Genevieve Manion (0:02)

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 from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello, friends, and welcome to this, my 33rd episode. I hope that you are all having a fabulous week, despite the even further descent into fascism in the United States. I actually think that we're descending a bit deeper than that, though. Like, the Nazis were much more organized in their dismantling of democracy than these guys. When I think of what's happening here, it just reminds me of the time that I went camping and I heard, like, a commotion in the middle of the night outside the tent. And I looked outside the tent, and I saw a raccoon just as he was scrambling away. I didn't notice at the time, but he had broken into the cooler, and he just tossed everything out, like, probably as fast as he could with his little opposable thumbs and bandit mask. He just tossed the hamburger buns and the potato salad. He didn't care about that stuff. But when he got to the marshmallows, though, he was, like, perfect and scrambled off like the tubby little marshmallow addict that he was. We found the bag completely empty near the tent the next morning with the rest of the stuff. Like, the potato salad was everywhere, covered in ants, broken eggs, bacon covered in dirt. It was very sad. And some marshmallow puke nearby. Poor guy. This is what we're dealing with in my nation today. This is our government. These tubby raccoons are our leaders. It's just. It's chaos. There's perfectly good potato salad covered in ants and marshmallow puke. It is a dire state of affairs. So I hope that you are all taking big breaks from this data and tuning into yourselves and your friends and your families and getting really weird with them. I got really weird with my girls recently. And before we get to haunted housekeeping, I kind of want to tell you about it. I have been having these reoccurring nightmares that dead people are coming to me in my sleep and telling me that they're stuck in my building being held by a demonic force so they can't leave, and they want me to help them leave. The dreams are of me in my bed pov, and they are walking up to me to the side of my bed, and they're whispering desperate pleas for Help in my ear. Now, my apartment building, like very many apartment buildings in New York, has a long storied history of people dying tragically. All in and around. I try to do some digging about who these folks could be if they aren't just spooky dreams. And it's just impossible. There's too many possible suspects. Long story short, I was sitting with my witches and we did our monthly New Moon intention burning. We write them down, we roll them up, we throw them in a bowl, we meditate, we light them up, we sprinkle them with some lovely oils so they really smoke up dark deliciously. And then we just let them smoke out. When we were done with the meditation, I pour some cocktails and I told the ladies about these dreams that I'm having. And one of them was like, maybe it's because you're helping your neighbors get repairs in the building, so your crazy brain is just interpreting your neighbors as dead people asking for help. And I was like, that is possible. Oh, I've been voted Madam President of the tenants association that I cobbled together in my building. By the way, I'm getting really good at scaring men who don't repair old ladies pipes. Is very exciting stuff. That aside, after my friends said that, you know, that it could just be my crazy brain making connections to what I'm currently doing, another friend was like, or are they actually dead people coming to you because they see you helping other people in the building and think that you maybe can help them too? And I was like, o can say. But then I asked if anyone had experience with this sort of thing, like just in case, you know, clearing houses. And one of the gals was like, all I know is you're not supposed to talk to them. And I swear to God, our bowl of extinguished chart paper lit up all by itself in a fireball that incinerated everything in it and all of the ashes were floating in the frickin air and covered my effing couch. I got little black dots everywhere. Now to be fair, I did add more oil than usual. Maybe an ember just caught a drop and relit. After we had that entire conversation out of nowhere, suffice it to say we still put our drinks down, we held hands, and we did an impromptu house clearing chant to make it safe for anyone to leave if they wanted to. It was actually really beautiful. I haven't had the dream since. And yes, there are explanations for all of these things. The moral of the story is get weird with your friends because that's where some really beautiful, strange and authentic healing connections can be made. And I think that we can all use that right now. Grab your buddies and take some time to dip into the best things about being human. Our weird and wonderful connections in these dark times. Fill a kiddie pool full of water in your kitchen and have a pool party with your friends. Knit socks for psychiatric patients with your friends. Talk to dead people with your friends. Trust me, it's healthy. That's my advice. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, a little Haunted Housekeeping. Thank you for rating the show on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Thank you for your lovely comments that are so precious to me. I love getting to know you guys. I have such an amazing audience and I'm really proud of that. So please pop into the comments and say hello. And if you would like to support and enjoy the show ad free, you can go to myvictorianightmare.com and find my Patreon. I'm on Instagram, yvictorianightmare and blueskyctorianightmare. I will be posting images from today's episode on both platforms. Okay, today, dear listeners, we are diving back into the Illustrated Police News Law Courts and record everyone's favorite bananas. Blood soaked, spooky little tabloid from the 1800s. I said last week that I would take it easy on all of us after diving face first into Jack the Ripper cases, but as I said, I would probably still be tempted to talk about murdery things if I saw them. And I have been tempted. The little murdery bits and pieces that I found in this paper were just too hard to ignore this week. So today's episode is a little grisly at times, but it will also be charming and spooky and intriguing. And oh, thanks to a listener named Heidi Gardner, I have an important update to a tragic article that I read over 10 or so episodes ago where I had trouble finding more information. This gal found some missing pieces of a puzzle, so I'm really excited to share what she found as well. So on today's episode we will have a hat wafting seance, a thrilling search for a dead body, wax necks, jealous husbands, mayhem in a bookstore, a shocking discovery in a penitentiary, and an alarming growth of intoxication among young ladies. With a fantastic illustration that I think you're really going to enjoy all this and more, we will begin with a seance that I really wish I could have been a part of. The headline is Spiritual Manifestations at a Seance in Boston on New Year's Eve. And it reads, the physical manifestations of spiritualism are wholly unaccountable. And nearly all those who disbelieve the theory that the phenomena are produced by spiritual or supernatural agency acknowledge that there is something in it. On New Year's Eve, a party of ladies and gentlemen, some of whom were believers and others skeptics, held a seance in the parlor of a gentleman well known in Boston. The manifestations were many and wonderful. Among others, the hats of the gentlemen and ladies present were wafted about the room as if upon invisible wings. And a stove pipe hat might have been seen upon the shoulder of a gentle female, while in many instances a dainty jockey hat perched itself jauntily upon a masculine cranium. End quote. Imagine that a stovepipe hat, by the way, is a big black top hat, like the kind that Abraham Lincoln used to wear. So I did some research on exactly how this kind of thing was done. Obviously, it helped that the seance environments were very dark, lit only by candles, so things like very thin wires or strings would be virtually invisible. I saw a miraculous video where someone takes a dollar bill and makes it levitate. And what blows your mind is that he makes a ring with his fingers around it. So it certainly can't be suspended by a string. Only it is. We always think that if things are levitating, they're being held by an invisible string from above. But the way that that's done is by creating a string or wire that is simply horizontal and strung across a room or, you know, a couple of feet. And if you're a really good magician or spiritualist, you have a whole system of strings and wires, some vertical, some operated by assistants on the side, some with minute hooks to catch objects and others to drag them along a horizontal line. I put a link to the video that I saw about how to do this levitation in the show notes. I never knew that that was how that was done. Okay, I love how this next one is written. It's got some really rich imagery that's just kind of poetic and terrifying at times. And luckily, I did find more information about what happens after this article was written. It is called Thrilling Search for the Body of a murdered man in McDonald County, Montana. And it reads, Two weeks ago, a black velveteen hat was found saturated with blood in a Field in McDonald County, Montana. Off to the races. Oh, what a wonderful sentence. It was found to be the property of a young man named Lewis Wright, who had disappeared, and suspicions of foul play were immediately excited. Suspicion in Granby was directed toward a young man named Sam Smith, against whom circumstantial evidence was developed with frightful rapidity. It appeared that he arrived in Granby on Wednesday morning, December 20, with an empty wagon from Neosho. On Wednesday and Thursday, he was around town half intoxicated, with pants and boots now known to resemble those of Wright's, and trying to sell a watch and chain from which the hook had been broken. On Thursday night, news of the murder of Wright reached Granby, but Smith had disappeared. A search of the premises of his father revealed a bloody blanket and wagon cloth soaking in a tub and the wagon with blood across the wheel and the front portion of the box sawed off. The old man was arrested and the team driven out to the mouth of the shaft into which it was suspected that the body had been thrown. It was a wild scene. The windlass of the shaft was the only object on the bare, wintry expanse of the prairie. Quick side note. A windlass, by the way, is a mechanical device or machine used for lifting heavy objects. Okay, back to it. A crowd of a hundred or more men were around it or holding their hands to a fire, and a keen and piercing wind blew across the plain, and a cold and gloomy sky overshadowed the scene. The old man was