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 THE TRIAL 
 
 OF 
 
 JAMES H. JOHNSON, 
 
 AT THE MARCH TERM, 1859, 
 
 Of the Circuit Court of Rappahannock County Va,, 
 
 CHARGED WITH 
 
 JP The Poisoning of his Wife, 
 
 <v -j •• *i By Administering to her Strychnia. 
 
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 :M 'A His Liason with his Wife’s Niece—the Murder of their Offspring, (,ti‘ 
 
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 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 
 A 
 
 M SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF THE CRIMINAL, 
 
 TIE EVUEIC! ADDUCED IT HE TRIAL, 
 
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 'The Letters of his I s ar amour 
 
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 5'A^ 1 
 
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 AND THE 
 
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 Medical Evidence adduced on the Occasion, 
 
 INCLUDING THAT OF 
 
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 ‘rylj PROF. R. E. ROGERS, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA. ' 
 
 : yD fllgo, ao ^ccotinf of il }6 £xeci|iioii. 
 
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 ( > BY A MEMBER OF TIIE RAPPAHANNOCK BAR, 
 
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 QO’Gv 
 
 'C H 
 
 
 

• dWitOWeff S COLLECT 
 
 
 -Off 
 
 JAMES H. JOHNSON, 
 
 i4# f'Ae 'March Term,, 1859, of the Circuit Court of liappahan- 
 tsock County, Virginia, charged with the poisoning of hi* 
 wife, by administering to her strychnia. Together with a 
 short Biography of the Criminal-—-the Evidence adduced at 
 the Trial—his liason vrith his Wife's Niece—the Murder of 
 their offspring—the Letters of his Paramour—and the Med¬ 
 ical Evidence adduced on the occasion, including that of 
 Prof. R. E. Rogers, of the University of •Pennsylvania. 
 
 By a Neither of tie Rappahannock Bar, 
 
 . ’The trial of James IT; Joexsox, charged with the ruur- 
 cter of his wife, in June, last, by administering to heif 
 fstrichnia, came off at the March Term, 1859, of the Cir¬ 
 cuit Court of Rappahannock County, Va. Nothing had 
 ever before occurred in the county, creating so deep an in¬ 
 terest, Not less than one thousand persons were daily in. 
 ‘attendance—some of them from a distance exceeding fifty 
 fcailes. .. . . 
 
 ’ •) . t' v , \ . 
 
 The trial was commenced oh Mqedaj r ,' the 7til of Mavrin 
 And lasted the entire week, Oui of a summon of near tiltrj 
 
ft jjVRT was with diffisolty ©mpa»»«lJVi-—flh« jiamra o if w filers 
 w’ero as follows: 
 
 DANIEL W BOTTS, 
 JOHN G. PARKS, 
 r. M. FINKS, 
 
 DAT ID CREEL, 
 
 JAMES \Y. FLETCHER. 
 
 PULLER A. HUGHES. 
 
 JAMES A. RTAPT, 
 
 LEWIS C. BOTTS. 
 WM. \V. BROWN, 
 
 WINTERTON MUBPHT r 
 
 ALBERT R. SINGLETON, RICHARD THORNUILL. 
 
 Counsel for the Commonwealth, J. Y. .VEjYJFEE, Esq., State' & 
 Attorney, assisted by CHARLES B. TLBBS, Esq , oj Loudoun .— 
 Tor the Prisoner, ROB'T E. SCOTT, of Fauquier, E. T. JOJYRS 
 and W. B. H. JCKLEY. of Rappahannock . 
 
 From the evidence adduced a(r the trial, it appears that 
 JibnNSON had been in the habit o-f saying to-bis neighbors, 
 shortly prior to the death of his wife, when asked how hie* 
 family was, that all were well save his wife, whose dtaath he 
 would not be surprised to occur at any time, as she was lia¬ 
 ble to fits, spasms, or something of that nature ' while her 
 acquaintances proved her to be a woman in good health, 
 and that she upon all occasions so expressed herself. That 
 Johnsou had adulterous intercourse with a niece of his 
 wife’s, who visited the family. That be was seen with 
 strychnine, and sold a neighbor a portion—that be had seen 
 its effects upon a dog of his, which by some*means had got 
 a dose. Some two or three days before the death of his 
 wife, he purchased a few lemons. On the day of her death 
 he invited a young man, Mr. Carter, to his house to drink 
 lemonade, saying if he would go, he, Johnson, would go 
 with him to Washington (in Rappahannock.) Carter being 
 in the field, looking at Johnson’s sheep, which he proposed 
 to buy, but would not give the price asked. Carter consent’ 
 cd to go to the house, but halted at the cherry tree. John¬ 
 son went on and prepared the lemonade. When he got to 
 the house, he spoke to Mrs. Johnson ; asked her how she 
 wa-u She replied, “ I am well, and I think the only one, as 
 the children arc all complaining.” Johnson comes with two 
 
passes of lemonade from another room; the pitcher ©■*•»; 
 taming the other, being in the room where Cart or was. He 
 handed one glass to Mrs. Johnson, who said, “ Why don't 
 jou wait on Mr. Carter first ?” He replied, “Mr. Carter can 
 help himself from the pitcher.” Mrs. Johnson tasted, say¬ 
 ing it was bitter. Johnson replied, he had put aloes in it, 
 as the Doe tor said it would be good for her. She said she 
 was sot sick, but drank it; and Johnson drank his, saying 
 it was the same as his. He, Johnson, then told Mrs. J. she 
 «eodl4 diimk some out of the pitcher; to rinse the glass; and 
 gave her half a glass full, which she drank, and then, start¬ 
 ed out to rinse the glass again. Mrs. J. asked what he want- 
 •cd to rinse the glass for. He said there might be some of 
 the aloes left. lie then hurried Carter off, going out first; 
 Carter perhaps not being im the house more than five min¬ 
 iates or less, after drinking. They rode some two miles, 
 when thev were overtaken bv Mr. Gearing, who was at 
 work on the farm of Johnson, who said Mrs. Johnson must 
 die very soon if not relieved. Johnson sent Gearing after 
 the Doctor, and he returned and found her dead, she having 
 Hived not more than 40 minutes after taking the lemonade. 
 
 Tie Facts which led to lie Arrest of Johnson. 
 
 Oaa the evening of the llth day of June, 18J8, the citi- 
 xens <*£ tJae atsuaaHy tfuiet town of Washington, and adja- 
 >eei£t sleigh berimed, were thrown into a considerable state 
 of excitement, by a rumor tfe®t there had been perpetrated 
 
 in their midst, a most inhuman and diabolical murder_- 
 
 Mrs. Johkson, the wife of James II. Johnson, had died 
 suddenly, .and under circumstances that rendered a suspi¬ 
 cion of foul play ©el the part of her husband, more than 
 probable. Various circumstances, running back as far as 
 185fi, tended to direct public opinion in one general current. 
 There appeared to be but one opinion. The facts attend¬ 
 ing her demise, having been properly communicated to the 
 legal authorities, Dr. 13. F. Kinsey, acting in his capacity of 
 Justice of the Peace, and Coroner, by virtue of office, based 
 »pon the following Affidavits, issued his warrant, envpft*. 
 
-t 
 
 jnsitug a-jurv of twelve citizens to enquire into the eeasa; 
 snd manner of her death ; the names, and verdict of which, 
 are herewith appended: 
 
 TESTIMONY 
 
 OF 
 
 JAMES IJ CARTER and FRANKLIN EE ARE A, 
 
 RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, TO WIT : 
 
 James Carter having been sworn, testifies as follows: 
 That he was at the house of James II. Johnson, on Thurs¬ 
 day, the 10th day of June, 1858, and ho the said James H. 
 Johnson proposed to make a lemonade, which he did, and 
 I said I was in a hurry, being on a borrowed horse; hut I 
 would go to the cherry tree and wait until he the said Jas. 
 IT. Johnson had made the lemonade. After I came to the 
 house, he the said Jas. II. Johnson brought in two glasses 
 not quite full of lemonade, with aloes hitters, as he said, 
 which Mr. James II. Johnson and Mrs. Alice Johnson 
 
 i 1 i • •. ... 
 
 drank. She said it was verv bitter, and she did not tike it. 
 
 He, Johnson, said it was like his, and it was aloes, which 
 
 Kinsey says will be good for you. After Mrs. Johnson drank 
 
 the glass, Mr. Johnson poured some lemonade out of the 
 
 pitcher, and she drank that. lie the said Johnson told her 
 
 to give him the glass and let him rinse it. Mrs. Johnson 
 
 jays, what do you want to rinse it for, there is nothing in it. 
 
 James II. Johnson says there may be a little aloes left in it. 
 
 Mr. Johnson asked me if I was ready, and I said I was, and 
 
 . . • • • <.« 
 
 we started. And further this deponent saitli not. 
 
 J. 13. CARTER. 
 
 Bappahankoc& County, to vn%i 
 
 James B. Carter was this day sworn fyy. m-e according to law. 
 June 11, 1858.' BENJ. F. KINSEY. 
 
 Rappahannock County, to wit : 
 
 Franklin Gearing having been sworn, testified as follows : 
 I was cleaning up some wheat, and I heard a scream from 
 Mrs. Johnson, and 1 run to the house, and I found her sit 
 
 * 4 i* 
 
ting- in a chair, with her hands up over her shoulder?, holt! 
 qf the chair nobs, and a jerking, and she said she was poi¬ 
 soned ; and I replied, I reckon not; and she said she. wgs, 
 a.nd wanted or requested me to give her the white of an, 
 egg. i held her whilst the black man gave her one, and X 
 gave her one or two myself, and; she remarked that Mr. 
 Johnson \v^s going after her little son Saturday or Sunday,, 
 and he wanted her out of his way, and that she. was point- 
 blank like the dog which had got something that had been, 
 put up stairs to kill rats, and which the dog had got to and 
 eat and died, which she said was arsenic or something; and, 
 she said that Mr. Johnson, vyas kinder to her that day than 
 eonimon; and if she could get over it, she would never 
 drink any more from his hands, as long as she lived ; and 
 the last word I heard her say, she said she was poisoned. 
 And she said ror the last twelve months she had not been, 
 able to do anything to please him \ but I have never seen 
 any thing like it myself. Mrs. Johnson told me that her 
 daughter Nancy had asked her if she was going to die, and 
 she said yes-, that her Papa had poisoned me. I have heard ' 
 Mr. Johnson, say at the table, several times, that she ought 
 to stop drinking tea, or so much of it, or it would be the 
 death of her. Aud further this deponent saith uot. 
 
 FRANKLIN GEARING. 
 
 Rappahannock County, to, wit : 
 
 Franklin Gearing ihis day was sworn by me according to law.. 
 
 June 11th, 1858. BENJAMIN F. KINSEY, i. p. 
 
 Rappahannock County, to wit : 
 
 An Inquisition taken at the hou.se, oi James II. Johnson^ 
 i,n the County aforesaid, on, the 12th of Juup, in the year 
 1858, before B. F. Kinsey; a Justice of the Peace, upon the 
 yiew oi the body of Alice Johnson 7 , there lying dead. The 
 Jurors sworn to inquire when, how, and by what means the 
 said Alice Johnson came to her death, upon their oaths da 
 say: That on the evening of the 10th of June, 1858, the. 
 su,id Alice Johnson tool: poison, given to her in toddy, ad.-, 
 
<5 
 
 ministered by James It. Johnson. In testimony whereof 
 the said Coroner and Jurors have hereto sot their hands. 
 (Signed) 
 
 BENJ. F. KINSEY, j. t. 
 II. FOSTER, 
 
 A. \V. UTTERBACIv, 
 ANSON DEARING, 
 HOWARD COMPTON, 
 BENJAMIN F. MILLER, 
 
 BENJAMIN PARTLOW, 
 W. n. HOLLAND, 
 JAMES MOORE, 
 RICHARD HARRIS, 
 BRAXTON EASTUAM, 
 WM. A. DEATHERAGB. 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of Rappahannock County Court: 
 
 The foregoing is a true copy of the testimony of James 
 B. Carter and Franklin Gearing, reduced to writing, and 
 returned to the Clerk’s office of the said Court, on the 13th 
 day of June, 1858, with the inquest of the Coroner’s jury 
 over the body of Alice Johnson, and the other papers ac¬ 
 companying the same, and placed on file in the said Offieo. 
 Given under my hand this 30th day of March, 1859. 
 
 B. F. PEYTON, Clerk. 
 
 It is perhaps necessary to add in connection with this, 
 that Dr. John S. Browning, of Flint Ilill, was summoned 
 hy the Coroner, to examine the body of the deceased, who, 
 with the assistance ot Dr. A. W. Read, of Washington, 
 performed a post mortem examination. Upon an examina¬ 
 tion of the vital organs, they were found normal. Tha 
 stomach aud contents were preserved by Dr, Browning, 
 and in the absence of necessary chemical apparatus, wero 
 by him carried to Philadelphia and placed in the hands of 
 Professor Robert E. Rogers, of the University of Pennsyl¬ 
 vania, for investigation. Professor Rogers, after an elabor¬ 
 ate analvsis of the same, discovered unmistakable evidence 
 of the existence of strychnia, in both stomach and con¬ 
 tents submitted to his examination. These facts being com¬ 
 municated to J. Y. Menifee, Esq., Attorney for the Com¬ 
 monwealth, he at once opened a correspondence with Pro¬ 
 fessor Rogers, and at his earnest solicitation, accompanied 
 by those of the friends and relatives of the deceased, ac- 
 counts for his presence at the final trial and conviction of 
 rhe prisoner. 
 
 4 
 
 0 
 
/ 
 
 In the absence of a competent Reporter, we are only en¬ 
 abled to give a short synopsis of bis evidence and opinions 
 in the premises, which will be found in another part of our 
 record. 
 
 Dr. Rogers is an able chemist, and doubtless stands at 
 the head of his profession in America. He was subjected 
 to a severe ordeal by the able counsel employed for the de¬ 
 fence; but, one could not but think of the anecdote of Dr. 
 Franklin, when he was cited before the British Parliament 
 to give evidence of the treasonable practices of the Ameri¬ 
 can colonies. A friend of his, writing home, said, ‘‘Frank¬ 
 lin’s examination appeared like a schoolmaster being exam¬ 
 ined before a parcel of school-boys.” This was truly ap¬ 
 plicable to Dr. Rogers and the counsel who confronted him. 
 
