The startling confessions of Eleanor Burton
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]923531A THE 4 STARTLING CONFESSIONS OPR TONS ELEANOR B U RTO0N; A THRILLING TRAGEDY FROM REAL LIFE. , EXHIBITING A DAK PAGE IN THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND RIMES 5H~~fE "UPPER TEN" OF NEW YORK CITY, aBING ULL AND ~AUTHENTIC DISCLOSURE OF THE MYSTERIO AFFAIR IN REGARD TO WHICH SO MAN4Y PARAGR PHS HAVE APPEARED IN THE PAPERS OF LATE. PHILADELPHIA: . E. BARCLAY, 283 MA] 1802. -; , $ ; ; , x~ , ,, A iuf r . FC. r + 4 a e { t r° ' _ .ss , page: -9[View Page -9] . 01,,r b eordblg to the'Adf"Co gtGr the year 85 E. E. BARCLAY -, ''S Orie of the District{ourt for the En1t Di ' e; Pensylvania %VI j4o-- 0 .t44 THE * T , CONFESSIONS 0r JEA.NOR BUR1TO1 A' thege of-eighteen I was betrothed-to.hpgene Burtaay n an of polished manners, elegant ,exterior, and connpeode4$ g Aist famsiliesof Newd "rk. I was beautifl1-s g tbewrld said,-.-eighteen and an heiress. My father was one of the health. #ekerb1hantsyof'NewYork, with& a princely mansion in tow nand as princely a mansion for summer residence in 4the country Lhad lost my mother sit an ,age oaearly, that I can but 4ily remmbe _ her pallid face. At eighteen I was ,ny father's only-a,4 Wo etniigfrmboarding-school, where, apart from themusy wo"4 i l passed o ur year ofaAlif e iac h .-aft erwa rdswatopea i red soingdly es, unnatural, .Iwas investedhmpfathe ihe keys :his city _mansion, and installed s jtB a , Still kept apart from the world,-for my father gordime fr iM$w14said= tempt tibns with an eye of sleepls0 jeasy Lwas eft tolforn iideas of my future life,:from the-fanoeleofay dreams, or from what knowledge I had gleaned d- Euge io*a as my father's .head clerk. In that esp o i quietly isited-our man~ion. To .see him was to loohie fonn was-graceful and yet manly, his complexion a rieh eyes dark, penetrating, and melancholy, As for ..WM which, amid all my changing fortunes, I have pree*as* t of happy and innocent days, shows i girl of eighteen wth a t ,$° ;o- i I:: page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] Co0NEsIoNS of1 R LAwOR BURTON. that may well be called voluptuous, and a face (shaded by masses of raven hair) which, with its clear brown complexion, large hazel eyes, and arching brows, tells the story of my descent on my, mother's side,-she was a WestTidian, and there is Spanish blood in my veins. My acquaintance wth Eugene ripened into warm as&3passionate love; and one day my father surprised me as I upon -ry lover's breast, and ;instead of chiding us, said with aof unmistakeable satisfaction: x R1ght" Eugene ! You have won my daughter's love. When ayou return from the West aies you shall be married. And once married, instead of my head clerk you shall be my partner." father was a venerable man, with a kindlysface and snow- , hte hair : as, he spoke, the tears ran down his cheeks, for (as I awards ascertained) my marriage with Eugene, the orphan of he dearest friends of his boyhood, had been the mos e of his life for years {.left for Havana, intrusted with an important and secret Uaion from my father. He was to be absent;only a month. as it on the day of his departure, as le strained me to reasstand covered my face with his passionate kisses, that a 4rk presentment chilled my blood? 0, had he never left my side what oid f agony, of despair,-yes, of crime,-would have ,been tspred to me! "e true to me, Nell," these were his last words,-"In a '£ 'wll return.": 14True to you! Can you doubt it, Eugene? True until death And we parted. as once more alone in my father's splendid mansion. One evemig he-came home, but not with his usual kindly smile. 'e was pale and troubled, and seemed to avoid my gaze. Without S trin the sitting room, he went at once to his library ad looked ikelfin, having first directed the servant to ca n i eea , Mr. Morton inquired for 'him. It was after .eigYl he Mr*r- , or called and was shown into the parlour, while the erva toannounce him to my father. "Misis Ellen, I believe " he said, as he beheld me by thefight e astral lamp,-and then a singular look passed over hisface 'r c hich at that time I could not;define, but whicler ae 'terribly clear to me. This Mr.Morton, who th Ft A ,~3 time entei-ed my father's house, was by. no mean8 preysA g nhis exterior. Over fifty years, corpulent in form;bald- * tidhis florid face bore the undiemable traces of a life exhausted *eiua1 idulgence,. + . t .O IR$Nss iLIANOR IaRoTr. 1 While, Iwas taking a survey of this singular visitor, the servant entered the parlour,-- Mr. Morton will please walk up into the library," he said. "Good night, dear," said Mr. Morton with a bow and a gesture that had as muck insolence as of politeness in it,-" Bye-bye,- we'll meet, aga :' am. le went up stairs, and my father and he were closeted together for at least two hours.." At ten o'clock I was sent for. I entered the library, trembling I knew not why; and found my father and Mr. Morton seated on opposite, sides of a table overspread with rpers,-a hanging lamp, suspended over the table, gave hght to scene. My father was deathly pale. cMSt down, Nell," he said in a voice so broken and chased, that would not have recognised it, had I not seen his face: oms. Morton has something to say to you." "Mr. Morton1" I ejaculated; "What can he have to say to. cSpeak to her,--speak, said my father, "speak for I and resting his hands on the table, his head drooped on hisbe " Sit down, my dear," exclaimed Morton, in a tone familiarity; "I have a little matter of business with your father. There's no use of mincing words. Your father, my dear, isa ruined man." I/sank into a chair, and my fathe groan confirmed Morton's 'opelessly involved," continued Mr. Morton. "cUnless heca three hundred thousand dollars by to-morrow noon, he i a d s poured man. Do you hear me, my dear? Dishonoured !" TDhshonoured 1" groaned my father, buryng his head in h hands. ."cAnd more than this, continued Morton, "your fath ?inog his many meroantie speculations, has dabble a, little-ye-, mr than a little-in the African slave trade. He has rel ti 5 -41 eertan gentlemen at Havana, which, once known to our ment, would consign him to the convict's cell." The words of this man filled me with indignation and with.h r"_ ;F Half fainting as I was, I felt the blood boil i my veins. "Father, rebuke this har," I said, aS I placed myband , 0i. shoulder; "raise your face, and tell hin that he is thAe falsehood as atrocious as it is foolish." My father did not reply. "And more than this, Morton went on .as though le h beard me, "I have it in my power, either to relievey i1Ya 'r from is financial embarrassments, or,"-he pause~an~u4~ page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 Go~*ssioiw O1PLA~tL I* e frorahead to *'ootr-#"orto denoince nii .t6 Gove rint as one gty of sometbigwhichgitcdalls" i e, inli"te relatighip with the African sieve trade."r Ag my father groned, btdi d traisei IsI face. The fi truth burst4uonn.