with a long, flowing, iron- 
 gray beard. What could have induced the man 
 to shave ? The naked face did not become him 
 half so well as that luxurious growth of hair, 
 
 which must have been the result of much time 
 
 i 
 
 and care. 
 
 However, the doors opened. I rushed in with 
 the first surge of the crowd, and when I had 
 taken my place, I looked round in vain for the
 
 Tfie Man with the Comical Hat. 
 
 hat my hat, for I began to feel a sort of partner 
 proprietorship in that remarkable specimen of 
 head gear. 
 
 I saw it no more that day. In fact, several 
 days passed and I had learned to look upon that 
 hat as one of the things no fellow could fathom, 
 one of those conundrums to be placed with 
 "what song the syrens sang, or what name 
 Achilles assumed when he hid himself among ^ > 
 women." 
 
 The next great crowd I visited was on the occa- 
 sion of a notable fire on State street. The- whole 
 
 *'^PBB|^_ 
 
 street was illumined by the flames, and a seemftig 
 mass of humanity crowded as near the burning 
 building and the sweating firemen as heat and 
 police would permit. I was busy interrogating 
 a watchman, who had been in charge of the store, 
 when, lifting up my head, illuminated by the red 
 glare of the flames, was that mysterious hat. Of 
 course I couldn't mistake it. It was photo- , 
 graphed on my brain, and I could have 
 picked it out in a moment from that heteroge- 
 neous heap of hats in Hogarth's "Assembly 
 Ball." 
 
 But there was another mystery about it this 
 time. "Instead of the iron gray whiskers and 
 
 . I
 
 180 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 beard ; instead of the smooth shaved face ; 
 the wearer of that hat, the tall, military enig- 
 ma, was hirsute as a bear, and his beard 
 was as red as Tittlebat Titmouse's, in War- 
 ren's once fashionable novel, "Ten Thousand a 
 Year." 
 
 "What is this mystery?" I exclaimed; "I 
 will fathom it, or "Stand back, young 
 
 man," bawled a stalwart policeman, as I was 
 suiting the action to the word, and rushing be- 
 yond the cordon of official guardians. While 
 expostulating with the club-holder, my wraith 
 again disappeared, and, driven almost to desper- 
 ation, I registered a mental vow that I would 
 obtain the secret of that hat, or perish in the 
 attempt. 
 
 It would be merely wearying the reader 
 to recapitulate the number of times I saw, 
 the number of times I came within an ace 
 of capturing, that hat. At the Exposition 
 I saw it looming up. At a base-ball match 
 it was in the thickest throng of spectators. 
 It haunted me at the races, but never seemed 
 to affect the grand stand ; and always, in 
 some very mysterious way or another, escaped 
 me. And the number of beards the simple
 
 The Man with the Comical Hat. 181 
 
 moustache, the moustache and imperial, the 
 sober mutton chop, and the waving Dundreary, 
 the shovel, the close cropped, the full flow- 
 ing, the white, the black, the gray, the brown, 
 the tawny, the decided carrot, and the towy 
 auburn. I shouldn't have been surprised to see 
 that hat overtopping a luxuriant crop of grass 
 green hair. 
 
 One day by chance, when I had lost sight of 
 that hat and its wearer for some weeks, I casu- 
 ally strolled into the store of one of our leading 
 hatters. 
 
 Could I believe my eyes ? Was I dreaming ? 
 Were my optics making fools of the other 
 senses? There was the identical hat on the 
 counter. 
 
 Concealing my astonishment, my wonder, my 
 delight, I went up to it. It was the same nonde- 
 script col or, the same indescribable shape, had 
 the same indefinable curve of brim, but it was 
 brand new. 
 
 I picked it up ; I put it on ; it fitted me to a 
 hair. 
 
 "This is a very nobby hat," I remarked to the 
 clerk. "It suits my style of beauty to a T. 
 What is the price ?"
 
 182 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 "Oh, that hat," said he, "was made to 
 order." 
 
 "Of course," I replied; "but the man who 
 made that can make another. It's Hobson's 
 choice with me. I've taken a fancy to that hat ; 
 so it or none." 
 
 "Well," answered he, "the figure is seven 
 fifty, and if you will have it, I must send round 
 and get another fixed up." 
 
 I paid the money and went home rejoicing, 
 the possessor of at least the counterpart of 
 the mysterious hat which had haunted me for 
 months. 
 
 That very night there was a grand affair at the 
 Pavilion, on the North Side. About nine o'clock 
 I put on my new hat and went over. I was soon 
 in the thick of the crowd, looking round anxious- 
 ly, expecting every moment to see my alter ego 
 make his appearance, and speculating as to what 
 his feelings would be when he found another 
 Richmond in the field. 
 
 I felt a slight tug at my coat ; I turned round, 
 there was no one there whom I knew, so I took 
 no further notice. I drew nearer to the music 
 platform. Again I felt a decided pull at my 
 coat-tails. I looked round again, but saw no
 
 The Man with the Comical Hat. 183 
 
 one who could have thus wished to attract my 
 attention. I got interested in the music, I was 
 lost in thought, for sweet sounds always make 
 me pensive; not that I'm saddest when I sing, 
 for I could never strike a successful note in 
 my life, but all at once I felt another most 
 decided tug at my tail pocket. I put my hand 
 behind me. 
 
 What was this? The pocket had evidently 
 grown bulky. I put my hand in, and the first 
 thing it came in contact with was a watch. 
 Diving lower, there was another; and lower 
 still, a fairly plethoric pocket-book. 
 
 " Oh ho," thought I to myself, "here is a little 
 game up, of which I must learn the mystery," 
 and I quietly proceeded to establish myself within 
 the shadow of a pillar. 
 
 Had I been a pawnbroker's shop I couldn't 
 have be^n more filled with miscellaneous objects 
 of value. My pockets became so weighted that 
 I wonder the waist seams didn't give way. I 
 was a perambulating jewelry store, a small hab- 
 erdashery repository, a savings bank, in which 
 somebody unknown was depositing small sums 
 without taking them out of their purses. I was 
 a Fidelity Safety vault on a limited scale. The
 
 184 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 inflooding of wealth was becoming monotonous, 
 and the pockets would scarcely hold more, when 
 I luckily espied Seavey enter the gardens. He 
 knew me, and, giving him a well known signal, 
 he went but and I followed. 
 
 We went to a safe retreat, and, there I un- 
 bosomed my mind and my coat tails. The plun- 
 der I had accumulated was wonderful, and both 
 of us were non-plussed. We could not under- 
 stand it. 
 
 "What a queer hat you have on," said 
 Seavey. 
 
 "That's it, by jingo," I replied; "it's all in 
 that hat," and then I told him its history. 
 
 We tumbled to the racket, and having placed 
 all my miscellaneous wealth in his hands, he 
 proceeded to set me again. Placing a few de- 
 tectives round me, several hauls of small boys 
 were soon made. 
 
 They picked up the unconsidered trifles and 
 deposited them with the man with the comical 
 hat, and were appropriated by the police as they 
 retreated from my pockets. 
 
 From one whose fears got the better of his 
 caution all the little game was obtained, and 
 such a museum as the house of the "fence"
 
 The Man with the Comical Hat. 
 
 185 
 
 proved to be is not frequently seen. The man 
 who wore the comical hat managed in some way 
 or other to find out that he was "wanted," and 
 moved from the scene. Doubtless the pick- 
 pocket fraternity of Chicago have before this 
 discovered some other equally ingenious method 
 ol marking the man with whom they place their 
 goods.
 
 LEAF X. 
 
 TRUE LOVE AND FALSE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 OUD was the hubbub in 
 \) the fashionable circles 
 of Chicago, when Mrs. 
 Pardoe, a reigning fa- 
 vorite, filed her bill for 
 divorce in the Circuit 
 Court. She had only 
 been married a few 
 months. Her hus- 
 band was a pros- 
 perous commission 
 merchant on South 
 Water street. He 
 was passionately fond 
 of his young and beautiful 
 wife, and was unremitting in 
 his efforts to make their house 
 on West Congress street one of 
 the prettiest and most attractive 
 homes in the city. The neighbors were enthusi- 
 
 (187)
 
 188 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 astic in their predictions of a long lease of 
 happiness for the newly wedded pair, whose 
 domestic horizon looked calm and bright and 
 cheerful. 
 
 The thunderbolt came from a clear sky. There 
 had been no lowering clouds of connubial dis- 
 cord, no murmurings, no bickerings or other 
 harbingers of a domestic storm. Everything 
 appeared to be running as calmly and smoothly 
 as usual, when the crash came. For several 
 weeks, this sudden disruption in an apparently 
 happy household was eagerly discussed by 
 society people. All kinds of theories were ad- 
 vanced, and many-tongued rumor soon gave rise 
 to stories of a sensational nature. The parties 
 to the suit were extremely reticent, and, finding 
 little food for their prurient curiosity, the gossips 
 eventually dropped the case, and sought other 
 employment for their ready tongues. 
 
