OUR WASTE BASKET.
_Contemporaneous Records and Memoranda of Interesting Cases._
*Miss Ruff's Tribulations.*
Miss Louise Ruff was a tall, fair-complexioned young lady of twenty-two,
with a handsome form, lovely shoulders, handsome arms and bewitching
address. Her family was well known on the east side of the town, and she
had received a fairly liberal education. Miss Ruff, two or three years
previous to the legal proceedings here chronicled, had the good or bad
fortune to form the acquaintance of Mr. Julius Westfall, the well-to do
proprietor of a couple of restaurants. Mr. Westfall was a Teutonic
"masher" with which any Venus would have been justified in falling in
love. He was a brunette with hyacinthine locks and lustrous black eyes,
and with hands and feet too pretty, almost, for use. Mr. Julius Westfall
fell violently in love with Louise. She had dropped in with a lady
friend to drink a cup of coffee. From behind the receipt of custom he
took an observation, and then he began to prance round, as one who had
suddenly been attacked by a combination of the fire of St. Anthony and
the dance of St. Vitus. He skipped around the saloon like a grasshopper
on a gravel lot, and smiled, and smiled, and smiled--looking his
Fourth-of-July prettiest. Of course Miss Ruff nudged her companion above
the fifth rib, and whispered something complimentary to the beaming
proprietor; and when the ladies left, he bowed them out with all the
grace of a Belgravia footman.
Mr. Westfall began to watch for Louise and to trot after her like a
doppelganger. He kept a tub of ice-water in a closet, in which he
occasionally bathed his throbbing temples. He was devoured by a
consuming passion. When he beheld her at a distance, he smacked his lips
like a beautiful leopard. The heart of Miss Ruff was not of adamant. It
was not a trap-rock paving stone. She could not resist the young man's
loveliness and his innumerable fascinations. They began to walk out
together in the evening when the dandelions were being kissed by the
setting sun. They strolled into the beer gardens and listened to music's
power, while moistening their clay. The Bowery Garden, between Canal and
Hester streets, was a favorite resort. So was the Atlantic Garden and
the Viennese lady musicians. Thus, for one long twelve-month they
loved--after nature's fashion, nor thought of the crime.
Sometime in the latter part of last year--it may have been in October,
or November, or December--Mr. Julius Westfall was summoned to the German
fatherland. It became necessary to dispose of his business and to bid
adieu to Louise. Why he did not marry the young lady doth not appear. He
seems to have left suddenly, and probably the idea of matrimony did not
occur to him. Mr. Ludwig Nisson became Mr. Westfall's successor in the
restaurant business. More than that, he also became the successor of Mr.
Westfall in the affections of Miss Ruff. Now, Mr. Ludwig Nisson is a
handsome young blonde, with lovely flaxen side-whiskers and a rose-pink
complexion. Mr. Nisson's chin and upper lip are shaven clean every
morning. He wears the latest Fifth-avenue style of store clothes. An
ornamental garden of jewelry adorns his vest. His studs are diamonds;
his hay-colored hair exhibits the perfection of the barber's skill. Mr.
Nisson's lips are red and pouting. He may be seven or eight and twenty.
He is very good-looking, and he knows it. As in the case of Mr.
Westfall, Ludwig made superhuman efforts to please Miss Ruff when she
entered his saloon, in which are seats always "reserved for ladies." In
the art of soul-floralization, Ludwig was his predecessor's equal. What
could Louise do but listen to his blandishments? And when a young lady
listens once, the poet tells us, she "will listen twice." Thus it came
to pass that before Julius Westfall had been long gone--perhaps before
he was even half seas over--Mr. Nisson began to meander around with Miss
Ruff, to quaff the foaming lager, and to be on hand in the Bowery Garden
when the band began to play.
Some of these affectionate and confidential manifestations did not
eventuate amid the glare and blare of the beer garden's, but away up in
a sanctum over a drug store and in other "sweet, retired solitudes,"
where they could listen to the sweet music of their own speech. Early in
January of the present year, Louise possessed a secret which she felt
she could confide to no ear but Ludwig Nisson's. With reddening cheeks
she softly made her confession. The easiest and most economical course
under the lamentable circumstances was to offer her some advice. That is
just what Ludwig did offer--subsequently, however, backing it with a
modest fiduciary bonus. After this Mr. Ludwig Nisson sought no more to
commune with Miss Ruff. The poor, indiscreet girl was in a pitiable
dilemma. She had no mother in whose heart of hearts she could seek
forgiveness and shelter. If her family were made aware of the event
impending, she knew the explosion of indignation would be terrific. So
she professed to be tired of staying at home, and entered her name in a
registry office for servants. Fitfully occupying two or three positions,
a victim of anxiety and unrest, she finally consulted an old friend of
her family--Mr. Peter Cook, the lawyer, who wrote a letter to Mr. Nisson
for his client. In a few days a lawyer called on Mr. Cook on behalf of
the restaurateur, and stated that the case would be allowed to go for
trial, in which case, Mr. Nisson would defend it. Shortly afterward, or
to be more specific, in May last, Mr. Henry E. Von Voss, collector for a
down-town business house, called upon Miss Ruff and had a conversation
with her in regard to a possible arrangement. Mr. Von Voss was anxious
that the conversation should be private, but the lady with whom Louise
was residing counseled her to secure the presence of a witness. He
advised her to settle the matter amicably, on a pecuniary basis, and
thus avoid the scandal of publicity. This counsel was favorably
entertained, and in a few days, on the receipt of a small sum of money,
she signed what in law is known as "a general release," drawn up by a
Second Avenue lawyer, in which she exempted Mr. Nisson from all further
claims of any kind whatsoever.