~Niy tis $r d in tii an'n ower. Confused, half maddened I flung l'tn oii &y Yk ees, and cplape4 orioibyi tieIiands, "!you will notrin my ftiir'Ihrieae Sh~iIse Morton took my hands within is own, and bent down until I felt is hbeath upon my cheeks-.-- ;. "Yes, dill' save him," he Whispered; "thit is, for a price yb my dear." isrook could nt b e mistaken. At the same inorneit, i r ' .khis face from his hands; it was allid, dite'td, stad*1t - "X is the only ,ay, Nell," he said in a broken voice -"other- ie your father must rot in a felons cell a the misfortunes of a varied and cangetul lifathe agony o 'that moment has never once been forgotten. -IfeI ths bl od ruh to riuy head -"Be it o ried, and tell like t a eid n n on the floor tM n's feet, The next day we were married. In the dusk of the even 3 u g stood in the spaciousparlour of my at er'e a mansio f light of a single waxen candle. hre was theclergynan, .mpp 4utbrsurirse up n the parieto this ifl-ass rted Tiiarsiage ire was -my father, his countenance vacant almost to ilieeiity-for theilow lhad'stricken his intelleet; there was the bridegroom ii u nt nnce gong with ensual trium h;-and there the bride a 4the. -dal dress whih{ env.lwpr1.iiear w, xchin vabhirt to j~~aWe were . marei RicKificed on th altar of an unholy "ma ae. e.yer iar e, between thie parlour and the -hoperho remibed. / tan esubunt to the embraces o;tie uuwortiy sensuahst, I to 1i eeven uon f a r'Itrhld of thfe' ideIc am - a i . . a y+~a :a ridpa myselfwitha o gnard. 'fut as a glass bgged by ny Isard's hia nu benshned my , eason, .hen mormag light broke upon.me again, I found myself +- 1phisarms. # t he history of the next three months ma be rapidly told, for -thewere months of agony and shame. ~ directed Elugene, by letter, to proceed from Havana to th iyof Mexico," said my father to me, the second day after kC -A Im) 'j.l the -ia riage. Rio wil at rettrn for six i4ith, '4 eta ily until his return shall not hear of this-this-mariage." My father's mind Was broken, and froi that hou he SUrre dered himself to Morton's control. Mort6 took charge of his: bu e made our house 1 home-he was my father's master and mine. The course which he pursued to blunt my feelings and deadeh etel7 faculty of my better nature, by rousigwall that was sensual within me, was worthy of him. lie gave parties at our home, to the pro. fligate of both sexes, selected from a -certain class of 'the so-caild " fashionable" of New York. Revels prolonged from midnight until dawn, disturbed the quiet of our mansion; and in the winf- cup and amid the excitement of these fashionable but unholy orgie, I soon learned to forget the pure hopes of my naidenhood. Thre months passed, and no word of Eugene. My father meanwhile if sinking deeper every day into hopeless 'imbecility. Atilength _th: early part of summer, my husband gathered together ap ity tf bib fashionable friends, and we departed on a tour to Niagara: a1M, the lakes, then along the St. Lawrence, and to Montreal."it Niagara Falls we pit up at the -- Hotel, and the orgieswAhiek had disgraced my father's mansion were again resumed. My fafier we had left at home in charge of a well-tried and faithful ervant. One summer evening, tired of the scenes which took placer r parlours, at 'the Hotel, I put on a bonnet and =veil and alone pbz- e4 uy way across the bridge to Goat Island, and from Goat to 'd. The night was beautiful; from- a clear sky the moe elton the falls - and the roar of waters alone dist rbE41he silence Othe scene. Crossing the narrow bridge, which er s Goat Island from Luna Island, I took my way'through the deep shadows of the thicket, until I emerged in 'the inoonlight, uponte 'verge of the Falls. Leaning against a small beech te 4hich stati& there, I clasped my hands upon my bosom ind wept. That scene, full of the grandeur and purity of nature, awoke the tmao of my pure and happier days. u One plunge 'and all is o er!" the thought-lshed over me I Measured with 'a rapid glance the distance between myelf _n the brink of the cataract. But at this moment I discovered thatX ras not alone upon Luna Island. A stranger was leanin ,a tree which was nearer to the brink of'the talls than th against which I leaned. His face was in profle, the lower part it, covered with a thick moustache and beard; and his game'r s lifted absently to the moonlight sky. As I dropped my ve oAr my face, and'gazed at him freely, myself unpereived, I felt my limbs bend beneath me, and the blood rush in a teetoeyJ4 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] ESONB br.ELANOU B tuW0 0* I;h4ad only strength to frame one word,.-." Eugene t" and fell fainting on his heart. When ILfecovered my onseiousness, I found myself resting in lii arms, awhile he covered my face with burning kisses. "You here, Eleanor !" he cried. "This is indeed an unexpected pleasure!!" uHe had not heard of my marriage!I "I an hierei.-with some friends," I faltered. "QMy father could hot come with me, and"--- Betweeru the kisses which he planted upon the lips of his be . trthed (so he thought), he explained his unexpected appearance at l garart Havana he had received the-letter from my father, O ~rng hiu: ?to hasten on important business to the city of Mexico. e had obeyed, and accomplishing his mission sooner than he an- : tiipated,had left Vera Crus for New Orleans, taken steamboat ro{Cincinnati, and from thence to Cleveland, and across the Lake tO+ ffalo and Niagara Falls. "And now I'm onmy way home, ileanor," he concluded. "What a pleasant surprise it will be for father!" aI am married, Eugene !" the words were on my lips, but I could yet speak them. We rose and, arm in arm, wandered over the 4.idge up the steep and through the winding walks of Goat Island. y"ening o' AbJd e arm of Eugene, I forgot everything but\that e loed met and that he was with me. I did not dare o thit ~tmorrow's light would disclose to him, the truth,-.that ws ascied, and to another. At length as we approached thebridge, r.^ which leads from the island to the shore, I said, "Leave me, Eugene. , We must not be seen to return together. To-morrow youan call upon me, when I am in presence of my--friends." One passionate embrace was exchanged; and I watched him, as ,rossed the bridge alone-,until he was out of sight. Why, I ;not, but -n impulse for which I could not account, induced me to retrace my steps to Luna Island. In .a few moment had k}:y ssed the bridge (connecting Goat with Luna Island), and stood once more on the cataract's brink, under the same tree, where an Ahour before I had discovered Eugene.. 