Year: 1875

Here is the true story OF Bessy Brown, as
brought to US in the late Philadelphia papers.
Not as pleasant reading, perhaps, as the last
fine fancy in poem or novel to take with us to
the shady nook or beach, but useful


Five or six years ago William Brown was
sober, hearty young fellow, well educated for
his station, and with kind heart and pleas
ant manner, which made him a favorite with
all his kinsfolk and brought him plenty of
friends. The friends led him to take glass
or two now and then; the glass or two became
naturally steady drink: the drink brought dis
missal from his shop, idleness, dissolute habits
Still, Brown was, to his frien Is, "a good fell
low with no fault which sobriety would not
cure-nobodv's enemy, in short, but his own.
About year and half ago, going out to the
Park one day, he met in car neat, pretty
young girl, who was introduced to him as
Bessy Herscheimer From the first moment
L saw her / loved her." he says, and there is no
reason to doubt that the poor wretch has loved
and been faithful to his wife from that day
until now. Love, however, never kept any
drunken man from abusing his wife, or max
ing bis home foretaste of hell The girl bore
with him for some months and then left him,
supporting herself by sewing "Will," she
stated, followed her, drunk or sober,
lt
ally enough. as his wife was pretty, and reso.
lutely refused to go back to her life of misery
with him. One night two weeks ago he saw
her accost some man upon the street, in all in
noceDce, very likely, but it drove him to fren-
zy. The next day, according TO his own ac-
count, being SOBER he avoided her, but in the
evening he went to saloon for drink, and
shortly afterward met her with another woman.
He asked her if she wanted money; she re-
piled by a taunt; ''then, as one of the wit
tastifas ttha thrpW his arm bar
neck, and, L think, kissed her, and the next
moment L saw the blood streaming from her
throat"


She died almost instantly and Brown escap-
ed. He went TO some of his kinsfolk and told
them what he had done. They .'liked WILL"
and hid his bloody clothes, gave him another
Shirt and sent him on his way. The man es-
capped from the police, who were beating the
country for him, and reached Reading. There
was nothing to bar his way further until safety
was secured But he turned and came delib-
erately back, lay secreted for two or three days
in the woods near Philadelphia, and then made
his way to his wife's grave. The Lieutenant OF
Police of the District, knowing what manner
of a man he had to deal WITH and his morbid
affection for the woman he had murdered, had
placed watch about the cemetery, expressing
his belief that Brown would come back to his
wife even there. When he was arrested let
ter to his mother was found on him wnich
shows his intention of killing himself when ne
had reached the grave. Nothing in fiction or
hstory-not the agonies of Fagin, nor the face
of his victim that pursued Eugene Aram oy
night and noonday-is more tragic than TINS
letter written by the murderer TO his mother
from time to time, as he fled through the
country, a horror of great darkness pushing
him. 1t is not the gallows that he sees or cares
for, but 'Bessy's blood running down her
neck" or his own hand wet with it. He sees
himself dead in his coffin, with dreadful self
pity. and bids his mother bring some young
peooIe of whom he is fond to look at him, as a
warning against liquor. 1t is not Bessy that
he blames; ''she is an angel waiting for him
to cross the river" nor himself-the "Wilp'
that his mother knew and hs knew; but the
liquor-the Ii luor. 'If had not taken even
that last drink, this would not have hap
pened."