 An investigation of the papers filed in court 
 threw no definite light on the motives which in- 
 fluenced Mrs. Pardoe in applying for a divorce. 
 The bill was brief and guarded in its language. 
 It simply declared that the marriage was the 
 result of misrepresentations on the part of Par- 
 doe ; that the petitioner could no longer love and
 
 True Love and False Friendship. 189 
 
 respect her husband, who had used underhand 
 means to win her affection ; and that a general 
 incompatability of tastes and temper existed, 
 which was, in itself, a sufficient ground for sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 For some reason or other, this peculiar docu- 
 ment never found its way into the newspapers. 
 Indeed, after speculating on the case a few days, 
 the reporters dropped it as unprofitable, and up 
 to this time the inside history of this somewhat 
 remarkable and romantic divorce suit has never 
 been told. 
 
 No cross-bill was filed by Mr. Pardoe. He did 
 not appear to defend, and in due course the 
 decree was granted, and Mrs. Emily Pardoe was 
 free to marry again. 
 
 Soon afterwards the divorced wife was seen 
 often in the company of James Atkins, a young 
 and rising lawyer, and formerly a fast friend of 
 Pardoe. Atkins had been traveling in Europe 
 two years, and returned to Chicago about the 
 time the divorce proceedings were instituted. 
 Six months after the separation of Mr. and Mrs, 
 Pardoe, Atkins was quietly married to the latter. 
 
 This proceeding started anew the busy tongue 
 of scandal. There were dark hints and whispers 
 
 13
 
 190 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 of a former intrigue. But Mr. and Mrs. Atkins 
 settled down in a neat little house on the South 
 Side, and the correctness of their lives and un- 
 doubted happiness soon silenced these scanda- 
 lous stories. It is seven years since their mar- 
 riage, and not a cloud has overshadowed their 
 peaceful hearth. 
 
 The facts relating to the divorce and remarriage 
 were given me by a friend of the second husband, 
 on condition that I should keep them to myself 
 for awhile. As it is now several years since the 
 revelation was made, I think I may fairly con- 
 sider myself absolved from the promise, and at 
 liberty to tell what I know about a case which 
 created so much wonder and surprise wheir it 
 occurred. 
 
 William Pardoe, the first, and James Atkins, 
 the second, husband of Emily Frazer, were close 
 friends a-nd companions prior to the departure 
 of the Latter for Europe. They had passed 
 through college together, and, on starting out on 
 the real battle of life, they set up bachelor 1 s hall 
 in rooms on Michigan avenue. Both were fairly 
 successful in the career they had mapped out, 
 and for both the future seemed bright. Both 
 knew, and unhappily both learned to love, the
 
 True Love and False Friendship. 191 
 
 same woman . Emily Frazer was a girl distin- 
 guished even more for her accomplishments of 
 mind than for her personal beauty, though that 
 was far greater than falls to the lot of most 
 women. She was the acknowledged belle of her 
 circle, but though the recipient of the warmest 
 admiration of many, it was long before she 
 -could be brought to select one. When she did, 
 the fortunate man was James Atkins. 
 
 The announcement of the engagement was 
 made, and from no one did the affianced groom 
 receive more apparently hearty congratulations 
 than from his life-time friend, Pardoe. What- 
 ever the latter may have felt, he carefully sup- 
 pressed. He was naturally of a close and quiet 
 disposition, and very reserved in manner the 
 exact antithesis of his rival in love. Atkins was 
 open-handed and open-hearted to a fault. If he 
 met with good fortune, he published it far and 
 wide; if with hard luck, all must know it. He 
 seemed as if he must have some one with whom 
 to share his thoughts and confidences, and who 
 .so naturally chosen as his boyhood's friend? 
 Pardoe became the recipient of his hopes and 
 fears, his dreams and longings; and when urgent 
 business necessitated a journey to Europe, and
 
 192 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Atkins left his intended bride and his friend, it 
 is hard to say from which he parted with the most 
 regret. His promises to write by every mail to 
 the one, were supplemented by engagements to 
 correspond freely with the other, and he only 
 asked his friend to let him know, from time ta 
 time, how Miss Frazer bore the separation. 
 
 Atkins' absence in Europe was extended over 
 a much greater length of time than he had calcu- 
 lated upon when he left Chicago. In Naples, he 
 met, for the first time in many years, with a dis- 
 tant relative, and as ill-luck would have it, this 
 relative fell sick. Atkins was compelled to break 
 off his trip, for the illness of his friend proved a 
 serious and protracted one, and for several weeks 
 his letters ceased. When Miss Emily finally re- 
 ceived one, it was but a brief note stating that 
 Atkins was going with his cousin to a small sea- 
 port town in Sicily, and that he would write at 
 length immediately on reaching there. She never 
 received another letter from him. Anxiety was 
 succeeded by doubt; and doubt deepened into 
 suspicion. Eight months from the date of the 
 last letter, Emily Frazer received a dusty packet 
 of unmistakeably foreign appearance, and post- 
 marked Civita Vecchia. It was a copy of Galig-
 
 194 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 nan s Messenger, and in it she read the following 
 notice: 
 
 "MARRIED On the 8th inst., at the Chapel of the American 
 Embassy, Turin; James Atkins, Esq., of Chicago, U. S., to Marie 
 Josephine, Countess of Tibault, and widow of the late General 
 Tejedi, of the Royal Austrian Cuirassiers." 
 
 The fatal story broke at once upon her mind; 
 her faithless lover had been attracted by the 
 charms of some lady of rank and wealth, and had 
 thrown his vows to the winds. She was a woman 
 of spirit as well as beauty, and with her to think 
 was to decide. Wounded and stricken though 
 she was, she was too proud to show, even to her 
 nearest and most confidential friends, how the 
 blow affected her. She was not one to " wear her 
 heart upon her sleeve for daws to peck at," and 
 to her the evidence of faithlessness was perfect. 
 None could doubt the announcement in Galig- 
 nani, and yet the sequel will show that it was. a 
 fatal error to act as Emily did on such evidence. 
 
 The conduct of Pardoe since the departure of 
 his friend had been perfect. He often met Miss 
 Frazer in society, but with great delicacy refrained 
 from pressing upon her attentions which must 
 have embarrassed her. Yet so well did he pJay 
 his cards that his relations to Emily were almost
 
 True Lorn and False Friendship. 195 
 
 of a confidential nature. The generous Atkins, 
 in his earlier letters, had spoken much of his 
 school friend and college companion, and had 
 in the fullest degree expressed his confidence in 
 him. When, therefore, Pardoe requested an in- 
 terview with her two or three days after she had 
 received the foreign newspaper, and drawing from 
 his pocket a letter which he said he had received 
 from an artist friend in Rome, read out to her a 
 few sentences confirmatory of the paragraph, the 
 last hope fled. 
 
 The loving Emily became changed. Her pride 
 revolted against the treatment to which she be- 
 lieved she had been subjected. It is no wonder 
 then that Pardoe found it an easy task to per- 
 suade her that the best way to show the world 
 that the defection of her affianced had not preyed 
 upon her mind, was to at once accept and marry 
 him. He appealed to her pride rather than her 
 love, satisfied that once married all would be 
 well. The girl listened, consented, and they 
 wejre wed. 
 
 As we have said, the domestic happiness of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Pardoe seemed complete until the crash 
 came. Pardoe forgot in his new-found bliss the 
 inevitable Nemesis that was pursuing him, and
 
 196 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 trusted that if Atkins ever should return to 
 Chicago he would be able to prevent a meeting 
 with his wife. There is no doubt that he loved 
 her, for he had dared much for her, and he fondly 
 hoped that come what might she would not turn 
 against him. With many women this might have 
 been so, but not with Emily. 
 
 Pardoe was seated in his office one afternoon, 
 when his clerk informed him that a gentleman 
 had called, but finding Pardoe out had expressed 
 his intention of calling at his private residence. 
 " He left his card," continued the employe, "and 
 said he would look you up at once. He has gone 
 to your house now." Pardoe gazed in terror at 
 the piece of pasteboard, for it bore the name of 
 Atkins. Three hours later the dreaded explana- 
 tion had been made. Pardoe broke down when 
 confronted by his indignant friend and cruelly 
 wronged wife, and confessed his double treachery. 
 He it was who intercepted the letters, who had 
 procured the publication in Galignani, and had 
 poisoned the mind of Emily against her true 
 lover. 
 
 Atkins took the only manly and sensible course. 
 He gave Pardoe the alternative of resigning his 
 claims and consenting to the obtaining of a 

 
 True Love and False Friendship. 197 
 
 divorce, or of going to the Penitentiary for the vio- 
 lation of the United States laws, involved in the 
 theft of the letters. Thus it was proposed to sup- 
 press all scandal in the one case, but, rather than 
 let the guilty escape, the fullest publicity 
 would be given to the facts. Pardoe fought hard 
 against these terrible terms, but when the woman 
 he had cheated and wronged assured him that 
 under no circumstances would she spend another 
 night under his roof, he surrendered at discretion. 
 The plan then agreed upon was carried out to 
 the letter, and the truth of this romance of three 
 lives is told to-day for the first time.
 
 LEAF XI. 
 
 "PIZUN JACK" OF TEXAS. 
 