pushed up in the group around the fire, almost dwarfish in size, with shoulders humped clad in rage and tatters of a shapeless felt hat concealing his unkempt gray locks. I could just see all of this so clearly. Okay. His face had an expression of fear as well as settled degradation, and he endeavored to smile feebly, as if in propitiation of his captors. To the angry questions which had been asked as to his son's whereabouts or his knowledge of the murder, he had only professed entire ignorance, save that his son had told him that he had had a note bleed in the wagon and he had sawed off the end of the box because it was broken. So he stood there, never once looking to the mouth of the shaft where men held the windlass, while a man, with his foot in a loop of the rope fished with grappling hooks in the faintly gleaming black pool far below. Bush after bush was caught and drawn out, and at a length there was the cry, he's got him. First was drawn up, a stalwart young man in his shirt sleeves with a deadly pale face. Then a rope was transferred to the windlass, which was turned with a slow and steady strain. There was a shudder through the thick crowd around the brink, colder than the rude and ruffian air as appeared a leg caught by the hook hooks at the knee. And then arose the whole of a human body, grimed and dripping from its foul sepulchre, with a great purple wound through the forehead into the matted hair. Low threats against the murderer first broke the silence. And had he been within reach, he would have found summary justice at the end of a rope down the shaft where he had sunk his victim. A jury was sworn around the body by Coroner Yost and with a large number returned to Granby, where a few rode to search a shaft where it was thought the murderer might be concealed. The body of Wright was interred in Granby. He had a mother and sister living in Verona who were present at the funeral. He was a member of the massianic fraternity. Okay, I dug through a bunch of papers that were written published between this time and I figured a couple of days or weeks would be how long it might take to find this guy, the killer. And I was right. I love this article that explains the outcome. In The Buffalo Reflex, December 29, 1871 edition, the first line reads, Newton county is fast achieving an unenviable notoriety for blood and crime. End quote. The article says that Sam Smith, after throwing his victim down that shaft, he fled to a town called Marshfield. The article says here he was encountered in a hotel and broke and ran, a number of shots being fired after him. He was subsequently overtaken and killed near that place, end quote. So no court date set for Sam Smith. And that was the story of him. It's wild that just because he was suspected of a crime and ran, shooting him in the back wasn't a problem like the rest of society was. Like sounds fair. He did try to get away on foot and didn't seem to have any weapons on him. But yeah, sounds fair. It makes me wonder if specific laws were passed that said you can't just kill suspects of crime anywhere. Like was this kind of murder already illegal? But maybe folks just let it slide and didn't enforce those laws. I looked this up and it's gonna blow your mind that lynching was not officially a federal crime until three years ago with the Emmett Till Anti Lynching Act. But I feel feel that this is different though in as much as the lynching of black people like Emmett Till was often done, not because any crime or even perceived crime had been committed. Let me know in the comments if you have some insight into this. When did it become not cool for you to just shoot people you thought were guilty of something and were actually charged with Murder yourself. I cannot find that information. Okay, this next article offers a helpful beauty tip for those unlucky ladies with ugly necks. It is called the last quote unquote thing in fashion, the wax neck and it reads many fashionable ladies who are partial to low necked dresses and have not a pretty neck wear a false neck of wax or alabaster which when a heavy necklace is worn with it can hardly be detected from the real article. End quote. That is the article. I highly doubt that. But sadly, very sadly, I was not able to find a single mention of a wax neck being sold or worn anywhere. I feel like that could actually look horrifying or awesome or both. But again, sadly, it may have just been made up as the Illustrated Police News was wont to do in its time. Okay, our next article is actually an Update. In episode 25 I read a truly heartbreaking and gruesome article called A Young Lady Outraged and Then Murdered in Arkansas. I was really sad that like many articles written in this paper, the name of the female victim wasn't even mentioned, but her father's name was. But in this case only his last name was mentioned. So I was having a really difficult time tracking down what actually happened or even what her name was. Thanks to a listener named Heidi whose historical newspaper sleuthing skills top my own. She found her name, she found what really happened and how it ended. And luckily she also found things. Things weren't quite as horrible as they were assumed to be when the original article was written. Although what is true is still awful. I will reread the short article first and then we will fill in the blanks, the article reads. A dispatch From Little Rock, Arkansas of the 18th says about five days ago a federal crime committed near Nashville in Hempstead