Time passed on, and the money was spent. The tale of the months that
would make her a mother were being surely fulfilled. As yet her family
knew nothing of her condition. With Disgrace, his gaunt twin brother,
Starvation, threatening to assail her, what should she do? Happy
thought! There were the Commissioners of Charities and Corrections.
There was an asylum for unfortunate girls in her condition. Here would
she apply and conceal her trouble.
Before an applicant can be admitted to this humane institution certain
preliminary information must be given. Louise refused to reveal Ludwig's
name or to make a complaint against him. Thereupon she was taken before
his Honor Justice Otterbourg at Essex Market and ordered to reveal the
name of her lover, and to make complaint against him. "It is the first
case in my practice," said Mr. Cook, "where the girl was compelled to
make the complaint." Thereupon the usual order of arrest was issued, and
Ludwig was sacrilegiously thumbed by a coarse-handed sheriff. Of course
the necessary bail was immediately found, and then he was at liberty to
walk down to 89 Centre street and seek legal succor from Messrs. Howe &
Hummel.
The hearing came up in the private examination room of Judge Otterbourg
on Friday last. Judge, and clerks, and lawyers, and principals, and
witnesses were promptly on hand. The Judge smoked a cigar, and his
smooth white forehead, beneath his Hyperion curls, looked the picture of
judicial impartiality. Lawyer Cook looked like Charles the Wrestler,
waiting for a burly and muscular antagonist. Lawyer Hummel was all
brains and diamonds; and when the Judge wanted a light, Mr. Hummel
handed him a match-box of solid virgin gold dug from a California mine
by Tony Pastor. The fair plaintiff was nervous. Mr. Ludwig Nisson was
very handsome but very pale. His counsel fought for him as earnestly as
if his client had been arraigned for murder; and when opportunity
offered he whispered in his client's ear and bade him keep up his heart.
The seven witnesses for the defense sat in the rear. Four of them were
former friends of Louise. Miss Ruff took the stand and in reply to Mr.
Cook briefly told her experiences. Then Mr. Hummel took her in hand. She
answered modestly and straightforwardly, not denying the nature of her
intimacy with Mr. Julius Westfall, but stated her inability to remember
when that gentleman went to Europe.
Mr. Richard Kloeppel then perched himself gracefully on the witness
chair and smiled benignly upon the court and counsel. Mr. Kloeppel is
the bartender in the Gilbert House, and in answer to Mr. Hummel declared
that he was acquainted with Miss Ruff. He had walked in that portion of
Second Avenue known as Love Lane in the company of Miss Ruff, and he had
also sweethearted and otherwise mashed other young ladies. Nobody in
court--with the possible exceptions of Louise and her lawyer--were
surprised when Richard went into particulars about his intimacy with
Miss Ruff.
Mr. Rudolph Fuchs was the next occupant of the witness chair; a
bewilderingly pretty brunette with coal-black eyes and perfect teeth.
During the height of the season Mr. Rudolph Fuchs had been the cynosure
of all eyes at Brighton Beach, where, for a pecuniary consideration, he
condescended to fill the role of waiter. Last year he was similarly
engaged at Cable's. Next year, he will probably be the subject of fierce
rivalry among Coney Island caterers. Mr. Fuchs gave his testimony with
inimitable grace. Mr. Fuchs had also enjoyed the acquaintance and
association of Miss Ruff. He had danced with her; he had listened to the
band in her charming society; he had escorted her along the street, and
he had accompanied her to an establishment that shall be nameless here.
Then Lawyer Hummel called Joseph Neuthen. He was another exasperatingly
pretty young man, with pearl complexion and hazel eyes. He was the
fourth of the phenomenally pretty young men who had loved Miss Ruff. Mr.
Neuthen rehearsed a soft and scandalous tale. He learned to look upon
Louise with love two years since this summer. One evening he had been in
a private apartment in West Third street with Miss Ruff.
After this charming witness retired, lawyer Cook lashed himself into a
rage. Miss Ruff once more graced the witness stand. She told the
incidents connected with Mr. Neuthen's acquaintance in a different, but
in an equally interesting way. At the same time she emphatically denied
the soft impeachments of Richard Kloeppel and Rudolph Fuchs. She had
known them, she swore, as casual acquaintances; but closer relations she
positively denied. As to "Joseph," Miss Ruff remembered a certain
evening, over two years since, when he brought her tidings that Mr.
Westfall wanted to see her. She was gratified by the intelligence, and
readily adopted Joseph's suggestion, more especially as Mr. Westfall had
charged his messenger with it--to drink a glass of beer, till the
restaurateur arrived. Joseph and Louise waited and waited, but Julius
failed to appear. Then Joseph said: "Perhaps he has gone home; perchance
he slumbereth; let us go after him." They went to Third street, where
Julius was accustomed to woo Morpheus. Joseph and Louise entered a room.
