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Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two year contracts, they said, what the are you talking about, you insane Hollywood? So to recap, we're cutting the price of mint unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch $45 upfront.
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Payment equivalent to $15 per month New customers on first three month plan only Taxes and fees, extra speed slower above 40 gigabyte hello and welcome to my Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host Genevieve Manion, and I'm here to talk about mysterious deaths, morbid fascinations, disturbing stories, and otherwise spooky events from the Victorian era. Because to me there's just something especially intriguing, creepy and oddly comforting about horror and mayhem, the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello friends and welcome to this, my 23rd episode. I have some deeply disturbing and unsettlingly charming articles from the Illustrated Police News, Law Courts and Record that I cannot wait to share with you today. I hope you all had a lovely holiday. My Christmas was perfectly jolly, thank you very much for asking. I spent it with family in Jersey and you will be pleased to know that I ate my weight in shrimp. I got there nice and early this time and I was delighted to find that my Aunt Maureen had set up the shrimp plate in a clandestine location this year. She nestled the shrimp plate into a dark corner of her sitting room. She has a big, elegantly decorated, beautiful home with a big living room where the family tends to congregate. But she has another smaller sitting room where people go to talk shit and cry and stuff. You only really go there when you need to get away from the rest of the clan for a bit. Cuz we are a lot. I love a little step away. A little area where you could just go to step away. I could swallow a little air, have a burp or two, collect myself. And to my glittering delight, the shrimp was there when I wanted to have a private moment and still there when I wanted to have a spicy conversation with a cousin. I also learned an important lesson that I keep saying that I've learned, but clearly I haven't because it just keeps happening. I can't talk to people about things that I am interested in. I can't tell people things that I know. I am reminded regularly that most people do not want to hear the things that I like to say, understandably someone asked me what the difference between Dracula and Nosferatu was, and I could have simply answered the question. I could have said Nosferatu was a film adaptation of Dracula with minor plot changes and renamed characters. But no. I zigged when I should have zagged on my way to answering this simple question and landed on telling them all about how some Victorians believed folks who died of tuberculosis and other plagues could suck the life force from living relatives from within the grave. So they would sometimes dig up their dead family members, cut their heads off, remove their hearts, burn them, mix the ashes with water and drink them in order to free themselves from the tuberculosis, vampire demons, death grip on the family line. And I got yelled at. As yelled at as I should have been yelled at. Polite society is no place for me, as I am so often reminded. Thank God I've got all you fellow goblins to talk to and some perfectly weird friends as well. Which reminds me, speaking of Nosferatu, I'm going to wait a couple more hours before I badger my friend Chrissy again about going to see it with me. I want to see it in like the next 3ish days, but she's being a little mamby pamby given me a wishy wash. But never fear, I will be seeing it this week whether she washy wishes to see it with me or not. I will find another dead person to come with me and I will have a full review stuffed to the gills with spoilers next week. I heard it's really good from other creeps that I respect, so looking very forward to that. Eggers is kind of hit or miss for me. I loved the Witch. It's one of my comfort movies. But the Northman? I turned it off. I just didn't care about anything other than Bjork as an Icelandic cirrus. I felt kind of the same way about the Lighthouse. I was there for Willem Dafoe's lobster flip out. That was great. But I could have done with about a gallon less of Splooge in that movie. To be honest, I just kind of kept dry heaving and sometimes that's what you want from a movie, I suppose. But regardless, I'm keeping an open mind and an open heart for Nosferatu. I've honestly been really excited about this for like a year. I really hope that it's nice and dry. I will let you know. But for now, a little Haunted Housekeeping first. I have a very important correction to make. I mentioned in the podcast before last that Terry Kilburn, the actor who played Tiny tim in the 1930s Christmas Carol movie, was no longer with us, but he is indeed. At 98 years old, Terry Kilburn is indeed still with us. Bless him. My most humble apology. I hope he is well and in wonderful spirits. Can you