County. A young lady, daughter of Mr. Holt, was returning home in the evening through a by place in the woods when she was intercepted on the way by some party unknown and after being outraged, was most brutally murdered. Outraged means raped. Three bullets were found in the body and her throat was cut almost from ear to ear. Two of her fingers were also bitten entirely off one of her hands. The young lady was about 16 years of age, end quote. Her name was Mary Teresa Holt, otherwise known to her family as Molly. She was killed by a man who asked her to marry him and was enraged when she didn't want to get married right away. In fact, it sounded like she didn't really want to marry him at all and was probably afraid to tell him outright. So she said it should just be postponed and out of white hot indignation and the inability to take rejection. He brutally murdered her. Another article that Heidi sent me. Called the Hempstead County Horror. Cleared up a few more details. After she rejected him. It reads, quote. He then drew a Remington pistol and commenced firing at her. Her three balls taking effect in different parts of her person. He then cut her throat. And beat her over the head with the butt of his pistol. Breaking her skull in several places. After the murder and before he was suspected of the deed. He manifested great grief at her tragic death. Suspicion soon fastened on Norwood. And a train of circumstances pointed almost conclusively to him as the murderer. He was accordingly arrested. But at first stoutly denied it. Finally, however, he made a full confession of the deed. Professing great penitence and begging that he might be killed. Great indignation was felt by the entire community. And on Sunday last, he was hung by the citizens. In the presence of about 100 witnesses. A. A postmortem examination of Ms. Holt's body. Disproved the report that she had been outraged. Norwood was evidently partially insane. And was actuated only by the determination to prevent her from marrying anyone else. Yeah, that kind of partially insane sounds like a malignant narcissist to me. Back to it. Both parties belonged to families of the highest respectability. And this horrid tragedy has cast a gloom over the entire community in which it occurred. End quote. This poor, poor girl and her poor family. Okay, so although the Illustrated Police News Reported that she had been, quote, unquote, outraged. This was not true. She was not raped at least. And it appears they made up the part about her fingers being bitten off. Since that wasn't mentioned in the post mortem. Another classic move from the publication. This paper, by the way, was and is referred to as a tabloid. But when we think of tabloids now, we think of like what? Like the National Enquirer or the Sun. In England, people don't generally read these publications. Expecting the whole truth. And they are certainly not particular, particularly popular. But papers like the Illustrated Police News. Although they were insane. And many people knew that they were insane. Was a very popular news source. In 1888. The year that Jack the Ripper murders were happening. It had a circulation of 300,000. Which was more than News of the World and Pictorial News combined. Those were two other similar papers. People loved the this stuff that was full of lies and exaggerations and manipulations. I think about this when I think about our news. How is any news owned by a billionaire. With their own desires to manipulate the population. Trustworthy. Just something to be mindful of. No matter what news source you're reading, limit your intake as best you can, folks, for the sake of your own sanity. Okay, this next one is a very, very sad one, although it's also quite poetic. It is called A Leap to Death in Cincinnati. An unknown unfortunate jumps from a bridge to eternity. And it reads, the passengers of the Newport ferryboat plying between Cincinnati and Newport about 12 o'clock in the afternoon of August 2nd were horrified to see a young woman, as nearly as they could judge, clamber over the south railing of the Newport and Cincinnati bridge and deliberately fling herself into the river. In an instant they saw her darting down through the air, arms extended and garments fluttering in the breeze, and with a splash that sent the spray flying high into the air, she sank into the water. They saw her once again as she rose to the surface after the first descent, but she sank again instantly and was lost to view forever. The body of the unfortunate woman was not recovered and there was no clue to her identity. What the sorrow was that drove her to so terrible a death is impossible now to say, but it must have been deep indeed to suggest the horrible leap into the cold bosom of the river. End quote. Sadly, I could not find who this woman was. I looked through papers a few days and weeks ahead to see if any bodies were recovered in that river or the surrounding area, but I couldn't find any articles that mentioned one. I found some other tragic bodies found that weren't related, and I just had to abandon the search when it was just making me want to cry. I don't know if I would ever sleep again if I witnessed someone jumping from a bridge. Those poor folks who saw her. This article is just full of tragedy in every direction. I did once potentially prevent a suicide once though. When I was in college, me and my friends were filming some stupid student film in an apartment and I looked out the window and I saw a guy walking on the