 FEW days ago, 
 after returning 
 from a Western 
 trip, I was 
 startled by the 
 receipt of the fol- 
 lowing letter : 
 
 
 " DENVER, Aug. 14, 1879. 
 "Dear Basso Prof undo : 
 You have doubtless heard of 
 the sad death of our mutual 
 friend and companion, Jack 
 Finehart. You are the possessor 
 of the only picture of him now in 
 existence, and I beg of you, out of 
 
 friendship to myself and his relatives, to forward the same to 
 me by mail, that I may have a few copies made of it. The 
 original I will take pleasure in returning to you. 
 
 " Sincerely your friend, L. B." 
 
 ( 199)
 
 200 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The information conveyed by this note was a 
 solemn surprise to me. Scarcely two months be- 
 fore I had seen Jack in Denver, hale and hearty, 
 and as reckless as ever. He formed one of a gang 
 of bright, careless and reckless spirits, with whom 
 every Bohemian was acquainted, and who pos- 
 sessed the genial, social qualities which every 
 Bohemian admires. Many a pleasant evening 
 did we pass together, and many a jovial song 
 and mirth-rousing jest disturbed the slumber- 
 ing citizens when Jack and Les and Dick and 
 Harry (to say nothing of the humble chron- 
 icler) were out with the lark and the festive 
 banjo. 
 
 I think this leaf can not be better filled than by 
 a brief sketch of Finehart, who was one of the 
 most fearless, reckless and daring characters that 
 the West ever produced. In his melancholy 
 moods, which if not frequent were intense while 
 they lasted, Jack confided many items of his 
 history to the writer, revealing a degree of senti- 
 ment and romance for which his boon compan- 
 ions never gave him credit. It was during one 
 of those spasms of sentiment that he gave me 
 the pencil sketch of himself (which, by the 
 way, was executed by Mulvaney, of New York)
 
 "Pizun Jack" of Texas. 201 
 
 that is reproduced at the beginning of this 
 leaf. 
 
 Finehart was a man of about 40 years of age 
 a Texan by birth and bringing up ; a Texan in 
 his instincts ; a typical Texan in his manners ; a 
 Texan in his method of carrying a revolver (fully 
 cocked and hanging from a belt behind) ; a Texan 
 in his record ; a thorough Texan " son of a gun." 
 He approached nearer the ideal of a frontier 
 character than any one I ever met. He was 
 almost six feet tall, with not an ounce of super- 
 fluous flesh, possessed of a clear-cut, determined 
 face, stern as the countenance of justice ; a man 
 whose immense strength was hidden in the finish 
 of his proportions. He walked with military 
 erectness and saluted his acquaintances with easy 
 courtesy. His large moustache and broad, white 
 hat set him off to peculiar advantage. No one 
 meeting Ja^k for the first time could fail to be 
 impressed by his appearance and curious as to 
 his history. 
 
 The earliest days of the man' s life were prob- 
 ably the most exciting. Twenty years ago blood 
 was spilled as freely as water all over the West. 
 Deeds that history shudders to relate were on the 
 town annals of every hamlet. The frightful moral
 
 202 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 abandon of border life in Texas now is scarcely 
 worthy of notice in comparison with the life of a 
 score of years ago, when Jack Finehart was a 
 lad. He had a fine field to study in, and he was 
 well-bred. He started his oemetery before cross- 
 ing the threshhold of manhood, and before the 
 down left his cheek murder was no novelty to 
 him. 
 
 Finehart was often a leader of desperate 
 people, and death came to him a hundred times, 
 hovered about him, flirted with him, all but took 
 him, and then departed. He did not rob railroad 
 trains, coaches, horsemen, foot travelers, nor 
 anybody else, but he quarreled and drank and 
 killed, and lived along the frontier towns. When 
 the war broke out, he had acquired that perfect 
 fearlessness and indifference to death that in 
 some men accustomed to facing it becomes an 
 absolute passion, urging them madly on to where- 
 ever a prospect of ending life exists. 
 
 Finehart selected for his posts in the war the 
 most foolhardy, dangerous and death-tempting 
 that could be conceived. He ran powder trains ; 
 made journeys of exploration at the rate of sev- 
 enty miles an hour to see if the railroads had been 
 torn up ; entered the Union camps at all points ;
 
 "Pizun Jack" of Texas. 203 
 
 led forlorn hopes ; was always at the front in a 
 skirmish ; scouted and spied until the business 
 palled upon him ; and mixed himself up in rail- 
 road affairs until no undertaking was too haz- 
 ardous for him. 
 
 Once he started to cross a river the bridge 
 over which tottered and appeared about to 
 fall, having been burned by the Union troops. 
 Everybody left the engine, and Jack plunged 
 over the frail structure alone. The bridge 
 went down, and Finehart jumped and swam 
 ashore. 
 
 There was a great bully in Jack's regiment, 
 whose prowess was not limited in any direction. 
 He had frequently killed his man ; in fact, he 
 enjoyed killing his man ; it was a very appetizing 
 thing to do. In those days in Texas (the fellow 
 was a Texan) you could serve your time to the 
 butchering business without suffering any annoy- 
 ance from the Justice of the Peace. He used to 
 boast of his beautiful cemetery in Texas, and 
 declare his intention of going back to continue 
 the work of populating it. 
 
 One day, Jack Finehart, who watched his col- 
 league in the graveyard business with a great 
 deal of interest, happened to be in a saloon with
 
 204 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 him. The man had hardly ceased relating some 
 wonderful adventures in which he figured as the 
 hero, when Jack drew an enormous pistol, cocked 
 it and laid it on the bar beside the fellow, who 
 first stared at the pistol an^ then at its owner. 
 Finehart filled a glass with whisky and retiring 
 a few steps tasted it. Then, facing the bully, he. 
 remarked in his easy manner : 
 
 " They call this good whisky. Smell of it 
 and give me your opinion." With this he 
 dashed the contents of the tumbler into the 
 other's face. 
 
 There lay the revolver at the insulted man' s- 
 elbow ; there stood Finehart waiting to be shot 
 dead. Every one expected a tragedy. 
 
 To the great astonishment of the spectators, 
 who had some faith in the bully's pluck, the fel- 
 low did not move, but wiped the whisky from 
 his face in astonished silence. This cowardly 
 behavior was more than Jack could stand. He 
 stepped up, grabbed the pistol, and planting the 
 muzzle between the man's eyes, cried in a voice 
 of thunder : 
 
 " Now, damn you, apologize for your lies, and 
 slope." 
 
 The man made the most abject of apologies,
 
 "Pizun Jack" of Texas. 
 
 left the saloon hurriedly, and was never seen in 
 the neighborhood again. 
 
 On another occasion Jack and a friend were 
 sleeping in a log cabin on the prairies in Texas, 
 keeping dark for gime very good reason. Sud- 
 denly, in the middle of the night, they heard 
 voices outside. Said Jack, with his habitual 
 drawl : 
 
 "Let's see who they are." His friend was 
 already looking out. 
 
 " Jack," he exclaimed, " they've got a rope ! " 
 
 Jack paused, thoughtfully felt of his neck, and 
 drawled, "Don't be scared ; it's me." 
 
 He knocked out the cartridges of both of his 
 revolvers and replaced them with others. He 
 then felt of his bowie knife and made a number 
 of rapid and exhausting movements to ascertain 
 if he was stiff or out of condition. Meanwhile 
 voices \\2re heard crying, in different keys, 
 "Jack," "Jack Finehart," "Come out, you 
 damned Texan." 
 
 " Come in, boys," he drawled, getting his tools 
 ready. Just as he stepped out, with a cocked 
 pistol in each hand and a bowie knife in his 
 mouth, there was a roar of laughter from the 
 crowd. 
 
 14
 
 206 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 It was moonlight, and Jack was arrested in the 
 act of opening fire. The leader of the crowd told 
 him they simply wanted his assistance to run a 
 noted horse thief off to Cotton wood. 
 
 Jack put up his weapons in^reat dudgeon and 
 disappointment. 
 
 On another occasion Finehart was in a New 
 Mexico bar-room. A young New Yorker was 
 talking a good deal, and Jack in his drawling 
 Texan humor or indifference (the quality resem- 
 bles either) offended and insulted him without 
 intent. Finally, the New Yorker drew a seven- 
 chambered pea- shooter and discharged every 
 barrel at Finehart. The desperado received the 
 shots without moving a muscle. Then, drawing 
 quickly a pistol a foot long, he knocked the 
 pea-shooter out of the youngster's hand, and 
 said: 
 
 " Stranger, buy a gun that won't disgrace the 
 country," and thus saying Jack deliberately put 
 up his revolver, never even looking to see where 
 the New Yorker' s" shots struck. 
 