0! the' agony off that taC1'ent, as g ing over the falls, I called up my whole life, my ghteds prospects, and my;future without one ray of hope! Should advancet but a simple step and bury my shame and my sorro#. Plheeath the cataract ? Once dead, Eugene would at least respect ay aeuory,iwbile living he qould only despise and abhor re- hile thoughts like these flashed over my: brain, my ear was tA wi1Athe..eh.ruw of, a drinking..song, hummed in an uneven CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. 15 -and fremulous voice ; and in a moment my husband passed before me, with an unsteady step. - He was confused and excited by the fumes of champagne. Approaching the verge of the island-but a few feet from .the verge of the cataract Where the waters look .smooth a4id glassy, as they are about to take the last plunge, he stood gazing: now at the torrent, now at the moon, with .a vague half-drunken stare. 2Thatimomen decided my life ! His attitude, the cataract so near, my own lost and hopeless condition; all rushed upon me. Veiling my face,,I darted forward and uttered a shriek. Startled by the unexpected sound, he turned, lost his balance, and fell backwards into the torrent. But as he 'fell; he clutched'abranch which 'overhung: the water. Thus, scarerely two yards from the brink, he struggled madly for his life, his face upturned to the moon. I advanced and uncovered my face. He knew ,me, for the shock had sobered him. "Eleanor, save me--save me !" he cied. I gazed upon him without a word, my arms folded on my breast, and saw him struggle, and heard the branch snap, and, heard his death'howl as: he was swept over the falls. Then, pale as death, and shuddering as with mortal cold, I dragged my steps from the island, "over the bridge, shrieking madly for help. Soon I heard footsitefpand voices. "Help ! help;!" I shrieked, as ,I was. sur- ouide by a group of faces, men and women,---"My husband i My husband ! The falls F" and sank fainting in their midst; Morning came, and no suspicion attached to me. A murderess, if not in deed, in thought certainly, I was looked upon as the in- consolable widow. Eugene left Niagara without seeing me. How did ha regard me? .I could diot tell. The death of. Morton broke up our' travelling party, and we returned to New York. I returned V 'in time to attend my father's funeral, and-found myself theheiress, in my own right, of there9 hundred thousand dollars., An heiress and a widow, certainly life 'began to brighten Morton removed, the incubus which sat upon myfather'srwealth "was gone; and I was beautiful and free, and--rich, immensely rich., But where was Eugene? ,Months.p assed, and I did not see him. As he was the head clerk:of my father; I hoped toA see *him, in com- pany with the legal gentlemen engaged in-closing .up my father's estate.: But he settled his accounts, closed all connexion withmy father's estate' and business, but did not come near me. At length, weary of suspense and heart-sick of the loneliness of my desolate mansion, I wrote to him, begging A interview. He called.in the -dusk of the evening, when a siagg handlee lighted up the spaciow. -I'r, . page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] MELAJ8' 2 R gN a gloomy jarle t 6. * *as dressed in deep iourning sad ae pale-. "Az& , yoU wishedeto see me," he began. His eold and formalhmanner 4ut mne-to the heart. SEtggsee!" I oried, and flung myself :upon his breast, and pas- sion:tely, but in broken accents, told him how my father's antioi pated ruin had forced me to marry Morton. Eugene was melted-"- Eleanor! Eleanor! I love you, and Ya ay sshall love you, but-but---" He paused: in an agony of suspense I hungupon his word*- 'Butyou are so rich, and I-I---am poor" I drowned all further words with kisses, and in a moment we .,ere retrot1hed again. We were married. Eugene was the master of my fortune, y person, and my future. We lived happily together,'eontent with eac other'e society, and seeking in the endearments of a pure marriage to blot out the 'memory of an unholy one. My husband, truly Miy husband, was 'all that I could desire; and by me, he became the possessor of a princely revenue, free to gratify his taste or all that is -beautiful in the arts-in painting andraslpture- ,ithu hindrance or, control. Devoted to me, always eag togratify my slightest wish, Eugene was all that I' coul n e lived to ourselves, and fbrforthe miserable mocke'_rkaled the fashionable world," into whioh Morton had intreduoe me-. Thus a year passed away, and present happiness banishd' the inmemory of a gloomy past. After a year, Eugene began to have important engagements, on pressing business, in Philadolphia, Boston, :Baltimore, and Washington. His 'absence was death to 'e, but having full confidence in him, and aware that his business austbe of vital imortance-or assuredly he would not leavk me- -- saw him 'depart, time aid again, with grief too deep for words; id always hailed his 'return-the very echo of his step-with a joy as deep. On one occasion, when he left me, for a day, on a 'business visit to'Philadelphia, I determined, I scarcely knew why, to follow him, 'and greet him, on his arrival in Philadelphia, with 'thieunepected but welcome surprise of my presence. Clothing 'myself in black-black velvet bonnet, and tlack velvet mantilla, and with a dark veil over my face--I followed him to the ferry-. boat, crossed to Jersey City, and took my seat near him in the e.s. We 'arrived in Philadelphia late at night. To my surprise '1e did not put up at one of the prominent hotels, but benit his way 1 Y sT i:' m a ,and dsan rti.a + th1 '. 