Soon after he became demonstrative in his attentions. But being
comparatively a giantess, she kicked him away, and after he had gone to
sleep she put off her outer raiment and went to sleep also.
Mr. Theodore Utz, of Stapleton, L. I., an upholsterer by trade, was the
next witness. He had received letters from Miss Ruff, and was familiar
with her handwriting. He had seen a letter addressed by her to Mr.
Westfall since he left for Europe. The letter was addressed to Mr.
Westfall in Hamburg, and he was familiar with its contents.
Counsellor Hummel: "Now state the contents of that letter as near as you
can recollect."
Counsellor Cook: "I object."
Judge Otterbourg ruled out the testimony.
"Put this down on the record," said Mr. Hummel. "Counsel for defendant
excepts and insists that the question is admissible on the ground that
the complainant having sworn that she did not write a letter to Mr.
Westfall, charging him with the paternity of the child likely to be
born, the defense desires to prove by this witness, who has sworn that
he knows the handwriting of, and who has received letters from, the
complainant, that the complainant did write a letter to said Westfall
charging him with the paternity of said to-be-born child; that it is an
impossibility to secure said original letter, or said Julius Westfall,
it having been proven in evidence that due effort was made to secure the
original letter and Westfall, but Westfall is in Europe and not in the
jurisdiction of this court."
Mr. Francis L. Specht, a butcher on the east side, who supplied the
restaurants of Mr. Nisson, gave some testimony tending to prove that
Miss Ruff sometimes kept late hours. When asked by Mr. Hummel, "Do you
known her general character for virtue?" plaintiff's counsel objected,
and the objection was sustained. The result of the case, however, was
that the proceedings were eventually dismissed, the evidence
conclusively establishing the fact that Miss Ruff "loved not wisely but
too much."
*Astounding Degradation.*
A WIFE FLIES FROM HER HUSBAND'S HOME--REVOLTING HEARTLESSNESS OF A
FATHER--AN ABHORRENT TRUTH STRANGER THAN THE MOST IMAGINATIVE FICTION.
Supreme Court.--John Edward Ditmas against Olivia A. Ditmas. Such is the
title of an action for divorce instituted by Howe & Hummel, on behalf of
an injured husband, against a youthful, educated, accomplished and
fascinating wife, who had fallen from woman's high estate, violated her
marriage vows, and by her own libidinous conduct and lustful debauchery
become one of the many fallen ones of this great metropolis.
Some years previous to the action, at Perinton in this State, John E.
Ditmas, a well-to-do young farmer of Gravesend, L. I., was united in the
bonds of holy matrimony by the Rev. J. Butler, to the youthful,
beauteous defendant, whose maiden name was Olivia A. Mead. And for some
time they lived most happily together, but her father, thinking that she
was then too young--she being only sixteen years of age--to enter into
the marriage state, induced her to leave the husband and temporarily
board with him at the corner of Main and Clinton streets, in the city of
Rochester, in this State, Her father subsequently succeeded in inducing
her to enter a ladies' boarding school at Rochester, but her conduct
there in flirting with young gentlemen was so openly improper that the
proprietress was compelled to expel her from the establishment.
To the utter astonishment of every one and disclosing an unparalleled
revolting case of parental heartlessness, William B. Mead, the father of
Olivia, induced his daughter to quit the path of virtue, and to enter a
fashionable house of prostitution in Rochester, then kept by Madame
Annie Eagan; and, as the beautiful but frail defendant states, the
paternal originator of her being told her that as she was inclined to be
"gay" she might as well live in a "gay" house as not; and he took her
there, making arrangements with the proprietress for her stay, and she
became one of the inmates, conforming to the requirements and
regulations of the situation.
The plaintiff, hearing this heart-breaking intelligence, made every
effort to induce the defendant to leave her life of debauchery, and
portrayed the misery, disease, and prospects of early death consequent
upon such a life; but it appeared to be time wasted to talk to her, as
she was evidently too far gone to become awakened to any desire for
reformation.
Subsequently, learning that her devoted and much injured husband had
determined to avail himself of the law to get free from the legal
obligation which bound him to one lost past redemption, the defendant
addressed to the plaintiff two letters, of which the following are
copies, and which but too plainly admit the extent of the degradation
and crime into which the unhappy, and lost, abandoned wife had plunged
herself:
"ROCHESTER, . . . . .
"My dear husband,--With a sad and breaking heart I sit down to
communicate my thoughts and feelings to you; but oh, if I could tell you
how I feel I should be happy, but words can never express or tongue
tell. I believe that I am at present one of the most unhappy, as well as
unfortunate and miserable beings, that ever existed, but I can only feel
to say that it was God's curse upon me, and that I know that I am
deserving all, so I do not murmur. But, oh! the tears I have shed for my
past follies would make an ocean; and to-night, if I was only laid in
my grave, is my wish. John, what shall I say? In the first place, can
you ever forgive me? for God alone knows that I am penitent if there
ever was one in the world. I can hardly hope to be forgiven, for my sins
are almost beyond redemption, but God will forgive at the eleventh hour,
and I want to be forgiven and reform. I will reform. I have seen enough,
and now I want to settle down and live a virtuous and respectable life
the rest of my days and die a happy death, for I have spent many an hour
of late in deep thought, and it is not an impulse of the moment, but I
have spent hours and days and months, and conclude that this is no life
for me to lead. I am cured of my follies and I want to reform. Now,
John, I have used you like a dog. I can say nothing for myself only that
I am sorry, and have suffered enough, and have had my just dues. But,
oh, John, forgive me! I could never do enough for you, and though I
should live for years I could never wash out the stain which I have
brought upon your name, but I am willing to end my days in your service.