 A young man once befriended Jack, and won 
 his heart forever. Finehart was like a woman, 
 except that the emotion he felt he was ashamed 
 to show. He heard of some danger impending
 
 208 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 over the head of his friend, and for three months 
 he dogged his footsteps day and night, ever hov- 
 ering around him with his trusty revolvers 
 buckled at his belt. At last, one dark, wintry 
 night, while the young fellow, none the better 
 for the liquor he had taken, was on his way home, 
 tw.o men, armed with knives, sprang out from a. 
 narrow alley. There was a short struggle, but 
 the lad contrived to cry for help. "Save me," 
 he screamed. " That's just what Jack Finehart 
 has been waiting three months to do," was the 
 answer. Two shots rang out on the midnight 
 air, and while one of the cowardly assailants fell, 
 face downward, on the street, the other broke- 
 into a run, unchecked by a third shot from the 
 pistol of the chivalrous rescuer. 
 
 Finehart had a powerful name in Texas, Ari- 
 zona, Kansas and New Mexico, and there was 
 not a gambler from Galveston to Deadwood but 
 feared and respected the man who bore it. An 
 expert gambler, an unerring shot, and unequaled 
 as a companion on a spree, he was nevertheless 
 scrupulous!}' honest, tender-hearted, sensitive, 
 and as easily moved to tears as a woman. He 
 had a way of subduing a gang of "hard men" 
 by walking unarmed into their midst, announc-
 
 "Pizun Jack" of Texas. 209 
 
 ing his name and telling them to get oat. Once, 
 in a railroad town on the Union Pacific, when he 
 was none too sober himself, he brought eight 
 miserable, shivering wretches out of a wretched 
 "dance-house," and ranging them in line on the 
 street he delivered an impromptu lecture to them 
 on "The evils of immorality." 
 
 Jack Finehart had one love affair, and only 
 one. It was his sole romance in life, and he 
 was very chary of talking about it. But I 
 learned the facts, and they form a startling com- 
 mentary on border life and the character of the 
 man. 
 
 He and his brother both fell in love with the 
 same girl, the niece of an officer in the regular 
 army, then stationed at Camp Douglas, Utah. 
 Jack could hate as well as love, and he could 
 make and keep a promise. He and his brother 
 came to an agreement by which both men 
 pledged themselves never again to see or speak 
 to the young lady, the penalty for a violation 
 of the contract being that the offender should 
 die at the hands of the other. The brothers 
 shook hands over the bargain, and each went 
 his way. 
 
 Six years after, Jack sought out his brother,
 
 210 , Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 traveling over two thousand miles to do so. He 
 told him quietly that he had broken his oath and 
 wanted the compact kept. The brother remon- 
 strated, but Jack was firm as adamant He had 
 forfeited a pledge and he was ready to die. The 
 end of it all was that the two brothers met on tha 
 bank of the Platte river, one lovely summer 
 evening. Jack drew a heavy derringer, cocked 
 it, and handed it to his brother. The latter 
 drew off a few paces, leveled the weapon, and 
 looked once more at Jack. "I can't do it,'"' 
 he said. 
 
 Finehart stood there, solitary, tall, his arms 
 folded, and an expression of quiet melancholy on 
 his handsome face. " I am ready," was his sole- 
 reply. The brother leveled the pistol, took de- 
 liberate aim and pulled the trigger. The car- 
 tridge did not explode. Jack took one long quiet 
 look at it, and seeing his brother about to fire 
 again, once more gazed at the river. Suddenly 
 the brother raised his arm, and the deadly weap- 
 on whizzed through the air, and found a last 
 resting-place beneath the turbulent waters of the 
 rushing stream. 
 
 Jack advanced in anger. " You are a perjur- 
 er," he said; "I would have killed you," and
 
 "Pizun Jack" of Texas. 211 
 
 disdaining the proffered hand of his brother, 
 he strode rapidly away. The two never met 
 
 again. 
 
 # * * * * * 
 
 At three o'clock on the morning of his death, 
 he walked down Sixteenth street with a friend, 
 and remarked : 
 
 "It's coming, coming, I feel it in the air, but 
 I don't know how it's coming, and I'd like to 
 know. I've got the sand to die game, and I'll 
 die in my boots, but I'd like to know how it's 
 coming." 
 
 " You ought to go somewhere, .Jack," said his 
 friend. 
 
 " Why, there ain't a spot in this Western 
 country where 'Pizun Jack' is not in danger," 
 he replied. 
 
 At 10 o'clock Jack was attending to his duties 
 as yard-master of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa 
 Fe Railroad at Denver, a position to which he 
 had been appointed a few days before. A switch 
 engine was going down the yard behind a passen- 
 ger train, and Finehart, knowing the engineer 
 to be a Denver and Rio Grande man, and being 
 naturally distrustful of him, jumped on the step 
 and rode along. The ricketty engine was going
 
 *212 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 very fast. It went off the rails and fell over, 
 and Jack Finehart was crushed to death. 
 
 This was the end of one of the most notorious 
 characters of the West. He had seen death in 
 many shapes, and was prepared for a violent 
 end, but neither himself nor friends thought 
 that his death would be the result of a railroad 
 accident. 
 
 Only two months ago, Jack told the writer that 
 he would not see the end of the year. Said he : 
 " I know it's coming, Post, and I am glad of it. 
 I've seen all of this world that I want to. I ex- 
 pect it from behind, but I'll die game. Nobody 
 shall ever say that Jack Finehart showed the 
 white feather. When you hear of my death, 
 Post, don't write any nonsense about me. Say 
 I died game, and say there were a wife and 
 
 daughter in that, rough as I am, I loved 
 
 better' n my life. Say that, old man, and it's all 
 that Jack Finehart asks." 
 
 Jack did'nt get it from behind, but he met a 
 violent death. Notwithstanding his early indis- 
 cretions, he was a man of fine principles, ever 
 ready to stand by a friend and see him through 
 the worst of difficulties. 
 
 Towards the last, Jack seemed tired of his life.
 
 'Pizun Jack" of Texas. 
 
 213 
 
 He had seen and experienced more than most 
 men, and cared little about leaving this mundane 
 sphere in the orthodox fashion. The death he 
 met was not what he expected or wished for. A 
 bullet from a similar character would have been 
 more to his liking, and fulfilled the prophecies 
 he was continually making to his friends. 
 
 He now rests peacefully beneath the sod, and 
 the words "Jack Finehart," on the white stone 
 above, are all that reminds us of the story of a 
 man who was brave and reckless in adventure, 
 true in friendship, and unfortunate in love.
 
 LEAF XII. 
 
 GLORIA. 
 
 was a night in 
 Rome. The moon 
 in queenly splen- 
 dor hung in the 
 sky, and through 
 the narrow streets 
 a cool and grateful 
 breeze played. The 
 sounds of an Italian 
 city came from all 
 sides, subdued and 
 musical, with a pleas- 
 ant undertone as of 
 the falling of waters. 
 Off from the Corso, 
 p- now quiet, the Tiber 
 in the moonlight brawled 
 its yellow way to the sea, and far away from 
 
 (215)
 
 216 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 over the walls of the city came the distant sound 
 of bells. It was in May ; all day long the sweet 
 smell of flowers had blown in from the Cam- 
 pagna. and now in the night, on the banks of the 
 river, there floated tender waves odoriferous with 
 the breathings of fields of bloom. On marble 
 steps that once paved the way of Roman magnifi- 
 cence, from the Tiber to the Corso, there sat 
 groups of persons, idly lounging in the moonlight. 
 A little apart from the others sat a girl and 
 boy. They could hardly be called woman and 
 man. She was perhaps sixteen ; he four or five 
 years older. The girl said little, but listened to 
 the low voice of the other. They were Americans, 
 were each with their parents, and had first met on 
 the steamer crossing the ocean. Since that time 
 the routes of the two families had differed little, 
 and the two had been much thrown together. 
 Their talk was now of parting, and as they sat 
 telling over the plans for the future, the girl be- 
 came more and more silent. Irving, the young 
 man, with his mother and aunt, was to go on to 
 Cairo, by way of Naples, and the family of 
 Gloria, the girl, was to start next day for Paris. 
 It would be an impertinence to repeat the conver- 
 sation of these two creatures. There is nothing;
 
 Gloria. 217 
 
 more sacred than the breathings from the heart 
 of a pure young girl, and in this girl's heart there 
 were secrets that might not be breathed even to 
 the handsome youth who lay on the marble at 
 her feet. 
 
 The experienced reader may feel surprised to 
 hear that they did not talk of love. Gloria would 
 have blushed with shame at anything so bold, 
 and the young gentleman, who, indeed, loved her 
 dearly, had still not the assurance to talk of it. 
 In fact, to take her hand at parting, or at meet- 
 ing; sometimes, perhaps, to put a shawl about 
 her shoulders, were the nearest approaches that 
 he had made to his heart's idol. She was a ten- 
 der, modest little lady, and he was true man 
 enough to appreciate her tenderness and her mod- 
 esty. One reads of the forwardness of American 
 young women while traveling abroad, but as to 
 this charming creature, Juliet by her side would 
 have been a hoyden. The thought of such a thing^ 
 perhaps never entered her head, but to have de- 
 livered the Italian maid's speech from the bal- 
 cony would have been beyond the courage of 
 Gloria, although her girl's heart had little else in 
 it than pictures of the boy, on whom her melting; 
 eyes were resting.
 