1&4 M e aets part of e singtpu; nd swhmne kat"; 99r f isolated two-story houe. After , . p jppe94 agjW ntered. I waited fro. t h+Eq e tweti hr aJee, fut.pid not toeappear. sadly, at with heavy d p s aI ntn y -ayw the city, and took lodgings t a espectable bt zhid4k-te ay representing myself as tawidow from thai eriru takig gr iare ta eenceal my face frpt the gaze of the audlord an4 servants. Next morning it was my first care to prone a r ml=en-4 platters not how or with what cauion: an:-tol e -mad tying it up in a compact bundle, I made "my way tQ te, oppa, c ,tryend toured a wood. It was the rst :f autuzn,.and already the les 'er tilted with rainbow dyes. In the biteost part of the WOd disposed of my female attire, nd assumed tha iema 4yess-b$ge gfe~k bl ittonued to the throat, dark pa tlo Q~n &udn'ga tear _boa dark hair . arranged beneath a' glanroap wih military WAby Cutting a switch, I twirled it jagntily in3a y hand, awd, nnima test my disguise, entered a wayside ettage, +ara te Secondtelt road, ad asked.for a glass of water, While. he bac of the tgea# of the oottage-a ,aged woman- was tued,; gzed in;'the ol ing-glass and, beheld myself, to all appearane, a young " m mediumustature, with brown compLe4on of e oeeding' rihehsa,}Jipp of chery red, arched brows, eyes of unusual brilliancy,. and hlgek gliedanged in a glossy mass beneath a glazed cap. It wasthe simge eC handsome boy :f nineteen, with no down on the lip and no beard on the chin. Satisfied with mydisguise, and with half- formed idea floating through my brain, I bent py steps t the isolated house, which I had seen my husband enter the night before. I knocked; the door was opened by a young girl, plainly cla but of surpassing beauty-evidently, not more than, sixteen years old. A sunny eomplexion, blue eyes, masses of glossy brown hair,.oqm- bined with an expression which mingled voluptuous warmth atainless innocenee-such was her. face. As .t her form alugh not so-tall as itine, it .mingled; the graceful outlines of he idga, with the ripeness of the woman. She gazed uponme with .uprise.; obeying a. eQA i puale Ip said-"Excuse me, miss, bit I, Jrmd to meet riirhere, YOU M y," dwith a polite bow and sg e eyog kanow nwh T I e 4' Xactly so---Mr. GrawfurdMy 'p&ijn4,iwle M- fZded aRltomre,cnd who desired te zoier ta Jhjg' 'Aiy mother is not at honeiaNq4 Npogn , ~ in her absence I do not like to---" page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 1$ eOa1~BszQN0 ion : -c O1 R vToI!. "Receive t atgers, yew were about ,to- add? Well, Miss eIm not a stranger. As the intimate friend of, Mr. Crawford, who esjecially desired him tQ meet tme here--" Thesewords seemed to resolve her doubts.' She motioned me to enter,'and we'passed into a&small room; neatly furnished, with the light, which came through the curtained windows, shining upon a picture--the portrait of Eugene Burton, my husband. "Capital likeness of Crawfurd ?" I said, carelessly tapping my switch against my boot. "Yes-yes"-she replied, as she took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, "but not so handsome." In the course of' two hours, in which with a maddened pulse, and heaving breast, I waited for the appearance of my husband, I learned from the young girl the following facts: She was a poor grl, and her mother with whom she lived, a widow in very moderate M eustances. Her name was Ada Bulwer. Mr. Lawrence Craw- d (this of course was the assumed name of my husband) was a wealthy gentleman of a noble heart--he had saved her life in a railroad accident, some months before. He had been unhappy however in marriage; wasnow divorced from a wicked and unfaith- ful woman; and-here was the climax-" And next week we are to be.married, and mother, Lawrence, and myself will proceed to Europe directly after our marriage." This was -Ada's story, which I heard with emotions ,ta aT scarcely be imagined. Every word planted a hell in my heart: At length, towards nightfall, a knock was heard, and Ada hastened tosthe door. Presently I heard my husband's step in the entry, and th n his voice-- "_Dearest"-there was the sound of a kiss-" I have got rid of that infamous woman, who killed her first. husband, and have turned all my property into ready money. On Monday we start for Europe." ilHeentered, and as he entered I glided behind the door. Thus his back was towards me, while his face was towards Ada, and his arms about her waist. "On Monday, dearest, we will be married, and then--" I was white with rage, but calm as death. Drawing the poignard (which;Ihad never parted with since I first procured it), I advance and struck him, once, twice, thrice in the back. He neverabeheld me, but fellFupon Ada's breast, bathed in blood. She uttered a shriek,-but laying my hand upon her shoulder, I said sternly. : Iot t1word! This villain seduced my nlyJ sister, as he would have seduced you !" I I r si }A j} " i cf " 4'p + «ry j +n r wry page: 20 (Illustration) -21[View Page 20 (Illustration) -21] 0~Q~8 Q~' 4N~R UWEON9 I tore him from her .arms, and laid him on the sofa; be +a speechless; the blood ,lowed from his maouth and nostrils,, butukj his glance, I saw thatshe knew 1-me.;Ada, white as e a hpud, tottered towards. hip. useducer; of dyise; havevdet last ?" I)said aloud,94 then bending y: facerM his, and-my bosom close to his heart, hispered-,s The ri eba woman whokilled her:first husband gives you this"--anddn my 1iageburied the poignard in his breast. Ada fell fainting to ".e floor, and ] hurried from the house. It was a dark night, enlivened only by the rays of the etas; but I gained the wood, washed,'the blood from my hands, andresued myfpl, attire. In less than an hour I reached the Depot at Kensington, entered the cars, and before twelve, crossed the threshold of my wn house in Niw York. How I passed t e ight-with what.emotins of agony, remorse; j 3ealousy--matters hot. And for three days afterwards, .as I - awaited further developements, I 'was many times near rayist The eeo t of my husband's death filled the pers; V aoid it was supposed that hey had been killed by some unkrin az a revengefor the seduction of his sister. My wild 4deeainu r att ibuted tonatural grief at hisuntinely.end. ;On the fpur h4V AI d his body :brought on -from- hiladelphia; and on -h! fi$ elebrato. Yhisfaueral, following; his .crpse to the amily vanu't, .4 widow's weeds- aud ,blended w"ith tears of grief, of despair. Ada B l wer I never sa: again, but believe she died e i year, fonsuption,:or a broke heart. IF r : A rlne inny mansion,,eecluded fromithe world, I pased ma onthstin barroaing meditations on the past. Oftentime I sar the fae of :Tugene dabbled: ins blood, and both awake.and inamy dreams I aw, O,,how vividly, his last Zoak1 . I was atill ibp (although Eugene, as I discovered after his death,.had reeklessly wiuiidered marbethan one-half of my fotune), but what mattered id hesX to ono devoured;dike myself, bbyan ea r gnawinggr orse ' Whatmight I have been had not Morto: forced rme into that unholy marriage :?This question was neyer op't of -my ,mind for a Tang year, duringwhich I worethe weeds of widowhood,.and kept almost entirely t the limits of mymansion. Toward the close of the year an incident occured which had n important bearing on my fate. Near my home stood a church, i which a young and elpqnent preacher held forth to the admiration of a fashionable congregation, every sabbath day. On one occasion I occupied a seatanear the pulpit, and was much struck yhis 6 8 page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] O", ESSION-OP E LEANOR BURTON. 