 Upon the. rendition of the foregoing verdict, a warrant 
 for the arrest of Johnson was at once issued; and after a 
 hearing, he was committed to the jail of Rappahannock, to 
 await the action of an examining Court. During the inter¬ 
 val between the issuing of the warrant, empannelinga Coro¬ 
 ner’s jury, and their final decision, the excitement in the 
 vicinity became intense. The jury met about mid-day on 
 the 11th, and did not close their labors until past midnight, 
 or rather, near the morning of the following day. It was 
 rumored that doubts existed in the minds of some of the 
 panel, in regard to Johnson’s guilt, and that they could not 
 agree upon a verdict. It Avas feared by many that he would 
 seize the occasion to make his escape; and so general did 
 the impression become, that volunteer squads posted them¬ 
 selves in positions near by, guarding every avenue of’es¬ 
 cape from the house ; and not until he was taken into cus¬ 
 tody by the proper officer of the law, did they relax their 
 vigilance. He Avas at once committed to the county jail; 
 and on his appearance at an examining Court, was, by that 
 body, remanded to the custody of the jailor, to await his 
 trial at the folloAving term of the Circuit Superior Court of 
 the County. To this Term of the Court, held in Octobers 
 1858, a large number of Avituesses were summoned on be- 
 
3 
 
 half of the defence. Most of them were present, but tiio 
 few who were absent were declared by “affidavit” in due 
 form of law, to be essential witnesses in behalf of the pri¬ 
 soner; and the case was consequent!}' continued. Attach¬ 
 ments were at once issued, to compel the attendance of the 
 absentees at the next Term of the Court; which they did; 
 but, strange to say, not one of the absentees, whose mate¬ 
 riality as witnesses \yas sworn to by the prisoner, was ex¬ 
 amined at his trial apd conviction. It was evidently, in the 
 minds of the spectators, a ruse on the part of the prisoner's 
 counsel to gain time and in some measure allay the excite¬ 
 ment which existed against his client. But it was a mis¬ 
 taken idea. Curses, loud and deep, could have been heard 
 throughout the court-room, when it was announced that his 
 trial had been postponed. It did, perhaps, allay the trou¬ 
 bled waters of public sentiment for awhile, but only to 
 drive them into a deeper and more rapid channel. Wo 
 mixed freely with the citizens and spectators on the occa¬ 
 sion of his tinal trial, and it is our opinion in view of the 
 evidence offered, that, had he been acquitted by the jury, 
 or if they had disagreed and failed to find “murder in the 
 first degree,” he would have been instantly seized by the 
 populace and hanged on the nearest limb. On chat day wo 
 first obtained a view of the prisoner, since his arrest. IIo 
 was born in Culpeper county, Yq., now Rappahannock, in 
 1823, and is consequently about 36 years old though his ap¬ 
 pearance indicates one much younger. lie is about five feet 
 ten inches in height; has coal black hair and eyes, ruddy 
 complexion, and every thing indicative of a sanguine, bil¬ 
 lions temperament. His complexion was somewhat impair* 
 _cd by the imprisonment in the county jail, to which ho had 
 been subjected. lie was genteelly habited, in a suit of black 
 cloth— was heavily whiskered and moustached —his linen 
 spotless white—his boots highly polished—and indeed h)9 
 whole tout ensemble, and the general contour of his counte¬ 
 nance indicated him to be any thing else than the black¬ 
 hearted, remorseless villain which he has been proven to bo. 
 
Seated within the bar of the Court, surrounded 3 bj his 
 counsel, he scarce dared look up, contenting himself with 
 casting furtive side-glances around the court-room. But, in 
 in no place could he meet with a sympathising eye. There 
 was a strong talk of “higher law,” outside the walls of the 
 Court-House, information of which had doubtless been 
 conveyed to the prisoner, through some channel or other. 
 "When remanded by the Court to the custody of the She¬ 
 riff, he was impaled to his seat with fear, and earnestly be¬ 
 sought that functionary to conduct him, by a rear way, to the 
 entrance of the jail. The wish was, however, not complied 
 with. Sheriff Miller, accompanied by a strong posse of 
 men detailed for the occasion, reconducted him to prison 
 in safety, though beset by a large and infuriated populace, 
 anxious to award him his deserts, and dispense with the ser¬ 
 vices of both Judge and Jury—they to constitute one and 
 the whole. Indeed, one worthy had equipped himself with 
 a hangman’s noose, to be ready for any emergency, and 
 which he took care to trail close to the prisoner’s heels—- 
 he accompanying the act by sundry expletives not fit for 
 ears polite. In this manner they reached the prison, and 
 the poor criminal appeared to experience a feeling of relief 
 when once more incarcerated within its strong walls. 
 
 Of his early history we know but little. He was born of 
 highly honorable and respectable parents. Ilis father, a small 
 but well-to-do farmer, was esteemed throughout his neighborhood 
 for honesty and sterling integrity. We arc informed that he 
 accidentally lost his life in the autumn of 1849, whilst on a 
 bear hunting expedition in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It may 
 have been a beneficent dispensation of an allwise Providence to 
 spare the father the harrowing feeling of witnessing the sliamo 
 and degradation of his son. The particulars of the catastrophe 
 may not be uninteresting to some of our readers. He was ac¬ 
 companied on the occasion by a young friend and companion 
 with whom he frequently associated in similar pursuits, and at 
 the time was in pursuit of a hear which had made its appearance 
 
in the neighborhood, to the great detriment of hogs, and other 
 stock within its range. During the day, the bear eluded their 
 vigilance and pursuit. The parties in the meantime had sepa¬ 
 rated, each taking different routes, and did not meet again until 
 the declining rays of the sun had cast a deep shadow over tho 
 dark gorges and ravines of the Blue Ridge. In one of these, 
 Mr. Johnson had unfortunately taken cover in a thicket of 
 undergrowth, and espying his companion approaching, arose to 
 salute him ; and in a moment received the contents of a rifle 
 in his body, which at once sent him into eternity. He was 
 mistaken for the game of which they had both been in mutual 
 pursuit. It is only necessary to add, that the good character 
 of the young gentleman in question, and the intimacy of the 
 parties, entirely absolved him from any suspicion of foul play 
 in the premises. 
 
 But to return to the subject of our sketch. Sometime during 
 the year 1840 or 1850, Johnson became united in the bonds of 
 matrimony to a Miss Alice Dulen, a highly respectable and 
 pious young lady of the county of Loudoun. Previous to this, 
 he had for some time acted as manager on the plantation of 
 Gov. Smith, of Fauquier county, and possibly may have been 
 at the time of his marriage with Miss Dulen. Of his first ac¬ 
 quaintance with her, we have no data. The marriage appeared 
 to be one of affection, and lasted happily for several years ; 
 
 during which time several children were born unto them. Miss 
 © 
 
 Dulen possessed some property—probably two thousand or 
 more dollars, by the aid of which he was enabled to purchase 
 the old homestead, his father being now deceased, and leaving 
 other heirs besides himself, and some small incumbrance on the 
 estate. lie stocked the farm, commenced business, and for 
 some years bore the reputation of an industrious, thrifty man. 
 But habits of profligacy latterly overtook him, and at the time 
 of his arrest he was found deeply involved in debt. 
 
 His first intimacy or acquaintance with Miss Mary E. 
 SilREVB, who plays such a conspicuous part in this pamphlet, 
 appears to have been formed in Loudoun, whilst on a visit to 
 his wife’s relatives. She was a niece of his wife, and the 
 
11 
 
 daughter of a wealthy and most estimable gentleman of that 
 county. Whether any criminal intercourse existed between 
 them previous to her visit to him in Rappahannock county, is 
 pf courso unknown ; but circumstances tend strongly to show 
 .that such intercourse did exist. She arrived at Mr. Johnson’s 
 house, accompanied by him, in August, 1857, for the avowed 
 purpose of spending a short time with her aunt, Mrs. J., who 
 was said to be in declining health. This, of course, elicited 
 neither suspicion or remark in the neighborhood at the time. 
 She was a beautiful girl, about eighteen years of age, had dark 
 ^tihtirp. hair, blue eyes, jyas educated and intelligent, quite 
 simple and childlike in her manners, and soon became a favorite 
 in the circle in which she moved. No one doubted her purity 
 and chastity. She had evidently been accustomed to move in 
 a different sphere from that of Johnson’s, and after a while it 
 began to be a subject of rein ark why sh.e should so long remain 
 under 3 , roof where taste and habits were so uncongenial.^ 
 Charity attributed it to an affection for her aunt; would to God 
 that it had been so—but, as before intimated, she was already 
 Jashed on the rock of ruin, anguish and despair. 
 
 But to go back a short period. J^efoye leaving Loudoun 
 county in the company of Johnson, it was her intention to enter 
 fhe Catholic Female Seminary at Frederick City, Md., for 
 which, arrangements had previously been made. When John¬ 
 son prriyed at her father’s, she was on a visit to a relative, some 
 tyrepty miles distant. This he ascertained, and proceeded to 
 Leesburg—purchased a carriage or rockaway, and set out to 
 visit her at the house at which she was staying. Arriving there, 
 Jie informed her that at his urgent solicitation, her father had 
 ponsented that she might accompany him home on a visit to see 
 her aunt—his wife—who was in ill health, and quite anxious to 
 have the pleasure of her society for a few weeks* Tq this sho 
 consented; but was anxious to return by the way of home, to 
 procure some necessary articles of wearing apparel. Johnson 
 quieted this objection by stating that he would have to return 
 to Loudoun on business—that he was now in a hurry, and could 
 then bring her such articles as she desired. This she consented 
 pQ f and set .off in company with him. 
 
12 
 
 Of all this her parent was totally unaware; and some weeks 
 elapsed before he discovered that she had accompanied Johnson 
 to Rappahannock, lie had supposed she chose to prolong her 
 stay amongst her relatives, and felt no anxiety concerning her. 
 He was not aware of the duplicity practiced to inveigle her off, 
 and contented himself with a reasonable time, or at least until 
 she should manifest a desire to return home. IVken some months 
 had elapsed—near a year — her father wrote a peremptory letter 
 to her, ordering her to return at once to his house, under the 
 penalty of his severe displeasure. 
 
 This letter was taken from the post-office at Washington by 
 Johnson, who had his victim in his power, and it was not shown 
 her; but, in lieu of which, he told her he had just received a 
 letter from her father, granting her permission to remain with 
 her aunt until the following autumn. Thus things went on for 
 -one or two months, when another letter arrived from her parent, 
 and Avhich fortunately fell into her own hands. It was corro- 
 Moratory of the first, and went to show Johnson’s duplicity. But, 
 alas ! poor creature, 
 
 “ He on her womanish nature won, and 
 
 Age suspicionless, and ruined- 
 
 For he a chosen villain was at heart, 
 
 And capable of deeds that durst not 
 Seek repentance.” 
 
 But, to return home, could not be thought of. Shame and 
 degradation would soon overtake her under her father’s roof. It 
 was but too evident to her mind that she carried within her bo¬ 
 som the germinating fruit of a guilty passion, for which she had 
 bartered her eternal happiness, welfare and peace of mind. 
 
 No, she would not go. Under the roof of her' destroyer 
 should be exposed the fruit of their mutual guilt. To this end 
 the fair penitent at once assumed illness —wrote to her father to 
 that effect—and went so far as to have her fair tresses shaven 
 close, in order the better to impose the deceit. A physician 
 was called in attendenee, but whatever bis private i pinion may 
 have been in regard to the nature of her ailments, a sense of 
 delicacy in a professional point of view, effectually scaled his 
 lips so far as public inquiry was concerned. 
 
1 « 
 
 it was about this time that Madame Rumor b<e®a«ae fetu^'-y. 
 -aud'for once, she did not lie. Rumors of a dark and suspicion* 
 •eaturo began to bo circulated throughout the neighborhood ift 
 regard to improper intimacy between herself and Johnson.—- 
 Her female friends ©eased their visits, and she found herself no 
 longer a welcome guest at their homes, or even recognised as an 
 acquaintance on occasions of a casual meeting. Yet under alt 
 these cirajtmsfc&nees did she remain under her destroyer’s roof for 
 months and months,—until removed by her father to his home 
 in Loudoun. What her feelings were during this time can be 
 better imagined than described. She appeared perfectly infat¬ 
 uated with tho fiend who had wrought her ruin, and was so lost 
 to all sense of shame and female delicacy as to usurp the impe¬ 
 rial bed of her aunt; and that, too, in her presence. 
 
 The circumstances attending the bir.h of her child are un¬ 
 known to the community, and probably ever will he. 'J hat a 
 ehild—a boy, was born, the offspring of her guilty career, thorp 
 is not a shadow of doubt, corroborated as it is by outs.de cir¬ 
 cumstances. When In one of her letters she speaks of “my 
 boy-^-my baby”-“I would to God I had kept it,” and simi¬ 
 
 lar expressions, it tends clearly to show that the child was born 
 alive—taken from her and destroyed by her remorseless sedu¬ 
 cer, or others in conjunction with him. 
 
 It appears that the first really tangible evidence of the guilt 
 of Miss Mary E. Shreves, was only discovered by her family 
 so late as May, 1858. Suspicions had before been aroused, 
 growing out of her correspondence with Johnson, as is evidently 
 evinced in her letters to him. Some time in the month of 
 May, 1858, after her return home, a near female relation acci¬ 
 dentally came in possession of a letter from James II Johnson, 
 which aroused her suspicions. It was addressed to Mary E. 
 Shreve, and was- of the most affectionate and tender nature. 
 He called her hiis “dove,” and used affectionate phrases in 
 every particular. In the latter part of his letter he said he had 
 
 that day visited the grave of their baby, and shed many 
 tears.” “Ho did so often, because its mother was absent.” 
 The lady’s opinion of Johnson had ever been of the most d:»r 
 
74 
 
 .yu^lfal character, and her feu 13 were so wrought upon, that aft,* 
 at once indited a note to Aids. Johnson, warning her of in> 
 pending danger on the part of lira; husband. This letter, thro' 
 an accident, was not mailed, but had it been, would doubtless 
 have been intercepted by the, prisoner. Mary E. Shreve wrote 
 to this lady whilst in Rappahannock, saying, “she would not 
 come back as she went.” She told her on another occasion, 
 that “in about four years, she expected to.be married, and go 
 ©If; and no one would know who shq. married, and where she 
 had gone.” The ma.n she married woyTd T ^e about forty years 
 ©f age, and sbe would be abopt twenty-four.* 
 
 This corresponds quite well with the relative ages of the 
 party— or rather, what they would have been at the time 
 spoken of by the fair communicant., 
 
 In justice to the poor infatuated female, whose career w,® 
 have under consideration, we cannot believe that she was, 
 either directly or indirectly privy or cognizant of Johnson’s 
 design to destroy hib wife by poison. She had pot sunk 
 deep enough into the abyss of crime to willingly become 
 tho aid and instrument 61 the murucr of' her mother’s si's-- 
 ter, her own aunt — one connected to her by the nearest ties 
 of blood. No! The whole tenor of the following letters, 
 goes to preclude such an idea. In only one of the series is 
 there language, upon which such a supposition could b<? 
 
 based. It is dated -- , in which sIiq says, “Poor; 
 
 creature! Little docs she know wluit's in, store ibr her.”— 
 Evidently alluding to a eon mm plated desertion of his wifei 
 
 * It is perhaps proper to state here, that, since lije above was writ¬ 
 ten, Johnson has confessed that a child was born to her under his 
 ' • • * 
 
 roof, and that it was buried by him on a spot near- his house, which* 
 he designated. A party of gentlemen proceeded to-.lhe plpce, and, 
 after a diligent search, found a portion of the remains of, the infant. 
 It was buried* in a shallow hole, dug in the ear.th, and its body co-' 
 vcrcd with a strip of chesnnt bark. This confession has been made 
 since his conviction. He denied positively ever having had impro r 
 
 per intimacy with S- . lie said site was cncienle when she camq. 
 
 tk his house — that Iter offspring was of pn mature birth, and he com 
 healed d to hide her il.w 
 
ou the part of Johnson, for the purpose of obtaining a dh 
 yorce by law; to which step, she, on one occasion, urges 
 him. He was to go to Kentucky—there abide “twelve 
 months and a day'’—which, in her mind, was sufficient tirge 
 to obtain a divorce. But, of this he had no idea. It wgs 
 only an alluring bait, artfully thrown out more, effectually 
 to beguile his victim. Could his letters to her be obtained, 
 they would doubtless throw much light on the subject; buf 
 
 they have doubtless been destroyed, either by Miss-— 
 
 or their author, as a messenger was dispatched to her at 
 once, on the denouement of the affair ip Rappahannock. 
 