 218 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 Neither of them was skilled in fine speeches. 
 Possibly what they said would look commonplace 
 enough in print. For over a year they had been 
 wandering together : summer in the British Isles ; 
 fall and winter in Germany and France, and the 
 spring-time in Italy. Irving had a boy' s bright 
 heart for beauty of form and color, and whether 
 it was on Killarney's charming lakes, or on the 
 plaza of the Schloss at Heidelberg, on the slug- 
 gish canals of Holland or the gay boulevards of 
 Paris, his eyes found continually rising delights. 
 He was a fine traveling companion ; ready for 
 adventure, tireless in the search for what was to 
 be seen ; he was frank and generous, with nothing 
 of that muddy sentiment which age and expe- 
 rience too often bring. 
 
 The good taste and discretion of the youth, in- 
 deed; were such, that almost from the beginning 
 the route of the two families had been managed 
 by him. But now their paths separated ; tears 
 trickled down her cheeks, and one would have 
 thought they were about to part forever. His 
 heart lay like lead in his breast, and yet it was 
 but for a month or two that they were to lose 
 each other. It might be mentioned here, that 
 there was not the completest harmony in all
 
 Gloria. 219 
 
 tilings in the two families. Irving' s mother was 
 bent on one thing : she had made up her mind 
 that she would not go home till she had seen the 
 Pyramids and the ruins of the Temple ; while 
 Oloria's father cared not a fig for either, but was 
 tired of marbles and Madonnas, and wanted to 
 get back to the Grand Opera and Longchamps. 
 To the heads of the two families the desires of 
 the younger members cut very little figure, and 
 although Irving was not the youth to be put 
 aside without consideration, his lively imagina- 
 tion bridged the few weeks of separation, and 
 already there came pictures in his mind of Gloria 
 by his side on the return. 
 
 Yet why did these two linger and wait and 
 shudder that at each moment the call to go home 
 would come ? There was sweet music in his voice, 
 and although it had always sounded pleasant 
 enough, it seemed then as though there was some 
 strange undertone in it, some magic that wound 
 about her heart-strings, and the timid creature 
 shrunk within herself as her hands seemed to 
 .move towards him of their own accord. All that 
 day they had wandered about, dreading the com- 
 ing of the night. Little Puritan as she was, 
 Gloria's soul had again and again found sym-
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 pathy in the chanting of the masses at the El 
 Jesn, and that very afternoon at vespers, the 
 ehnrchly melodies had carried aloft Gloria's 
 silent prayer that Heaven would send her lover 
 back again. But now the time had come ; it was 
 the hour of parting. The gay moon danced on 
 the bosom of the river ; a nightingale on the other 
 bank poured forth a flood of song ; the soft winds 
 chased across the ghostly palace yards ; and 
 Rome, in her venerable glory, slept mindless of 
 these heavy hearts.
 
 Gloria. 
 
 221 
 
 1 1. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 WOMAN dressed in white satin, her 
 eye lashes wet with tears, stood lean- 
 ing against the back of a chair in a 
 room of one of the fashionable 
 & hotels of New York. Her look was 
 fixed abstractedly on the hurrying 
 crowd below. There were marks about 
 the room by which it could be seen she was 
 an actress. A heap of rich dresses lay on a 
 fauteuil. Gorgeous masses of roses and lilies 
 were scattered about the room. On the dressing- 
 case lay a profusion of jewels and costly orna- 
 ments. The dress she wore was that of Juliet, 
 over which, coming from the theatre, she had worn 
 a cloak. Her female attendant had not yet come, 
 and the ^loak fell idly to the floor, leaving the 
 white arms and bosom bare. The face would 
 have been white too at another time ; but now it 
 was streaked and unnatural. Tears had washed 
 tracks through the rouge and powder, and the 
 lashes no longer wore that coaly blackness which 
 the public admired. She was a handsome woman, 
 though, but hardly dark enough for the daugh- 
 
 15
 
 222 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 ter of the Capulets. The woman was Gloria, and 
 it was her first year on the stage. Her genius and 
 beauty had helped her forward rapidly. She had 
 had little other influence, and already her name 
 had been on the bill- boards of many of the lead- 
 ing theatres of the country. That night had been 
 a triumph ; it was her second visit, and from the 
 crowded house there had come round after round 
 of applause. 
 
 At the final fall of the curtain, the house waited 
 till the Romeo of the evening led her to the 
 front. Her heart beat lightly, and when she 
 walked into her room, there was a sprightliness 
 in her step that told of satisfaction. A touch of 
 vanity in a young and lovely woman, is no great 
 sin, and when Gloria glanced at herself in the 
 long mirror, a gazer upon the charming specta- 
 cle would have readily forgiven the act. A letter 
 in a yellow envelope, which lay on the bureau, 
 caught her attention. She looked anxiously at 
 the writing. The breaking of its Pandora seal 
 let loose a world of trouble. It was the letter 
 within which brought tears to her eyes. After 
 standing for a little, she sank in the chair, buried 
 her face in her hands, and silently the tears 
 trickled through her fingers.
 
 Gloria. 223 
 
 The letter, which was badly written, and dated 
 five days before, read : 
 
 " DEAR LADY : The little one died last night. We did what 
 we could for it, but could not save its life. 
 
 MARY ASHBURTON." 
 
 There came a knock at the door, and the dress- 
 ing-woman came in. Nothing could better show 
 the kindness of Gloria's heart than the grief of 
 this old woman at finding her mistress in tears. 
 Her person was very tidy, and as she washed 
 the actress' face, and forced upon her a tiny glass 
 of cordial, it was plain that she was a tender and 
 sensible creature. For the first time, Gloria 
 spoke. She put her arms about the old woman's 
 neck, and sobbed, " Oh Maggie, Maggie, my heart 
 is breaking ! " 
 
 Margaret, who knew nothing of the letter, and 
 who would not have *i nderstood it, had she read 
 it, laid the lovely head of Gloria'on her shoulder, 
 and soothed her as best she might. From a 
 distance the bells of a church rang out the mid- 
 night hour, and still the head rested there. The 
 heart of Gloria was far away. She was back in 
 the green lanes of her childhood, and the church 
 bells sounded like the old ones at home. Her 
 life, long before she had thought of the stage,
 
 224 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 came before her. She thought of when she was 
 a girl of sixteen, when the world was all bright 
 and beautiful, and when the future rolled away 
 a prospect brilliant as an Alpine sunrise. In her 
 ears again was the sound of a familiar voice, and 
 through the darkness of the night there seemed 
 to come to her, two eyes that long, long ago had 
 vanished. The diamonds on her neck glittered 
 in the gaslight, the fire in the grate turned the 
 lilies on the table to a pink color, and from the 
 roses a perfume stole over her senses. The old 
 woman fell asleep, and the other was alone with 
 her thoughts.
 
 Gloria. 
 
 225 
 
 m. 
 
 BERLIN. 
 
 HREE gentlemen sat at a table in 
 an alcove of the Orpheum, in the 
 German capital. They were Ameri- 
 cans, but one of them, by his man- 
 ner and dress, seemed less strange 
 to the place than the other two. 
 The Orpheum, as the reader may 
 recollect, is in the Alte Jakob Strasse, 
 and is one of those highly-gilt dance 
 houses, to be met with here and there 
 in Europe, a sort of Jardin Mabille under 
 glass, where the lamps are lit at about 
 the time most people go to bed, and 
 where a gay mob dances until sunrise. The 
 women were of the nameless throng of a great 
 city ; the men, seekers after excitement, from 
 every wiiere. One of the men was Irving, the 
 other two friends of his, lately from America. 
 The can-can of the Orpheum, although sufficiently 
 wild and wicked to hush the least pious of the 
 Jiaushalterinnen in the neighborhood at the mere 
 mention of it, seemed somewhat flat to the two 
 new-comers, who already knew that the more
 
 226 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 conspicuous dancers were hired acrobats in even- 
 ing dress. 
 
 The lights were flashed back from a thousand 
 mirrors, an orchestra hidden in the depths of a 
 bank of foliage discoursed the latest music from 
 Suppe and Bilse, and from the Moorish arches 
 leading to the courtyard beyond, there sounded 
 the pattering of fountains. The merry creatures 
 of the night, always mindful of the stern-eyed 
 man in white gloves, with cocked hat under his 
 arm, who stood as the representative of order on 
 the floor, danced as though another deluge were 
 at hand. At midnight the programme had fairly 
 commenced. 
 
 Five years had worn away since the night in 
 Rome, and Irving was still a wanderer. His 
 mother and aunt preferred to make their home 
 with him, and when all persuasion to leave for 
 America had failed, settled in a quiet villa near 
 the Thiergarten. He had formed a business 
 connection with a mercantile house, and there 
 was every prospect that Berlin would be his per- 
 manent abiding place. Now and then people 
 from America would bring him letters of intro- 
 duction, and it was while showing the city by 
 gaslight to two of the latest comers that he found
 
 228 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 himself this night in the Orpheum. There was 
 refined society in Berlin and good opera, and it 
 was not hard for a man in business to occupy 
 his leisure in a variety of agreeable ways. 
 