4)s7 oi thfnl appearance, combined with eloquence so touching and eathesiastie. His eagle eye shone from his pallid faceswith all the6fire, of an earnest -a' heartfelt sincerity. I was struck= by the entire manner of the man, and more than once in hisseerinon ha i~eined t& address me inespecial, for our, eyes met, as though there. brasa mutuall magnetism in our gaze. When: I returned home, I could not banish his face-nor his accents from my:memory; I felt myself devoured by opposing emotions. Remorse for the past, mingled with a Sensation of interest in the youthful preacher. At loagth, after much thought, I sent him this note by the hands of - 'Oervant in livery:-- .".'Levererd Sir-- "A lady who heard your eloquent sermon, on ' Conscience,' on bbath-last, desires to ask your advice in a matter touchingthe pee of her soul. She resides at No. and- willbe glad to peeeiv you to-morrow evenin g E. i singular note was despatched, and the servant'diroted to t Maithe' Rr. Herbert Lansing of my full.names.As the poined hour drew nigh; I felt nervous and restless. Will h ' ale ie? hall I unbosom myself to him, and obtain t least a por o tioiof}ndatal peace,,by confessing the deeds and thoht- wh Tet-so vieav on my soul ? At last dusk came, tw+ ; aes too s' ighted onthe mantel of the front parlour, and, seat i- It-nervously awaited the coming of the preached. I will confess all ' I thought, and, raising my eyes, arveYed Yn°eef in:the mirror which hung opposite. The past year with all t sorr6had rather added, to, than detracted from rn 'personal appearance. - My form was more matured and womanly4 And the sorrow which I had endured had given a grave earnatness to-MY look, whiit in the 'eyes of'some, would have been more winning than the glance of voluptuous languor. Dressed in deep:blaol mybust covered to the throat, and my hair gathered plainly asid. fromrny face, I-looked the grave, serious--and I mayadd wither vanity -the beautiful widow. The Rev. Herbert Lansing wasn bounced at last-how I trembled as I heard his stepin the hall He entered, and g eeting him with* an extended haadIdthankes a hin armly-for calling in answer to my informal note, and motioned hifto ahair.. There was surprise and constraint in his aranner 'but he ever once took his eyes from my face. lie stammered, and sn:l~dshd as hie spoke 'to me. ad'ou spoke, madami of a case of conscience," he began. 3 i' i' 1-, ,: r t } { yia TJ}I /Y. CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON.. J ;. { "A case of conscience, about which I wished to speak-to you-.." "Surely," he said, fixing his ,gaze earnestly upon me, and his Fords seemed to be forced from him, even against his will, a"surely one so beautiful and so good, cannot have anything like -sin upon her soul." Our gaz. met, and from that ,moment, we talked of everything but the case of conscience. All his restraint vanished. His eye flashed, his voice rolled deep'and full; he was eloquent, and he was at home. We seemed to. have been acquainted' for years. We talked of history, poetry, the beautiful in nature, the wonderful in. art; a.ad we talked without effort, as though our minds mingled together, without even the aid of voice and eyes. Time sped doise-+ essly-it was twelve o'clock before we thought it nine. *H os "all do myself ,the pleasure to call again," he said, and his oeg'faltered. ' extended my hand. His hand met it in a gentle pressure. That touch decided our fate. As though my very being andhis had rushed together and melted into one, in that slight pressure;of hand to hand, we stood silent and confused, one felling in our g e blushing and pale by turns. Worpan !" he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "y«+ , ~ilLdrre me mad," and sank half fainting on his knees. I bent down and drew him to my breast, and covered his for.' head with kisses. Pale, half fainting, he lay almost helplessly my .arms. "iNot mad, Herbert," I whispered, a]But I will b your good angel. I will cheer) you in your mission of good. will watch over you as you ascend, step by step, the difficuItteep of fame. And, Herbert, I will love you!" It was the first time that"young Lirow had trembled to awoman'0 kiss, "Nay-nay-tempt me not!" he murmured, and unwoun m arms from his neck, and staggeredto the door. But as he reached the twheshold he turned, our gaze mete. rushed forward with outspread arms--.-- I love you!" he cried, and his face was buried on mybosom From that hour, the Rev.' Herbert Lansing was the const rsitant at my house. He lived 'in my presence. I1is sermon.o rmerly lofty and sombre in their enthusiasm, now became cold^ wd 1 yyn', ca=r : : ,t e'2:/'. . , 3_. t ., f~, Y t. y f i =~. 14 y r r eS f .. r ;ic' ^ 'a- :JC i $ " r ) page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] with a passionate warmth. I felt a strange interest in the beauti- ful boy: a feeling compounded of pure love, of passion, of voluptu- ousness, the most intense and refined. " 0, Eleanor, do you not think that if I act aright in all other respects, that this one sin will be forgiven me?" said Herbert, as one sabbath evening, after the service was over, we sat side, by side, in my home., It was in a quiet room, the curtain down, a light shining in front of a mirror, and a couch dimly seen through the shadows of an alcove. " One'sin? What mean you, Herbert ?" " The sin of loving you," and he blushed as his earnest gaze met mine., "inAnd is it a sin to love me ?"' I answered in a lo voice, suffer- ing my hapd to rest upon his forehead. "Yes !" he stammered, to love you thus unlawfully." "Why unlawfully ?" le buried his head on my breast, as he replied-" I love you as a husband, and I am not your husband.' " And why," I exclaimed, seizing him in my arms and gently raising his head, so that our gaze met, " and why can you not be my husband? I am rich ; you have genius. My wealth-enough for us both-shall be linked with your genius, and both shall the more firmly cement our love. Say, Herbert, why can you not be my husband?" He turned pale and avoided my gaze.S " You are ashamed of me-ashamed, because I have given you the last proof which a woman can give to the man she loves." " Ashamed ! 