imagine what it must be like to watch yourself in a film that was made 87 years ago? Again, please accept my most humble apology for that mistake. I just needed to make sure that that was cleared up. Second, just in case it isn't obvious, I am still sick. It's been three freaking weeks and my head feels like it is stuffed with marshmallows. Which it is. I love a cup of hot chocolate, but mostly because I use it as like a receptacle for mountains of marshmallows. That aside, please forgive my nasal marshmallow head delivery. And as always, thank you for rating the podcast on Apple Podcasts and especially Spotify. Some folks have understandably asked how to rate the podcast on Spotify. It is not at all intuitive. Do not feel stupid. On the browser it's more straightforward. You just click the ratings link and rate it. But on the app clicking the ratings start bars don't do anything. You have to look below them where you'll see a bell and a gear icon to the right and three dots. You click the three dots and that's where you're able to rate the podcast. It's a whole thing. So again, no disrespect if this is the last thing on your list, but if it could be somewhere on your list, if it isn't already on your list, it really means a lot if you rate the podcast on Spotify. Thank you everyone who joined the Patreon this week by going to myvictoriannightmare.com and clicking Patreon where you will receive the show ad free. Thank you everyone who grabbed yourself some merch from the merch store. Also@myvictorianightmare.com thank you for your precious comments that I love so dearly. And thank you for being you. Speaking of precious, never let anyone make you feel that you should ever be less. Even if they yell at you because you think everyone wants to hear about vampire panic of the 1800s. I am not going to stop being me. I'm just gonna tell you all about it instead of everyone else. If you do want to hear all about it, check out episode six. I did a whole thing on Victorian vampires. Perfect. Pre game to Nosferatu Anyhoozle let's begin today. Dear listener, I have a lunatic asylum escapee in a washtub boat, a steamboat slaughter, A tragic murder on a lovely evening. A clergyman's narrow escape from certain death, A fit of apoplexy, hatchets, razors and insanity. This is literally the title of one of our articles today and we will also have a somewhat tragic ice skating accident that luckily has a meet cute happy ending. Let's begin with this 1871 article called Escape from Blackwell's island in a washtub. It reads, Mr. Conrad Fay of 95 Oliver Street, New York says his brother in law, John Illy, aged 25, was sent from Jefferson Market Police court some time ago to the asylum on Ward's island and transferred on 6 October to the Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island. On the 12th, Illy appeared at Mr. Fay's residence, bleeding from a wound in the head and with his clothing torn and filthy. Ellie told Mr. Fea that he had no change of clothes for weeks and had been half starved. He went into the pantry to get a piece of bread and the keeper struck him on the head. He resolved to escape from the island. He stepped down to a boat and had cut her throat, but was detected in the night. He got a large tub and paddled across to Brooklyn. He had not a scent, but the man at the Katherine Ferry let him across free. He was perfectly rational on his arrival at Fays. End quote. Okay, it's a little confusing because the timeline is a little like tarantinoed. The man, Mr. Illy, was sent to an asylum where he escaped in a washtub. Then he showed up at his brother's house where the housekeeper smacked him in the head. What's confusing is it does like a flashback at this point in the article to where he escaped in the washtub and doesn't say what happened after he was smacked in the head by the housekeeper. I imagine he was knocked out, then sent back to the asylum. Now I couldn't find more information about Mr. Illy, but I looked for more information about Blackwell's Asylum and found something extraordinary in an article from the Library of Congress website written by Amber Paranac. All of my references for this episode, including this one, can be found in the show notes. By the way, I learned that a female reporter named Nellie Bly In 1887, a reporter for the New York World, her first assignment was to feign insanity and report on the conditions of this asylum. Blackwell's island, which is now known as Roosevelt island, was where this asylum was. She got a room in the temporary home for females under the alias Nelly Brown and successfully convinced the matron, Mrs. Irene Stinard and other residents that she was insane. This woman fooled the medical experts from Bellevue Hospital that were sent to assess her behavior, and she was committed to the asylum. Her boss at the World and the owner of the newspaper promised to secure her release. But, like, what if she was sent to another asylum and they couldn't find her? This is just astonishing. This is what she writes about her arrival. She says, quote, from the moment I entered the insane