edge of a building across from us, like at least 14 stories high. He was crying and like wailing a bit like just pacing. I threw the cigarette out of my mouth and called 91 1. This is when we smoked like animals in each other's apartments. It took them like five minutes max to get there, stop traffic, get two guys up on the roof to talk to him. Within 10 minutes they blew up a gigantic like bouncy castle type thing down below, and maybe 15 minutes later from when I called 911, they had talked the guy down if you see something, folks, please say something. I think about that day a lot. I really hope that that man got help after that man. When we were moving out of our apartments at the end of school and we took our posters off the walls, you could actually see the disgusting nicotine outlines. Like the walls were manila envelope, envelope, orange. After we had our ways with them yuckers. Okay, this next one isn't grisly, gruesome or sad. Well, it is, I suppose, for one of the folks involved, but it will still make you smile. Another delightfully written one. Some of the language is just ticklesome. It is called taking a farmer's wife, baby and potatoes to market. And it reads, Mr. Henry J. Lynch, who owned a farm near Sandusky, Ohio, requested his hired man named A.H. elliot, to take a load of potatoes to Sandusky and likewise carry Mrs. Lynch, who desired to do some trading. Elliot complied, and for convenience sake, the baby was taken along. Mr. Elliot exceeded his employer's instructions. He allowed Mrs. Lynch to pack up nearly all of her clothing and to take from under a bowl in the pantry $75 of her husband's money for the excursion. They disposed of the potatoes, left the team in the street, and have gone where the Woodbine Twineth lynch had never suspected any intimacy between the fugitives, although Elliot was very fond of the baby. The bereaved husband followed the tiltonites into Michigan with the intention of administering a dose of lynch law to his quondam journeyman. But his search was fruitless. Did you get the pun that the reporter nestled into that article? The man's name was lynch and his intention was to administer a dose of lynch law to his quondam journeyman. This is quite a lynchy episode today. I didn't do that on purpose. I want to talk briefly about a word that you may not have recognized that was used in this article. Tiltonites. I was very proud of myself when I figured this out. Elizabeth Richards Tilton was a suffragist whose life was plagued with scandal. She and her husband Theodore and another activist, abolitionist Henry Beecher, were all caught up in a series of affairs with numerous women, numerous men. It was described as the most sensational and highly publicized social scandal of the era in newspapers. So I think that's what the reporter in this last article is alluding to by calling the wife and her potato disposing lover tiltonites. Very clever. Okay, follow me down to the rusty blood caramelized bottom of my oh my God folder. I plucked not one, but two articles out of the very worst folder where I store the very worst articles that I can find, this one is. Well, just judge for yourself by the headline. A new jersey cannibal gormandizes a policeman's cheek. And it reads, Wednesday afternoon the 13th, a German named Jacob riis was ordered to be arrested by one of the justices of north bergen township, new jersey, for violating an ordinance. Constable Brown, armed with the warrant, only proceeded to the residence of the alleged lawbreaker and requested him to go before the justice. Thereupon, Riis flew into a violent passion and in a few moments procured an axe wherewith to demolish the official. The latter, being rather powerful, wrestled the weapon from him, but Rhys immediately made a swoop and buried his teeth in the constable's left cheek. Fortunately, a man was approaching who rushed to brown's assistance and probably saved his cheek from being gourmandized by Rhys. The subdued cannibal was taken before the justice and then committed to the county jail in default of bail. I never heard that word before. The definition of gormendize gormandives is to eat good food, especially in excess. So we can all appreciate the reporter's thesaurus choice there. I wonder if he was like, I need a word that means eat, but like, it needs a little more gust if it's going to make people as sick as I want them to be when they read this. Okay, I've got one more for you. It's a bit shorter and it fits the oh my God bill perfectly. It starts out pretty tame. Nothing to see here. And then, oh my God. You can't possibly have guessed how this was going to turn out, so brace yourselves. It is called simply mayhem, and it reads, the CARSON Tribune of June 20 says George Perisic was arrested this afternoon on a complaint of r. Fred Brooks on a charge of committing the crime of mayhem. It appears that Perisich entered Brooks's store for the purpose of purchasing a ring for a bunch of keys, and that some unpleasantness occurred concerning the price High words ensued, and Mr. Perisich was ordered out of the store. Words came, as usual to blows, and in the melee, George took a fancy to a piece of Brooke's nether lip in which he then and there chawed off. It never ceases to amaze me how in less than a sentence, not even the full sentence, just the last few words of some of these articles can be written in such a way that they just make you want to run and hide in one of those old refrigerators that didn't open from the inside. Like from