0, no-no-by all- that is sacred, no ! But, Eleanor-" And bending nearer to me, in faltering accents he whispered the secret to my ears. He was betrothed to Mary Somers, daughter of the wealtiest and most influential member of' his congregation. He had been betrothed long before he met me. To Mr. Somers, the father, he owed all that he had acquired in life, both in position and fame. That gentleman had taken him when a friendless orphan boy, had educated him, and after his ordination, had obtained for him the pastoral charge of his large and wealthy congregation. Thus he was bound to the father by every tie of gratitude ; to the daughter, by an engagement that he could not break without in- gratitude and disgrace. My heart died within me at this revela- tion. At once I saw that Herbert could never be lawfully mine. Between him and myself stood Mary Somers, and every tie of gratitude, every emotion of self-respect and honour. 24 CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR ]3URTONV I Y a r CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. 25 Not long after this interview, I saw Mary Somers at church, made the acquaintance of her father, a grave citizen, who regarded me as a sincere devotee, and induced Mary to become a frequent visitor at my house. Sherconfided all to me. She loved Herbert devotedly, and looked forward to their marriage as the most certain event in the world. She was a very pretty child, with clear blue eyes and brown hair, and a look of bewitching archness. I do not step aside from the truth, when I state that I sincerely loved her; although, it is also true, that I, never suffered myself to think of her marriage with Herbert, as anything but an impossible dream. An incident took place one summer evening-about a year after Herbert's first visit to my house-which, slight as it was, it is just as well to relate. It is such slight incidents which often decide the fate of a lifetime, and strike down the barrier between virtue and crime. I was sitting on the sofa at the back window of the parlour, and Mary sat on the stool at my feet. The light of the setting sun shone over my shoulders, and lighted up her face, as her clasped hands rested on my knees, and her happy guileless look was centred on my countenance. As I gazed upon that innocent face, full of youth and hope, I was reminded of my own early days, and at the memory, a tear rolled down my cheek. "Yes, you shall marry Herbert," the thought flashed over my mind, " and I will aid you, Mary-yes, I will resign Herbert to you." f/ At this moment Herbert entered noiselessly, and took his place by my shoulder, and, without a word, gazed first into my face and then into the face of Mary. 0, that look ! It was never forgotten. It Was fate. For it said, as plainly as a soul speaking through eyes can say--" Thou, Eleanor, art my mistress, the companion of my illicit and sensual love, but thou Mary, art my wife, the pure partner of my lawful love !" After that look, Herbert bade us good evening, in a tone of evident agitation, and hurried from the room. From that hour, Herbert avoided me. Weeks passed, and he was not seen at my house. At church he never seemed to be con- scious of my presence, and the service over, hurried at once from the place, 'without a single glance or sign of recognition. At length, Mary's visits became less frequent; and when she did come to see me, her manner manifested a conflict of confidence and sus- picion. That this wounded me, that the absence of Herbert cut me to the soul, will easily be imagined. I passed my time between page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. alternations of hope and despair, now listening-and in vain-for the echo of Herbert's step, and now bathed in unavailing tears. Conscious that my passion for Herbert was the last link that bound me to purity-to life itself-I did not give up the hope of seeing him at my feet, as in former days, until months had elapsed. Finally, grown desperate, and anxious to avoid the stings of wounded love, the perpetual presence of harrowing memories, I sought the society of that class of fashionables, to whom my first husband-Morton-had introduced me. I kept open house for them.. Revels, from midnight until dawn, in which men and women of the first class mingled, served for a time to banish re- flection, and sap, tie by tie, every thread of hope which held me to a purer state of life. The kennel has its orgies, and the hovel, in which ignorance and squalor join in their uncouth debauch ; but the orgies of the parlour, in which beauty, intellect, fashion, and refinement are mingled, far surpass, in unutterable vulgarity, the lowest orgies of the kennel. Amid the uproar of scenes like these, news reached me that the Rev..Herbert Lansing and Miss Mary Somers were shortly to be united in marriage. One evening I was sitting alone, in the back parlour, near a table on which stood a lighted .candle and a wineglass (for I now, at tines, began to seek oblivion in wine), when Mr. Dudley Haskins was announced. , Dudley was one of my fashionable friends, over forty in years, tall in stature, with a florid face, short curling brown hair, and sandy whiskers. He was a roue, and a gambler, and-save the mark-one of the first fashionables of New Yprk. Dudley entered, dressed in a showy style-blue coat, red velvet vest, plaid pants, brimstone coloured gloves, and a profusion of rings and other jewellery-a style indicative of the man. Seating himself on the sofa, he began chatting, in his easy way, about pass- ing events of fashionable life, and of the world at large. " By-the-bye, the popular preacher, young Lansing, is to be married-and to such a love of a girl-daughter of old Somers, the millionaire. Lucky fellow ! Do you know that I've often noticed her at church-a perfect Hebe-and followed her home, once or twice, and that I should not mind marrying her myself if I could get a chance." And he laughed a laugh, which showed his white teeth. "Bali! But that's it-I can't get a chance." Perhaps I blushed at the mention of this marriage, but he imme- diately continued-- " On dit, my pretty widow, that this girl Somers has cut you i ont. Lansing once was sadly taken with you-so I've heard. How is it?_ All talk, I suppose ?" I felt myself growing pale, although the blood was boiling in my veins. But, before I could reply, there was a ring at the front door, followed by the sound of a hasty footstep, and the next moment, to my utter surprise, Mary Somers rushed into the room. Without seeming to notice the presence of Haskins, she rushed forward and fell on her knees before me, her bonnet hanging on her neck, her hair floating about her face, and that face bathed in blushes and tears. "0, Eleanor ! Eleanor !" she gasped, "some slanderer has told father a story about you and Herbert-a vile wicked story-which you can refute, and which I am sure you will! For-for----" She fell fainting on my knee ; the violence of her emotions, for the time, deprived her of all appearance of life. Her head was on my lap, one hand sought mine, and'was joined to it in a convulsive clasp. 