 In the meantime, the reader is probably anxious to know 
 what has become of the unfortunate Mary E. Shreve. Soon 
 after the development of the unfortunate events which 
 wrought her ruin and shame, and condemned her paramour 
 to an ignominious death, she left her paternal home to re ? 
 side with a relative somewhere in the far West. We heard 
 
 . „ ! 7 ■ ’ . 1 i . < . » « r 
 
 of her but few a few days ago—but not as the gay and 
 beautiful girl described in a preceding page ; but on the 
 contrary a poor, penitent, heart-broken woman. Her career 
 had been one wjiich gvei: tpachcs the same pnvaryiijg Ips- 
 son, that prostitution, though invariably the result of man’s 
 ipdividual villainy’ in seducing and betraying the poor be¬ 
 ing who trusts her destiny to his keeping, is yet one of the 
 pgonstrous crimes pf society which dooms its daughters to 
 degradation and misery, from which no virtuous efforts of 
 their’s can ever rescue them. The philanthropist has often 
 asked, “Is there no remedy for this ?” We answer “Hone !” 
 tinless society (and here we mean females in particular) ex : 
 elude from their presence all men who are guilty of seduc- 
 tian or libertinism, or who have trifled with the sacred af-; 
 fection of their sex in any form. But, we fear, this is sonte-_ 
 thing to be prayed, rather than hoped for. 
 
THE TRIAL. 
 
 Circuit Superior Court of Rappahannock County, ^ 
 
 March Term, 1859 . 
 
 Judge— J OHN W. TYLER. 
 
 — 
 
 Commonwealth vs. James H. Johnson , 
 
 INDICTED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS WIFE, MRS. ALICE .TOHNSOS. 
 
 The Court met at 12 o’clock, M. The usual business of 
 the Grand Jury being disposed of, the Clerk proceeded to call the 
 Commonwealth’s docket. 
 
 The first case on the Criminal Calendar was that of JAMES H. 
 JOHNSON, charged with the muidcr of his wife, in June, 185S, 
 for which a true bill had been found against him at the October 
 Term of the Court. 
 
 The prisoner was brought into Court—and the indictment being 
 read to him, he plead “ Not Guilty.” 
 
 His appearance was quite altered since his previous arraignment. 
 He looked wan and sallow. He had entirely divested his face of 
 whiskers and moustache, and wore his hair parted in front like a 
 female. He had been a ruddy-looking, stout, athletic man, but close 
 confinement and the noxious vapors of a prison, had already begun 
 to tell upon one accustomed to active exercise and breathing the 
 pure air of the Blue-Ridge mountains. 
 
 The Court-Room was crowded to suffocation. It was estimated 
 that near two thousand persons were present. Every spot in hear¬ 
 ing, where a fooChold could be obtained, was occupied, and the 
 scramble for places, amid the loud cries of the Sheriffs, of “Order I'* 
 often interrupted the proceedings of the Court. The desire on the 
 part of the audience—strangers in particular—to obtain a sight of 
 the prisoner, was intense. They crowded within the bar to the great 
 annoyance of the Attornies engaged in the case, whilst the Clerk’s 
 box was so closely packed that, *hat worthy gentleman had scarcely 
 
IT 
 
 i 
 
 room to move bis elbows. Nothing but a large fund of good nature 
 on’his part could have enabled him to stand the pressure! It ii said 
 that some one suggested to Judge Tyler the propriety of clearing the 
 bar in front of the jury, and use more stringent measures to preserve 
 silence and order in the court-room. To this, the Judge, with that 
 equanimity of temper and good practical sense which ever distin¬ 
 guishes him, replied that “the people were excited—that they came 
 there to hear and see—that they had a right to do so—and so long 
 as therejwas no gross breach of decorum, he should not interfere.” 
 
 After some delay growing out of the absence from the Court 
 room of some of the venire summoned by the Sheriff, the following 
 gentlemen were empannelled as the jury : 
 
 DANIEL TT. BOTTS, 
 JOHN G. PARKS, 
 
 P. M. FINKS, 
 
 DAVID CREEL, 
 
 JAMES W. FLETCHER, 
 ALBERT R. SINGLETON, 
 
 JAMES A. RYAN, 
 WINTERTON MURPHY, 
 LEWIS C. BOTTS, 
 WILLIAM W. BROWN, 
 PULLER A. HUGHES, 
 RICHARD THORNHILL. 
 
 Counsel for the Commonwealth, J. Y. MENIFEE, State’a 
 Attorney, assisted by C. B. TEBBS, of Loudoun county. 
 For the Prisoner, ROBERT E. SCOTT, of Fauquier coun¬ 
 ty, W. B. HACKLY andE. T. JONES, of Rappahannock. 
 Other additional Counsel had been engaged, but subsequently 
 withdrew from the cause. 
 
 J. Y. Menifee, Esq., opened the case of the Commonwealth, in 
 an eloquent speech of near two hours in length. His remarks in 
 summing up evidently told forcibly on the minds of the Jury.— 
 Some of them were even affected to tears. He was followed by 
 Robert E. Scott, on behalf of the prisoner, in an ingenious and 
 well framed argument, by which he expected to be enabled to es¬ 
 tablish the innocence of his client, Sic., &c. 
 
 WITNESSES FOR THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 James B. Carter called, and sworn, f met with Mr. James H. 
 Johnson on Thursday, the 10th of June, 1858, at Richard Harris’s. 
 Mr. Johnson proposed to me to go home with him and look at gome 
 sheep he had for sale. . 1 told him that I was riding a borrowed 
 
IB 
 
 horse, and would not have time. He told me If 1 would g» aver 
 With him he would go to Washington with me ; after some hesita¬ 
 tion; I 'started with him. We passed on by his house, and went 
 hito a field in which the sheep were running; while looking at the 
 sheep he proposed making us lemonade when w r e got to the house- 
 anti I told him I Would not have time to stay; so we then started 
 froth the field arid went into another field in which his horses were 
 running. We turned the horses out of that field into the field with 
 the sheep ; we theh proceeded towards the house, and when we got 
 there he insisted upon my staying and drinking some lemonade with 
 him. I then told him that I would go down to the cherry tree, some 
 hundred yards off, to get some cherries, and when the lemonade was 
 ready, to call me. I don’t know whether he called me or not—I 
 thought I heard him call me—and I u'ent to the house. There I 
 met Mrs. Johnsori, and inquired after her health ; and she told me 
 she was well, but she believed she was the only one of the family 
 that was well—that the children were all sick. I took a seat, and 
 leaned my chair against a table. In a few minutes Mr. Johnson 
 came iri with two glasses—one in each hand—gave one to his wife 
 and kept the other himself j Mrs. Johnson then asked him why he 
 did not give Mr. Carter a glass of that, and he said that it had aloes 
 bitters in It, and that Mr. Carter did not drink spirits, rtrid Could help 
 himself from the pitcher that Was sitting behind him on the table: 
 I turned, and for the rlr.-t time noticed a pitcher, arid a glass silling 
 beside it. I theft poured out a glass and commenced drinking it 
 Mrs. Johnson complained of her'e being bitter. Mr. Johnson told 
 her that it was just like his, and to drink it off—that hinsey said it 
 would be good for her—and if she would drink it off fast she would 
 not taste it so'tnuth ; and When she drank.that out he would give 
 her some without any aloes in it; she drank it off, and lie poured 
 Borne lemonade from She pitcher from which I had been drinking, 
 and told her to drink it off and let him rinse the glass. [He used 
 the word “wrench.’’] She said, what do you want fo wrench the 
 glass for?—there is nothing in it. He said, there may b6 a little 
 aloes left in it. He then asked me if I was ready. I said I was, 
 and after taking leave of Mrs. Johnson we started. After getting 
 within a half or three quarters of a mile of Washington, we were 
 overtaken by Mr. Gearing,* who told Mr. Johnson that Mrs. Johnson 
 was very sick, and if not relieved, she could not live more than a 
 few miuutes. Johnson told Gcatiug to go after Dr. Kinsey, and hre 
 would go home. 
 
ID 
 
 franklin Gearing sworn. I was clearing wheat near the It erase ; 
 Sieard Mrs. Johnson scream very loud soon after Mr. Johnson left ^ 
 was sent for by the black gitl, ran to the house, found Mrs. Johnson 
 sitting in a split bottom chair, in strong convulsions, throwing her 
 head back while she grabbled at the top knobs of the chair. Said* 
 that *he would die, that her husband had poisoned her, as her symp- 
 toms were just like the -dog that died shortly 'before, told turn to 
 stir scwne raw eggs together and give her, which ’he did by Residing, 
 liea’feead^ she seemed -better, and he laid her en the bed.'; the little 
 daughter, some five years old, sard, Ma, are you going t© die-? She 
 said, yes, my child, and yam - father has | oisoned me. When she 
 first revived•ffee said she would never take anylhingfiora him again 
 S then ran for th*e horse to go after the doctor, called In before I 
 had started and found her feet and legs stiff, as were her head and 
 hands at the beginning : found her dead when I-returned, and before, 
 ’the doctor Arrived. Never saw Mr. Johnson rn-ktreat his wife; 
 siever heard her complain of him before this attack of sickness. 
 She also said that Mr. Johnson had been hinder to her that day than 
 for a long time, that she had not been able to do anything to please 
 Slim for ihe last twelve months. He only heard him say to her if 
 she continued to drink se much strong tea it would be the death of 
 fccr. 
 
 Mr. Gearing was severely cross examined by Mr. Scott, one of 
 defendant's counsel, but his testimony was too clear and lucid to be 
 shaken. He graphically described Mrs. Johnson’s symptoms in 
 ?ier dying moments—-the rigidity of her position—her distorted 
 ‘countenance—-ks livid color—her frothing and foaming at the mouth, 
 accompanied by her dying declaration that she had been poisoned 
 ? oy her 'husband. It must have been gratifying to Mr. Gearing to 
 lenow that his description of the symptoms of Mrs. Johnson in her 
 last moments, corresponded precisely with those of the learned 
 physicians examined afterwards in regard to symp’oms indicating 
 poisoning by s'rychnia. 
 
 By the Commoxweai.tr. Br. J. S. Browning called. Was 
 summoned to the house of James H. Johnson, on Friday the lltlr 
 of June, 1858, to Attend an inquest over the body of Johnson’s 
 wife, and perform a post mortem examination. At my request, Dr. 
 A. W. Read, of Washington, was called in, and assisted me in the 
 examination; I found the vital organs all healthy; removed the 
 
Jtomacij and contents , took charge of them ; earned them (o Phil¬ 
 adelphia and placed them in the hands of Professor Rogers for 
 analysis; strychnia was found in both stomach and contents. Heard 
 ?-he evidence detailed at the inquest, and from the symptoms—their 
 course and termination, attendant circumstances and result of post 
 mortem—believed that the deceased died of poison by strychnia r 
 Symptoms of strychnia poisoning—tetanus and convulsions, ending 
 speedily in death or recovery. 
 
 Cross-Examined by Defence. Tetanic convulsions are pecu¬ 
 liar to Tetanus—(Ideopatbic and Trauematic)—and poisoning by 
 strychnia and Brucia, alkoloids derived f?am mix vomita, Sfc. 1 rr 
 apoplexy and epilepsy the convulsions may similate those of Teta- 
 imis and strychnia, hut the patient would be unconscious. Believed 
 the color tests for strychnia, in competent hands, are relra-ble. Hare 
 read Dr. Taylor’s Work on Strychnia ; read it as a whole, not rn 
 detached sentences. Post mortem about tbi-ity-six liou-rs a-fier death ; 
 opened cavity of the chest; lungs healthy; heart healthy. and 
 empty on both sides ; extended incision—tied both orifices of the 
 stomach—removed it and emptied contents into a bottle ; wrapped 
 the stomach in paper—removed calvarium, and examined brain, 
 medulla oblongata and upper portion of spinal cord ; healthy. The 
 stomach was placed in a wide-mouthed bottle, and alcohol poured 
 around it in Dr. Read’s office. I added alcohol to- the contents af¬ 
 terwards. Both bottles were sealed by me, under my private seal, 
 and opened by Dr. Rogers in my presence. 
 
 Testimony of Dr. A. ll~. Bead. Was summoned as a juror, ami 
 requested by Tr. Browning to aid Lu making post mortem examina¬ 
 tion. 
 
 Whilst Drs. Read and Browning were standing con verging, Juliu- 
 son came up and begged that no examination should be made, alleg¬ 
 ing as his reason, that the necessary mutilation of his wife’s body 
 would be repulsive to his feelings. Read said to him that the in¬ 
 vestigation would lend to establish his innocence, if he were rw>t 
 guilty, and should therefore be. demanded by him ; that, if he were 
 guilty, the fact should be disclosed, by aH possible means. To ibis 
 he made no reply, absenting himself immediately. 
 
