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- [00:02]
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- [00:30]
Genevieve Mannion
It's Wednesday Adams. I see you're trying to distract yourself from your own banal thoughts. Let me help. Here's a recording thing made of my latest root canal. Wednesday season two begins August 6th, only on Netflix. Hello and welcome to my Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host, Genevieve Mannion, 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 I creepy and oddly comforting about horror and mayhem from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello friends, and welcome to this, my 54th episode. I hope that you had a fabulous week. I was a sweaty mess. I hate this. I added some cinnam to some roasted squash to help me pretend that it was October. It helped. Which it almost is. Kind of August is almost September, which, retail, orally speaking, is Halloween. That's when Home Depot drags out their glorious 12 foot skeletons, which is always a joyous occasion. Oh, and I got hit in the face with a cicada this week. Yeah, apparently when it gets hot enough, they level up and receive the gift of flight. This guy received his gift and used it to try to fly up my nose. I feel like there's a lesson in there somewhere about not allowing oppressive circumstances to keep you from shooting your shot. Or like if life only gives you wings for a short amount of time, you better fly up that nose. What's your interpretation of this humiliating, terrifying experience that I endured? Let me know in the comments. Oh, darlings. Thank you all so much who have joined the fan coven. I just sent out another big batch of presents for those of you who have joined. I will have to wait until around August 11 though, to send out the next batch. I am so sorry, but I truly did not think nearly as many of you people would join as you, so I only foraged enough trinkets for a fraction of you. I had to order all new trinkets and they're not getting here until the 11th. I'm including some custom made items that won't arrive until then. So again, I apologize, but everyone who joins the coven before August 18th at myvictorianightmare.com will get some lovely things. I even added a mix of cinnamon and sweet orange and ginger oils to the dry oranges that I am sending you for your altars. They smell so pretty. Just a reminder that if you join the Fan Coven, you will receive this show ad free. You will receive my audiobook on eclectic witchcraft and weekly witchy content to help you get your head straight witchcraft wise. It's so delightful to see you guys commenting and sharing your thoughts on it. Thank you so much for joining and thank you so much for continuing to rate the show on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Thank you for your comments and thank you for helping yourself do my Merch, which you can also find@myvictorianightmare.com okay, today for you, dear listener, I have a mess. Today's episode is it's gonna be awful. I have onion syrup poisonings, vigilante justice, razor suicides, jealous quarrels, horrible, truly horrible murders, Russian piggyback rides, and a narrow escape from death that ends in quite a significant amount of blushing. But first, it is for our weekly segment With Their Own Eyes, where I share with you the personal, haunting accounts of petrified Victorians. We will be returning to the boarding house of Horrors at 131 W. 14th St. Where we will discover the possible identities of the two spectral lodgers who have put a considerable amount of effort into tingling the unsuspecting spines of just about every inhabitant therein. Our final installment of this 1881 illustrated police news article reads as in addition to the mysterious appearance of the two ghosts, unearthly noises and moans have been heard in the house by servants and others. At times a heavy body would seem to fall against a door, and then would follow a series of diabolical groans which caused the poor servant girls to shudder with fear. Although the ghosts have not as yet deigned to pay their compliments personally to the landlady, she has heard mysterious rustlings of garments, felt mysterious breezes of cool air, and on one occasion when going upstairs, she felt a cold hand on her face. To those who really believe that the house is haunted and that the two persons who are creating all this trouble are really ghosts, events which happened in this house in past years offer a satisfactory explanation of the ghostly visitants. Some years ago another family occupied the house, and one of the daughters, a young lady about 24 years of age, was very beautiful, but addicted to the use of liquor. She was engaged to a merchant who started for Europe and was drowned on the passage. After this sad event, the young woman drank more freely than ever, and, it is said, died from the effects of this indulgence. A brother of the young lady committed suicide by poisoning shortly after. Officer Kling, who knew the young man and woman well by sight, says that the description given of the male ghost is precisely that of the young suicide, and that given of the female ghost tallies with the appearance of the unfortunate young woman. The theories