 But this most unreasonable young man could 
 not forget Gloria. It was Gloria who filled his 
 thoughts, on whom his imagination dwelt, and 
 without whom all the world was little more than 
 a blank. He was too sensible to be misanthropic, 
 and too sensitive to share his sorrow with others. 
 No one, after the first few months, had heard 
 him speak of her. Of course, the two old ladies 
 near the Thiergarten knew his secret, but they 
 knew it only as women will learn everything of 
 a man with whom they live day by day. 
 
 Gloria, the actress, of whom he read in the 
 newspapers from home, was no longer to him the 
 girl of years ago. As one sees the wreck of a 
 splendid work, and traces in it the outline of its 
 former loveliness, so Irving found in his pictures 
 of her only that which moved him to fresh grief. 
 A few words will explain the change. On reach- 
 ing Paris, after parting from thelrvings, Gloria's 
 father found a letter telling of money losses in 
 America. They left on the next steamer, and on 
 reaching home, it was found that the fortunes of
 
 Gloria. 22J>- 
 
 the family were gone. Everything was swallowed 
 up. The world, to a man who has all his life 
 lived in plenty, is a wretched thing when he finds 
 himself suddenly poor, and not at all worth the 
 having if he is old in the bargain, and so it was 
 not long before Gloria's father took his leave 
 from it unceremoniously. 
 
 Gloria's mother, in her youth, had been a 
 singer. She had not yet reached the heights of 
 opera when her hand was asked in marriage, and 
 her voice from that time was only heard in the 
 seclusion of her husband's home. But now she 
 could sing no more. As her tears fell on the face 
 of the corpse of her husband, there was no longer 
 music in her soul. To know that her husband 
 was dead had shattered beyond mending the 
 harp-strings of her life. Somebody told her that 
 in Gloria there was the making of a fine actress. 
 Neither mother nor daughter could earn a dollar 
 at mechanical work. Gloria had a full share of 
 those accomplishments which grace a lady, but 
 bring no bread. There was some little money 
 left, and a famous teacher of acting was engaged. 
 
 Hard lessons, long hours and severe drill soon 
 began to change Gloria into what she was to be. 
 The girl gradually developed into the woman, and
 
 230 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 the woman into the actress. Under all sorts of 
 stage names she was brought before audiences in 
 small towns. Her natural timidity had long worn 
 off. Her teacher was a woman of the world, a suc- 
 cessful actress, somewhat worn out, and noth- 
 ing if not practical She had herself climbed 
 the ladder from the ballet, and her conversation 
 could not but be enlightening to a beginner like 
 Gloria, who soon found that Shakespeare's plays 
 and the Dictionary of Slang went hand in hand 
 behind the scenes, and that Balzac's Corned ie 
 Humaine was child's play to the cosmos of the 
 theatre. 
 
 Soon Gloria reached that point where people 
 began to preach to her. It was the forerunner of 
 success. When the world can no more pull 
 down, it begins to give advice. Her first season 
 was a series of triumphs. She began to be sought 
 for by managers. Even those from the inland 
 towns, who generally touch nothing theatrical 
 till it is worn out, put in bids for her. But all 
 this did not come to pass without an episode. 
 
 An episode in the life of a young and beautiful 
 woman living in the glare of the footlights can 
 have but two endings. It was now a year since 
 she had heard of Irving. She had written to
 
 Gloria. 231 
 
 where she thought he might be reached, but no 
 answer came back. Irving 7 a trip to the Orient 
 had been lengthened, and when he again reached 
 Paris there was no trace of Gloria's family. 
 Disgusted with himself for having permitted 
 Gloria to be lost to him for a single day. Irving 
 set sail for America. A year had passed since 
 last he saw her. Some months of this time had 
 been taken up in the East, and the rest in search- 
 ing about the cities of Europe and in waiting for 
 answers from friends at home, of whom he had 
 inquired. Gloria, on taking to the stage, had 
 left the city of her childhood, had borne another 
 name, and it was only in the full publicity of 
 after years that the great actress and the bank- 
 rupt' s daughter were known to be the same. 
 Irving arrived in New York. Gloria was then 
 playing in a city near by. How close these 
 devoted souls were to each other at that hour 
 they ne\ er knew. But near as it was, the separa- 
 tion was wide as eternity. 
 
 Gloria* s mother had been in an asylum. The old 
 lady had found in drink a welcome obliviousness. 
 She was unfit for the wrecks and storms of time. 
 There was nothing of the Roman mother about 
 her. As one after another of the dear things of 
 
 * 
 
 V
 
 232 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 earth passed away, she became a ruin of her 
 former self. No solid time-defying ruin, but, like 
 one of those Gothic fabrics whose slender foliage 
 crumble in the blast, poor Gloria' s mother passed 
 away, and the girl was quite alone. Alone, with 
 a heart crying out for one who never came, with 
 ears weary listening for footsteps that sounded 
 only in the imagination, and eyes that wept to 
 think that they would nevermore see the dear 
 boy of her girlhood that bade her good-bye on 
 the Tiber's steps. No moment so propitious for 
 an episode. 
 
 How the whereabouts of Gloria came to the ears 
 of Irving, and how there came with it the story 
 of a successful lover, need not here be dwelt upon. 
 The wretched man, at once concluding that he 
 had been forgotten by her, buried his sorrows 
 in his breast and left for Europe. Four more 
 years had slowly gone by, and on the night when 
 Irving found himself with the two young men in 
 the Alte Jakob Strasse, it was five years since he 
 had left Gloria on the banks of the Tiber, in Rome. 
 As the band struck up an air from "Mignon," 
 
 ^^^H 
 
 "Kennst du das Land," Irving drew his two 
 friends with him and left the Orpheum for home.
 
 Gloria. 
 
 233 
 
 IV. 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 T was the garden scene in " Romeo 
 and Juliet," on the stage of one of 
 the leading theatres of Chicago, and 
 Gloria stood on the balcony, statue 
 like, in the white lime light. The 
 honors of the night had been fairly 
 divided with the Romeo. He was 
 robust, handsome fellow, and played 
 the part with so much vigor and feeling 
 that the critics, with one accord, be- 
 lieved him to be under the influence of 
 liquor, while the house applauded him to the 
 echo. The women unanimously voted him charm- 
 ing, and for once the men were not wholly en- 
 grossed with Gloria. So fervent was the hero 
 that when the closing speech of the scene came 
 and the heroine threw him kisses, the house up- 
 roariously called them to the front. The truth 
 was, that this Romeo was head and ears in love 
 with Gloria from the first night of his first season 
 with her, and only lived from day to day in the 
 opportunities given him by the play to tell his
 
 234 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 love. But the second leading lady had also been 
 loved by this Romeo, and had seen his new and 
 fierce love for Gloria with no measured fury. 
 Romeo had put up with a variety of snubs, and 
 had even taken less pay than he could get else- 
 where, in order to be in the same company with 
 Gloria; but the second leading lady had under- 
 gone still greater sacrifices that she might be 
 near Romeo. 
 
 Gloria saw the evidences of his fondness for her, 
 but with quiet reserve held him in check, and 
 gave him no encouragement. She was never at 
 home when he called at the hotel, and by her tact 
 kept him continually at arm's length. The sec- 
 ond leading lady, however, was spoiling for 
 revenge. She was not so young as she had been, 
 her beauty stood daylight badly, and her pretty 
 ways, her affected coyness, and her simulated 
 embarrassments, were equally ineffectual to bring 
 back her old lover. That she had loved him was 
 shown by the depth of the hate which began to 
 burn in her veins, and Clytemnestra-like, she 
 watched his every move, and if there was no dag- 
 ger in her sleeve, it was because she still fanned 
 a hope that he might be again won over. 
 
 But for Gloria this neglected creature treasured
 
 Gloria. 235- 
 
 the choicest flowers of her hatred. There was 
 little in her gift that she would not have parted 
 with to the one who would have shown her a 
 means of wreaking her vengeance on poor Gloria' s 
 head. She had not long to wait; things were- 
 coming to a crisis. Five years of such work as 
 Gloria had done, began to tell upon her strength. 
 Her light was still bright, but there began to be- 
 an occasional flicker. Actresses, no matter how 
 high they stand, may do many things forbidden 
 to other women, and so long as they keep out of 
 bankruptcy and the police reports, may keep a 
 stout heart. Few had heard of Gloria' s episode, 
 and those few knew little. The whole story never 
 came out, and what was known was well nigh 
 forgotten. Gloria had never ceased to pray that 
 Heaven would take away her sin, and what she 
 might do by way of atonement she had freely 
 done. An open hand for charity, and a tender 
 word for the sorrowing, were ever ready. And 
 thus she waited ; the love of her girlhood had 
 grown into the engrossing passion of her life. 
 Could she but meet Irving again could she know 
 that he still loved her ah ! this was asking too 
 much, but the hope that it would be granted was. 
 all that kept her lamp burning.
 