ward on the island, I made no attempt to keep up the assumed role of insanity. I talked and acted just as I do in normal life. Yet, strange to say, the more sanely I talked and acted, the crazier I was thought to be by all except one physician whose kindness and gentle ways I shall not soon forget. End quote. She stayed there for 10 days and witnessed horrifying neglect and abuse of the patients. She said, quote, the clothing was insufficient, the food was execrable, the behavior of the nurses coarse and brutal. End quote. Her story was called behind the Asylum Bars. And her expose was such a bombshell that her reporting helped to bring about much needed reforms in asylums and forever changed the field of journalism. The budget appropriation for the Department of Public Charities and Corrections was increased from 1.5 million to 2.34 million. And $50,000 was specifically designated for Blackwell's asylum. Seven years after expose was published, the asylum closed. One more quote from her. Could I pass a week in the insane ward at Blackwell's Island? I said I could and I would, and I did, end quote. That's from her book that she later wrote about the experience called 10 days in a madhouse. She was 23 years old when she did this. I'm absolutely going to come back to her in another episode. Okay, moving right along to our next article called, and this is very sad and horrifying, another steamboat slaughter. And it reads in reference to our steamboats and railroads as they are managed in their reckless age. It may be said that the smoke of their torment ascends forever. There is none that runneth in safety. No, not one. It is a painful fact that the terrible slaughters are the result almost universally of the careless or incompetency of those having the management of them. Sailing ships are at the mercy of the elements, and the utmost skill and watchfulness cannot ensure them from disaster. The destruction of the Arctic whaling fleet by icebergs was not caused by careless management, but was one of those catastrophes that could not be foreseen any more than the devastation of hurricanes that sometimes sweep the ocean. But in running railroad trains and steamboats, the safety of those on board depends almost entirely upon the conduct of those who control their movements. The latest steamboat horror, by which 17 lives were sacrificed within a stone's throw of land in a narrow river, when the craft had arrived within three or four miles of her destination, is the burning of the city of New London on Wednesday night, the 22nd. Quick side note, it's a little confusing. It is not the city of London that burned. It's a boat called the City of New London. Just wanted to make sure that's clear. It continues. It appears that the boat had been set fire with a red hot poker laid upon some woodwork, and that the officers and men on board extinguished the fires, they supposed, and then wrapped themselves in security. Afterward the fire burst out again and the boat was consumed. When the flames got beyond control, the captain ordered the engineer to run her ashore. But the engineer had been driven from his post by the flames and could not start his engines. Now it's that the boats were thought of. The next discovery of the distracted crew and passengers was that the fire had cut off all access to the boats. It would be supposed that in this emergency life preservers at least would be at hand in all parts of the boat. But the life preservers were all in a part of the deck which had been rendered inaccessible by the flames streams. Why were not the boats thought of before it was too late? And why were not the life preservers strewed in all parts of the vessel so that passengers could not miss them even in the wild confusion of such a terrifying scene? This simple precaution of life preservers, properly disposed in all parts of the boat might easily have prevented the sacrifice of so many lives so near the shore. It happened then that at the final moment there was no recourse left to those on board the ill fated craft but to jump into the water which quickly chilled and benumbed them, rendering salvation impossible to any except such as were fortunate enough to fasten upon some floating article that had fallen from the burning wreck. This desperate chance was destroyed by the worse than fatuity of the steamer's officers or people. It is related by a passenger who survives to tell the sad story that as he was throwing boards and such such floating material as was at hand into the river to give those who were struggling for life a slender opportunity, someone in authority stopped him. And this too, when the steamer was wrapped in flames, the captain saved himself by dropping from the wheelhouse and clinging to the paddles. And he was nearly exhausted when he was rescued from his perilous position. The engineer gave his life preserver to a lady by which she was saved while he himself was lost. The apparent needlessness of this loss of life, which would have been much greater if the usual number of passengers had been on board, renders it doubly