I am willing to do anything for you, if you are only willing to forgive
me and live with me again, for I am your wife the same as ever, although
I never filled that position or deserved the name. I am now willing to
steady down and be a wife to you the remainder of my days. I think it
was God's will that things should have been as they have; for my part, I
know that it has been the making of me. I do not think that I could ever
have settled down, and have been a woman and true wife, if I had not
passed through what I have, for now I have seen not only the ways of the
world, but the follies of my ways, and am cured, and now I am willing to
go anywhere, and live with my husband, and be to him a true wife the
rest of my days. That I am penitent and want to be forgiven by you and
all of the rest, 'though I can never expect that,' and that the words
come right from my heart, God alone knows. John, I would have written to
you long before, but my pride forbade it, for I thought I would wait and
see if you loved or cared anything for me, for I thought if you did that
you would write or send for me, but when I saw that you did not, it
worried me, too, but still I felt that I would not humble myself enough
to write. I thought if you did not care anything for me I would not let
you know I cared enough for you to write; but it was pride and pride
alone; but it had a fall, and I felt as if I had passed through a fiery
furnace and came out cleansed, for I feel like a different person.
Everybody says it has been the making of me to pass through what I have.
Many and many a time have I repented of the step I took in the month of
August, when I left the city of Brooklyn. Many a time I have prayed that
I might once again be placed back to that time. Oh! how differently
would I act. Now I can see that I was wholly to blame--alas! when too
late, I am afraid. John, you know all, you know everything that has
transpired from the time I left you up to the present time, therefore it
would be useless to say anything concerning my life for the past six
months, only that I am not past reformation, but have steadied down and
want to live a virtuous life the rest of my days, and the only one I
want to spend them with is my husband, for we are the same to each other
as on that October morning when we were pronounced man and wife. Then
let us forgive as we hope to be forgiven by that Higher One. Now, John,
I know that your mother or any of your family would never speak to me or
forgive me, but if my future life will ever be the means of restoring
the peace again that once existed between your folks and me, I am
willing to do anything, sacrifice everything to live so that they will
once more recognize me and term me their daughter and sister. I love
them all; but, oh! what hellish spirit ever took possession of me I know
not; but, oh! John, forgive me, take me back, and though they discard
me, remember I am your wife.
"Now, John, write to me, for God's sake; write for the love you once
bore me; write, let me know if you are done with me forever or not, for
suspense is killing; but, oh, if you ever hope to be forgiven by God,
forgive your wife, and let us once more live together and dwell in
harmony and peace.
"Now, John, I send my love to you, and 'Oh, forgive me!' is my prayer.
"John, forgive! But you will have to follow the directions, as no one
knows me by any other name. Nevertheless I am your wife. Good-by!
"From your wife,
"OLIVIA.
"Direct: Maud Coles, No. 13 Division street, Rochester."
"ROCHESTER, . . . . .
"My dear husband,--I call you so because I have the right to, but, oh,
how I have abused that right that I am not worthy of, John. As I sit
writing to-day my heart is near breaking and my eyes are filled with
tears; and though I have written to you once and heard nothing from you,
still I cannot, will not, give you up. Oh, John, I am one of the most
miserable and unhappy beings that ever lived. I wish I were dead, and I
wish I had died before I ever used you as I did. I do from the bottom of
my heart. I shall write just I feel, and as I have felt since I left the
path of virtue and abused the only protector and friend,' for you were
mine for life.' I don't think any one, after doing as I have done, ever
has peace of mind. I am sure I do not. I dream of you most every night,
and the other night I had a fearful dream, and I will tell you some
other time what it was. John, I was talking about you to-day, and I was
saying if you would only take me back and live with me, that I would do
anything for you. I would beg on my hands and knees. I would do anything
to come back and live with you. I would be through life what you would
wish me to be. It lays in your power to determine my future end. If you
will forgive me and take me back, I will always do right, and you will
never have cause to repent it. You say to yourself that I promised once
before. This is only the second offense, and if we do not forgive each
other on earth for such trivial offense, 'as we may say,' when compared
with our wickedness in the eyes of God, how can we ever expect to be
forgiven for the manifold sins we commit daily? and, John, I am truly
repentant, and what I say is not an impulse of the moment, but I have
long thought it over, and God, who alone knows the heart, knows that I
want to be forgiven, and that I love you and want to live with you
again; and He knows that mine has been a sad and bitter experience, and
I am steadied down and profited by it. When I am in trouble and feel
unhappy, then it is that I think of you, and all that keeps me up is the
cheering thought that at some day you will forgive me and live with me
again; but if you should write that I need have no such thought, that
you were done with me forever, it would kill me; for, as I have said
before, all I care to live for is you, and I do not want to live if you
do not forgive me; but, John, you shall never be aught else to me than
my husband, and I hope in time to soften your heart towards me, for I
want to come back and live with you. I want you to forgive me, for I
love you, John, I do; and write to me and say-that I am forgiven. Write,
if it is only to say that you are done with me forever, for suspense is
killing. I am going to write to Maria and aunt Em to-day, to see how far
their influence will go. Oh, John, forgive me! I am your lawful wife,
and do not be influenced by any one, for, John, think what I was when
you married me--pure and virtuous. I will always be good, and be for the
rest of my life a fond and affectionate wife. John, I've got no friends,
nobody to love or care for me, but I have got a husband, and it grieves
me when I read over my old letters which you wrote to me before we were
married, 'as I was to-day,' to think of the words of love and promises,
and enjoyment we were to take; but, alas! the devil had possession of
me. But now I will throw all things aside but the love and interest of
my husband. Oh, John, for my sake, forgive me! for God's sake, forgive
me, and I will always be a Christian: if not I will end my days in
misery! John, write to me; do write immediately and forgive your erring
wife,
"OLIVIA.