 236 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 It was raining heavily one night after the play 
 was out, and a man in a long cloak, avoiding the 
 elevator, hastened up the stairs of the hotel where 
 Gloria lived. On the heels of the man came a 
 woman, cloaked and veiled. It was the Romeo 
 of the play come to linger about Gloria' s corridor, 
 and the woman was the jealous actress. He 
 caught a glimpse of her, recognized her, and 
 escaped by another stairway to the street. The 
 actress believed that he had been let into Gloria's 
 room, but not feeling certain, and fearing to raise 
 an alarm lest her suspicions should prove untrue, 
 she waited for the next night. This woman 
 remarked the next day that Gloria looked pale 
 and wan, and in truth she was. 
 
 The night before Gloria had seen a man sitting 
 back in the lower circle, who looked like Irving. 
 The light was dim where he sat, and the open 
 frankness of his dear face had changed. She 
 could not believe it to be he, but merely to think 
 that it was filled her with a joy such as she nad 
 not known since that Italian summer's night. 
 The people thought that she had never played 
 Juliet so tenderly. After the play, at the hotel, 
 she watched and waited, and all the next day she 
 listened for footsteps. A boy with a basket of
 
 Gloria. 237 
 
 flowers caused her to stagger, and when a card 
 from a caller was brought to her room, she trem- 
 bled so that she sat in a chair while she read it. 
 That night she would gladly have begged to be 
 excused from the theatre but it was the last night 
 of the season. 
 
 Again, after the play, a man in a cloak, followed 
 by a woman, glided up the hotel stairs. Gloria's 
 room was on the upper floor, the windows 
 facing the court yard. This man heeded not the 
 woman, but went on, finally stopping before a 
 room nearly opposite Gloria's, which he entered, 
 leaving the door ajar. The room was dark. 
 
 The jealous actress, who was closely veiled, 
 walked up and down past the door, and with 
 a sudden impulse burst into the room, closing 
 the door and placing her back against it. The 
 gas was immediately lit, there was the sound of 
 voices, and for a little while, silence. Then the 
 woman jame out, and, walking rapidly, led the 
 man to a room on another part of the same floor ; 
 they entered this room, the woman pulled a chair 
 so that it faced the window, and pushed the cur- 
 tains aside. 
 
 He sat thus in the dark, waiting. 
 
 Suddenly a room on the other side of the nar- 
 
 16
 
 238 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 row court yard was lighted, and an old woman 
 entered, followed by Gloria. It was oppressively 
 warm. The windows of both rooms were open, 
 reaching nearly to the floor. Between the walls, 
 the court-yard opened to the ground. The floor 
 on which these rooms were was seven stories from 
 the flagged basement. All was dark but the win- 
 dows of Gloria's room. The eye could not pierce 
 the depth of the darkness between the windows. 
 It was Irving that sat in the chair watching 
 Gloria. As he looked, his breath sank away and 
 his mouth grew dry ; then his heart beat rapidly 
 
 and his eyes moistened. The years rolled back- 
 
 
 ward, and he was a boy again. Gloria and he 
 
 were on a gondola, floating on the Venetian* 
 lagoons, and Gloria was listening to the story of 
 the Doges; again they were at the foot of the 
 Matterhorn, her dark eyes filled with tears at the 
 fate of the luckless Alpine climbers. A thousand 
 pictures of those happy journeys glided before 
 him, and as the winds brought the chimes from 
 St. James' tower, he thought that he was again 
 under the roof of some old German inn, after 
 having bade Gloria good night. 
 
 He looked again at the figure in the opposite 
 window, and an impulse seized him to rush to her
 
 Gloria. 239 
 
 and throw himself at her feet. He could hear 
 the woman back of him breathing. A wave of 
 cold air pulsed up from the damp court-yard 
 below. Irving sat like one dazed ; there was one 
 feeling which could be separated from every 
 other, and that was that he wanted to look at 
 Gloria. He had not been so near her before since 
 that never-to-be-forgotten night. He cared noth- 
 ing for what they had said of Gloria. What if 
 she had sinned ? Were she ten times worse than 
 this woman back of him had said, she was still 
 the Gloria that he loved ; the life and soul of 
 his heart' s idolatry. 
 
 At that instant the door of the room opposite 
 opened, and a man entered. Gloria, who had 
 been resting her chin on her hand, looked up. 
 Irving followed the direction of her head as it 
 turned. It was the Romeo of the play. He had 
 come in unannounced. The eyes of the woman 
 back of Irving almost shone in the dark. Irv- 
 ing' s heart sunk. It was too far away to hear 
 what was said. 
 
 The man walked hesitatingly to the middle of 
 the room. He appeared to be speaking, but his 
 attitude was that of one who pleads. The panto- 
 mime of his gesture told the whole story. It was
 
 240 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 a terrible ordeal for Irving. .At that late hour none 
 were astir. The old dressing-woman had gone 
 out. Gloria was alone, with this man. It seemed 
 to the wretched lover as if all that was dear in 
 life was to slip through his grasp at that moment. 
 
 He stood up. He could have leaped across, 
 but the hungry darkness yawned below him. 
 He stood full and fair in the open window, the 
 light from Gloria' s windows shining full on his 
 face. The man before Gloria appeared to beg. 
 Could Gloria but have turned her head and 
 looked at the opposite windows. But the poor 
 woman was alone and frightened. Maybe she 
 would listen to the man. All this took a very 
 brief time. An instant seemed an age. Irving* 
 glared. Then Gloria raised one arm, pointed a 
 finger towards the door, and after hesitating for 
 a second, Romeo bowed and withdrew. 
 
 Tears filled Irving' s eyes. He would rush to 
 her room, and demand admittance. He was 
 about to turn when he saw Gloria move towards 
 the window. He hesitated. She came forward. 
 He stood still. She pushed the lace curtains 
 aside, and came to the open window. The light 
 was back of her, but her face looked out white 
 in the darkness.
 
 As lightning flashes down the 
 midnight sky, so the glance of 
 Gloria darted across the dark, 
 and fixed itself on Irving' s face. 
 She knew him, and he saw that 
 she did. He stretched out his 
 arms. "Gloria! Glo !" he 
 called. 
 What came next is almost too terrible to tell.
 
 242 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 The unhappy woman advanced abruptly, and, 
 striking the low window-sill with her feet, fell 
 forward. Almost before the sound of her 
 lover's voice had ceased, she sank, a confused 
 mass, into the darkness below. 
 
 Her shattered body was found later by the 
 servants. Irving had swooned, and was after- 
 ward found on the floor by the actress, who had 
 left the room to meet the man she had been fol- 
 lowing. What became of Irving it would be hard 
 to say. But there is a horrible emptiness about 
 that rjom on the upper floor, with a faint re- 
 minder in the air of the perfume that hung about 
 the long hair of Gloria, when she was found on 
 the courtyard pavement.
 
 LEAF XIII. 
 
 LORD ULLIFS DAUGHTER. 
 
 A lovely evening in mid-summer. The soft 
 moon casts its faint light, and the willows droop 
 their shadows over a scene as fair as man ever 
 gazed on. The lights and shadows fall on a 
 picture old indeed as the hills fresh as love in 
 youth. The sweet notes of the song-birds, sub- 
 dued and softened in the twilight, come borne 
 on the light breeze. 
 
 # * * -A" * * 
 
 I HERE are clouds 
 in the sky, and 
 breathings of tem- 
 pest in the air. 
 The great black mes- 
 sengers of the Storm 
 King go rushing on 
 their wrathful way 
 between the sun and 
 earth, and come together 
 like contending armies, and send the 
 forked lightning downward to herald the 
 
 (243)
 
 244 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 approach of their mighty master, who is marshal- 
 ing his forces along the western horizon. 
 
 The hour is 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the 
 day one of midsummer. As the growl of the 
 elements deepens to an angry roar, the reporters, 
 who await in the depot the train which is to 
 bring within their reach the newly elected Sena- 
 tor from Wisconsin, gather closer about the 
 ticket window and clamor to learn why the day 
 express isn't "on time." The agent doesn't 
 know, and, what is more, doesn't seem to care 
 very much, so the knights of the pencil are per- 
 force compelled to wait and abuse the road. The 
 writer is among the number, and, out of sheer 
 idleness and disgust he wanders slowly to another 
 part of the building to "loaf and invite his soul" 
 a la Walt Whitman. 
 
 A man approaches through the storm, crosses 
 the street and enters the door, letting in with him 
 a torrent of the fierce white rain now falling in 
 sheets. It is the train dispatcher, and while he 
 shakes himself free of the water which drips 
 down about him in puddles, the scribe asks : 
 "No one here seems to be informed as to when 
 the express will be in. You can tell, can' t you ? " 
 
 "It's side tracked up here, thirty or forty
 
 Lord U llln^s Daughter. 245 
 
 miles, and the road is free from end to end. 
 There are a couple of specials coming from Mil- 
 waukee, and I tell you they are making the fast- 
 est time this line ever knew." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "I don't know, and that's why I left Jim to 
 run the office while I came over to see about it. 
 One of the specials was engaged yesterday in the 
 usual way, the other was a local train just ready 
 to make its trip, when one of the directors of 
 another road, so the boys telegraph me, came 
 tearing down to the depot a few minutes after 
 the first extra was gone and laid down a cool 
 thousand to get this train for a trip to Chicago." 
 