painful. A single boat and a score or two of life preservers might have afforded escape to all on board. It is said that the officers and everybody else acted heroically on the occasion, but the fact is that nearly 20 lives were needlessly sacrificed. It is evident that some blundered fearfully either in the arrangement of the life saving applications of the boat or in the neglect to place them at the disposal of the people on board. In time. The City of New London was a boat used chiefly for freight and had a valuable cargo on board. It may be that in their anxiety to save the property, human lives were neglected. But the steamer had been licensed as a passenger boat a few days before. She should have been managed with a due regard to the safety of travelers. End Quote God Almighty. That whaling fleet disaster that was mentioned in the beginning of the article, by the way, was a fleet of 33 whaling ships that were lost off the north coast of Alaska. The ships were warned by Inuit tribes not to make the trip. They said it was going to be a dangerous weather year, but they did not listen. They were trapped in the ice and abandoned. Although luckily no one was lost. The crews made it back to land, but back to the fateful ship disaster in the article. In the mid-1800s there were virtually no regulations for steamboats. Fires, collisions, boiler explosions and snags happened often. The worst maritime disaster in history was a steamboat accident. It was the Sultana. The boat exploded and killed 1164 people. It was designed to carry only 376 people, but was carrying 2127 at the time, three of the boats four boilers exploded. One of the boilers was known to have been faulty and the mechanic told the operators that it needed to be replaced. But they decided to just patch it up with a riveted boilerplate which took only one day instead of the three that the mechanics said it would take. This boiler exploded which set off a chain reaction of the others exploding. Many people were killed instantly. This is what is written in the Wikipedia article about the accident. Quote the massive steam explosion came from the top rear of the boilers. It went upward at a 45 degree angle, tearing through the crowded decks above and completely destroying the pilot house. Without a pilot to steer the boat Sultana became a drifting, burning hulk. The violent explosion flung some deck passengers into the water and blew a gaping 25 to 30 foot hole in the steamer. With the boilers blown to pieces, the twin smokestacks fell, the starboard smokestack fell backward into the blasted hole and the port smokestack fell forward into the crowded forward section of the upper deck, hitting the steamboat's bell as it fell. The forward part of the upper deck collapsed into the middle deck, killing and trapping many in the wreckage. Fortunately, the sturdy railings around the twin openings of the main stairway prevented the upper deck from crushing down completely. On the middle deck, the men located around the twin openings quickly crawled under the wreckage and down the main stairs. Further back, the collapsing decks formed a slope that led down into the exposed furnace boxes. The broken wood caught fire and turned the remaining structure into a raging inferno. Survivors panicked and raced for the safety of the water, but in their weakened condition, they soon ran out of strength and began to cling to each other. Whole groups went down together. End quote. Good God. Okay, let's now hear a story about a quiet family evening murder. This one is called the Murderer Fiend Breaks up a Quiet Family Party and it reads, a young married man named Christian shirts, 27 years of age, living in Roanoke Township, met his death at the hands of a cowardly assassin on Sunday last night the 3rd. His mother in law was reading the Bible and he was sitting near, rocking one of his children in the cradle and cracking hazelnuts while his wife and another child were in bed in an adjoining room. All at once the man jumped up and exclaimed, mother, I'm shot. Lord have mercy on my soul, and rushed into the room where his wife was sleeping and fell dead by the side of the couch. The assassin fired through a window which was on the first floor, and the ball was probably shot from a rifle, the caliber of which would take about 40 to the pound. The ball entered just at the lower point of the right shoulder blade, three and a half inches from the spine, and made its exit at the upper and to the right of the breastbone, close to the junction with the collar bone. A young man named Daniel Goldsmith was arrested for the crime on a warrant issued by Esquire Moreland. And for want of witnesses, his arraignment was postponed. Okay, I did some digging to find out how the trial of this man, Daniel Goldsmith, went, and this is what I found in a book called History of Woodford County. The pages of this book are listed on genealogytrails.com. it lists a few terrible murders that took place at this time and how they turned out. This is what it says about this event. Quote. Shirts was a stepson of Mr. Joseph