"Direct: Olivia, 13 Division street, Rochester. N. Y."
To the request contained in the above letters the husband felt he could
not comply, as he learned that she was really attached to the immoral
life which she was leading; and he was also deeply overcome at finding
that her own father, instead of devoting his life to his daughter's
redemption, should have actually perpetrated the horrible crime of
consigning his own child to a fashionable den of infamy. Detective
Rogers, of Rochester, by the directions of Commissioner Hebbard,
arrested the defendant in Madame Eagan's house, as being the inmate of a
house of prostitution; but she was suffered to escape on her paying a
fine of twenty-five dollars, and return to her evil associations.
The plaintiff, coming to the conclusion that his wife was irreclaimable,
through Howe & Hummel, sent on process to the sheriff of Monroe County,
who served the same on the defendant, whilst she was actually in Madame
Eagan's fashionable "Maison de joie," and lost no time ridding himself
of the unwholesome partner of his joys. Was ever stranger history of
man, wife and father recited?
*Fall of a Youthful, Beautiful and Accomplished Wife.*
For some time past, Theodore Stuyvesant, one of our most prominent and
wealthy lawyers, residing at East Seventh street, in this city, and
having a splendid country seat in Queen's County, had cause to suspect
the fidelity of his youthful, beautiful and accomplished wife, and,
unhappily, these suspicions resulted in sad reality.
It appears that for some time past Mr. Stuyvesant and his wife were in
the habit of giving magnificent entertainments to a numerous circle of
legal, literary and theatrical acquaintances, at some of which some
friends of the gentleman observed indications of undue familiarity on
the part of the lady with a repeated and oft-invited guest.
The warnings were from time to time unheeded and disregarded by the too
confiding and affectionate husband; but, on the afternoon of Thursday,
harrowing facts were whispered n his ear, which induced him to resort to
the stratagem which resulted in the detection of his wife in grossly
improper conduct.
On the day referred to, Mr. Stuyvesant informed his wife that legal
business required his absence from the city, and would detain him,
probably, ten or fifteen days; and she parted with him, bestowing so
affectionate, and apparently loving farewell, as almost to remove the
bitter and heart-rending suspicions which were then racking the breast
of the injured husband. But, resolved on carrying out his intent, he
simulated departure; but instead of leaving the city he remained at the
house of a trusty friend, deliberating upon and maturing plans for the
carrying out of that project, which was fated to reveal to him his
wife's shame and his own dishonor.
After a lapse of some hours, Mr. Stuyvesant, with two friends, repaired
to his residence, and having obtained admission through a rear
sub-entrance, proceeded to his bed-chamber, on entering which, on
tip-toe, he discovered his guilty wife in the embrace of her betrayer.
The dishonored husband stood aghast and petrified--the wife endeavored
to conceal herself--while her paramour was summarily ejected through the
window by the avenging friends.
The husband, on recovering from the shock which had temporarily
paralyzed him, left the house in solemn sadness, and absented himself
from the presence of one who had so cruelly dishonored him, and for whom
he had always evinced the warmest affection. Fearing lest reason should
leave its throne, and he commit an act which would usher the soul of one
he fondly loved un-shriven to her last account with all her
imperfections on her head, poor Stuyvesant wept and left. His cup of
bitterness was full. He repaired to the house of his friend where he
passed the remainder of the night. In the morning, depressed and
heart-broken, he returned to the home, once so happy and joyous, but now
bleak and desolate, for the purpose of winding up domestic affairs,
breaking up the house, dismissing the servants, and parting forever from
the frail and erring woman, now wife to him but in name.
But the lady, instead of expressing contrition and supplicating for
pardon for the irreparable wrong she had inflicted, assailed him with a
torrent of vituperative abuse; and on his aged mother remonstrating with
the guilty one upon the iniquity of her proceeding, she flew at her with
the passion of a tigress, and cruelly beat and maltreated the aged lady,
who is now verging on the grave. The neighbors, hearing the disturbance,
called in the police, and Mrs. Stuyvesant was arrested and taken before
Police Justice Mansfield at Essex Market Police Court, by whom she was
committed to the Tombs for trial, in which prison the guilty lady--the
lawyer's wife, the leader of fashionable society--was confined, a
degraded and fallen woman. Proceedings for a divorce were at once
instituted by Mr. Stuyvesant, and the judicial tribunal freed him from
his unfortunate alliance. He, however, became heartbroken and shortly
after died, the disgrace wrecking his home and nearly driving him
insane.