 Examination twenty-four hours after death. Body stiff andiigid , 
 the weather being warm, petrefaclion had set in, rendering abdomen 
 tense and tympanitic , opened first the cavity of the chest, exposing 
 hroit and lungs; found heail empty and flabby, otherwise healthy ; 
 lings healthy ; all the great vessels free from disease or ieticn 
 
'21 
 
 •Extending incision, came t© stum a cl i ; tied first pjloric oiihc-e 
 ’then cardiac ; removed viscus and set aside. 
 
 Examined next into the condition of the brain, membranes, me¬ 
 dulla oblongata and upper portion ef the spinal marrow - ail of which 
 organs were found in a perfectly healthy state. The contents of 
 the stomach were then emptied info a bottle, and the stomach itself 
 wrapped in papery the whole placed under the care of Dr. Brown¬ 
 ing, for preservation and future examination. 
 
 fn reply to a question by Attorney for Commonwealth, witness 
 stated :—That strychnine as usually seen in the shops is a grayish 
 white powder, of an intensely bitter laste, soluble in about 7000 
 parts of cold and about 2500 parts of boiling water;—much more 
 soluble in alcohol, ether, &c.,— most so in chloroform, which requires 
 only 10 parts to 1 ; that the characteristic symptom of poisoning by 
 it, is convulsion ol a character denominated by the -profession Ionic, 
 te distinguish from another class denominated clonic, the Ionic being 
 a.fixed and rigid contraction of the voluntary muscles; while in the 
 clonic there is a rapid alternation of contraction and relaxation, as is 
 commonly seen in ’fits or -epilepsy. (The -term tetanic is used sy¬ 
 nonymously with tonic, for the reason that tonic convulsions are 
 found only in Tetanus, either produced by a wound—and thence 
 denominated irttumahe —or occurring from constitutional causes, such 
 as exposure to intense heat, Sec., &c., then denominated idiopathic. 
 The term tetanoid would probably be better as applied to the Teta- 
 ■mis, or Ionic, or tetanic convulsions produced by. strychnine, there 
 being marked distinction-s between ordinary Tetanus, and tetanoid 
 convulsions resulting from a poisonous dose of ihat substance.) — 
 That the convulsions produced by strychnine are sudden in their 
 invasion ; the patient and friends are startled by rapid transition from 
 health to alarming di-seaseq that the course of the attack is marked 
 by minutes, rarely by more than from one to three floors, only one 
 fatal case, that of Dr. Gardiner, having survived as much as three 
 hours, fn poisoning by strychnia consciousness is always retained, 
 the poison expending its force upon the medulla oblongata and me¬ 
 dulla spinalis ; the cerebrahlobcs, or intellectual post ion </f the brain, 
 remaining intact. That strychnia probably produces death by fixing 
 the resphatory mu-soles, and glottis -or upper -porlien of the windpipe, 
 rigidly and immovably, thereby cutting off entirely (lie supply of 
 almospheric air, and as effectually suspending respiration as if the 
 rSi'bje-ci were strangulated; the empty condition of the .heart,.ic 
 
Jtiusc cases where it is found, may result from spasm of that orga3>„ 
 in articulo moitis ; death probably occurring in some cases from the 
 same cause. 
 
 From the evidence of Carter ami Gearing do you consider i* 
 yrobable that Ails. Johnson died of poisoning by strychnine ? 
 
 Considering the administration of a bitter substance the accession 
 of the sudden and invariable symptoms of poisoning by strychnia ~ 
 the rapidly fata! result ; the failure of the post mortem examination, 
 to reveal any natural cause of death ; and the discovery of the- 
 poison in the stomach, — 1 cannot entertain a reasonable doubt that 
 the deceased came to her death by strychnia. 
 
 Dr. R. E Rogets-, of the University of Pennsylvania, being called! 
 to the standy testified, That during the last summer Bh Browning' 
 called upon him-, and stated that he had been commissioned by the- 
 Commonwealth's Attorney of Rappahannock county, Virginia, to 
 deliver into his- charge certain materials which he hod brought with- 
 him, and to request his analysis of the same for poison ; and named! 
 strychnia as the substance suspected ; that after taking the precau¬ 
 tionary steps of providing himself with pure re-agents for the pur¬ 
 pose, he entered upon-the analysis. 
 
 The materials which had been furnished to him were in- hvo> 
 vessels. One contained an empty human storrtach\ tied* at 1 both- 
 extremities, and having alcohol poured around it; the ohfter con¬ 
 tained what had been the contents of the stomach* The appearance- 
 of the stomach-was for the most part pale, with- a blush or slights 
 redness at the greater curvature, or towards the cardiac orifice ~ no 
 sign of disease, ulceration or corrosion- was visible about the organs 
 The contents of the stomach was a nearly homogeneous liquid mass,, 
 sontaining a few cherries, some white fibrous portion* of asparagus*, 
 undigested, (Hakes suspended throughout it of what had the appear¬ 
 ance of the pulpy interior of lemon, and & single worm Lumbrkusd 
 about six inches in length'. 
 
 in the chemical exam : nation- of these- materials four separate 
 analyses were performed. The methods of G-irwood and Rogers, off 
 Stas and of Letheby were, with slight modifications suggested by 
 the circumstances, respectively pursued. In each case a nearly 
 white semi-crystalioe substance was obtained, which’ possessed ara 
 intensely bitter taste. 
 
 This substance, successively submitted to the action of su-Tphrwic 
 acld.-aod.'bichromate of pot ass a—of sulphuric acid. and. deutonid* 
 
') 
 
 28 
 
 of lead, and of sulphuric acid and deutoxide of manganese, gave 
 evidence that it was strychnia, by the production of the character* 
 istic series of colors, commencing with a deep blue, and passing 
 successively through violet, purple and red. When a portion in 
 solution in sulphuric acid was placed upon platinum foil made the 
 positive pole of a feeble galvanic battery, the characteristic color 
 was produced corresponding to that which results from a similar 
 treatment of strychnine. The physiological, or frog test of Marshall 
 Hall, was next resorted to. For this purpose a portion of the semi- 
 crystaline substance obtained in the analysis was dissolved in weak 
 ascetic acid and largely diluted with water. In one experiment a 
 frog was immersed in the liquid, and after a short interval it became 
 convulsed with violent tetanic spasms, and died. In another exper¬ 
 iment a portion of the liquid was introduced into a slight wound 
 made in the thigh of the animal, and after a brief interval a similar 
 tetanic spasm ensued, and it died. From all of these facts, Dr. 
 Rogers concluded that, beyond a doubt, the material which he had 
 obtained in the analysis of the stomach and contents was Strychnia, 
 
 Miss Lyons called. Did not know anything of the circumstances. 
 Her acquaintance with Mrs. Johnson was short. Went to the house 
 after the death of Mrs. Johnson. Saw the deceased at her residence 
 a short time before, when she spoke of her good health. 
 
 Mr. Corbin called. I lived with Mr. Johnson about two year* 
 ago—think it was in the years 1856 and 1857. Have seen him in 
 bed with Miss Shreve at different times. He was lying on the right 
 side of her—didn’t see anything else. Mrs. Johnson was usually in 
 a trundle bed with the children, Mr. Johnson and Miss Shreve lying 
 - in the other bec(—the big bed. Have se°n them thus often. Have 
 taken letters from the postoffice at Washington for Miss Shreve, 
 Went in the room to give them to her, and once held the candle for 
 her to read them. Johnson was in bed with her at th*J time—it was 
 10 or 11 o’clock at night. Saw him several times; once he covered 
 up his head, but I knew he was there. Mrs. Johnson was awake. 
 I suppose he got used to it. Could not tell if Miss Shreve was in a 
 family way. 
 
 Cross-Examined by Defence. The house was a large one.— 
 
 Went into Johnson’s room freely. Johnson and Miss S-- 
 
 attempted no concealment. Mr s. Johnson said to witness she did 
 not like such proceedings ; but this was on an occasion of Ids going 
 
sipigh-riding with Miss Shrove. Was on good terms with Mr. J. 
 and .1/iss S. Never heard Mrs. Johnson complain of his being in 
 bed with Miss S. 
 
 James Deadman called. Am p^st master at Washington, Va., or 
 rather, I should say, deputy post master. [Here the witness was 
 shown a number of letters, and asked by the prosecuting Attorney 
 if he could identify any of them as having been delivered from his 
 o$ice. These letters are the original of the ones published in the 
 latter part of our pamphlet ] Witness continued : Recognised two 
 —Recognised another, he thougbt-^especiallv the last. 
 
 Cross examined by Defence , Took particular notice of tlie 
 loiters in the office; had heard rumors, which led him to do so. 
 Miss Shreve once came in the office and wrote a letter; thinks 
 it was in Feb., i858. I was appointed deputy P. M. in 1857. 
 About the time she left, Johnson called and told rae not to mail 
 the letter. I of course refused, and sent it to its proper desti¬ 
 nation. Johnson received one a short time after—about the 
 1st of March. [Here two letters were shown witness.] I be¬ 
 lieve they are the letters. Both came in the same way bill. The 
 last letter came to the office the day Mrs. Johnson died. I de.- 
 livercd it to Mr. Billiard, the jailor. Usually delivered the let¬ 
 ters to Mr. Johnson, with the exception of one, which was given 
 to servant. 
 
 Miss Lucinda Hoff . Heard of Mrs Johnson’s illness ; went 
 to the house, but she was dead half an hour before I got there. 
 Johnson wanted me to swear she w r as subject to fits, if the doc¬ 
 tors should examine her. I'refused to do so. He complained 
 that his wife was not put away decently. Said he had no doubt 
 his wife was poisoned, but the question was, who did it? I re? 
 fused to swear that his wife was in ill health. She was always 
 healthy as far as I knew. Johnson turned off and left me.—r 
 Mrs. Hopper was present and heard same conversation or part 
 of it. I asked him, if he was satisfied his wife was poisoned, 
 why object to the doctor’s examining? lie hung his head and 
 said nothing. Was not in the habit of visiting Johnson’s house 
 for twelve or fifteen months before the death of his wife. Saw 
 her a short time before her death—perhaps a month. Ilcjr 
 health was generally good. Saw her at Mrs, Iloutcn’s. 
 
25 
 
 In reply 'to a question by the Commonwealth’s Attorney, 
 witness further said : I quit visiting the house of Johnson, be¬ 
 cause his conduct was such that no respectable female should 
 visit it. Saw and heard enough of my own knowledge. Saw 
 a lady, Miss Mary E. Shreve, at his house, and believed what 
 was said of their intimacy. Saw them in the lot together.™ 
 Passed through the room twice; she went out with Mr. John¬ 
 son ; staid in the kitchen. Miss Shreve sat at the table, but 
 exchanged no words with me or Mrs. Johnson. Johnson spoko 
 surly to his wife, in reply to questions asked him. Witness, in 
 * reply to a pointed question by the prosecuting attorney, 
 said : She thought Miss Shreve was pregnant—looked like 
 other married ladies. 
 
 Cross examined by defence. Have known Mrs. Johnson since 
 the birth of her first child. Have not known her sick since.— 
 Was at the house of Mrs. II—-—• about a month before her 
 death. Lived about a mile from Johnson’s house. 
 
 Mrs. Hopper called. Was informed by one of my servants 
 of Mrs. Johnson’s death. Went there as I usually do to any 
 of my neighbors, when they are in adversity or affliction.—. 
 Knew nothing of the post mortem examination until I got there. 
 Saw Johnson ; he said his wife was not in her right mind at 
 times. Knew Mrs. Johnson; visited her in her afflictions 
 (meaning on ocersions of child-birth.) Enjoyed as good health 
 as any -woman I know. Never heard of.her having spasms—> 
 never saw any thing of them. Whilst under Mr. Johnson’s 
 roof, never saw any thing improper in his conduct towards 
 Miss Shreve. 
 
 [Not cross-examined h} 7 defence. 
 
 Mrs. Harris called. Know but very little. Saw Mrs. John¬ 
 son a month before her death. Saw 7 her at Mr. Ilouton’s. Sho 
 expressed herself thankful for the good health with which sho 
 had been blesSed. Two years before, I heard her reiterate the 
 same. I thought her a very healthy woman. 
 
 Isaac II. Hoff called. I was at Mr. Johnson’s. Mr. Lilliard 
 came with the coffin. Was out in the back yard. Johnson 
 asked L-- what he charged for the coffin. Lilliard said he 
 
would answer him some other time. Said nothing to him about 
 post mortem examination. (Something was said about cabbage 
 seed, not-hoard by reporter.) 
 
 Cross examined by defendant's counsel. Mr. Lilliard made 
 the coffin. Johnson hurried Lilliard to put his wife in the cof¬ 
 fin, saying “there was no time for a post-mortem examination.” 
 [Here the witness became somewhat excited at a question pro¬ 
 pounded by counsel for the prisoner, which closed his examina¬ 
 tion.] 
 
 Miss Susan Elliott called. Am acquainted with Mr. John- 
 son. Knew his wife. Heard Mr. Johnson say to his wife, about 
 four years ago, that he married her for riches, not for love. 
 
 Richard Harris called. Was one of the jury of inquest.— 
 Johnson sent for me to come to hisxoom. Called on me to be 
 his friend. Had previously told me that he would not be sur¬ 
 prised to find his wife dead at any time. Mr. Johnson had 
 strychnia in his possession. I purchased some of it myself a 
 short time before the death of Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 Cross-examined by defence. I purchased the strychnia of 
 Johnson about two months before his wife’s death. He made no 
 secret of having it. I had sheep killed, and got it to poison dogs. 
 
 John Lyons called. Had but a short acquaintance with the 
 prisoner. Prisoner had told him that he did not think his wife 
 would live long ; she had spasms ; and that the doctors thought 
 so. Knew Mrs. Johnson, and considered her healthy. Was on 
 a visit to Johnson’s two weeks before her death; saw nothing 
 of her beimr in ill health. 
 
 O 
 
 (Not cross- examined.) 
 
 William G-ore called. Mr. Johnson came to the still-house 
 in April, 1858, with a vial of strychnia. (Here Mr. Scott, one 
 of defendant’s counsel, wished to know if it was to put in the 
 whiskey. Laughter.) Said he got it to protect his shcep.-^- 
 (After some other unimportant questions, the witness was re¬ 
 quested by the Commonwealth’s Attorney to come near the 
 desk, for a private interview. To this he objected, saying “ho 
 said nothing in the case save in public.” 
 
 (Not cross-examined) 
 
Amos Dear called. In June Mr. Johnson was at ray hausen 
 Enquired in regard to the health of his family ; said he would 
 not be surprised to hear of the death, of his wife at any time,, 
 as she was subject to spells. Asked if bp could get some 
 lemons. This was a few days before the death of his wife. 
 
 Beniamin E. Miller called. Was at Johnson’s house, the day 
 of the inquest. Went at the request of the prisoner. Said he 
 did not want the physicians to make a post-mortem examina¬ 
 tion ; did not know what his friends in Loudoun would think. 
 
 A. J. Brothertoii called. I went up to Johnson’s in Febru¬ 
 ary, 1858, on a visit and partly on business. Staid all night. 
 Had frequently been invited there by Mr. Johnson. Whilst 
 Johnson and myself were sitting together, in presence of his 
 wife, I remarked, “It was the first night I had spent from my 
 family for some time.” He s?,id it was more than he could say; 
 he was away often. Said his wife thought he was, going to get 
 another woman; and if he did, (turning to Mrs. J.) could he 
 get her consent ? Mrs. Johnson got up and w ont out of the 
 room,,. Johnson then said, the. reason, why she would not con¬ 
 sent, he would not get any more children by her.. Was in Mr. 
 Holland’s shop on one. occasion. Mr. Johnson came in. We 
 Were speaking ef coffins, price, &c. Mr. Johnson, enquired the 
 different prices, of coffins, &c. 
 
 Here the case 'was rested by consent of counsel. Thirty-seven 
 witnesses had been summoned on behalf of the prisoner ; but^ 
 out of the panel, six only were, examined. Their testimony 
 naught in his behalf. 
 
 mrilOM Foil THE DEFENDANT. 
 
 Elizabeth Houghton called: Was acquainted with Mr. anq 
 Mrs. Johnson ; lived within a mile of them ; visited them occa¬ 
 sionally, and worked for them ; have frequently dined with 
 them—never saw any bad treatment on the part of Johnson 
 towards his wife—always thought they lived affectionately. 
 
 Hot cross-examined by Commonwealth. 
 
 Mr. Smith called. Lived with Mr. Johnson two or three. 
 
ss 
 
 years ago. Lived with him four or five months. Saw nothing 
 between them—thought they lived agreeably. Never heard $ 
 cross word between them. She was complaining whilst I was 
 there, but never saw her lie down. 
 
 Not Gross-examined. 
 
 Dr. B. F. Kinsey called. Here Mr. Scott, one of John¬ 
 son’s counsel, presented a statement to the Court to the effect 
 that Dr. K. was seriously unwell, and unable to attend. By 
 consent of counsel the following paper was read, in words to 
 the effect, as it was not distinctly heard by the reporter : 
 
 “Mr. Johnson obtained aloes of me, as he had frequently 
 done before. Got some a short time before the death of his 
 wife ; the quantity I do not recollect. I always supposed they 
 were for his own use.” 
 
 31rs. Grandstaff called. Counsel for prisoner stated that 
 she was absent, but produced a statement from under her hand 
 to the effect that on one occasion she was at prisoner’s house, 
 Saw quinine administered to Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. J. com¬ 
 plained of meanness of the prisoner—said he wanted to get 
 her out of the way, &c. 
 
 Here counsel for prisoner offered to waive further of this 
 testimony, if the commonwealth’s attorney would waive tho 
 dying declarations of Mrs. Johnson. Agreed to. 
 
 Mr. Thrift called. Was acquainted with Mrs. Johnson. 
 She was a Miss Dulen. 
 
 In reply to a question to the effect, witness further stated— 
 He did not know of any member of the family that had died 
 suddenly. Did not know of any peculiarity in the family in 
 that respect. His wife was a sister of Mrs, Johnson. Had 
 never heard that any of the family were subject to sudden 
 death. 
 
 Daniel Updike called. Was acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Johnson when they were married. Had occasion to visit them 
 frequently. Never saw any bad treatment on the part of 
 Johnson towards his wife. Prisoner was married in 1850. In 
 1851 Mrs. Johnson’s health was bad, but got better; for some 
 t;yo or three years after, was healthy. Toward tho latter part 
 
of her life heard no complaint of illness. He conversed with 
 her a short time before her death, and she appeared cheerful 
 and lively. This was only his opinion. 
 
 Not cross-examined. 
 
 The evidence on Loth sides being here closed, Mr. Tebbs, 
 of Loudoun, commenced the prosecution on behalf of the 
 Commonwealth. His speech was a masterly effort, and we 
 regret being unable to give it entire, or even a fair synopsis 
 of it. To have published the speeches of counsel, would 
 have extended our pamphlet to a length far beyond that 
 originally intended, and therefore we content ourselves with 
 such remarks as the occasion suggested. 
 
 Mr. Tebbs prefaced his argument by saying, “He came 
 not there to persecute the prisoner—he came to prosecute. 
 The murderer’s victim was a near relative of a neighbor 
 and friend of his, and at his solicitation he came; but, with 
 the inward resolve that if the testimony adduced on the 
 occasion did not fully and clearly satisfy him of the guilt 
 of the prisoner, he would withdraw from the case. He had 
 listened attentively; and there was not now a lingering 
 doubt in his mind of the guilt of the accused. If he thought 
 otherwise, he would not ask—he would not accept—a ver¬ 
 dict of “guilty” at the hands of the jury,” &c. 
 
 Mr. Tebbs spoke about four hours, and was followed by 
 Mr. Scott, of Fauquier, the leading counsel of the prisoner. 
 His argument was an able and ingenious one, filled with 
 legal lore, wit and sarcasm. In him the prisoner had re¬ 
 posed his main chance of acquittal—Mr, S. occupying at 
 the bar of Rappahannock, somewhat the position of the 
 late S. S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, on his circuit, to wit:— 
 “If a fellow committed murder and Prentiss couldn’t clear 
 him, he ought to be hanged, and be d—d to him.” Mr, 
 Scott evidently found he had a Sysphean stone to roll; but 
 he did all that power, genius and eloquence could do, to 
 avert the doom of his client. 
 
 Mr. Scott was followed by Mr. Jones, in a few brief re? 
 
marks pertinent to the case, and who was followed by J. 
 Y. Menifee, Esq., the Commonwealth’s Attorney, who 
 closed the argument on behalf of the State. 
 
 After a short summing up by the Judge, the case was 
 .given to the Jury at about half-past three o’clock in the 
 •evening of the 11th of March, it having occupied the entire 
 time of the Court since its sitting. The Jury retired to 
 their room, and were absent about ten minutes, when they 
 returned into Court prepared to .announce their verdict 
 through their foreman., John G. Parks, Esq., which was, 
 •^Guilty ge Murder in the First Degree.” They were 
 then discharged, and the prisoner remanded to the .custody 
 of the Sheriff, and by him rc-cond acted to prison. On this 
 occasion there was little attention paid to his exit. We 
 closely watched his countenance on the rendition of the 
 verdict. JSTot a muscle moved, nor could the slightest 
 change be detected in his countenance. lie appeared a# 
 stoical and indifferent to his fate as one can well imagine. 
 His cheek neither blanched nor paled, or his lip quivered, 
 and the only sign of emotion to he detected in him was a 
 nervous twitching of his fingers, accompanied by a scowf- 
 jng glance which he cast upon the large crowd of anxious 
 spectators by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 Indeed, on this day — the day which consigned him to .a 
 disgraceful death by hanging on the gallows, his demeanor 
 and general hearing appeared to have undergone a complete 
 metamorphosis. His general bearing during the entire trial 
 had been one of an humble and resigned nature, seldom 
 enlivened by a smile on his part ; on the contrary, rather 
 bearing the appearance of a man conscious .of his innocence, 
 but the victim of circumstances beyond his control, and 
 which he was unable to explain. 
 
 On the following morning lie was again brought into 
 Court, and the dread sentence of the law pronounced upon 
 him in due form. He still maintained his stoicism and 
 indifference to the dreadful fate which awaited him, and it 
 was not until Judge Tyler alluded to his wife, and once 
 
Imppy fireside, that the least sign of emotion could be'traceh. 
 in the prisoner’s eoante-nance. Here his feelings sought 
 vent in a flood of tears. Doubtless the shades of his mur- 
 ‘d-ered wife—his murdered babe, accompanied, by the vision 
 «©f one whom he had ruined—whom he bad morally murdered 
 umd cast upon the cold world, a poor, blighted thing of 
 teftrth, flitted before his vision for the moment. Whatever 
 may have been the cause, it was the first symptom of sorrow 
 and penitence he had manifested since his-arrest. But even 
 this soon wore away, to give place to the stolid appearance 
 -of a hardened, fmplueabie wiliain. 
 
 Being ordered to arise, Judge Tyler, before pronouncing 
 the final sentence of the law, addressed to him the follow- 
 ling chaste and eloquent remarks, which, despite the genera 1 ! 
 fiiejudice against the prisoner, drew tears from the eyes of 
 nearly every one present. Tt was as follows-: 
 
 •James IT. JeirasoN—You have been indicted in this Court 
 ffor the murder of your wife by the administration of poison. 
 You have had a fair and impartial trial by an intelligent 
 Jury of this *ceimty. Yon have had able and experienced 
 -counsel, whose best efforts have been exerted in your de- 
 ifence—but these efforts have proved hie flee trial when op¬ 
 posed to the irresistible power and force of truth—and the 
 ■Jury have returned against yon a verdict of ^guilty of 
 murder in the first degree.” As conscientious Jurors llicy 
 •could have returned no other verdict; for never in my 
 -experience have I seen a chain of ciremiistaiitisd. evidence 
 more complete, more cemsistent, or more xscrawdusive of 
 guilt. Under these ei ream stances the law demands the 
 .solemn judgment of the Court on this verdict of the Jurv, 
 That judgment is thcforfeitu.ro of life. Death is the penalty 
 denounced against the crime you have perpetrated. It is 
 right and just that it should be so; were it otherwise, the 
 "whole frame-work of society would tumble to pieces. No 
 one could lie down in peace, or rise up in security; no one 
 •could cat, no one could drink without fear of a sudden and. 
 vielent death. I do not desire bv any remarks I shall sub- 
 
jwii fo Leighton the anguish of your feelings, or deepen the 
 gloom and horror of your fate ; hut I deem it proper to 
 endeavor to awoken you to a sense of- your condition, and 
 to say to you that whatever peculations yos wwsy bare in¬ 
 dulged in ns- toyonr elwttuces to escape punrsiinsent, that the 
 verdict of the Jury has closed the- door to the last ray of 
 the light of hope There is no hope &r on this side of 
 the grave. You re is got a ease to excite the merry or sym¬ 
 pathy of earthly tribunals; for in the longblack catalogue 
 of guilt ami woe ilj«t make- up the criminal record! which 
 has come down to ns T there is no deed that stands oat in 
 colors of deeper, darker malignity, than Yon have 
 
 murdered l.y the- adminis t ratio & of poison ai& iinrooee-Dt and 
 unoffending woman. Youl«vr&murdleved ths- wife- of your 
 own bosom- She who sever showedyou aught bst aflection 
 —-sho who her®- ^nm/erru uffing and ia. silence the keenest 
 and sorest wouyds- that could be infiictetl on her marital 
 rights—the slave of your will —the handmaid of your house. 
 You have murtk-red th,?> motifs of your own children — 
 who loved them as a mother always loves—as a mother only 
 loves. Yon hnv* revered with ruthless hand the dearest 
 and tendered. ties that can link human beings together ois 
 this earth; and hr so doing, you have harried your confid¬ 
 ing victim hdo the presence-of her Maker, with scarce time 
 la repeal the prayer of the jx>or publicany “■God be merciful 
 to me a owner.” Your home is abandoned—your hearth 
 is desolate — yoatr children outcasts on the cold charity of 
 >bo world —your wife burned to an untimely tomb; and 
 you, the guilty author of all this crime and wretchedness, 
 kdanel to-day before sue, a convicted fe'ou, awaiting the 
 sentence that is to consign yo*r try the gallows. Wherefore 
 i* all tills ? Its source and eons»ru?mat5on is to he traced to 
 ?u adulterous and guilty passion which, like a tornado, has 
 blasted in it.- course the reputation of a deluded female, 
 wrecked her pence and happiness forever, and has spread 
 death, desolation and destruction over you and yours, I 
 b>rbe;v. however, to dwell longer on this tragic-tale. He- 
 
33 
 
 inanity shudders at its contemplation, and shrinks back ui 
 horror and humiliation at its recital. Let me, however, 
 exhort you to direct your appeal to the Throne of Mercy— 
 to the Author of your being—whose law you have violated 
 and whose mandates you have contemned. You will not 
 — 3 ’ou cannot dissemble before him. His all-seeing eye 
 was upon you when, under the guise of ministering to your 
 wife a health-giving draught, you presented to her the cup 
 of death, and caused her to drain it of its last drop. Of 
 that cup you must shortly drink. In the mysterious ordi¬ 
 nations of an over-ruling Providence, the “poisoned chal¬ 
 ice” is returned to your own lips—and you will have to 
 drain it of its last drop. Prepare, then, for that awful 
 event. Think no more of the things of time. Why would 
 you live !—to have the slow, unerring finger of scorn pointed 
 at you to the latest hour of your existence—to be hissed 
 and hooted at—shunned and 'avoided, by your fellow crea¬ 
 tures as a walking pestilence-—a moral leper whose touch 
 would be contamination, and whose association would bo 
 moral death. Ho ! think no more of time, and prepare for 
 eternity,' 'remembering that “it is not all of life to live, nor 
 all of death to die beyond the confines of this mortal 
 sphere there comes a second death, from the untold horror s 
 of which seek to be saved while yet you may.” 
 
 The sentence of death b} 7 hanging was then pronounced? 
 and Friday, the 13th of May, fixed as the time of execution* 
 
 Thus ended the trial of James IT. Johnson. For cool, 
 calculating villainy—the means used to attain his end and 
 put his victim out of the way, lias, perhaps, no parallel in 
 the criminal calender, if we except the celebrated Palmer 
 case in England, and a more recent one in Hew York, 
 occurring almost simultaneously with Johnson’s ; though, 
 in the latter, arsenic was substituted as the agent of death, 
 in lieu of strychnia. 
 
 We visited the deceased in prison a few days after his 
 conviction, and found him heavily ironed, and a guard 
 placed-at the door of his cell. After some casual remarks, 
 
34 
 
 the subject of his recent trial ami conviction was alluded 
 to. lie declared his utter innocence of the crime alleged 
 against him. lie said he had no right to complain of the 
 Court and Jury, in view of the evidence as developed at 
 the trial. He believed the Jurors acted conscientiously, 
 and thought they would have acted contrary to their oaths 
 had they brought in any other verdict than the one they 
 did. He was an innocent man—the “victim of a long train 
 of unforeseen circumstances, which he was unable to do 
 away with or explain. 
 