that the brother and sister now haunt the house in which their last unhappy days were spent. Those who reject the ghostly philosophy believe that either Mrs. Carr has some enemy who has taken this method of annoying her and ruining her business, or that one of her boarders is indulging in a practical joke which he has already carried beyond the bounds of common decency. End quote. I hate that. We'll never know for sure. I wish deathbed confessions were as commonly recorded and shared on the Internet as, like, anxiety memes. Like, if this was a hoax and there were a weird dude in the walls, or it was just one of the tenants in what sounds like a Groucho Marx mustache and side whiskers wreaking spooky havoc. So spooky that it ended up in the newspaper. I mean, that would be in my deathbed confession. I'd be really proud of myself if I were able to pull off that kind of stunt. But again, if you recall, someone did do what I absolutely would have done myself, which is go directly to this building, which still stands, and they asked the doorman if the place was haunted, and he said he does feel a weird presence himself. So who can say? But it is all so fabulous. Nevertheless, we all know therapy is one of the healthiest ways to deal with anxiety, stress, or work through trauma. But the two hardest things about finding a good therapist is, well, three things. First, it's making the call that's hard enough. Then it's discovering if they actually take your insurance. Then it's finding out if they're a good fit. As someone who has clocked even more hours in therapy than watching stupid horror movies, which I do every single night, I have found myself in this dreaded position more times than I care to count. Luckily, folks seeking mental health care never have to do this again. Thanks to Rula. Rula takes care of all of this. And you don't even have to call. You can do it all online. That's most ideal for me. Rula is a therapy provider group that connects you with mental health care professionals based on how closely their expertise fits your needs and they work with over 100 insurance plans with the average copay being only $15. You use your insurance plans to take care of your physical health and it should also be usable to take care of your mental health as well. Rula makes this easy with no wait lists, no frustrating back and forths pairing you only with professionals that are actually taking new patients. I've said it before and I will say it again. I wish that Rula existed when I was younger. Thousands of people are already using Rula to get affordable, high quality therapy that's actually covered by Insurance. Visit rula.comvictorian to get started. After you sign up, you'll be asked asked how you heard about them. Please support my show and let them know that I sent you. That's R-U-L-A.com Victorian. You deserve mental health care that works for you, not against your budget. Now if you would follow me into the seance room where I share with you the goings on in the Spiritualist society of the 1800s. In this article from the Spiritualist newspaper, 1869 volume, we have another very vivid description of a spirit that appeared during a seance with medium Daniel Holm, and this article is called How Mr. S.C. hall Saw a Spirit and it reads, A few days ago, sitting with Daniel Holm and seven other friends, my venerable and truly Christian sister, who passed from Earth about eight months ago, was enabled to be visible to me and those who were with me. She was not only only not a spiritualist, but strongly and sternly objected to the principle as anti Christian or demonical. She had never been present at any manifestation, never would be. But not long before her departure I said to her, I am sure God will permit you to visit me after you leave Earth. You will be permitted to do so for my comfort and as a helper on my way to Christ. I wish you to promise that you will do so if God gives you the power. When she appeared to us in my drawing room, her face was so healthy, so full of the red and white that exhibit health, and at the moment I did not recognize her, for she had been two years confined to bed, died of cancer, was a great sufferer, and was naturally reduced to a skeleton, so to speak. Suddenly I said with an exclamation, it is my sister. Three blows were struck on the table, the eyes were closed. She had been blind during the last 10 years of her Earth life, possibly, but for that I should not have recognized her. There was so marvelous a contrast between the face as I saw it on her deathbed and the face as I saw it then, so healthful, so beautiful, so happy, smiling. But the likeness was exact, for I recognize every feature after my exclamation the hair exactly as she wore it or plaited it back. She remained before us thus palpably for about two minutes, certainly more than one, long enough for any photographer to have made a photograph of her. And I am very sure there would have been no difficulty whatsoever in taking such a photograph if the apparatus had been ready, that it would have been at once recognized by any person who knew her during her life here, and that it would have been as distinct and palpable as any photograph of any so called living persons. I have no doubt that each of the eight persons present would make a good exactly the same statement I have made. End quote. I posted a number of wonderful spirit photographs in the Instagram for you to enjoy in today's Episodes post. Spirit photography was a rather lucrative business. Folks who simply double exposed photographs to make awesomely ghostly apparitions float around the frame. I'm happy to hear that she did not maintain her sick appearance as a ghost. Oftentimes ghosts look just like they did when they died. Like if they were hanged, you may still see them hanging. If they were decapitated, they may roam the earth headless. I looked into this why do some ghosts maintain their horrifying final deathly forms while others appear to us healthy and nice? I read a theory that the more deeply tethered to the realm of the living spirit is, the more tied to their final extreme experience of life they will be. If they don't know that they are dead, or if they are refusing to move on, or if their spirit is prevented from moving on by a demonic or dark entity, they remain trapped in that final traumatic state of death until they can release themselves or be released from it and move on. Perhaps it was because this man's sister had found peace in death that she was able to manifest herself in a healthy state. Considering what a klutz I am, I can only imagine the state I'll be in when I finally depart this soggy recycling bin. If I show up to any of your apartments a ghost impaled by a Swiffer that I fell on, please have a stern talk with me. Lay it on the dotted line. I'll probably need some convincing that I'm actually dead considering how many times I have almost died doing something stupid. I'll probably die in not even notice. My ghost would just keep cleaning the bathroom for eternity. Okay, let's read some Horrifying stories from the Illustrated Police News, Law Courts and Record. Our favorite gross out tabloid from the 1800s. This first one is pretty awful, but to me the most awful part is the onion syrup. This article is called Free Love and Poison. Mysterious Death on Long Island. And it reads, the recent death of Joseph Fowler of Manhasset, Long Island. And the subsequent suspicion of foul play. Brings to light a startling chapter of illicit love. Joseph died Saturday night, two weeks ago. During the day he was confined to his bed with cramps in his stomach. Late in the afternoon, his wife, Hannah Ann, prepared a syrup of onions for him. And after directing her husband's mother how to give it to him. She got into a wagon with her husband's brother George, and drove to Hempstead. On their return, they had a collision with a farm wagon on the Jericho Road. And their horse was killed. Soon after they had departed from their home. Mrs. Fowler, Joseph's mother, gave him a spoonful of the syrup. A minute later he was in terrible pain. He complained that his throat and stomach were on fire. And drinking water continually. When Hannah Ann and George reached home, she went to Joseph's room And gave him another spoonful of the syrup. This dose created the same fiery sensation internally. And he again drank great quantities of water. As water did not seem to diminish his pain. A messenger was despatched for Dr. Porter. He soon arrived and gave his opinion that the man had typhoid fever. He gave him a POW and an hour later the man was a corpse. Dr. Porter gave a certificate of death from typhoid fever. And on Tuesday the 14th. The body was buried in Hempstead Cemetery. John Harold has the certificate. People residing in the vicinity of Manhasset did not suppress their opinions of foul play. And at every turn the suspicious theme was related to Harvey Fowler, Joseph's brother. Harvey, on the 27th, related the story to a reporter. In substance, as when my brother died, he was at my mother's house in Manhasset. From the statements of neighbors, I became suspicious of the cause of my brother's death. And went to the house of Dr. Porter. I asked him if he could tell me the cause of Joseph's death. He said he supposed it was the result of typhoid fever. I asked him if he was positive about that, and he said he was not. My mother told me she was always suspicious of Hannah Ann. And afraid to eat her cooking until she ate it first. Okay, I dug deep into this one. All of this was far too suspicious for the townsfolk of Manhasset. So suspicious, in fact, that the town had his body exhumed and his stomach contents examined. Wherein was found a significant amount of arsenic. While this examination was happening, some townsfolk began to come forward, as well as a few members of the Fowler family, to say that Hannah had said directly to them that she wanted to poison him. It was the verdict of the coroner's jury that Hannah did indeed murder her husband, along with the brother of Mr. Fowler. His brother George was believed to be an accomplice. It was noted in the Brooklyn E that, quote, the theory of the prosecution was that the murder was the result of a conspiracy between the wife and George Fowler and that their object had been to get rid of the husband that they might, without hindrance, indulge in the illicit intercourse which had been commenced during his lifetime. End quote. Crumbs and carrots. They were both found guilty. What an awful story. And I've got another awful one for you. This one is called, a man in accused of rape leaves the world with a razor. And it reads, the quiet village of Markersville was the scene of a crime, the particulars of which are truly horrifying. It appears that a charge of rape had been preferred against the well to do resident named David Baffensburger. A policeman with a warrant proceeded to affect the arrest of Baffensburger when he got word of his coming and fled from the house. Proceeding to his blacksmith shop, he took down a razor from the shelf and inflicted a terrible gash in his throat, the blood spurting from the wound at a rapid rate. The desperate man then fled from the shop toward a creek in the neighborhood and upon reaching it, succeeded in breaking the ice and getting his body partially under the surface. When the free flow of blood from his wound in his throat exhausted him him and he lay powerless. When the position of the man was discovered, assistance was summoned. But before it reached him, life was extinct. Baffensburger was a justice of the peace of the place where he lived. He leaves a wife and large family. I couldn't find more about this story anywhere. It doesn't seem like this was made up, though. Often the Illustrated Police News misspelled names. I see that a lot, which makes it hard to track down more information. That may be why I'm not able to find anything about this case. I didn't really want to, though, to be honest. I think it speaks enough for itself. Okay, to a hanged wife murderer we go. The article is called, a Wife Murderer Hanged by a Mob in Richmond, Kentucky. And it reads, on the afternoon of February 1st, James Stow and his wife, old and respected citizens of Richmond, Kentucky, became involved in a quarrel. Stow, who was under the influence of liquor, drew a large clasp knife from his pocket and plunged it into his wife's breast and abdomen some 15 or 20 times. She was afterward found by the neighbors lying in a pool of blood on the floor and lived just long enough to tell who her murderer was was, and that she could not account for his murderous attack. Stow was afterward arrested and locked up. The next day, a party of 25 or 30 masked men went to the jail, overpowered the sheriff, took the keys and, going to Stow's cell, marched him out a short distance and hanged him to a tree. The mob then quietly dispersed. The action of the mob seemed seems to meet general approval. End quote. I found this story in dozens of papers, but not with much more detail other than a few that said townsfolks believed that the murder was related to jealousy, that the man's wife was getting a little too much attention around town, according to him. But that's not substantiated. In one small blurb about the hanging that I found in the North Star. It said, on Friday, 30 men took Stau out and hung him. So that job is off the hands of the public and the unanimous verdict will probably be well done. End quote. Ugh. There's a horrifying illustration of this article that I placed on the Instagram in Blue Sky. Help yourself. Okay, let's take a little break from the terror and make a beeline all the way to the bottom of the page. You can find the weirdest little sentences at the bot of the page of the Illustrated Police News. They were clearly often written just to fill out the page. You can just about hear the editor screaming to some poor reporter. Get me 18 words about something ridiculous to slap at the bottom of page eight. These 18 words read as follows. Swindlers borrowed seven guns from as many families in Burlington, Iowa with which to shoot a mythical mad dog. End quote. Either it's made up or it's not. And it's egregious that they'd leave us hanging like that. Why was it mythical? Did they get him, the swindlers? I have so many questions. There's one more sentence that says, quote, the ballet girls of New York get $4 per week and are not happy. End of story. Groundbreaking journalism from the Illustrated Police News. As always, I am still not over my Blissey pillowcase. I am sleeping better, cooler, and my hair is less frizzy even in this tropical weather. That we're getting in New York. My ends are also not splitting like they usually do. I get like Brillo pad ends that floof out and I usually douse them in oils that just make an oily brillo pad out of them. But for the first time in my life my ends have stopped splitting. My skin is also also extra glowy and soft and apparently this is not a correlation not equaling causation situation. That's literally what dermatologists have been screaming from the rooftops about sleeping with a 100% silk pillowcase like Blissey's. These pillowcases were voted the best gift of 2024. It is not made of satin which is like sleeping on a plastic bag. It is silk. It contains proven anti aging properties, is clinically proven not to clog pores like cotton. Cotton it keeps your skin moisturized, not sweaty machine washable. I refuse to hand wash anything. My bras are all destroyed because I'd rather just throw them in the wash. Not these though. They are all good in the washer. It comes in over 99 colors and they have an all new adjustable pillow that you can pair with your pillowcase with a crescent shape that contours to the body. Because your listener Blissey is offering 60 nights risk free plus an additional 30 off when you shop at blissey.com forward/mvnpod that's B-L-I-S-S-Y.com mvnpod and use code mvnpod to get an additional 30% off your skin and hair Will thank you. Okay, this next one is a bit sad and it is called Jealous quarrels ended by a frail woman's suicide and it reads In New York, George W. Coffin has lived nearly two years with family Fanny Temple, a married woman, and they had quarreled at times owing to jealousy on her part. She attempted to end her life a year ago by taking laudanum and was only prevented by his knocking the bottle out of her hands. He was absent from his home on Sunday evening and did not return until 1am Monday. She had been looking for him in the streets and entered their apartment 15 minutes minutes after he had returned. Angry words passed between them. She finally withdrew to an adjoining room and returning with a glass of wine, exclaimed Good bye George and drained the goblet, the odor of the drugs revealing the presence of laudanum. He ran to the Prince street police station and procured the services of police surgeon Frazer, but she died in a short time. Deceased was a native of New York aged 23 at the inquest, a verdict of suicide by poisoning, was rendered, end quote, only 23. Goodness. In a few of the other articles that I have read so far, there were married folks living with other folks who were not their husbands or wives. This was fairly common. I mentioned in last week's episode on Mary Shelley that Percy Shelley was unhappily married when they met. It was after his estranged wife also died by suicide that he and Mary got married. But apart from reasons related to the social belief of free love, a belief some folks had at the institution of marriage, was just a humbug. In general, it was very, very difficult to actually get divorced. It was not only difficult, it was expensive. And it carried a significant social stigma. In the United States, divorce laws varied from state to state. In New York, for example, the only reason that you could legally divorce was for adultery. In this time. This is the mid-1800s, and you had to prove that your spouse committed adultery with other witnesses. A very embarrassing affair for everyone involved. For women to be granted divorces, it was particularly difficult. The legal system was more likely to accept a husband accusation that his wife was a harlot selling herself for money because she stayed out after 8pm Than it was for a wife to accuse a man of adultery and have witnesses testify on her behalf. Other states allowed circumstances like cruelty or abandonment, but even still, the process was very traumatic and very expensive. So plenty of folks just opted out of the marriage agreement altogether and just went on with their lives, estranged from their spouses, however, often to the chagrin and displeasure of their families, like in the case of Percy Shelley. Okay, this next one has an illustration that is hilarious. The story itself starts simply enough, then gets hilarious, then in the long run, horrifying. An emotional rollercoaster for you. It is called Reception of the Grand Duke Alexei in New York. How a party of Determined Russians. Russians Saw His Royal Highness. And it reads, the few Russians who have made America their adopted home still cling with fondness to the traditions of their native land and look upon the Imperial family with veneration which almost amounts to worship. On the day of the reception of the Grand Duke in New York City, a little party of Russians were so eager to see the heir of the autocratic throne that they broke through the Cordona. Police. Police. And took up their position where his carriage would pass near them. One enthusiastic and patriotic lady jumped upon the back of a man and clung there until the procession passed. End quote. Okay, again, the illustration is great. So where's the horror? It was perhaps events just like these that Led Duke Alexei to believe that his people would love and support his bloody, violent reign forever. He was catastrophically mistaken. This false sense of adoration would lead not only to the end of a 304 year dynasty, but the brutal murder of all of his children and his wife in a dank basement of a house referred to as the House of special purpose. 37 years after this particular event, I may do an episode on the death of the Tsar. It straddles the Victorian and Edwardian era. I think I'll do it. I gotta work up the nerve though. That's a hell of a tragic story on endless levels. Okay, let's have another horrible murder, shall we? I'm gonna do my best to read it with the reverence it deserves. Although it won't be easy because I have the maturity of a four year old. You'll see what I mean. This article is called Another Horrible Murder. And it reads, another horrible murder took place at the Theater Comique St. Louis Monday morning. The murderer is a bully who has been employed at the establishment to quote unquote, bounce people named Billy Wieners. And the victim, a temporary barkeeper at the place named Lawrence Mack. Wieners accused Mac of admitting his wife into the theater, which being denied, he shot Mac in the neck, killing him instantly. Wieners has been arrested. The trial of Edgar Moore for the murder of Mabel hall in the same room last spring has only just been closed. End quote. Okay, that did take a number of takes. I'm not gonna lie. I dug quite deep into this one and I started with that last sentence. The trial of Edgar Moore for the murder of Mabel Hall. I wondered what that was about and goodness. I will get back to Mr. Wieners in a minute. But a lovely young ballerina was shot to death in the same room where this murder occurred. As it said just a year earlier. I found this short Blurb in the St. Louis Post Dispatch. It's called the Last of Maybelle hall and it reads. A jury was empaneled by Coroner Dudley at 9 o' clock this morning for the purpose of holding an inquest on the body of Mabel hall who was shot by Edgar Moore at the Theater Comique Tuesday night. A post mortem examination was made and the bullet found it was imbedded in the right cheek bone. The point being flattened, the face of the girl was very much discoloured, especially the right side and under the eyes. But by an application of the electric bomb, the natural colour was almost entirely restored. And the features of the corpse were in almost perfect repose. The unnatural appearance being being in the greatly sunken eyes. After viewing the body which lay at Smithers undertaking establishment. The jury repaired to the office of Coroner Dudley. And there proceeded to examine the witnesses. End quote. This man was apparently infatuated with her. And he shot her in the wine room of this establishment. Then shot himself in the head. But it didn't work. He survived and the bullet remained lodged in his skull. As the doctors couldn't remove it. He stood trial and was found guilty. I might even circle back to this story. The trial was madness. I found so many articles, really long ones too, about all of this. 8,000 people attended her funeral. Like I said, we'll return to this one. But in regard to the Wieners debacle. This guy was a real piece of work. When he killed Mr. Mack, he was already out on bail for attempting to kill his wife. Mr. Lawrence was known as an inoffensive young guy. He was short, slight build. Someone actually tried to get between the two guys during the fight. Brave guy. And Billy decided to go home. But he got hot again. And before walking out, he punched Mac in the face. Lawrence picked up a bottle of soda to throw at him. But before he could, that's when Billy shot him. He died almost instantly. William Wieners was quickly arrested, tried for first degree murder. Found guilty and sentenced to hang on December 14th. Billy reportedly smiled pleasantly through the sentencing. But later he would threaten to kill himself. Before they could take him to the gallows. He refused to eat and had lost 70 pounds by the day of his execution. He was hanged at 8:30am on February 1, 1878. In the jail yard in St. Louis. In front of a group of attorneys and reporters. He made a brief speech. First admitting to killing Mr. Mac. But gave the excuse that he was crazed with liquor. And warned all men there not to allow themselves to fall into the same whiskey soaked oblivion that he had brought himself to. There's a detail here that I did even more digging into. Why were and are executions held so damn early in the morning or directly after midnight? You always hear stories of executions taking place at the crack of dawn like this one, or just after midnight. There is a good reason for this. Death warrants even back in this time were for a specific date. And if any events occurred during that day. That prevented the execution from happening. There was a whole rigmarole. In most cases that would have to be done to reschedule the new date. Which could kick the can further and further down the line. Opening the legal system to more challenges that could be made which could cause more delays. So it was and still is. This is so awful. In the best interest of the state to make sure that they get the job done as quickly as possible on that date so that no natural disaster protest, last minute witness, piece of evidence, event of any kind can delay the execution. It was also noted that there is the added issue that other inmates would be asleep and less likely to riot or create a violent situation in protest at an execution taking place. Sheesh. UnitedHealthcare nurse Crystal checked in on a patient.
- [36:40]
C
We do a routine call after surgery and I could tell in her voice that she was struggling.
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Genevieve Mannion
Crystal knew she needed help.
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C
I knew that this is very serious.
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Genevieve Mannion
This is.
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C
This is like septic. This is life threatening.
- [36:50]
Genevieve Mannion
And she knew just what to do.
- [36:51]
C
And I called the hospital and said, she's coming in.
- [36:54]
Genevieve Mannion
Here are her labs and got her the help she needed.
- [36:57]
C
I see my role at UnitedHealthcare as a life saving role.