 " Do you know who is on the first extra ? " 
 
 "It's a young fellow from Chicago, and by 
 putting this and that together, I've come to the 
 conclusion that he's eloped with some Cream 
 City girl, and, yes, by Jove ! that's it ! I'll bet 
 a hundred to one the young lady's father is on 
 the second special." 
 
 There was a rumble of wheels without, and a 
 hack dashed up and took position perilously 
 near the track. The man on the box sat still, 
 muffled in his rubber coat, and looked off down 
 the track ever and anon with eager expectancy.
 
 246 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 It was "Dandy Pat," known by fame or inter- 
 course to all those of the jeunesse doree, who 
 from time to time want to take a ride in a cov- 
 ered carriage of which no one shall know. That 
 "Dandy" should stay with his horses, and 
 patiently bear the terrible pelting of the storm, 
 meant either that he was getting good pay for his 
 trouble, or that something was "in the wind," 
 which interested him more than common. Now 
 a sensation was always welcome to the city editor 
 of The Daily Thunderer, and a bit of exclusive 
 news was always joy to the heart of whoever pro- 
 cured it. Inspired with these twin incentives, 
 the writer made his way through the blinding 
 storm to the hack. It would never do to ac- 
 knowledge ignorance of the driver's mission, or his 
 mouth would remain sealed, so a bold guess at 
 the possible truth took the form of the query, 
 "Who are you waiting for, Pat, the runaways or 
 the old man?" 
 
 Dandy looked down from his superior height 
 and swore a little. " How the deuce did you find 
 out what was going on ?" he asked. 
 
 " Never mind, but I know all about it, and the 
 other boys don't. Now which is it, the girl's 
 father or the lovers you are waiting for?"
 
 Lord Ullin's DaugJiter. 247 
 
 " Why, the lovers, of course. I didn't know 
 the young 'ooman's parent had got the news- 
 yet." 
 
 "But he has, and he's chasing your employer 
 down the road with a special train, which will be 
 here nearly as soon as the one you are waiting: 
 for." 
 
 " Well, his chase won't do him much good. 
 
 Charley has his big yacht lying inside the 
 
 breakwater, and he and the lady are going on 
 board as soon as I can draw them there. They've 
 got a parson, and a permit to drive in double 
 harness, and everything all correct, and once 
 they're hitched they're going up the lakes for a 
 bridal tower." 
 
 "But they can't start in such a frightful storm 
 as this \ ' ' 
 
 "I don't know. I'm hired to take them to the 
 dock, ard that done, I'm through with the thing. 
 Got my pay in advance you see." 
 
 Above the rumble of the thunder shrieked the 
 alarm of the engine's whistle, and pealed the 
 clangorous engine bell. The wheels leaped from 
 rail to rail, and in from the mist and semi- dark- 
 ness, like a demon of fire and smoke and giant 
 might, dashed the great iron horse. It reached
 
 248 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 the platform, stopped, and stood panting and 
 throbbing from the swift and stirring race. Out 
 of the car, and into the hack sprang the fleeing 
 couple, the door crashed to, Dandy leaped to his 
 box again, and away to the Lake Front whirled 
 the carriage with its load of new-born human 
 hopes and fears. 
 
 And none too quickly had they gone, for five 
 minutes later saw the second special land its soli- 
 tary passenger at the dingy depot. Tall, gray 
 mustached, accurately dressed in light summer 
 garments, he stood for an instant and faced the 
 blasts which beat upon him with the indifference 
 of a second Lear. His face was set in an ex- 
 pression of icy calm, and the frosty blue eyes 
 glinted ominously, while the right hand absently 
 fingered something was it a pistol ? which filled 
 a side coat pocket. He made one or two curt 
 inquiries, learned the direction taken by the 
 fugitives, and, entering another of the cabs, by 
 this time lined along the walk, drove away at the 
 top of the horses' speed. 
 
 If ever murder filled a man's heart, and 
 gleamed out from the windows of the soul, it did 
 in the case of this quiet, self-contained arid 
 wealthy citizen. Things were getting serious, and
 
 250 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 the writer concluded that the Senator from 
 consin must be dropped because of this new and 
 possibly startling event. So, he too, rode away 
 for the Lake Front in a carriage, whose driver 
 had instructions to use the whip and never mind 
 the consequences. 
 
 Down where the great waves chased each other 
 up against the shore the troubled sea and stormy 
 sky looked on at a strange and novel spectacle. 
 The father had followed fast, and followed faster, 
 but he arrived too late for whatever purpose he 
 may have had in view. The yacht, with every 
 sail set, was a mile out on the lake, tossing like 
 a frightened bird, and fleeing before the wind 
 which now came in fierce gusts from the south- 
 west. 
 
 On the shore, beside the parent, stood some 
 friends of the lovers, who looked out on the wild 
 scene with more of anxiety than seemed to dis- 
 turb the marble-faced man who had lost his only 
 daughter. As for him, he shaded his eyes from 
 the spray, and then, turning on his heel, re- 
 entered the waiting carriage and gave the laconic 
 order, "Take me to the Tug Association' s office." 
 His idea was apparent. He had started on a 
 chase, he would end it, as every other under-
 
 Lord Ulliri's Daughter. 251 
 
 taking of his life had ended, successfully. The 
 journalist also had begun a task and proposed 
 to carry it through, and when the pursuer reached 
 his destination he likewise was there, and ready 
 to board whichever tug might be placed at the 
 magnate's disposal. 
 
 "I wouldn't advise you, sir, to go out in this 
 weather," said the agent, "the storm signal is 
 up, and the blow to-night will be terrific. But 
 as you guarantee us from all loss, and the men 
 say they are willing to make the trip, I can only 
 advance this bit of advice, and step aside." 
 
 "Thank you," was all the gentleman said, as 
 lie stepped aboard and entered the little den 
 given over to the wheelsman and captain. 
 
 A reporter, as a matter of course, has an ex- 
 tremely general and promiscuous acquaintance, 
 and this particular tug, by chance, happened to 
 be one which had carried the writer out on old 
 Michigan more than once ; so a wink to the open 
 mouthed deck-hand and a nod to the engineer 
 settled the thing, and established him without 
 remonstrance by the side of the latter and 
 next to the throbbing heart of the gallant 
 little boat. 
 
 Up the river, and out of the mouth went the
 
 252 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 chase, and then the mad waves scurried around 
 and over as if to engulf this mosquito-like in- 
 truder on the domains of the winds and waters. 
 Afar off, where the clouds stooped down to kiss 
 the foam-capped billows, struggled the white- 
 winged yacht, making, as best it could, for the 
 distant farther shore. Steadily we gained, and 
 soon pursuer and pursued were not more than a 
 quarter of a mile apart. A sudden calm came 
 upon the elements, and the blackness of dark- 
 ness dwelt about. 
 
 The midnight clouds seemed to rush down on 
 the earth and shroud it from view. Even the 
 horizon grew misty and indistinct. The silence, 
 broken only by the puffing engine, was horrible, 
 the suspense beyond description. I came above 
 and looked in the wheelsman's room ; his face 
 was an ashen gray, and his lips were white. "I'd 
 give a thousand dollars to be on good dry land," 
 he muttered. 
 
 The man by his side smiled a wintry smile. 
 
 "Let me take the wheel," he said, "I have 
 commanded a ship, and I can guide this ; you 
 need have no fear." And he took the place of 
 the terrified sailor. 
 
 First he peered out ahead and sighted the
 
 Lord Ul in 1 s Daughter. 253 
 
 yacht, now nearer than ever ; then he rang the 
 bell and signaled for all speed to be put on, and 
 then he sent the tug straight at the chase. He 
 was resolved to run it down. 
 
 Up from the southwest came a moan, like that 
 of the damned, the clouds cleared away, and the 
 sea could be seen rushing on us in a vast titanic 
 wall. The moan grew louder. It became a yell 
 as of contending armies, the heavens grew white 
 with tongues of flames, the air labored with 
 incessant booming of the thunder. The hissing 
 rain, the whirling waves joined the wild uproar, 
 and then we were caught and tossed like an 
 atom in the giant fury of the awful tempest. One 
 glimpse, and one only, we gained of the yacht. 
 Its sails were streaming forward in ribbons, its 
 decks were overflowed, and it was in the trough 
 of the sea, sideways to the storm, and given over 
 to destruction, while above it the blinding mist 
 took form as the angel of death. 
 
 How we reached the Michigan shore that night, 
 and beat upon the sandy beach a wreck, with one 
 man left behind, swept overboard as a tribute to 
 the wrathful gods, does not need to be here set 
 down. The morning dawned bright and beauti- 
 ful, but among the fifty odd vessels of the Mich- 
 
 17
 
 254 
 
 Suppressed Sensations. 
 
 igan fleet never heard of afterwards was the 
 
 lover' s yacht. 
 
 Why didn't I " write it up for the paper ? " 
 Because brain fever kept me in bed six weeks, 
 
 and when I grew well it was stale news. But, 
 
 nevertheless, it is a true story, and now first sees 
 
 the light of print.