the 50s, right? You also don't hear the past tense of chew that often in that particular incarnation. Chawed. Ugh. Okay, I've got another jealous husband for you. And I think that this article ties nicely to another article that I read in the Valentine's day episode, episode 29. I did a deep dive into a particular topic on that episode that I think is well illustrated here. I'll read it and then we'll unpack. The headline is how a jealous husband in Cedar Rapids, Iowa returned home and what he found there. And it reads, cedar Rapids, Iowa has a jealous husband sensation. It is the old story, just a trifle changed. A rich resident of the town who had a pretty young wife has for some time been the victim of suspicion. He laid a plan. He announced that he was going east to stay for a water cure a month and he did go. But he came back on the next train, reaching his home as it slumbered in the peace of midnight. If there was anything wrong, he knew he had it by the ear. The only light was in his his wife's room. He lingered under the window to hear the murmur of low voices. He heard it. And how his wrath raged. With pistol in one hand and night key in the other, he bounded up the steps through the other door, reaching the bedroom door. It was locked. His wife had heard the footsteps and in terror wanted to know who was there. He replied he believed it was her husband. She would open the door in a minute. This was the straw that made the irate husband irate her. With heavy and wrathful foot, he banged against the door and the door yielded. This bombardment was greeted with a shriek from his wife, and the infuriated husband rushed in in time to see the door of a closet closing. Now he had him him now. And he ground his teeth in an ecstasy of rage. How he would rend the destroyer of his domestic happiness. His wife placed herself in front of the closet door and entreated him not to open it. This only added fuel to the flame of jealousy that was raging like a volcano. He thrust her away and jerked open the door and saw a neighboring lady friend who would have been invited to stay with her during his absence. End quote. Okay, let's unpack the obvious. Assuming that this is a true story again, you never know with the illustrated police news. But if it was, we all know what was really going on here. In the Valentine's Day episode, I talked about how in many ways ways easy it was to fly completely under the radar as a lesbian or Bisexual woman. In this era, the word lesbian existed. It was first used in the mid-1550s, but it was not being used commonly yet to define a group of society women who were attracted to other women, were not considered anything other than at best, a friend, fringe, mentally ill, morally corrupt, small group of women and sex workers, which, as we all know, was not and continues to not be the case. So if I had to imagine what was taking so long. Our imaginations can run wild here. But I've got another disgusting article to read to you and then a fabulous one. So this next one is called Extra Peninsula in a Penitentiary. And it reads, a few days ago, while putting a prisoner into a bath at the Charlestown State Prison, the officers found a leather belt around his waist filled with sharp, pointed steel nails which penetrated his flesh an eighth of an inch and had lacerated his sides and back. He offered no explanation of this freak, but it is supposed that he was doing penance, as he pretends to be very devout. This reminds me of Albert Fish, who I think may be the worst actual worst serial killer ever. And I know that that is arguable. I am not talking in numbers, just in horror. He was a child rapist, torturer and. And cannibal. And when he was imprisoned, he would stick needles in his penis while in solitary confinement. But I doubt that that was for any kind of penance. It just sounds like the reporter also had doubts about this guy in the article doing anything for penance reasons either. Albert Fish's last words, by the way, that he made sitting in the electric chair, were, I don't even know why I here. And it makes me wonder, like in general, was he having an existential crisis in the electric chair or was he just being the worst human being even still, even at the last minute and denying responsibility for anything. Tis a mystery. Okay, one more to make you smile. It is called alarming growth of intoxication among you. Young lady's sad scene in a New Jersey ferry boat. And it reads, a week or two since, a beautiful young girl belonging to a wealthy and highly respectable family attracted great attention by a gratuitous exhibition of herself while under the influence of liquor. A few nights since, a still more painful scene was enacted upon the same boat, a party of fashionable young ladies and gentlemen returning from a ball entered the gentlemen's cabin. The girls were intoxicated to such a degree that they behaved like a party of Water street courtesans. Some danced wildly around the cabin while others sat upon the benches in a state of. In a state of stupid unconsciousness. Such a state of morals in the metropolis is pitiable. Here's to you ladies. I poured myself a little whiskey and Grand Marnier to join you. As I mentioned earlier, there's an illustration that went with this article on the Instagram and Blue sky and it looks like it was a really fun party. If you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please please rate, review, comment and subscribe. Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmare.