npedrazzini/19thc_murder_suicide_news huggingface dataset:
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1892-12-23 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

CLLMB TO THE MOUNTAIN,XOP.  Climb to the mountain top, Summit of faith and hope; Higher and higher still, O'er the rugged elope. Bight to the very top Hurry the dawn to see; Dawn of the corning day, Hieing above the sea. Light of the morning star Upwards will guide thy feet, Through the darkness of night, Dawn of the day to meet. If darkness reigns below Without a ray of love, The distant rising sun Adorns the peaks above. Beautiful sight to see, Darkness flying away; Fl in away in haste At the approach of day. Darkness blacker that. bell, Fouler than any death, Cannot withstand the day, And its all-healing breath. The night of human life Has been both black and long; Darkness concealed their deeds And horror of the wrong. But never, never more, Whatever be their skill, Can they defraud their kin. And murder at their will. Children of darkness mast Vanish all with the night; Workers of guilty deeds Cannot live in the light. Only justice and truth, Biehteeninem, peace, and love, Ever can flourish on When the sun shines above.  Children of toil and care, Victims of thousand wrongs, Shoot for the break of day, Honour the light in songs. Happy and long will be The day when love and right Will regulate the world Instead of savage might.  Manchester.  R. J. Dzarrac.  CHRISTIAN& AWARE!  Christians, awake! the call goes forth again, Say, shall it fall upon your ears in vain? Will you sleep on, wrapped in your narrow creeds, Or rise, and show your faith by Christ-like deeds? Deeds that shall be a constant, living prayer, With which the richest words have no compare. As to high heaven your joyful songs ascend, With them the wails of homeless thousands blend. If ye call Christ your Master, Lord, and King, Oh! say it shall not be, this shainefnl thing; If ye would fitly celebrate Ilia birth, Keep on the work which Ile began on earth. Vainly ye sing of Christ's redeeming love, And all the glories of man's home above, While ye hello! I. unmoved, this sea of woe, That makes man's life so loveless here below. Oh! keep not furs future world of bliss The love that ye might show mankind in this. Ob. Christians, if you could awaken'd be. What changes on this earth we then might see. Instead of discord and incessant strife, Peace and goodwill might mark the common life; And careworn souls, who now for justice crave, Might shout for joy upon oppression's grave. Swiftly would come that long-predicted age. When man no deadly war wail man shall wage; 'When swords shall have their use, by Christ foretold, And human slanghter be no more extolled. Old error's temple, rent at last in twain, And truth and righteousness for ever reign. Love's golden cord shall men together bind, Who in each other shall a brother find; And with unfaltering step march hand in hand, With songs of triumph to the promised land; All life's dark shadows speedy fight will take For evermore, when Christians awake, Bradford, December 19th, 1892,
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1892-04-22 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

LINES.  Oft have I view'd the pompous show Of arms, the glitter and the glow; The harbinger of grief and woe .  And diie disco7d. Then turned disdainful from the view Of murd'rous sword. Ob, ye who build your pride in them, And boast the name of val'rous men, The rustic in the rural glen— Far better he. And drudge on dismal moor or fen, From murder free! Art•sculptur'd busts in long array, The deeds of heroes bold poutray, Who, to uphold a sovereign's sway, Their lifeblood shed; And panting after honours vain,  The worms have fed. Honours I I laugh to think of them— The vain pursuit of foolish men, Who fain would try God's tide to stem With their frail breath; Unmindful of the fleeting hours, And 'proachiug death. Give me the man of honest worth. Whether of high or lowly birth. Who acorns the sordid things of earth, And glittering one, And holds a heart above them all, Tho' ne'er so poor I The day will come, and soon, I trust I The day will come—for come it must— When man will rise God's creature first,  Almost divine I And intellect shall lead the way To thoughts sublime See agriculture's oppress'd wight, Downtrodden almost out of sight; Who, to obtain the scanty mite. His carcase needs. Dull,. labouring beside the brute,  -• All else un-kieeds. Mark lordling pomp, a pageant show, In opulence beside him grow, Request that be shall humbly bow And bend his head; Unheedfnl that the churl who bows Procures him bread Dull, ignorant of all around— In ignorance, Oh, most profound,— He toils through life's unvarying round, . .  In mute content. And duly thanks the Lord divine For blessings sent. Oh, Lord, what goodness Thou bast showed, And blessings on mankind bestow'd ; While all unworthy we have prov'd Of Thy chief care, And tern'd each blessing to a curse Of fell despair! See riches press the toiler down, And wealth ripon the poor man frown, Who needs must think all goodness flown  From ont the land, And drives him to a distant shore  And foreign strand. 'Neatb torrid sun he daily tails, While blood runs thick and febrile boils; Beneath his sturdy blow recoils Each stately tree; And rising grain transmutes the wild  For Mehdows free. By fond anticipation ble3t ; Removed from all that might molest; Thinking in quiet peace to rest,  Prot.; lat Tour feed •, 'With independence still in view, lie toils the glebe. To busy bees who throng the hive. And on your pow'rs plastic thrive, With one accord and heart still strive 'Gainst things ablzoreci, And vile oppression quick shall sink At your high word!  F. Vi'ax.roa.  C,We are indebted to our reamers for many poems on miscellaneous subjects, personal and otherwise. It is quite impossable for us to find space for compositions upon ally other theme than that of Labour, work, and workmen, or companion topics.—Ed.l
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1892-05-06 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

FOUR FRIENDS. "As to de fust query," said the President, as he drew himself up, " de answers dat I have heretofore given mus' stand for de answer now. De charity of Detroit has bred a race of beggars who will nebber leave us. It has added to de loaferisrn an' encouraged de idleness an' gineral shiftlessness. It has said to de heads of families : Idle de summer away an' you shall be supported durin' de winter Go ask i "cio' Superintendent if de same persons dean' rote- 'sr after y'ar. Ask bini if men an' women have ut come to look upon poo' fund as deir right, an' if day doan' &imam deir allowance, instead of asking for it? Charity filled de kentry wid tramps. When charity tried to !undo its work de tramps began to burn barns an' murder women an chill'en. Charity has encouraged a drove of 500 beggar chill'en to march up an' down ebery resident street. It has wasted its tears upon brutes of men an' its prayers upon hardened women, an' its money had gone to feed people so vile an' wioked dat State's Prison ached to receive 'em. As to de second query, dar' am a poo' ole man libin' deal to Sir Isaac Walpole. Who has paid his rent for months past? Charity? No, gem'len ; charity neber Wars of anybody but a bold-faced beggar. Our friend, heah, Sir Isaac, has not only kept de roof ober de ole man's head, but has furnished him many a meal to eat. Up on Grove-street, near de cabin of Way-down Bebee am a poo' ole woman who has gone blind. Brudder Bebee an' odder members has chipped in to take car' of her, an' whateber she has had de pas' summer or has got now am due to deir kindness. Town charity hasn't diskibered her yet. Up on Scott-street, dos to de cabin of Whalebone Howker, der was a death de odder day, an' two ohill'en war' left alone in de world. Charity left 'em alone in de house until de landlord turned 'em into de street; den charity walked off, an' Brudder Howker took de orphans home, an' will keep 'em frew de winter. Up my way dar' am a sick whornii n wwahnotwa nanontsrimaheidni,cfiooneds--aa bwoy woman broken n whoa hornaden log had a long run of fever widout her rent fall in' behind or her chill'en goin' hungry. Let de cry of distress come to Pickles Smith, Judge Cadaver, Samuel Shin, Rev. Penstock, or any odder member who tbonwp udaore nodt ameeobrmtupe cities beggars' 8 eyragobasy:nutbrrsouiwpyr headquarters,s answered. firruenedddvs. kin spare from his purse or his table, and it am nocall cnhamr iecharity furoisupported,rn. his heart need not go huntin' fur poo' to relieve an' fur reporters to puff deir rights. Charity dat rides aroun' town on a fo'-hoss wo.gin will see a workin' man starve an' feed a loafer who has spent half his summer in de saloon 3. Let us drap de subject an' proceed to bizness." neoi pit cae uenti rn. hdkpi °aorta nu:so:pi ronsshssubl r)tihdt nba,a eal ay b e au rt sa , b and
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1906-11-09 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE TRAIN  At the station they were greeted by the man in the brown tweeds; evidently he had come in a can which he had urged to greater speed. Apparently, also, he had brought some of the loafers with him. If not in his actual company, then not very Isr from him, were certain of the gentlemen who hai been in front of Myrtle Cottage. Others had kept pace with them; so, when they drew up, they at once found themselvea the centre of quite a little concourse. Unpleasant remarks reached their cars. As the girl got out of the cab one man standing close by asked another what was up. "What, don't you know? Why, this here's Doris Osborn—you know what she done; just come nut of  gaol, she has; she ought to be there still, by rights. If you or me had done what she has we'a have been hanged. A murderess, that's what I call her." It was plainly the fellow's intention that his words should be plainly heard. There was that in the way Hayter regarded him which caused the girl ,3 grip hins by the arm. "No, don't; let's—let's get away." When they entered the booking-offioe the man in the brown tweeds came towards them; by his side was one of the railway officials. "So, Doris Osborn, you're trying to escape from Worthing; which is fortunate for Worthing." He turned to the official. "If you take my advice you'll get her into a carriage as soon as you possibly can, to avoid unpleasantness. If it becomes generally known that she's in the station I shouldn't be surprised if there was trouble." Hayter brushed the speaker aside, not too gently. The man sprang back at him. Had the official not intervened there would have been trouble" of the kind he had professed a desire to avoid. The official said something to him which induced him to draw back.  Hayter made his way with the girl to the ticket office. When he had her ticket the railway official said to him—he had kept close to his shoulder— " Now, we don't want any fuss. If you're going by the next train, I'll see you across to the other platform; keep as near to me as you can." He moved forward, shouting, "Now, keep back l—keep back there! What are you crowding for? Keep back!" Acting on his hint they stuck tight to his heels. In spite of his efforts it was not easy to form a way through the people, who seemed to have taken the platform by storm. The girl, clinging to Hayter's arm, was pushed and hustled; had it not been for his protection worse might have come to her. They were shown into an empty first-class compartment, and the deer was locked. "You had better pull the window up," he said, as he turned the key.  Hayter pulled it up. People hung about outside, staring into the carriage, making remarks which it was not nice to hoar. The train started. The girl set her hat straight, and arranged her attire, which had been ruffled by her scramble through the crowd, saying as she did so: "You see I warned you what would be the
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1906-06-15 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

CHAPTER 111.  Dr. Bertram Astereourt returned to town an a Tuesday. It was now Wednesday evening, and he had just changed into dress clothes, preparatory to attending a dinner party at a friend's house. The clock on the mantelpiece of his study had chimed the hour of seven; and Bertram, having ordered his man to whistle up a handsom, opened the evening paper and glanced along the column headings for the latest news.  The room in which he stood was handsomely furnished, as indeed was the rest of Dr. Astereourt's luxurious and artistic house in Harley-street. A few months since, after a long term of study, he had taken the house and commenced his career with all the advantages which wealth and popularity could bestow; and already, despite his youthfulness, people were beginning to talk of him as an authority on diseases connected with the throat. At the hospital where he had received the chief portion of his training, he was known to be a cool-headed and skilful surgeon; and Bertram Astercourt had launched out on the waters of fame and fortune under oonditions of remarkable and exceptional brilliance. He had spoken truly, however, when he had told Iseult that it was she who had given him ambition, for up to the time of meeting with her (at the houee of a mutual friend) life had possessed no vital interest for him. But after one look into Iseult's beautiful innocent eyes, love had come and set fire to the smouldering ashes within him. A brief but passionate wooing had followed; then, certain of Iseult's love, Bertram had asked the millionaire for his daughter, with the eminently satisfactory result that his engagement was now an accomplished fact.  When Rufus Imray had sent for him to go to Watergate Grange to welcome Iseult home, Bertram had taken the eight hours' journey to Newquay thrilling with hope and expectation. Now that his marriage with the one woman he had ever truly loved was on the eve of fulfilment, it would have seemed impossible that anything could occur to mar his happiness.  Yet something had occurred, and Bertram had left Watergate Grange in the mist of that Tuesday morning, oppressed by a weight of calamity he could not shake off.  Hour by hour, since his arrival home, the weight had grown heavier, and the fact that he had not received a letter from Iseult had served to increase it a hundredfold.  He looked pale and weary now as he ran his eyes over his paper, but presently the weariness of his expression gave place to a look of horror and a gasping cry came from his pallid lips; for in the paper there was an account of a tragedy which had taken place at Watergate Grange. Mrs. Smith, the strange and solitary woman, whom Iseult had taken home from Paris, had been murdered in her room, some time during Monday night. With fixed and staring .eyes, Bertram began to read the account, but he had not perused half a dozen lines when the door of his study was abruptly pushed open, and looking up he was amazed to see the quivering, shrinking figure of a girl hastening towards him.
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1906-08-10 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

DOW.  " It could not have been for your money," the girl continued, "because even for a fortune a woman would not become the wife of—of a man who had murdered a person." An echo of the millionaire's own reflections a few days since. "Why, then, did she want to marry you? Why does she still want to marry you?" repeated Iseult. Imray could not answer, and Iseult could not help him. To both of them the mystery was insoluble. Thought worked rapidly in them. Into the man's mind stole the voice of his siren, the magic touch of her hand, the haunting perfume of her hair; and once again the physical took predominance over the mental, His passion, only momentarily stilled, flamed up again, and brought back to him the mad lunging which had tormented him through endless nights of pain—the longing to possess Natalie as his wife. Iseult watched her father anxiously. "Is it true that you care for her?" she asked. " Yes." he groaned, "that is true enough!" "And you still want to make her your wife?" "I mean to make her my wife," he said in a low, dogged tone. Iseult turned her head away, and stared miserably at the books that lined the walls. In a flash of illumination it had come to her that madame was playing some deep and subtle game, and that her father was being made a victim—that the day would and must come when he would awaken to an agony arid a shame deeper than he had yet known. But what use to speak her thoughts or to warn him if he loved? Then she recalled what the Count had mid. Could her father care for madame, even though she had given her secret to another man? She faltered out the question to Imray. He answered her recklessly. "It does not matter—nothing matters—l love her, and she shall be my wife."  The critical position of things rushed over the girl.  - There was only one way to prevent the secret from spreading. She would have to marry Count Dariwitoh; she would have to consent wholly to the bargain which he had made. It was the darkest thought she had even known, it was so dark, E. unutterably horrible, that she timid not give it expression. She was to be this hideous man's wife; all the rest of her life was to be spent in that cruel, cokl country which she had learned to loathe, and amongst people whom she had grown to fear with all her soul. And somewhere, far away, she seemed to hear the voice of the man she loved; and the true, brave face of Bertram Astercourt shone out in the darkness like a vision which was moving, moving with terrible swiftneav out of sight. A great cry cane from her. She fell on her knees once more and clung to her father with an overwhelming despair.  " Daddyehe cried. "Oh, Daddy, may God help he!"
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1900-08-31 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

PART SECOND.  CHAPTER XXI.  Wearily the time wore itself away with the palefaced, patient girl whose life was objectless now, and Beatrice Everest longed for the hour when that broken life should be laid down. There was no murmuring, however, against the cruelty and desertion which had broken her heart, no outward show of the deathless sorrow in her bosom, and the duties that fell to her lot to perform were done quietly and methodically. Ili name—Ambrose Charlecote's—was never mentioned between the two sisters, nor was reference ever made to that time which bad gone by, for Beatrice's was a grief that no sympathy amild assuage, but although Maud never spoke of her sister's recreant lover, she thought of him constantly, and since her husband's recognition of the portrait in a different way from formerly, feeling a kind of satisfaction that " this Charlecote " was a bad man and a villain. She was thankful that Beatrice had escaped marriage With him, for her shrewd sense told her that it would have been a union which would have brought a life-long misery to his wife. Bat this form of reasoning, sensible enough and founded en good reasons, was the conclusion of a happy woman, not of a woman who had loved and lot the dearest object of her life, of one who loved still in spite of every wrong done her, and who would have laid down her crushed life to serve the man she loved so hopelessly yet.  