 It is surmised by many that he will make an ultimate 
 confession of his guilt, but we doubt it. 
 
 .11)6 £effei v s of ^jjHj £. Sftfefre. 
 
 The following letters of Mary E. Shrove, addressed to 
 James H. Johnson, were offered in evidence by the prose¬ 
 cuting attorney, but ruled out by Judge Tyler, in the ab¬ 
 sence of any proof of their authenticity. That they, are 
 genuine there cannot exist a doubt; more especially when 
 taken in connection with the evidence adduced at his trial. 
 They -were read in Court on the examining trial, and went 
 far to establish in the mind of the public the guilt of the 
 prisoner. Upon their introduction at his final trial, Scott, 
 one of the prisoner’s counsel, declared his intention to file 
 exceptions to the Judge’s ruling, in case they were admitted 
 as evidence. The Commonwealth’s Attorney, J. Y. Men¬ 
 ifee, Esq., declined pressing their introduction, and with¬ 
 drew them ; but, at the same time, refused to deliver them 
 to prisoner’s counsel, unless he claimed them as the prop¬ 
 erty of his client, &c. 
 
 The Prosecuting Attorney was prepared to prove the fact 
 of correspondence between the parties—identity of hand¬ 
 writing and possession on the part of the prisoner; but 
 knowing that his case was already made out, and that his 
 principal witness was a sorrow-stricken female, a near re)- 
 
35 
 
 ative of the writerj-he, with tlmt humane ancl ehivalric 
 spirit which distinguished his course throughout the entir© 
 trial, forbore to press the matter. That their authenticity 
 coul'dliavc been easily established, there is not a doubt. 
 The unfortunate Mary E. Shreve could have been produced 
 in Court, if necessary ; but this extreme measure was not 
 resorted to. 
 
 Names have been erased as far as possible, and sentences 
 dropped, to avoid giving pain to any one whose name ap¬ 
 pears amongst the list of Miss S——’s acquaintances, and 
 which is familiarly used in her letters. 
 
 Monoay, February 8, 1858. 
 
 Dearest :—You no doubt know 1 have by this time re¬ 
 ceived your very interesting letter, which, believe me, was 
 very unexpected; for so tar did doubt possess my mind, I 
 feared never to see or hear from vou again. But I must 
 stop this, for it is cruel of me to torture you thus, after 
 receiving so kind a letter from you. You requested me to 
 write to you immediately. I received your letter Saturday, 
 and this is only Monday. I thought I would wait until 
 to-day, as I expected to go down to cousin Henry’s, Sun¬ 
 day. Then perhaps I could tell you all—all, at least, that 
 
 I dreaded. It was the second time I had seen W-since 
 
 I came home. He talked some about old tim.es, but noth¬ 
 ing serious. When I was going to get ready to come home, 
 
 S-and I left the parlor together. W-overtook us 
 
 in the passage—put his arms around me and kissed me. 
 Now I have told you all, I wonder if you believe me. I 
 don’t think he loves me as he used to, and I am glad of it. 
 By this time you are overlooking for something more, but 
 
 I have not much to tell. I wrote a long letter to M- 
 
 Saturday night, and directed it to Bentonville. I did not 
 know whether that was her post-office or not. 1 still think 
 of taking the Bed Hill School in the summer. I have 
 
 been down to Uncle Bill v’s. B-and I talked a good 
 
 deal about you. You must know, darling, you paid noth¬ 
 ing for that bed, as the note was only given to those you 
 
3G 
 
 received that much in value or more than the rest. Y($} 
 must also know Unele Billy paid Mathews sixteen dollars 
 for you. You know it all, and ought to tell Aunt Alice 
 all. She can only dislike you the more when she finds it 
 out, for trying to deceive her. You never told me what 
 you went to "Warreoton for, or your business in Warrcnton. 
 But you had to tell a story, perhaps, and preferred or thought 
 it would behest to say as little about your visits as possible. 
 My health is improving, as is natural. You know how you 
 left me, and promised to see the doctor, but you must not 
 
 now ask, as it will be useless. How come you to tell- 
 
 -you “wanted to see the children so badly, and they 
 
 were all you did care to see ?” Let me tell you I don’t 
 know what your privileges arc, but she makes out she 
 thinks very little of you for it. 
 
 -is going to get married between now and May. 
 
 Mr.-is going to ask-for her whenever he comes 
 
 down. She is expecting him every day.-is here 
 
 —she came before I got up. You must not laugh at this 
 badly written letter, dearest; for, some how or other, I 
 cannot write at all when I am writing to you, or as well as 
 I would like to. Shall I ask, darling, if ‘•'■you ever go to our 
 baby's grave ?” and do you think of me there ? Oh ! I am 
 with you—in spirit, in feeliug, if not personally. Every 
 morning, when I lay awake in bed, how I wish you were 
 with me, for there is none other I talk to or love like you. 
 Oh! how miserable I am sometimes, when the thought 
 distracts me that I might marry another, and if I was to, 
 I never should want to sec you. Then I will be willing to 
 give you up to some other girl that you have treated like 
 me. Low, darling, it does seem to me the mail is very 
 long going and coming this short distance. I shall wait 
 with so much anxiety. Now, pray, darling, don’t delay 
 writing after receiving this. Uncle James Moore was 
 down soon after you went home, and I was very sorry your 
 colt was so lame. Frank is well and satisfied, and doing 
 tolerably well at school, but I am afraid not so well as lie 
 
61 
 
 %oialci. Frank Went down to Uncle Billy’s with me. I believe 
 I have done all you asked of me. Give my respects to the 
 doctor, and all the love I have to yourself, and believe, as yet,' 
 (you are the dearest. 
 
 (Signed!) MOLLIE. 
 
 Mountain View, March 1st, 1858. 
 
 Dearest :—l received your very kind and consoling letter, but did 
 not get it on Saturday, as you expected. I was from home when I 
 got it, and consequently was prevented answering you until now 
 t was going to write yesterday, which was Sunday, but after Dick 
 left (he came home with me) IV—— came and staid until bed lime, 
 and I was still prevented from doing that which l wished to do. 
 You must excise nte, for the will Was good to do that which l con¬ 
 sider my ditty, though I ce late performing; You might wonder 
 what f was doing from home a whole week and better. I shall tell 
 you, to relieve whatever anxiety might he occasioned. I had been 
 
 iquite unwell, and little or nothing to do for some time, when D-- 
 
 tame over for me; to spend a few days With his Jlla. I went home 
 with him on Thursday; Sunday, I started home in the sleigh with 
 
 D-He has an elegant sleigh—a pair of mules, and between 
 
 kixty and eighty bells. We were going by Cousin Daniel’s for 
 
 A-, and met her on his sleigh; above the house, going to the 
 
 Valley. So we turned to gc back with them, and intended to go to 
 Cousin Henry’s to dinner, but we were rather early, and went by 
 
 the Store. We met C——“there; with J--S- and S- 
 
 fcl-, going home with him; so we went on down with them. 
 
 There was hetwieeh twenty and thirty young people to dinner, sup¬ 
 per, and breakfast next morning. Ail the young ladies and gentle¬ 
 men went to Leesburg to preaching, at night, but myself. [ gave up 
 friy seat on D—’s sleigh to S— B—. I believe she loves him ; so 
 do all the girls. I feel very proud indeed to know one I once loved 
 is such a general favorite; it makes me satisfied in a measure of my 
 capacity for making a choice. I fear, darling, I shall wrong yon 
 with this long story, though it is but half told. Be. it said, I often 
 thought of you, and longed to be with you, dearest. Dick got your 
 last letter from the office, as we were coming from cousin Henry’s. 
 I was surprised somewhat at the post-mark, and broke t open im- 
 Mediately. I could not begin and read it through, but seemed if f 
 
o 
 
 8 
 
 must read it all at once. Need 1 tell you my emotion as my eyes 
 rushed on some parts of it. Well, I ciied there on the sloigh with 
 
 D- . O ! little did he know as he teased and harassed me ffjf 
 
 turns, what satisfaction, what relief those tears brought. Oh! in¬ 
 deed, my dearest, it was bliss to fe#l, to know, as I did at that mo¬ 
 ment, you must love me for the sake of mine, even as I do love 
 you ; foi, separated as we are, aud under some circumstances, I am 
 forced to listen to the words of the flatterers. But, do not (ear for 
 me set— and, don’t I trust the time never may come that I shall 
 have aught to regret. You can save, and must save, ere my soul be 
 marked with further guilt. I may have given you some uneasiness 
 by not saying anything about my health ; but, that I can remove, as 
 1 wish you perfectly free and happy. D— went with me up to Mr. 
 Sinclair's, to see Dr. Fliun, w ho is tending him. We had our lungs 
 examined. Both of our left lungs are affected—mine, more than 
 his. He leaves to day, and his son is coming over in his stead. I 
 am going to be operated on until they are sound again. Ask Dr. 
 Kinsey how he likes the practice of galvanism. If I ever have the 
 rheumatism, I intend to try him for that, also. I have great faith in 
 him, and am very anxious for you to try him. If you can come 
 over whilst he is in attendance on Mr. Sinclair, you can be operated 
 on for little expense. If not, you must go to Frederick to see him. 
 1 don’t expect you ever wear that truss, as you promised. You 
 spoke of keeping one promise you made me, and, as if that was all ? 
 Oh God ! break that one. As proud as I would be to w ear the ring, 
 or conceal in this bosom the image of him I adore ; rather this be 
 lost—eternally lost, for it only affords sensual pleasures. Let all be 
 lost, but do not cause me to doubt your nobleness of soul. Again : 
 Do not stoop to anythin" that is mean and low, for which you would 
 have to lie to conceal. Throw off that way of concealmentBe 
 open, be firm, and above all, be true. Oh, bow truly gratified, 
 dearest, am I, for the confidence of those I love. There is nothing 
 on earth, my darling, I think, let alone know, but I would tell you 
 without hesitation. I am going to tell you a thought—and it is only 
 a thought — and shall be, until lie tells me positively he really does 
 
 love me. But I really am afraid I am a favo ite of D-'s. I do 
 
 not want to be, nor do I take any pains to he. 
 
 You ought to scold me fur writing on such a sheet of paper. I 
 asked Pap for if, and he gave me one ; but after he saw the purpose 
 
f was going to put it lo, he told me there was belter in the desk, i 
 wonder if he would have thought it good enough, if he had known 
 who I was writing to. I hope so, darling. You should not hesitate 
 one moment if you could come, for I never hear the family say 
 anything bad about you. Come, for I will be delighted to see you 
 
 whenevervou think it worth your-— to come and see me, I would 
 
 like for you to send my store account down, or bring it when you 
 come. I don’t know when Pap will have the money, but if he had 
 the ball, he could send it when he got the money. And my doctor’s 
 bill, dear; I would like for that to be paid. Do you ever talk to 
 ■ Dr. Kinsey about me ? Ah ! perhaps, Like me, you have no one lo 
 Salk to about that which you think most about. I go on a heap of 
 
 nonsense with D-. Let me tell you :—He asked --- for 
 
 some of my hair to make a ling. I whispered to her to get some of 
 the horse’s tail, and she got some of mine sure enough, and he would 
 hardly believe it was mine. lie is going to have a ring made for it 
 the first time he goes to Frederick. Frank is well and hearty. He 
 was the first one that carne to meet me when I came home. I wisli 
 I could take more pains with writing. I expect you think 1 take no 
 pains because L am writing to you ; but it is not so, for you are my 
 
 only confidant and correspondent. Mr. R-has not been down 
 
 yet. -- -- wrote for him to come down the first week in 
 
 March, or never. You wished to know “ what I did with our let¬ 
 ters ?” I .always carry them about my person. I will be so glad 
 when I get my portfolio, as I can lock them up, for, I cannot de¬ 
 stroy them. Whenever I get lonely I read them. Oh ! they are 
 so much company for me. I shall not send my love to anyone as 
 f have none for any but you. Receive all then dearest, though 
 poor the offering may be. As yet my darling you are the dearest. 
 
 " (Signed) ’ MOLLIE E. SHREVE. 
 
 Write soon—very soon and tell me when you’re coming down. 
 
 Mountain View, March 30, 1858. 
 
 Dear, Dear Uncle : —I commence this letter now, so that it 
 may reach you by the time expected and promised. I would 
 not for worlds keep you in suspense, when it is in my power to 
 do otherwise ; for, oh ! darling, if like me, disappointment must 
 kill. And why should I feel so? Does it not seem that life 
 
4o 
 
 was made with bucIi trials for me ? I ought not to complain L; 
 But, oh, clearest, mj mind at times is possessed of such evili 
 forebodings that I cannot refrain from writing them ; and oh !'_ 
 the future 1 the dark, unfathomable future which my soul dam 
 not point as bright :—and should it he bright, the cloud of my 
 past life will ever linger over me. And you—my uncle, my 
 lover—the man that I adored, never so loved with a wicked,, 
 idolatrous love. Yes, I feel it now. But I am writing too,- 
 much, more than you can read, and think, and feel. As I now 
 feel, I sometimes wish I was lingering away with consumption,, 
 or some other sure and fatal disease, and that my loy r my bahy % 
 were living, that I might leave as a legacy my sorrows, written 
 for him v#ho never would cause such.. You did not love me,, 
 you do not love me. Now, oh, God ! did not your tongue say 
 the same—did not your actions prove the same l Yes, you 
 said to prove your love, you never would have recourse to the- 
 meanness you had hitherto practiced. Was not that promise- 
 broken ? So were many ethers. If it were not wrong to go 
 back so far—-to divo so deep into the past, then could I tell you 
 of the many guilty, guilty things—oh !; it makes me shudder 
 to think. The heart of woman, wooed, won, aye, yes, by hyp¬ 
 ocritical means, then broken, then left a barren —Yes, 
 if you bad left and given mo my baby, then indeed would the 
 place in my heart, now void, been occupied. Oh, indeed it^ 
 would be a vain wish, and yet to ms i$ is a heavenly thought. 
 I would, yet I cannot write otherwise, for my mind;is fully fillet^ 
 with this one subject. My wish for you is this—stay with^ 
 love and cherish as much as possible the being yon once did, 
 and now pretend, to love. 
 
