The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1877-04-05
lFrom the Cincinnati Tines
A Singular Crime.

a nc COnhAEiOn OF crime mas TtCelNed y
curious and horrible illustration, lately.
in New York city. Last week one VIM.
Smith, Of Brooklyn, becoming tired Of
martial restraints, conceived the idea Of
putting an end to his wife by a process
as fertile in ingenuity as il was diabolical
in cruelty. He fastened her to the top
OF her cook-stove by ropes passing under.
meath and connecting her hands and
feet Then he built up a rousing fire Of
coal, and left her to her fate. The stove
was one Of those which are the pet aver
sion Of housewives in general and Of
Mrs. Smith in particular. She had often
and again poured out upon il the vials Of
her wrath, because it would persist de
spite all precautions to the contrary, in
burning the bread on the bottom without
baking IL on the top. But il is TO this
much abused peculiarly that Mrs Smith
owes her life. Doubtless the stove very
soon became uncomfortably warm all
over, but it grew red hot at the bottom,
and after severely burning one Of her
arms, burned in two the ropes, and permit
ted her to escape without any mortal in
juries.
To Mr.. Alfred Pickard, Of the sister
city OF New York, who read with beating
heart the newspaper narration o. this
husbandly performance, the scheme
seemed incomplete in results and lacking
in conception. Moved, as we are in
formed, by ft Of jealousy, he availed
himself OF the opportunity afforded by
his wife taking a quit nape in an arm
chair, and bound her with cords securely
to her seat. Then placing himself over
her he proceeded by the free application
OF vitriol cruelty 10 disfigure her face"
ha II -
city proceeds to frame an indictment OF
this altogether too attentive husband. he
will doubtless lay before the Grand Jury
bill for mayhem-that being. as he sup
poses, the heaviest charge which can.
under the existing laws. be brought
against him. But, II the prosecutor hap
pens to be Of a literary turn Of mind,
and will resort TO almost any Of the large
libraries Of New York, he will doubtless
find there some OF those Christmas annu.
ais which were so popular fifteen or
twenty years ago. If he is so fortunate
as to happen upon the one which our
minds eye recalls, he will discover in il
a collection Of famous tales latter the
manner Of the Little Classics") relating
mainly to wierd and f4ntastic methods
of torture and assassination. One OF
them, which has been often since repub-
lished is William Mudford's story Of the
prisoner Vincenzo, seized by an Italian
Prince and thrown into a circular dun
geon OF peculiar construction in which
were seven windows. Vincenzo's atten-
tion was arrested, s1d his nerves were
strung. by discovering, on the second
morning, that one Of the widows had
disappeared in the night. Again. on the
third morning. but five windows remain
ed, and the dungeon was visibly smaller.
The contraction continued. occurring
noiselessly 1y night, until on the seventh
day, but one window was left. On this
day came the fatal end-the walls stead.
lily pressing inward, to the tolling of
great bell. rolled up the prisoners iron
bed into a bier, and slowly crushed him
into a writhing, senseless mass Of bleed
ing humanity. But il is another story Of
this collection, whose title was The
Shrouded Portrait" and whose author
re have forgotten, to which we specially
refe-. The heroine is the wife Of an
Italian nobleman, whom her husband
suspects OF infidelity. She is immersed
within the walls of her castle-a princely
mansion, but with surroundings as wierd
and ghostly as those Of the House Of
Usher. One day the husband, stern.
soLIbre, relentless, commands her to
walk with him into his library He seats
her in a chair, and with rapid hands.
making no reply to her piteous pleading.
binds her there with silken cords. Then,
taking from the closet a jar Of green Wit
riol. he informs her quietly that she
must die. As the fatal fluid falls. drop
by drop upon her head, and her agonized
screams echo through the long corridors
Of the castle, the story closes in mystery
and horror.
Should the Prosecuting Attorney Of
New York, we say, run across this strange
tale of marital jealousy, il will perhaps
occur to him to inquire whether the
prisoner Pickard had not read il before
him. whether his crime was not modelled
upon its outlines, and whether il was not
the death of his wife, instead Of her dis
fgurement, that he was seeking.