*A French Beauty's Troubles.*
A WALL STREET BROKER SUED FOR BREACH OF PROMISE AND OTHER BAD ACTS--A
HANDSOME MILLINER LAYS HER DAMAGES AT TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Twelve months before the proceedings in court, at the City of New
Orleans, the presiding goddess of the most fashionable milliner's
establishment of the place was Mary Blanchette. She was 21 years of age,
tall, elegantly moulded, and possessed of a maturity of charms which
made her seem three or four years older than she really was--with rich
auburn hair, eyes of deep blue, large and rolling, and at times
expressing an involuntary tenderness, which gave a voluptuous languor to
her beautiful countenance. Her forehead was high and open; she had teeth
of pearly whiteness, and possessed all the accomplishments which a
French lady of _ion_ need desire. It is not surprising, therefore, that
Miss Blanchette should have captivated many admirers. Among those who
paid homage at the shrine of beauty was a wealthy New York broker named
Theodore Raub, who, possessing a handsome person, easy and elegant
address, a melodious, yet manly voice, and a fascinating style of
conversation, was received by the fair Marie with considerable favor,
and he became a daily visitor, and ultimately her acknowledged lover.
Theodore Raub was a thorough man of the world, and deeply versed in all
the mysteries and intricacies of the human heart: and especially was he
an able anatomist of the female mind, which he could dissect and
comprehend in an instant; and on the occasion of one of his visits to
the beauteous French girl, after promising her marriage, the emotions
which she experienced were not lost upon him. He perceived and
deciphered them almost as soon as they had sprung into existence, and he
saw in a moment that he had conquered. He had taken her hand, which she
had not withdrawn, and when he pressed his burning kisses on her lips,
the roseate blushes which suffused her cheeks were indicative of a deep
and burning joy, and Raub well knew by the melting voluptuousness which
beamed in her eyes that the hour had come when he could secure his
victim.
Marie, awakening as it were from a dream, struggled to extricate
herself, but he murmured impassioned words and vows and protestations in
her ear, and with kisses he stifled the remonstrances and the
beseechings which rose to her lips. But suddenly a strong sense of
danger flashed into the mind of Marie; aye, and therewith a feeling that
all this was wrong, very wrong; so that the virtuous principle which was
innate in her woman's nature, asserted its empire that very instant. The
immediate consequence was that, recovering all her presence of mind and
casting off in a moment the voluptuous languor that had come over her,
Marie tore herself from his embrace, exclaiming:
"Oh! Theodore, Theodore, is this your love for me? Would you ruin my
body and my soul? Have pity on me. Have pity on me."
"Marie," said Theodore, "you love me not; you will drive me mad," he
exclaimed, and he turned abruptly away, as if about to leave the room.
"He says that I love him not!" cried Marie, wildly, as she sprang to her
feet, and in another moment she was again clasped in her lover's arms.
Raub was not less expert in soothing the soul of Marie that was now
stricken with remorse, and in quieting the anguished alarms that
succeeded the moments of pleasure, and under reiterated promises of
marriage, poor Marie retained within her own breast the secret of her
ruin, until nature was about, in its own mysterious way, to proclaim her
shame itself. As soon as Raub became aware of the fact that Marie was
about to become a mother, he absconded from New Orleans, and instead of
carrying out his repeated promises to the injured and ruined fair one,
he came on to New York, leaving her unconscious and ignorant of his
whereabout.
Marie, with that pertinacity which belongs peculiarly to a wronged and
neglected woman, tracked him to this city, and demanded of him here the
only atonement he could make before man and before God,
namely--marriage. To all these entreaties Raub turned a deaf and defiant
ear, and, at the suggestion of the French Consulate in this city, Marie
retained the services of Howe & Hummel, and proceedings were taken which
brought the contumacious Theodore to a satisfactory fiscal arrangement
so far as Miss Blanchette was concerned.
*Life on the Boston Boats.*
A FAST WOMAN WRONGFULLY ACCUSED.
Maria Wilson is a beautiful woman, and of that age at which most women
are admired by men. She is courteous, affable and lady-like in her
manner. So far as appearances go, she is just such a woman as most men
would like to have for a wife. But appearances often deceive. Maria has
fallen from grace, just as mother Eve did before her.
Her beauty has perhaps to her been her greatest misfortune; without it
she might be virtuous; with it she certainly is not. Like many others of
her erring sisters, see desires to live like a lady; to dress well; go
to the opera in season; go to the theater and, indeed, to every other
place where woman is likely to go.
Unfortunately for Miss Wilson, though born pretty, she was not born
rich. The good things of this world were not given to her very
abundantly. Work, she wouldn't. For some reason or other, certainly not
a valid one, work appears degrading to some people. So it appeared to
Miss Wilson.