0 ! who shall say, that those crimes which make the world shudder, but to hear told, are the result of long and skilful planning, of careful and intricate scheming? No-no-the worst crimes, those which it would seem might make even the heart of a devil contract with horror, are not the result of long and delibe- rate purpose, but of the temptation of a moment, of the fatal opportunity ! As her head rested on'my lap, a voice whispered in my ear--- "Your rival !-retire for a few moments in search of hartshorn or some such restorative-and leave the fainting one in my care." I raised my head and caught the eye of Haskins. Only a single look, and the fiend was in my heart. I rose-the fainting girl fell upon the floor-I hurried from the room, and did not pause, until I had reached my own chamber and locked the door. Pressing my hands now on my burning temples,-now on my breast, I paced the floor, while perchance fifteen minutes-they seemed an eternity -passed away. Then I went slowly down stairs and entered the back parlour. Haskins was there, standing near the sofa, his face wearing an in- solent scowl of triumph. The girl was stretched upon the sofa, still insensible, but-I dare not write it. Opposite Haskins stood Herbert Lansing who had followed Mary to the house and arrived-too late. His face was bloodless: "40, villain !" he groaned, as his maddened gaze was fixed on Haskins, a"you shall pay for this with your blood ! CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. 28 CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. "Softly, reverend sir-softly ! One word of this, and the world shall know of your amours with the handsome widow." Herbert's gaze rested on my face-. "You-knew-of-this," he began, with a look that can never be forgotten.. " Pardon, Herbert, pardon-I was mad," I shrieked, flinging myself at his feet, and clutching his knees. For a moment he gazed upon me, and then lifting his clenched right hand, he struck me on the forehead, and I fell insensible on the floor. The curse which he spoke as I fell, rings even yet in my ears. * * * * * * * * Three days have passed since then. Such days as I will never pass again ! I have just learned that Haskins has fled the city ; his purpose to obtain Mary's hand in marriage, by first accomplish- ing her shame, has utterly failed. Her father knows all, and is now using every engine of his wealth to connect my pame with the crime, which has damned every hope of his idolized child. And he will succeed ! I feel it-I know it-my presentiment can- not prove false. What shall I do? Whither turn? And Herbert is a raving lunatic. This too is my work. Yes-yes-I am re- solved. I am resolved. To-morrow's dawn will bring disgrace and shame to me, and in the future I see the crowded court-house, the mob eager to drink in the story of my guilt and the felon's cell. But the morrow's dawn I shall never see ! I am alone in my chamber-the very chamber in which I became Morton's in an unholy marriage ; Eugene's in the marriage of a stainless love ; Herbert's in the mad embrace of passion. And now, 0, death, upon that marriage couch I am about to wed thee! The brazier stands in the centre of the -bridal chamber, its con- tents were ignited half an hour ago, every avenue to my chamber is carefully closed-already the fumes of the burning charcoal begin to smite my temples and my heart. This record, written from time to time, and now concluded by a hand chilled by death-I leave to my only living r-elative, not as an apology for my crimes, but as an explanation of the causes which led me to the brink of this awful abyss. Air ! Air ! Morton, for thee I have no remorse-let the branch snap-over the. cataract with thy accursed face ! Thou wert the cause of all-thou! But, Eugene, thy last look kills my soul! Herbert, thy curse is on me ! And poor Mary ! Air ! Light ! It is so dark-dark-0, for one breath of prayer ! page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] CONCLUSION. THE preceding Confession, signed by the tremulous hand of the poor suicide,, was found in her room with the senseless corse, by the Relative, to whom she addressed it. For days after the 'event, the papers were filled with paragraphs in regard to the melancholy affair. A single one, extracted from a prominent paper, will give some idea of the tone of the public -mind:- (Extract from a New York paper.) "TRAGEDY IN HIGH LIFE.--The town is full of rumours, in regard to a mysterious event or series of events, implicating a member of one of the first families of New York. These rumours ai-e singularly startling, and although they have not yet assumed a definite shape, certainly call for a judicial investigation. As. far as we have been able to sift the stories now afloat, the plain truth, reduced to the briefest possible shape, appears to be as follows: Some years since Miss E----, daughter of-old Mr. ---, one of our first mer- chants, was, while under an engagement of marriage to Eugene B--, forced into a marriage with Mr. M-----, a man old enough to be her father, but who, it is stated, had the father absolutely in his power. The marriage took place, but not long afterwards, M---, while on a visit to Niagara, was precipitated over the Falls, at dead of night, in a manner not yet satisfactorily explained. (30) CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. 31 Soon afterward the young widow, then immensely rich, encountered her former betrothed, and the fashionable world were soon after- wards informed of their marriage. A year passed, and B--, the husband of the former widow, was found in Philadelphia, mysteri- ously murdered, it was not known by whom, although it was rumoured at the time, that the brother of a wronged sister was, on that occasion, the avenger of his sister's shame. The beautiful Mrs. B--- was once more a widow. Here it might seem that her adventures, connected so strangely with the death of two husbands, had reached their termination. But it seems she was soon fascina- ted by the eloquence of a young and popular divine, Rev. H-- L-. While betrothed to Miss M- 5- , daughter of a wealthy member of his congregation, the eloquent preacher became a visiter at, the house of the rich widow, and finally his affections became entangled, and he was forced to choose between said widow and his betrothed. He sacrificed his affection for the former, to his solemn engagement with the latter. The 'slighted' widow endured the usual pangs of 'despised love' coupled with something very much like Italian jealousy, or rather jealousy after the Italian school. The betrothed was inveigled into a certain house, and her honour .sacrificed by a gentleman of fashion, known for thirty years as a constant promenader on the west side of Broadway, Mr. D- 1-H . The widow (strangest freak of a slighted and vindictive woman!) is said to have been the planner and instigator of this crime. We have now arrived at the sequel of the story. Unable to obtain the hand of the Rev. H-- L----, and stung by re- morse, for her share in the dishonour of his betrothed, the widow put a period to her own existence, in what manner is not exactly known, although conflicting rumours state the knife or the poison phial was the instrument of her death. No coroner's investigation took place. The body gave no signs of a violent death. 