Schurz, an old settler of Worth Township and a highly respected citizen. He had taken the name of his stepfather upon assuming that relationship, and when he married, the old people set him up on a farm six miles east of Metamora on the Panola Road. It was while sitting at home in the bosom of his family, spending a quiet Sunday evening listening to the reading of the Bible, that a shot came through the window and killed him. It was on the 3rd of December, and one of the stormiest nights of the winter season, when the howling of the wind without the driving of the snow against the sides of the house would stifle the sound of a murderer's footsteps. The evidence was wholly circumstantial, but of a very strong character of that kind. Goldsmith was indicted by the grand jury, and the fact that he had lived with Shirts and that they had trouble and disagreements, and Goldsmith had left him but a few days previous to the murder, coupled with other points of a strong circumstantial character, everything seemed to indicate beyond a doubt that he was the assassin. His trial lasted from Monday afternoon until the same time on Saturday, when the jury who had received the case at 7 o'clock on Friday evening, returned a verdict of not guilty, end quote. The book also says, quote, it was a murder which for some time created the most intense excitement and the final acquittal of the prisoner seriously threatened lynch law, end quote. So it's unclear exactly why this man got off, apart from just the fact that it sounds like the evidence was too circumstantial. It doesn't appear that this case was ever solved, sadly. Okay, this next one, although terrifying, has a much happier ending. It is called Narrow Escape from Death of a New Haven Clergyman, and it reads, a few mornings ago, Reverend Samuel Harris, DD of New Haven, went up to his room in a Boston hotel, lit a fire, and, drawing up his table near the stove, began to write. Pausing a moment for want of a word, he placed his hands over his head and tilted back in his chair. He had just leaned back when, with a horrible and that thundering crash, several tons of brick and mortar came through the plastering overhead, carrying everything before it, and fell upon the table and all about the room, breaking down everything on which it fell. Had Mr. Harris not tilted back his chair the moment he did, he would have inevitably been killed. It seems that a huge chimney had blown over from the adjoining Building carrying wreck and destruction before it. And through roof and rooms making a clean hole 10 by 14ft. The proprietors of the house took immediate steps to repair damages. And will have all in good condition again as soon as possible. Mr. Harris's escape from death was almost miraculous. Moral? When you pause for want of a word, always tilt back your chair. End quote. I couldn't find any more information about this gentleman or the event. I truly hope that he was not as traumatized as as he should have been by this event. Poor man or lucky man. I love that. Moral in the end, a story about an exploding fireplace ending with a recipe for a concussion. Okay, on to the next article, which is called Hatchets, Razors and Insanity. Narrow Escape of a Mother and Her Family from the Violence of Her Maniac Son. Now we're talking. Okay, it reads, Spring Hill, Tennessee, December 1, 18, 1971. A most lamentable occurrence took place here yesterday. Which came near terminating in a terrible tragedy. And which has occasioned no little excitement in Spring Hill and its vicinity. J.L. mcKissack, a member of one of the oldest and most respectable families of Maury County, During a temporary fit of insanity yesterday attempted to take the life of his mother, his two sisters and a young child. It appears that some time ago he had killed another man in self defense. And since that time, his friends declare, he has been laboring under great mental distress. From having heard a preacher recently say, taking his text from judges, no man who shed another's blood, whatever the circumstances of the act, could possibly hope for salvation. This sermon and these particular words seemed to have gravely impressed him at the moment. And it was soon thereafter observed that his mind was affected. Yet, while he was known to be insane, he was believed to be harmless. And no effort was made to restrain his movements. Yesterday morning, as his sister, Ms. T.O. mcKissack, was going downstairs with his own child in her arms, he crept stealthily upon her from behind. And struck her a fearful blow on the head with a hatchet. Felling her to the floor, Passing over her prostrate form as it lay in the pool of blood. He went into his mother's room and finding her there, sprang upon her with the fury of a madman and cut her with the hatchet, inflicting three different wounds. One wound in the head leaving a dangerous rupture. But for the almost superhuman efforts of Mrs. Robert J. Moore, another sister of McKessack's. Who happened to be in the room at the time. And who with marvelous presence of mind. Realized the situation of affairs and