What was she to do then? To steal would be to go to the penitentiary or
the State prison. She didn't like to live in either, and yet she had
taken the first erring step to go there. She is, in short, a fast woman,
yet driven to a gay life in order to eke out a precarious existence, to
gratify her love of dress. Fearing that she might get into the hands of
the police if she staid in the city, Maria engages a passage on one of
the Boston boats every alternate day, for the purpose of affording
"noctural accommodation" to gentlemen not having their wives along. A
day or two ago Maria, in company with another "lady" of like loose
character, went on board one of the boats alluded to, each bent upon
securing a state-room, if possible, but one at least was doomed to
disappointment.
Miss Wilson's good looks made her a favorite with the officer of the
boat, and she succeeded in obtaining a stateroom. Her partner, however,
did not, and though unfortunate in this respect, she was well off in
another way. She did succeed in "picking up a man," with whom she seemed
to become suddenly in love.
After perambulating the boat decks and cabins for some time in
flirtation and social chat, Maria's friend asked her if she would be
kind enough to allow her the use of her state-room for a short time.
Maria being lonely, and not feeling any disposition to retire,
consented, when her friend and her company retired. They occupied the
room for the best part of the night, and left Maria to do the best she
could under the circumstances.
In the morning they left at an early hour, after which Maria feeling
sleepy retired to take a "nap." She was not long in the room, however,
when her friend tapped at the door and desired an interview. Though
fatigued, Maria consented, when she was astonished at being accused of
theft by one who seemed but a moment before to place the most
unsolicited confidence in her. However, her friend (whose name we have
not learned) lost her watch, and said she left it under the pillow, and
accused Maria of stealing it. This was ingratitude indeed.
Maria, of course, denied any knowledge of the missing jewel, but her
accuser was positive she left the watch under the pillow, and when the
boat returned to this city she made the charge of theft against Maria
before Justice Dowling, at the Tombs. Maria did not let her indignation
run away with her senses, but shrewdly enough kept quiet and employed
Counselor Howe to defend her.
When the case came up the attorney explained the whole circumstances to
his Honor the Judge, and added that the complainant had also accused the
colored waiter on board the boat of the theft. Of course under such a
state of things there was but one course left, and Justice Howling, not
wishing to prosecute an innocent though erring woman, allowed Maria
Wilson to go her way rejoicing.
She left the court in company with her counsel to return to the abode of
her sister, where, it is to be hoped, she will abandon her follies, live
a life of virtue, and be forever a happy woman.
*An Eighty-year-old "Fence."*
A METROPOLITAN ECHO OF A BALTIMORE BURGLARY.
Before Justice Wandell, Hirsch Lowenthal of this city, was brought up
for examination on the charge of being the receiver of $20,000 worth of
gold watches and jewelry, burglarized in Baltimore. The case has had the
attention of the court for some days, and the premises, briefly stated,
are as follows: On the January date the store of Simeon J. Rudberg, of
Baltimore, was entered by four men who secured the property in question.
For a long time nothing was heard of the goods, but, eventually, they
were traced to this city, and, following the same clew, Mr. Rudberg
proceeded to Buffalo, where he had the pleasure of confronting two of
the thieves, who were held in that lake city on a charge of
shop-lifting. He identified them, and saw, moreover, in their company a
very handsome woman who had been with them in Baltimore. The whereabouts
of the other two burglars are unknown. So is that of the female. She was
established, however, as the step-daughter of Hirsch Lowenthal, whose
alleged conversation last Wednesday in a Division street beer saloon
about the "loot" led to his arrest.
Happy thought! Division street is the place to speak about the partition
of spoils.
Bad as it looked for Mr. Lowenthal, who is aged eighty years, he had a
_petite_ consolation in the fact that he was defended by Mr. Hummel. The
prisoner came out of the pen in a tottering way and leaned against the
rail. Hirsch Lowenthal is bowed with eighty years that have dashed over
him like waves, and he seemed caught in the tangling undertow of death.
There was no evidence in his appearance of being a "fence." He looked
rather an aged Hebrew who simply wished to go his way. The white
semi-circle of whisker under his chin, the trembling hands, the bald
head, like a globular map with the veins as rivers, all attested extreme
decrepitude. He was dressed in a light suit of fluttering linen that
blew about him as if his legs were topmasts and he was a ship running in
close-reefed on a stormy coast. He has lived in this city for many
years, and has been twice married. The second wife and he did not get
along very well, and have abided apart for the last five months.
Theresa, who is the central figure in this romance, is the daughter of
the second wife by another husband. She is married to a burglar who
luxuriates in the euphonious name of "Sheeny Dave." Dave is one of the
two men identified in Buffalo, and resides now at Auburn at the expense
of the State. When they saw the Baltimore merchant in Buffalo Dave and
his companion came sagely to the conclusion that to plead guilty to the
local charge and avoid extradition for the burglary would be about the
best thing to do. They reckoned without their host. When the New York
State term is finished they will be waited upon by Maryland officials.
It is sometimes embarrassing to be popular and sought after by everyone.
Perhaps it would be a safe rule in life to avoid drinking beer if you
have had anything to do with stolen goods. On last Wednesday evening,
Mr. Lowenthal visited a Division street saloon in company with a
villainous looking man who had but lately returned from Sing Sing. They
ordered the loquacious lager and fell into an easy strain of
conversation. After touching upon the weather, crops, trade, etc., Mr.