 Do not, in answer to this, say anything of yourself, for need* 
 I say you have ruined aud contaminated two hearts—bodies* 
 and souls:—either far tpo yoblp to have come in the way of one- 
 so worthless and wicked as yours. Don’t you accuse me o^ 
 writing falsely, for so detestable is your character, I dread you.. 
 Tho very words of affection once pronounced by you, not to i»*, 
 only, but your wi r c, fdl ine with dread and terror ; for so hyp- 
 
41 
 
 * 
 
 ocritieal and base they now appear, I have sounded. But, 
 thoughtless as I then.was, they might have pleased. Ah, yes ! 
 I loved to hear them, and never doubted their sincerity; but 
 one moment’s reflection would have told me what no one could 
 doubt. A man with a wife must certainly have made the same 
 professions before—-yes, and with your children to prove their 
 connubial love and wedded happiness. Of all this } T ou have 
 robbed me. I may marry, but if I do, my bridal days will not 
 be those of truthfulness, sincerity, and the modesty of a girl, 
 as I always wished them to be. I think you asked when last 
 I saw you, “what } T ou should do to prove your love.” Never 
 speak of the past—never hint it to me. I will write to you 
 sometimes, perhaps often, but not as I have written heretofore. 
 I will impose the same silence on myself as I have already 
 asked of you. Frank is well. Please burn this, with the rest 
 of the letters I have written you. From your niece 
 
 (Signed) MOLLIE. 
 
 P. S.—I have not spoken of the remark you made, “of 
 revenging your enemies”—but beware. I suppose you remem¬ 
 ber the time a tear may have shown itself in every eye, but oh, 
 man, stay your revenge upon the innocent. My tears are not 
 shed for your words of mocking power, for I fear them not. 
 Shame be upon the man that would disgrace an'cl then take re¬ 
 venge upon a helpless woman ! In pity we are united. 
 
 Mountain View, March 31, 1858. 
 
 My darling , my all ,—Forgive, oh, forgive and protect me, 
 for life is dark—oh ! so very dark; my darling, and hope is 
 nearly gone. I would not have written you that awful letter, 
 but oh ! my God ! are you capable of the meanness, the vile¬ 
 ness—no—no human being can be. You, oh, God ! whom I 
 have loved so. Dearest, I am wretched, miserable. Could I 
 but conceal all, or tell you half I bear—no, you can never 
 know my misery, for tongue cannot tell it. Ob, the miserable 
 wretch who calls himself my father, is not satisfied with scan¬ 
 dalizing—lowering you in every respect to hurt and mortify 
 me as much as he can : and because I said you were as white 
 
 
42 
 
 more feeling, and more of a gentleman than he; and I cried 
 too, before him, -which must have confessed all; for when I 
 looked at him he looked pale, and oh, so angry ! He said ho 
 would lock me up, and I should have nothing to eat hut bread 
 and water; and oh ! Heaven ! would I not be willing to eat 
 anything, or nothing almost, from him, than to be with him. 
 Yes, if with those I love—oh, my God, who knows it—who 
 knows all things, knows I had rather live in poverty with you, 
 if you loved me and was happy. You say you cannot live 
 thus, and I must die. If he is not kinder to me, I will run 
 away, if I starve or die on the big road. This will be my last 
 chance and opportunity of writing to you. God wills it so, 
 and it must be so, but it is hard, very hard. You must write 
 once again. I must hear from you. It seems to me I cannot 
 live, but sorrow does not kill the body, though it may burden the 
 heart until it breaks. My fate is hard, but I made it myself. 
 Farewell, dearest, and forgive for all your unkindness. I have 
 tried to drive you from me, but oh ! how near you are to me in 
 sorrow’s dark hour. IIow your wo-begone face haunts me. I 
 never told you how wretched I thought you looked. And were 
 you indeed sad, my darling ? I thought it might be my pale 
 and wretched-looking self made you so sad, and I tried to be 
 cheerful, but was far from feeling so. But oh! the thought 
 would come, for they say you arc a hypocrite and a villain ; 
 and if I had never loved so unconsciously, I never could have 
 felt so miserable, yours miserably. If Pap treats me as he 
 has, and I have courage, I’ll leave him. I’ll, go, I’ll bog, I’ll 
 die. He said he would be satisfied if I was where he could 
 never hear from me. If I had fifty dollars I would go—I 
 would spend the last cent going from him. Yes, I would go 
 as far as it would take me. Yours—after reading you know 
 how to write. 
 
 (Signed) MOLLIE. 
 
 Mountain View, April 17, 1858. 
 
 Dear as ever ,—And as ever kind. Thoughtful, most con¬ 
 siderate. Why should I have ever have thought otherwiso ? 
 
 / 
 
Surely I must have been possessed of a demon—a fiend of all 
 the evil. I have thought of and against you. Imaginary 
 surely it cannot be, and yet it were doing you great injustice 
 if you are innocent. Ob, darling, I would freely give worlds, 
 were they in my possession, to know that you were truly inno¬ 
 cent of the many charges in circulation against you. I think 
 you can assist me in clearing my mind of some of these con¬ 
 jectures supposed to be true. And if you would do so, please 
 send me the gentleman’s address you consigned Tap’s apples 
 to. With what information I could get from him and two or 
 three others, would do me a sight of good. My dearest, had 
 you only placed in me that perfect confidence so requisite to 
 connubial love and happiness, there never could have been this 
 estrangement between us. In speaking of your past life, I do 
 not mean you ought to have told me all that was bad, but the 
 had as well as the good. Had you told me everything, and 
 just as it was, all would have been then just as it should be ; 
 but instead, there seems to be a great barrier between us almost 
 insurmountable, liut I tell you now, if the fault be mine, my 
 happiness or misery shall make the atonement. I will spare 
 no pains to find out all, which I can do without any suspicion. 
 I have been miserable for some time before the birth of my 
 boy, for reasons known to you. Oh! misery, misery, eternal 
 misery for me ! I was always taught to look upon novels as 
 fictitious—thoughts as imaginary. My life has been real and 
 experienced, yet it partakes of both and tragical beyond com¬ 
 prehension. You for some time have been a dark enigma which 
 I cannot solve. All the world seems strange to me, my own 
 family more so than others. I once thought of you as my beau 
 ideal of perfection. I would to God it were so notv. Spring 
 has come, my darling, and the changes that have been wrought 
 since the spring a year ago, arc almost inconceivable. I hope 
 by summer, followed by winter, the change will be much greater. 
 Tell me, candidly, how would you like to have B. C. M. for a 
 nephew ? You had better take me away—report says a good 
 deal, I got the portfolio and its contents, you were so kind to 
 
44 
 
 send. I see you are bound to Lave me near you by the depth 
 of gratitude, if not by love. Perhaps you will think gratitude 
 but a poor offering. I wont be a coquette any longer, but as 
 I am always plain and confiding to 3*011, I will trust you with 
 both my love and m3' gratitude until 1 call for them. I am 
 expecting a letter from you this evening with m3 r ke3 r . You 
 scamp, did you not know what a curiosit3' I have. I have seen 
 all without the key! I expect Aunt A. has got that letter by 
 this time. I wrote it all, but did not sign my name alone; for 
 
 I was ashamed to. S-A-is nos home vet, but we will 
 
 expect her soon. I hope 3'ou got home safe, and for goodness’ 
 sake, take off that long face—you’ll have so many wrinkles I 
 can’t love you. I seem as if*! have been craz3 r , or not living, 
 
 but I begin to feel like I used to. Tell M-I don’t intend 
 
 to write to her any more. "Write to me often, my darling, for 
 I get the blues and am so disagreeable if I want to hear from 
 you and can’t. The3* are calling me to dinner, and I must be 
 in a hurry, for I am blotting nicely, you "see, cn this side. I 
 have told you no news in this long letter, but all you want to 
 know, I reckon. Spring is so happy and joyous in itself that 
 I cannot keep being so too—but, jo3’ousncss for 3'our presence 
 is alwa3's wanting when 3'ou are absent. With a hast3' smack 
 of a kiss, I am 3’our affectionate little love. 
 
 (Signed) MOLLIE. 
 
 Mountain View, May 13 , 185 S. 
 
 Dear Uncle :—I scarcely know how to begin writing to 
 you, so disappointed and grieved as I am. You must have 
 got the last letter I wrote, before I received your last. I 
 have been waiting ever since to hear from you, but as yet 
 in vain. Yow I would like to hear from vou, and know 
 what arrangements 3 - ou have made for the summer. I ex¬ 
 pect to leave here soon—this month, in all probabilitjq and 
 3'ou must come down or send for Frank, before I leave ; 
 for I don’t intend going until 3’ou do so. For then 3-011 will 
 have no business here, and no need for coming afterwards, 
 whero your feelings, if you have any, must bo wounded 
 
and mortified, When yon were here last,-said you 
 
 would not give her a pleasant answer. I have only to ask, 
 “what has she done to you ?” Nothing, you must of course 
 
 answer. You treated-very kindly—even as kind as 
 
 you did me; and what has she done or said to you, may I 
 ask? You may answer, for I cannot. If she had aught 
 to do and say * * * * 
 
 You have right tc resent it. I remember you telling me 
 once you were afraid I would be jealous of of S— A—. 
 Why did you fear ? I heard you say you never kissed any 
 one you did not want to. Why did you refuse to kiss her 
 when you first came ? It was only to deceive me, which, 
 thank God, you cannot do, for you did kiss her before you 
 left, I did not see you, but another did, and only from a 
 desire to do so, you kissed her, I suppose. You were 
 alone, and from that fact I am inolined to belie^p it. What 
 do you think I would have felt like, letting a gentleman 
 kiss rue in private ! I would have felt like a guilty, wicked 
 wretch. Hereafter I shall feel at liberty to do just as I 
 please. If she knew how often you have kissed Charlotte , 
 and old Miller’s negroes, she would never have allowod it, 
 either, I saw you as delightfully standing before Mary, 
 at the stack-yard, as if you were in the presence of a queen. 
 It is an old adage—“Judge a person by the company he 
 keeps.” I have only to say, you aro the fondest person of 
 negroes’ company I ever saw. Oh, man ! if you only knew 
 how little I think of you, and how mean I think you are, 
 you would never look at me, come near me, hear me, or 
 ***** me< You need never write as you have written to 
 me. I will be ashamed of the letters, as I am already. 
 Oh ! I’m so sorry you sent mo that ring and portfolio. 
 When Aunt A. comes down I will send them to. you, or 
 give them to any one you will name. I have found out a 
 good deal, and would like for you to know how I did so ; 
 but it will take too much time and paper to write. And I 
 never want to look at you, if I should have an opportunity. 
 
1 hear a great many things I thought you had nover anid 
 to any one but me. You can 'come for Frank as soon 
 you please, for all here dislike him. He is such a nasty 
 little liar that no one ever can like him. Perhaps it is a 
 good thing. You know what I would sa}’ for anything that 
 takes after you—had better be dead than alive. You can 
 tell his mama all her meanness has come home—a negro 
 has been too good to whip her child. I have got revenge 
 without seeking it. Aunt Becky desired me to ’say, that 
 if you were only going to stay a week or two, you had 
 better come the last of the month, as uncle Gussy is ex¬ 
 pected on or about that time. B-J-went for him. 
 
 lie wrote he was very sick, and wanted some one to come 
 for him. He will be on as soon as he is able. 
 
 (Signed) MARY E. SHREVE. 
 
 P. S.—I want you to send me mv letters. If you are in 
 any respect a gentleman, you will do it, and I shall do the 
 same. Y'ou need not pretend you never received this. I 
 expect to hear you didn’t get the one I wrote before this, 
 but it’s no use. I shall expect the contents of this letter 
 complied with immediately. You promised me once to 
 always let me know when you were coming to Loudoun, 
 but it wasn't so. 
 
 Mountain View, Jan. 11 , 1858 . 
 
 Dearest Uncle:-—You no doubt remember the request 
 you made of me to let you know the opinions of the people 
 about you, uninterestedly «nd in full :—so you shall have 
 it. AYords can hardly express the meanness the) - suppose 
 you to possess. For instance, a gentleman says, “he never 
 would have let a daughter of his visited your house.” 
 Another told Pap he would have to drive you from his 
 house. Pap was told I.was in a family way. He made a 
 will—cut me oft-—said I should not come home to live. 
 Had I have known this, and that you were what you pro- 
 tended to be, a friend, I never would have come. Pap has 
 gince used your name, speaking to and concerning me, very 
 
47 
 
 handily. None of this, or other things I hear, would have 
 any weight, but you know how harshly I have judged you 
 myself. Now, uncle James, if I was the mean, low, dirty 
 vagabond and outcast that people speak of, curse and detest 
 *—whose very name the dregs of creation think a disgrace 
 to handle, I would reform. I would try and gain that space 
 in society which is void without you. I would like to be¬ 
 friend you—aye, I should like to speak well of you, but can 
 I, when the public are down on you. Appearances cer¬ 
 tainly are against you. What I hear almost maddens me, 
 so much—so much, I know nothing of-so incompre¬ 
 
 hensible, and yet apparently so full of meaning. Oh ! if 
 some reports were circulated about me, I never would go 
 into company. I don’t think .1 will while appearances are 
 as they are. I would come amongst them—I would estab¬ 
 lish my character, cost what it might. The very men I’ve 
 heard you speak of going to bad houses and dirty places, 
 rail out against you, and you against them ! Oh, what can 
 it mean ? Oh, Virtue ! thou hast so many charms, and 
 without thee how loathsome must be life—how very despi¬ 
 cable must he existence ! 
 
 Don’t be angry, darling ; for how can I write differently 
 without deceiving you ; and to do that, is what I have nev¬ 
 er done. If I could but think different, you surely must 
 know my feelings. Oh, the change would be bliss. S—• 
 
 and C-- came up three or four .days. We all went over 
 
 to Cousin D-'s. We danced and had some fun, hut I 
 
 was angry with myself for the enjoyment I never expected 
 to have with those I once so much desired to be with.— 
 Frank is well, and doing well. The little fellow, I believe, 
 would like to go about; and I would like to take him, hut 
 
 I cannot. I-II-told uncle G-the circumstances 
 
 that happened up there. I have never told my suspicions 
 
 concerning you to any one hut-, and she is all I am 
 
 likely to tell them to. Write soon, and tell me all, without 
 reserve, as I have done by you. No one shall see your let- 
 
48 
 
 tors. I love you yet, but that love ia a burden and a misery 
 to me ; for I never can enjoy you more. I have only to 
 forget and think of you as the husband of another. It is 
 hard, but I have already borne as much. I would like to 
 see you sometimes, but only for a short time, and when you 
 write, tell me when you are coming. Bring Milt with you, 
 or whoever you choose. I will do everything I can to make 
 
 their visit agreeable. Cousin G- is dead, and buried. 
 
 D-stopped the evening he came by. He is as pleasant 
 
 as ever. Give my love to all enquiring friends, which wont 
 be many—you alone preserve my love—and my very best 
 respects to Dr. Kinsey. I would hate for this to reach 
 Washington while you are in Fredericksburg. From one 
 who cannot, but would like to claim the place of. wife only. 
 W rite soon, and a long letter. Yours, 
 
 (Signed) MOLLIE. 
 