Frank Newton was working patiently at that search of his, and was pursuing it in London after achieving the discovery of Mr. Tom Sinclair. Upon his return from Margate he had called upon Mr. Ituberts, by whom he was received with a look of surprise. " You haven't forgotten the hit of stuff I left with You the other day," said Frank, regarding the tangled-haired scientist closely. "I don't know that I ever forget anything," re. plied Mr. Roberts. "I keep an account of them. Ilit orstuff you say—was that it ?" and he pointed to the piece of cloth that the detective had brought him for examination, that was lying beneath a glass.  •" Yes, that's the article," said Frank. " What is the stain upon it ?" "Blood," answered Mr. Roberts; "human blood —not recently soaked into the cloth—some months old., I thiuk—but there mast have been a good lot of it. The cloth is saturated." "Thank you," said Frank. quietly. "I had the same opinion myself, Mr. Roberts, but there's nothing like making certain in cases like this. I shall want you as a witness before long in a murder triao  "You want me to waste a day in one of your "taffy police courts," exclaimed Mr. Itobarts, angrily. remember the last time you sarved me this trick, Mr. Newton." "Justice wants you—l don't," laughed Frank, "but you'll have to come. Your evidenoe will go towards batIViDY, the former owner of that coat." w." It's a very strange thing you can't hang people _lthnt bothering me," growled Mr. Itobertd, re-.wig some intrioate eselemlations.  t "^' • ••  • •••
The Cotton Factory Times. — 1887-10-07 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

OLL ON THE TROFBLED WATERS. —The efficacy of dirowing oil to calm troubled waters is reported in die case of the English steamer Warwick, and the result is said to have been most remarkable. The Warwick, while going from Newport (Mon.) to Philadelphia, encountered terrible weather. On the 6th ult. terrific north-west gsles were eucountered. The seas rap mountains high, and were 1 milting a clean birsa"ali over the•steamer, carrying mith them all movable things from the deck. Dar. [la the height of the terrible weather the experinent of throwing oil on the waters was tried. The !ffect is described as marvellous. The seas became ,omparatively calm, and as far as the eye could 'each this was the case where the oil was on the rater. The seas appeared to be quite calm and inbroken, whilst outside they were turbulent in all lirections where the oil had not reached them. Mons RELICS OF CAPTAIN Coos. —Lord Thurlow writes to the Times from Dtinphail, N.B. :—" It may possibly interest 1301126 of your readers to hear of the existence of further relics of the great navigator of the 18th century. They consist of a long feather cloak and helmet which belonged to the Chief or King of the island of Hawaii (or Owhyhee, as it was then spelt), who killed Captain Cook, and which came into our possession in the manner stated in the following inscription on a silver plate on the lid of the box in which these relics have been preserved : This cloak and cap did formerly belong to the Chief of Ov.,hyhee, one of the Sandwich Islands, who murdered Captain Cook, the Znglish traveller, on Sunday, 14th Feb., 1779. Brought from thence by Henry Lawrie, Esq., Commander of the Surat Castle, Of Bombay, by whom it was sent to the museum of his friend, Jame Bruce of Kinnaird, Ist October, 1792.' " The James Bruce above referred to was the celebrated Abyssinian traveller, from whom Kinuaird, with its museum, has descended to his great.great.granddaughter, Lady Thurlow. EXTRAORDINARY OrTRAGE By Tnamrs.—The Warwickshire police on Monday arrested a tramp, who hails from Worcester, but whose name has not transpired, on a charge of having robbed a house at Cillougley, occupied by an old couple named Ferry. the circumstances of the case are of an ez.traordi lary character. It Seems that on Sunday night a tramp called at Ferry's house, and asked for a .rink of water. The old lady was alone at the lime, and the man, taking advantage of this, said lie should have food and money before he left. knother tramp then appeared on the scene, and the two forthwith proceeded to tie the old lady's arms and legs together. When they had done this they rifled her pockets, and took 7s. therefrom. They subsequently took from a drawer in the house about £2 in money. They then decamped, leaving Mrs. Ferry tied up in the manner described. Information was given to the police, who scouted the country during the night, and Constable Payne, of Fillougley, traced one of the men to Nuuaation, where he was arrested on Monday at a lodginghouse. The other man is still at large.