Lowenthal fell to speaking of some goods in his house, the proceeds of a
Baltimore burglary in last January. At the next table sat Mr. Rosenberg,
who listened. It was Mr. Rosenberg who gave this damaging evidence
before Justice Wandell. He was forced to admit, however, that the aged
gentleman had not mentioned the name of the Baltimore firm, although he
had specified the quality of the goods. Mr. Hummel claimed that as the
commodity spoken of was only material in general and had not been
identified as Mr. Rudberg's particular property, and that, furthermore,
as there was no evidence tracing the stuff to the old man, who had
merely chatted pleasantly about some burglarized property to which he
had helped himself while occupying a fiduciary position, there was no
case and asked for the discharge of his client. The prosecution claimed
that the fact of Theresa being the step-daughter of Mr. Lowenthal, and
the wife of one of the identified burglars at the same time, taken in
connection with the conversation in the beer shop, during which direct
allusion was made to a burglary in Baltimore in January, made a good
foundation for procedure. Judge Wandell pondered, and then Mr. Hummell
pushed his side energetically, using tons of cold sarcasm and barrels of
withering scorn. It was the sapling shielding the blasted oak, one of
the youngest, and certainly the smallest counselor thundering forth in
behalf of the oldest prisoner.
"Oh, by all means, put the gentleman from Sing Sing on the stand," he
said, "but let's have him sworn first. It is precisely what I desire.
Nothing would charm me half so much."
So they swore the jail-bird, made him confess that he had served his
term fully, and then told him to step down and out. His evidence was not
needed. Mr. Rosenberg was raked fore and aft, but he stuck to his story.
When the diminutive counsellor intimated that he was worse than the
prisoner, the witness smiled serenely and winked at the magistrate as if
it was a good joke.
"If he talked that way to me I'd punch his head," said the Baltimore man
in a whisper.
No one could tell where Theresa was, although weeks had been spent
searching for her. And yet she is no ordinary woman. Twenty-three years
of age, elegantly formed, dark, lustrous eyes, satiny coils of black
hair, olive complexion, seed-pearl teeth, full red lips, small hands and
feet, and graceful carriage. She wears diamond drops at her ears and
sparkling rings upon her fingers. Her favorite attire, as if life were a
perpetual dressing for dinner, is a black-corded silk, fitted close to
the figure, made high in the neck, with a trembling edge of lace at the
throat clustering about a diamond catch whose brilliancy it veils. This
is not a fancy portrait, but word for word from an enthusiastic admirer
of Lowenthal's step-daughter. But where is she? It is not known. Where
is the John Sherman letter to Anderson? Where is the Boston Belting
Company's money? Where is Tom Collins? And where's Emma Collins? An
impenetrable gloom shrouds them all.
After a rather protracted lunch on his eye-glasses, Judge Wandell, in
reply to Mr. Hummel's motion, rendered his decision to the effect that
there was not sufficient evidence to hold aged Mr. Lowenthal. The
octogenarian heard it with delight, and came as near skipping like a
lamb from the court-room as is possible for one of his age.
*Shoppers' Perils.*
INTERESTING CASE TO TRADESPEOPLE--THE PERILS TO WHICH RESPECTAPLE LADIES
ARE SUBJECTED TO IN CERTAIN FASHIONABLE STORES.
Much of the time of the Court of Special Sessions was absorbed in the
trial of a case of some importance to ladies who make purchases. A
pleasant-faced looking woman, named Ellen Whalen, was arraigned for
petit larceny in having stolen an accordeon from the store of Ehrich's
on Eighth Avenue. The main evidence against her was that of Alexander G.
Sisson, the detective of that establishment, who testified that the
prisoner took the property from one of the counters while he was looking
at her, and that he followed her on the street and found it in her
possession hid under her shawl.
Mr. A. H. Hummel, who appeared as counsel for the accused,
cross-examined the detective at some length and gleaned that there were
others in close proximity at the time the property was taken, and among
them a Miss Maggie McKenna, a saleslady, who was not, however, in court.
Mrs. Whalen was next called by Counselor Hummel, and deposed that she
lived in West Seventeenth street, and went to Ehrich's to purchase the
accordeon and showed a marked receipt which she claimed was given to her
with her change. That the detective followed her out of the store,
treated her roughly on taking her into Custody, and kept her confined
fifteen minutes in a cellar before he brought a policeman to arrest her.
Mr. Doyle, her landlord, vouched for her general good character, and Mr.
Hummel then made a stirring appeal to the court for his client's
discharge. He characterized the arrest as a gross outrage, for which the
jury would render instant acquittal, and stigmatized the private
detective's testimony as unworthy of belief without corroboration,
saying that the higher courts had so decided in many cases, as it was
clearly evident the desire of such employees to secure convictions for
theft in order to retain their place. Mr. Hummel also adverted to the
negligence of the real complainants not appearing, and the absence of
the saleslady who should have been sent here by them, so that the court
might have had a full and ample investigation. With much feeling counsel
urged a dismissal of the complaint, and an honorable discharge of the
prisoner.
The court remained in consultation for some time and announced a verdict
of "not guilty," which was greeted with a round of applause from the
assembled multitude. Mrs. Whalen thanked the court and fervently pressed
Mr. Hummel's hand in gratitude and left the courtroom, accompanied by
her three children and a host of friends.
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