 Mountain View, March, 1858. 
 
 Dearest :—I shall leave home to-morrow, in all probabil¬ 
 ity, to visit Aunt Mary and Uncle Frank, and not knowing 
 when I shall return, I thought it would be prudent for me 
 to write to you before going. All is right, and thank God 
 for it. Oh, how great my trials are, and always will be ! 
 Dr. F ■ ' ■ will attend me no longer, for ho or no one else 
 can do me any good whilst 1 labor under the present ex¬ 
 citement of circumstances. I have made up my mind, 
 darling, never to sec you again, until I can claim a rightto 
 treat you in some respect as I would wish to treat you, and 
 none other. If the tie by law was broken which binds you 
 to another, I would brave the anger of friends—all, every 
 one ; but to that add disgrace—it is hard, too hard. I be¬ 
 lieve, dearest, the law is all that separates us ; in every other 
 respect you are mine; but enough of this. I would have 
 had plenty of time to have said this, and perhaps never 
 have came to have said it at all. Let despair be ever so 
 dark, there i? hope beyond, though I sometimes think dif- 
 
fereutly. Pap went to Frederick^ to get Lis eloverseed, on 
 Tuesday, and wc Had a Houseful of company. * * come 
 home. * * * * were the ladies who came witli Her. C. T. 
 E. and Billy T. were the gentlemen. 
 
 If J. E. sees this letter, lie wont think it looks suspicious 
 or not, because the paper is so fine. I never intend to write 
 to you so carelessly again. Wc ought to keep one anoth¬ 
 er’s letters to look at in after years ; but Have I not scen’as 
 affectionate writing to another as you ever can write to me ? 
 OH, How much I wish I could forget what I already know, 
 and commence a life of reality and profit. I never intend 
 to go with you until after the death of,Aunt, unless yon 
 get a divorce. You would go to Kentucky”, and stay r twelve 
 months and a day. The law would then grant you the 
 privilege of choosing another bride. The very idea of 
 such a thing appears wicked. I wonder, poor woman, if 
 she suspects 'the sorrows in store for her. And for me, 
 sometimes when I think of our plans, how wicked and sin¬ 
 ful they are. I almost say, I’ll do no such thing; hut, 
 then, if 1 were to many another, 1 never could love him like 
 S love you. Do you think 1 could ? If 1 can teach school 
 this summer, 1 will have something to employ’ myself with 
 besides nonsense, (now wont 1?) besides the profit in the 
 end. You will not write to me, of course, until 1 write to 
 you again. From your loving 
 
 (Signed) LITTLE MOLLIE. 
 
 Think of me often, darling, as 1 shall of you. 1 have 
 your knife. Don’t, I pray, let it destroy the love that exists 
 between us. Perhaps it is not much, but it is very sweet 
 —it feels so to me. 1 remain as 1 always shall, your foolish 
 little girl. 
 
 Mountain View, May 28, 1857. 
 
 Dearest Uncle ;—You surely must know or have some 
 idea of my present trials. I was very sorry you trusted a 
 second letter to me, indeed. I do not know but what the 
 last was read before I got it, and the very day Pap brought 
 
too 
 
 it from the office, for he attends regularly lately.; lie kept 
 my other fully a. week in his pocket, before I got. it. Well, 
 must I tell yon all ?—yes, unreservedly. I fear—I really 
 do—my letters have been taken from my portfolio, and' re¬ 
 placed after being read ; but 1 have them safe now. ] have 
 made a little bag-put my letters in and sewed them up, 
 and with my key fastened them to your guard, and wear 
 
 them about my neck always. Miss- S-is my greatest 
 
 enemy, who at one time 1 thought would he a friend. She 
 provoked a quarrel with Pap, to effect her end, and he got 
 up from the table, saying “he had a very trifling set of 
 daughters/’ to which she replied b}- saying, “only one was 
 lower and more degrading than the rest, and if she had 
 done as that one had clone, slic’d go. hang herself/’ Pap 
 left the house, saying “he cosh? never see one moment’s 
 happiness again.” Oh ! the mean, hateful wretch kept her 
 
 seat, looking as proud and-as if she had been doing 
 
 ji Gpd-likc act; but she has not succeeded in accomplishing 
 her object, for Pap treats me as kind as ever —if anything, 
 more so. Poor man, he seems to suffer, so do not think 
 harshly of him. I told him not to listen, lie was one 
 
 could say if 1 had ever acted so badly ; Miss-said one 
 
 could— meaning you. 1 said 1 would write to you to come 
 and say it, if you would, to which she replied, ‘•‘■yon should 
 not come in the house if she were here-, and Pap in the 
 same hr, path said, “if you come he would eat yonr d—d 
 throat from car to car.” It is very unrefined, and something 
 
 1 never said myself. She called me a -— -, said 1 was 
 
 more like aunt Mary's Maria than any one she knew. She 
 purely never meant what sire said, for 1 think 1 am unlike 
 her as she herself, as honorable as she pretends to be.— 
 Uncle, dear, 1 do not want you to think of what you pro¬ 
 pose. 1 never can think of making Pap more miserable 
 and wretched than he is. Do not try to arouse me, for 1 am 
 at present more resigned than 1 ever thought 1 could be, 
 
 *'< f • 
 
 
51 
 
 « 
 
 We are both .young and can wait, but if your worldly mat¬ 
 ters are sufficiently unembarrassed, 1 would like you to go 
 forth in the world on your first footing, and prepare ns a 
 borne—one to our taste, not one of luxury or of poverty, 
 but a neat, comfortable living. In utter poverty, with my 
 fiealth as it is 1 ikely to be for years—so long .as 1 remain 
 single, 1 would be a drudge and a burden on your hands, 
 though 1 dread not willing labor. Sometimes, 1 think, per¬ 
 haps, you would lure me away to mistreat me for revenge 
 or for pique. Oh, man, take me not if you cannot give 
 your whole heart, your thoughts, your all ! Without these 
 1 would be equally miserable as from you. You must not 
 fear if you should go and was unsuccessful, which would 
 require a long time for success of my inconstancy, for, be¬ 
 lieve me, I have suffered so much already for my sins to 
 keep others on my conscience by marrying while you live. 
 No, 1 never shall. Pap has returned with a squirrel, so 1 
 must stop. Ne gave me the squirrel to skin and clean. 1 
 
 did not know how to commence, but -* instructed me, 
 
 and 1 got through admirably. While 1 was washing it, 1 
 
 heard Miss-quarreling with Pap. She is not satisfied, 
 
 nor wont be until she gets him angry with me. I wrote on 
 this sheet of foolscap because 1 thought 1 had enough to 
 write to fill it, hut Pap interrupting me, and other things, 
 1 have almost forgotten what 1 intended to say. M. J. is 
 very mean. She has never written to me yet. 1 thought j. 
 would direct my letters 1 write hereafter to you, to M. J., 
 if you approve, for 1 will be watched, and closely. 1 don’t 
 know what to do with this letter before 1 have an opportu¬ 
 nity of mailing it. 1 would like to send it to Leesburg, or 
 the Point. 1 would send you an envelope in this, directed 
 $o myself, hut you can get Dr? Kinsey to direct just one for 
 you ; then you must always send one in your letters not 
 directed, hccauso they all know your writing. I wish yoq 
 would let me know if the people over there over say anything 
 about me. J. II. is a villain to tell such things as he to]4 
 
 * 
 
52 
 
 Uncle G - . Uncle G - is not expected for two months. 
 
 He is better. Aunt A. had better wait until she comes — 
 then she will be sure of sceingjbim, for there is no certainty 
 when he will come. Write me also what Aunt A. thinks 
 of me now. If bad as ever, 1 would rather her not come 
 to Loudoun, as long as can be prevented. That was a grand 
 scrawl you sent me. 1 will actually be jealous if you can 
 spare so few moments to think of me, for 1 believe you al¬ 
 ways write in a hurry, or leave out something. If it takes 
 four sheets to contain all you would tell me, don’t send the 
 letter until you have said all. Write me if you put a seal 
 on your last letter. It had one on it, and 1 thought it looked 
 like it had been opened. 1 wish, uncle, you would get me 
 tlirfee boxes of Holloway’s pills. It seems as if they used 
 to do me good. Perhaps it was only imaginary ; if you 
 think so, don’t get them ; but 1 am so pale, 1 would like to 
 bave somethino; to make me have some color. 1 think some 
 strong bitters would be best for me —my bowels are never 
 regular. Pap lias propiised to get me some vegetable pills, 
 but be frequently neglects it. 1 believe it is wbat makes 
 me have the head-ache so much, and feel so dull. I have 
 three dollars and a half, with Frank’s money, keeping for a 
 
 rainy day. Uncle F -- and Aunt M -gave it to me. 
 
 1 was very provoked when 1 was so out-done about teaching 
 school. 1 am so sorry Frank is not an interesting child. 
 Ho one seems to notice him. All bore despise him. Then 
 be is so dirty, lie always trys to slip off to bed without 
 washing his feet. 1 have made him a pair of pants and 
 jacket, aud intend getting him a straw bat as soon as 1 get 
 to the store. If be was only refined and modest —but you 
 bave no idea of the vulgarity be knows. You will not thank 
 me for this—nor bis mother, wlio thinks be has looks and 
 sense enough to carry him along ; but 1 would advise you to 
 be more particular in raising your children. They all know 
 too much of wbat they ought not to know. 
 
 I must stop and finish another time. I have not got my summe 
 
dresses yet—or have I needed them, for it has been too cold. 1 
 hare got a tolerable supply of under-clothes. 7 wish you’d writp 
 to Pap, not urgently either way—give him the news, besides enquire 
 as usual after the health of the family. He is always asking me if 
 you wrote to me, what you had to write about, and many other ques¬ 
 tions that 7 am not able to answer satisfactorily. He said the other 
 day, whoever liked you liked the Devil, for he knew you to be a 
 d—nd liar himself. The latter you cannot contradict, for 7 have of¬ 
 ten caught you in many—a heap 7 nevor told you of, for 7 thought 
 it of no use :—You alwa} - s had some unsatisfactory way of getting 
 out of them, which always led me to doubt, your ideas were much 
 clearer than you supposed them to be. Pap has heard things he 
 keeps to himself, for he said, speaking of you, it would all be known 
 for a great many were interested. What he meant 7 do not know, 
 for 7 had not the courage to ask for fear it was something worse than 
 7 have yet heard. He has such a way of asking questions about 
 you when we are alone, 7hate to be with him alone. He said too, 
 
 you had done a meaner act-than highway robbery-to have 
 
 a motherless child so scandalized. 7 have told you all now, so if you 
 think proper you will know how to write to him. Write soon—Your» 
 
 (Signed) M. E. SKREVE. 
 
 Write all you can in your answer, for we had better stop writing 
 for awhile. 1 would like to know what people are saying about ms 
 here, but 7 dread to enquire. Yours truly. 
 
 EXECUTION OF THE PRISONER* 
 
 On the morning of the 13th inst., the clay fixed for his execution i 
 we visited the prisoner in jail. He persisted that his life had been 
 falsely sworn away—that he cared not for his fate—he w'as prepared 
 to meet it, and hoped his nerves would not fail him on the occasion. 
 In the meantime he called for brandy, which was supplied him, and 
 of which he drank freely, though without visible effect. 7n the 
 interval, the Rev. Mr. Fitzpatrick, of the M. E. Church, arrived at 
 the prison ; but the convict appeared to manifest an indifference to 
 any interview with him. He only conversed with him in a low 
 whisper a short time before being conducted to the place of execu¬ 
 tion. The principal portion of his time, up to the hour of being led 
 
5i 
 
 6ut of prison, was devoted to giving directions in regard to the ma'rr- 
 agement and arrangement of his personal matters. The hour fixed 
 for his execution was 12 o’clock, iM.. but at his earnest solicitation, 
 Ad the kindness of Wm. G. Miller, Esq., the Sheriff of the county 
 X further time of near an hour was granted, to allow him time to’ 
 transact business and write a sealed note, not to be opened until after 
 Ms death, /is purport was simply in regard to the disposition of hia 
 body, and some other immaterial matters. 
 
 .Near 1 o'clock, the cortege left the jail, guarded by a volunteer 
 Corps of musketry, under Captains T. B. Massfe and Swindler, h 
 is said that near five thousand persons were present, and it was with 
 the utmo.-t difficulty that order could oe preserved. But for the pre¬ 
 caution of the guard in affixing bayonets to their guns, they would 
 doubtless have been trampled on by the dense crown] of horsemen 
 in their rear. The prisoner was placed in the. hollow square formed 
 by the guard, and accompanied by the Sheriffs, their posse, and the 
 Rev. Mr. Fitzpatrick, who, when about leaving the jail, was requested 
 by the prisoner to accompany him to the place of execution. Being 
 arrived there, he ascended to the platform with a firm step, and after* 
 A short prayer by the minister, was informed that if he had anything 
 to say a sufficient time would be allowed him lor the purpose. He. 
 fumed at once to (he hundreds by whom lie was surrounded, and in' 
 a clear and distinct tone of voice, manifesting neither fear or excite¬ 
 ment, spoke as follows ; or in words to the effect that he appeared 
 before them to-day as a man whose doom was fixed, and who had 
 but a few moments to sojourn on this earth ; but he wished to say a 
 few words in his own delence. He protested 'hat he was guilty of 
 fhe murder of his wife—said that his life had been falsely sworn 
 aWay through prejudice and ill will on the part of some of his en¬ 
 emies, and That they bad created a feeling of popular excitement 
 against him which had aided materially in bringing him to bis pres¬ 
 ent sad fate. He conceded that be had had a fair and impartial trial 
 by the jury—be blamed not them, but there were witnesses who had 
 sworn falsely against him, and he would name them. (Here the 
 prisoner enumerated several.) Other witnesses had also told all they 
 knew or thought would operate to his detriment, carefully withhold-' 
 to* anything which would speak in his behalf. He was not the 
 murderer of his wife —he did not give her the strychnia,—he believed 
 fhat his own life had been in danger from the machinations of her 
 friends, and the crime was committed by orte of a darker hue than 
 himself—(evidently alluding to a servant g:rl on his place.) As to 
 his friends in Loudoun, he had but little to say. The young lady 
 whose name had been so freely spoken of in connection with his, 
 was innocent of man}' of the charges preferred against her—though 
 chargeable with some. 
 
 The prisoner then turned to Sheriff Jliiller, and said “he wat? 
 ready.’’ The noose was adjusted about his neck, the trap sprung, 
 and the unfortunate being was launched into eternity. 
 
' K , -1 tat is' S' 
 
C Ttav B gs