came to the rescue. There is no doubt but that Mrs. McKissack would have been killed. Mrs. Moore engaged in a desperate struggle with him, during which he gashed her with the hatchet under the left ear, but she finally wrested it from him by main force. He then drew a razor from his pocket and cut himself in a mirror while doing so, after which he rushed out into the street, made a deep cut in the other side. Though by this juncture his father and brother came up and rescued him from himself. He cried out wildly that he killed them all at home, but could not explain the frantic impulse with which had induced him to do the deed. He now lies in critical condition. Dr. White, the attending physician, thinks Mrs. McKissack, his mother, and Ms. Tio McKissack, his sister, may possibly recover. End quote. Oh, I really hope they did. I couldn't find any more information on this family or more information about the man that Mr. McKissack killed. I was hoping to find more details there. Too many tragedies in this story. All right, on to the next, which includes one of my favorite words that I barely get the opportunity to say. Apoplexy. It is called Death at the Faro Table. The last dollar and a fit of apoplexy. And it reads, in Louisville, Kentucky, about 3:00 in the afternoon, a middle aged man supposed to be from the county entered the family Cairo bank of Bill Fleming and Jack de Hart at 95th street and began to bet at the game, losing at almost every deal till finally, about half past four, his last dollar was at stake. A quick side note, for those of you who aren't old timey gamblers, a faro bank is an establishment where a late 17th century French gambling game called faro was played. Winning and losing occurs when cards turned up by the banker match those already exposed. I say this like I knew that. I just looked it up on the Internet. I wanted to sound cool, but the weight of my facade became too heavy to bear. In but an instant, the article continues. The cards were dealt and the stranger saw his last dollar swept from the board with the rest of his money. And the very instant that it disappeared from his sight, he threw up his hands, fixed his eyes upon the ceiling in an apoplectic fit. No doubt the excitement of the game and mortification at his loss caused the blood to rush in great quantities to his head, producing the fit. End quote. Bless him. It doesn't say that he died in the article, but the title is Death at the Faro table, so I am afraid he must have perished from this event. I love the word apoplexy. Not in this sad instance in which it means stroke or cerebral hemorrhage. I like it when it's used to mean speechlessness caused by extreme anger, as in a sentence like in an apoplexy of rage. He tore off his own pants at the seams. She turned plum purple in an apoplexy of rage. I will use it in the New Year, I'm sure that is my New Year's resolution. It shall be achieved, and I will keep you updated in which context it is manifest. Next, an item of interest. These were tiny articles that don't have titles, just little blurbs of horror, usually like this one here that reads, oh, a woman in Suffolk, England, lately made an extraordinary attempt to kill herself. First she went into the backyard, placing half a pound of gunpowder in a circle around her and set it on fire, as this did her no harm. Arm. She got a pound canister, put it in a bucket and holding her head over it, set fire to the powder. An outhouse was blown to pieces, but she was only burned about the face. Then she stabbed herself with a shoemaker's knife, but not fatally. And then the neighbors came and took charge of her. End quote. Okay, this is one of those articles that I hope wasn't true at all. I've mentioned in the past that the Illustrated Police News played fast and furious with the facts a lot and sometimes just made things up entirely to get a rise out of its readers, as if it needed any more insanity than the steamboat slaughters and hatchet attacks. Goodness. Okay, one more to slap you in the face before a cute but still frightening one. It is called a Jersey State Prison Bird Chops off his Thumb Rather than Work. And it reads, one of the most noted and daring thieves in New Jersey is now confined in the state prison at Trenton. His name is Michael Caine, not Sir Michael Caine, English actor who famously played Ebenezer Scrooge in the Muppet Christmas Carol movie and literally over 159 other movies. This is another guy, but it is kind of funny to imagine Michael Caine playing this guy in this article. Okay, it continues. He was sentenced to 10 years in state prison only a few months ago by Judge Guilford in Newark for robbing a Broad street dry goods store. The detectives who went to search his house for the stolen plunder had a very narrow escape from being blown to atoms. I love that. Blown to atoms. An open keg of powder lay loosely under the counter of Kane's Place, and they were given a rickety kerosene lamp to explore it with. Fortunately, they discovered the powder in time to prevent an ignition, and so a terrific explosion was