- [37:01]
Genevieve Mannion
Hear more stories like crystals@uhc.com benefits, features and or devices vary by plan. Area limitation and exclusions apply. Okay, this next one is a real nail biter. Like it's what my worst nightmares are made of. But don't worry, it all turns out okay. Just very embarrassing and sexist. It is called. A lady's clothing becomes entangled in the machinery of a mill in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, and she has a narrow escape from death. And it reads, that element of curiosity which prevails in the minds of the ladies as a heritage from Mrs. Adam still gets them in trouble occasionally. Notably was the fact illustrated the other day. In West Moreland County, Pennsylvania. There is a mill in Westmoreland county where the machinery is of a very fine class indeed, and visitors of a practical turn of mind find themselves aptly repaid for an examination of the works. Among the recent visitors of the mill was a lady who had just as much curiosity as the men concerning the great wheels and the hoppers and the appliances for transforming wheat into flour and feed. It made no difference to her that she probably couldn't understand the thing, whatever dork she wanted to make just as close an examination as the men did, and to form an acquaintance with all the mysteries of milling. She was not satisfied with any cursory view of things either, but went up close to the wheel, notwithstanding the repeated warning of the miller. Finally, she approached the bolting machine and proceeded to inspect it with a critic's eye. Very close to the machine she stepped, and then two cog wheels took a little nip at her dress. The wheel Appeared delighted with the flavor and took in more and more, having a good mouthful before the lady noted her predicament. Then she screamed and tried to get away, but the raptious cogs were not to be cheated of a meal and kept on chewing every every mouthful, drawing the fated woman closer to the works. The miller saw the danger and sprang to the rescue of the frightened victim. There was but one course to pursue. He was a huge, brawny man, and clasping the shrieking woman in his arms, he braced his feet against the upright post and pulled. It was a contest between the man and the bolting machine. Mind and muscle upon one side, upon hungry iron and steel upon the other, mind and muscle one. But not without a catastrophe. There was a long pull and a strong pull and a pull all together. And then by one gigantic effort the miller tore the woman clear. And that was all. He saved the lady. The machine got all the drapery. The lady was unhurt, but also unbelted. She stood there like a Greek statue and the lookers on ran out for feeling sake. There was an amount of bustle about the mill, but not a particular of bustle about the woman. The bolting machine had that had there been present three or four more ladies similarly showing, one might have sworn it had been raining angels. What I continue. The rescued lady stood shuddering and blushing and her rest rescuer stood panting and blushing. There was a moment or two of an awful embarrassment. Then the miller solved the problem. He fled from the mill and sought his wife and sent her back with a bundle of clothing. She soon arrived upon the scene and the dismangled woman was arrayed again, though perhaps not tripping so gaudily as previous to her little affair with the bolting machine, she has dropped the study of mechanics and the mill passes its time between dreams of a vision and wondering when the customers will begin to complain of a white linen taste in their flower. End quote. This sounds to me like an obviously made up story. I guess I didn't find any other information about this story anywhere else, but also like a cautionary tale not to let your daughters and their feeble brains become too interested in engineering or they may end up naked in a flour mill. I'm only half joking here. Of course. Articles like these were intended to undermine women in general, but in a charming and silly kind of way. Reigning angels. I don't understand that sentence at all, but I love it all the same. Okay, this final article might make make you smile if you find violence funny in a way. It is called a baker booted in Boston. Another Pulitzer worthy article from our boys at the Illustrated Police News, and it reads, Upon Sudbury street in Boston, an individual hangs out who is blessed with remarkably large feet, and his neighbors know it. In consequence of his pedal peculiarity, his French friends have christened him boots, and some amuse themselves by shouting the epithet in his ears whenever opportunity offers. A few days since a baker opened the door to the man who wears number 14s and shouted boots. When the infuriated man rushed for his insulter and booted him so effectually that he will not be able to sit down comfortably for a month. End quote. There's a fabulous illustration of this violent altercation on the Instagram. It's very funny. I don't particularly condone violence, but if someone shouted boots in my ears, I would do exactly the same. I'd boot a baker, a lamp lighter, horse fancier, and if I had size 14 shoes, it would probably be very satisfying. If you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate the show on Spotify on Apple Podcasts. Please leave me comments because I love them so much and to directly support the show. Join the fan coven@myvictoriannightmare.com Be Kind Kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.