'Disease of the heart,' was stated in the certificate of the physician (how compliant he was to the wishes of rich survivors we will not say) as the cause of her unexpected decease. She was quietly buried in the family vault, and her immense estate descends to a Relative, who was especially careful in cloaking over the fact of the suicide. The tragedy involved in the affair will be complete, when we in- form the reader, that Mr. D------ H---- has fled the city, while his poor victim, M- 5-, tenants the cell of an Asylum for the Insane. Altogether this affair is one of the wildest exaggera- tions, or one of the most painful tragedies, that ever fell to the lot page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. 33 CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. of the press to record. Can it be believed, that a young lady, honourably reared, would put a period to the lives of two husbands, then procure the dishonour of a rival who interposed between her and a third husband? Verily, 'fact is stranger than fiction,' and every-day reality more improbable than the wildest dreams of romance. The truth will not be known until the CONFESSION, said to be left by the young widow, makes its appearance. 'But will it appear? We shall see." So much for the public press.' The reader can contrast its rumours, with the facts of the case as plainly set forth in=the previous Confession, penned by the hand of the unfortunate and guilty Eleanor. How this Confession passed from the hands of the Relative to whom it was addressed, into the hand of the one who writes these lines, is a matter which may excite the reader's curiosity, but which the present writer is not at liberty to explain. It passed honour- ably from one hand to the other, at all events. A few words more will close this painful narrative. Eleanor- was quietly and honourably buried. Her relatives were wealthy and powerful. The 'physician's certificate' enabled them to avoid the painful formality of a coroner's inquest. She sleeps beside her husband, Eugene Burton, in Greenwood Cemetery. Soon after her decease, Mr. Somers sold all his property in New York, and with his daughter disappeared completely from public view. Herbert Lansing remained in the Lunatic Asylum for more than a year, when he was released, his intellect restored, but his health (it is stated) irretrievably broken. After his release he left New York, and his name was soon forgotten, or if mentioned at all, only as that of a person long since dead. Dudley Haskins, after various adventures in Texas and Mexico, " turned up" at last in California. His last exploit appears in a San Francisco paper---. "tAmong the numerous black-legs who infest our otherwise peace- ful community, none has been so prominent for months past, as one Dudley Haskins, formerly well known as a man of fashion and pro- fessed roue in New York, but latterly only known as a professed black-leg, up to any desperate act, living by his wits, and as reck- less as he was poor. The last exploit of Dudley, undertaken by him with a view to retrieve his desperate fortunes, took place near Sonora, and ended rather disastrously. John Hawkins, a poor fellow from the States, who had achieved a little fortune in the mines, was on his way home with his well earned store. He was found near Sonora barbarously murdered. Unfortunately for Dud- ley, the knife with which the deed was done was identified, the property of the murdered man found on Dudley, and Dudley him- self strung up by Judge Lynch, after an hour's trial. A pitiful end for the once brilliant roue of New York city. And that was the end of Dudley Haskins. A single incident more, and this narrative is at an end. About a year after the death of Eleanor Burton, a young man in moderate circumstances, accompanied by his wife (a pale, faded, although interesting woman) and her aged father, took up his resi- dence in C--, a pleasant village in south-western Pennsylvania. They were secluded in their habits, and held but little intercourse with the other villagers. The husband passed by the name of Wilton, which (for all that the villagers knew to the contrary) was his real" name., One winter evening, as the family were gathered about the open wood fire, a sleigh halted at the door, and a visiter appeared in the person of a middle aged man, who came unbidden into the room, shaking the snow from his great coat, and seating himself in the midst of the family. Regarding for a moment the face of the aged father, and then the countenance of the young husband and wife, which alike, in their pallor, seemed to bear the traces of an irre- vocable calamity, the visiter said quietly,- "Herbert Lansing, I am the Relative, to whom. Eleanor Burton addressed her Confessions, and whom she invested with the trustee- ship of her estate." Had a thunderbolt fallen into the midst of the party, it would not have created so much consternation, as these few words from the lips of the visiter. The young wife shrieked, the old man started from his chair, Herbert Lansing (otherwise called Mr. Wilton), with the blood rushing to his pale face, said simply, " That accursed woman! woIhold her last will and testament in my hand," continued the visiter; "I am her nearest relative, and would inherit her estate but for this will, by which she names you and your wife ary, as the sole heirs of her immense property." Herbert took the will from the visiter's hands. "6As administrator of her estate, I am here to surrender it into / page: 34-35 (Illustration) [View Page 34-35 (Illustration) ] 44 CONFESSIONS OF ELEANOR BURTON. your hands. The will was made as a small atonement for the injury she caused you." Herbert quietly dropped the parchment into the fire: " Her money and her memory are alike accursed. * I will have nothing to do with either." That night the Relative turned his face eastward, to take posses- Sion of the estate of Eleanor Burton. 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