avoided. Ever since Kane's arrival at state prison, he has been a source of great trouble to the authorities there. He refused point blank to do any work, and not even the ball and chain with scant diet nor the dungeon could swerve him on this point. Say what the keepers would and do what they might, Cain would not work. Finally, at being set at work in the shoe department, he gave fearful evidence of his brute pluck and stubborn spirit by deliberately chopping off his own thumb, the thumb on the left hand. He threatened further that if they drove him to work again, he would cut his own head off. There was quite a number of people involved, Norik cruel enough to say that Mike could scarcely do a better thing for the peace of mind of his fellow citizens. Meanwhile, Kane is in the hospital, but the prison authorities are determined to make him toe the mark. Yet. End quote. I spent a very long time looking to see if I could find a mug shot for this guy, but sadly, I could not find it. I couldn't find any full archives online of each easily searchable mugshots, at least not from New Jersey. This was 1871, so it may have just been lost to time, but it burns me to know it's just as likely buried in the basement of some penitentiary in an old archive in a dusty old book of 1871 mugshots, along with descriptions of crimes that would make the greatest coffee table book. If I could only get my hands on one of those, I would. If anyone knows a cop in Jersey that can get me access to an 1871 copy of Mugshots, please slide into my DMs. Thank you. Please. Okay, this was a very tough episode. I am amazed if you made it this far. Some real stomach turners today. So here is something to make you feel a little bit better but also gross you out just a little bit. It's called I Skim, I Glide, I Glow, I Glance, I Fall. Scene at the Skating Rink, San Francisco. And it reads. A new skating rink in San Francisco was opened for the first time on Thursday evening, November 23rd. And for the first and last time, an adventure befell a young lady of our acquaintance within the walls of that gay institution. She had long been admired for her many comely graces, but it was the glee gleam of her ivory teeth that shot the most telling rays into the hearts of sighing admirers. Ye gods, but they were teeth and formed a glorious background for the crimson lips that encircled them. She went to skate, and the malicious demon who put that into her pretty head shadowed her to the rink and grinned in supreme malevolence when she put the rollers on. Sorry. Off she darted among the swaying throng, humming Tennyson's Brook and laying particular stress on. I skim, I glide, I glow, I glance, I fall. But alas for female vanity. Whatever, dude. And alas that we should be the historians of this horrible tale. A false step and she was down her downy cheek. Excuse us, that's in brackets, coming in contact with the nasty hard planks. A dozen hands were stretched forth to lift her, and a dozen voices echo the words of sympathy. But why is she silent? And whence those gleaming pearls on the chalked floor? O sin, oh sorrow, and O womankind. The shock has dislocated her false teeth, and they are strewn like the leaves of Vallombrosa. A light young youth who wigged the situation is on his knees in a moment and his handkerchief has received the precious atoms. She left the hall on his arm. And we understand from reliable sources sources that the banns are to be published next week. First of all, I love when these writers speak in the third person. It's just so silly. And with that last line, the banns are a public announcement of marriage. So she may have lost her teeth, but she snagged what by all accounts sounds like a lovely gentleman. Also, can the girl not be called vain for wanting a nice set of teeth? She sounds a little clumsy. Maybe this isn't her first time at the cracked tooth skating rink. Maybe those were just some flippers she got to replace her first set of teeth. Regardless, I really hope that this experience didn't stop her from getting back on the ice. Apart from her losing her teeth, it sounds like she was quite talented. Okay. And finally, the title of this article is a play on, as mentioned, a line in a simply lovely poem by Tennyson called the Brook. I won't read the whole thing, but the piece of it that it's playing on is. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance among my skimming swallows I make the netted sunbeam dance against my sandy shallows I murmur under moon and stars in brambly wildernesses I linger by my shingly bars I loiter round my caresses and out again again I curve and flow to join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, but I go on forever. I put two illustrations that were done for today's articles on the Instagram post for today's episode which will give you a big smile I am sure. And if you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate it on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Follow, share and leave me comments. I love to hear from you. Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.