street, dressed as a Sister of Charity, to receive the little stranger.

Mrs. Cunningham was duly tracked, by Police-Captain Speight, from 31 Bond street to Elm street, and seen to return with a basket containing the baby. She was permitted to enter her house, and at eleven o'clock a domiciliary visit was paid by the officers.

The scene in the bed-room was melodramatic. Doctor De la Montagne, (a connection of Mr. Hall,) and Police-Inspector Dilks rang the door-bell, but there was no answer. The doctor then rang violently, when the door was soon opened by two women, who objected to their coming in, and asked what was wanted at that late hour. The callers excused themselves for being there at such a time, by saying they had intercepted a doctor who stated that there had been a delivery in the house, Inspector Dilks remarking that he had come to see if it was all right. To this, one of the women replied that Mrs. Burdell was sick and could not be seen. The two then closely followed the women up stairs, and entered the upper second-story hall. One of the women looked into the front large room and said, "There are two gentlemen who wish to come in ; a voice said from within, "Lock that door-they must not come in-I tell you to lock that door!"

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Doctor Uhl had previously been summoned to repair immediately to No. 31 Bond street, as Mrs. Burdell was then suffering with labor pains. On arriving, he was ushered into a dark room, where Mrs. Cunningham was in bed. She feigned to be very sick, and groaned in apparent agony; the nurse was washing the child. While he was there, Doctor Catlin, one of Mrs. Cunningham's accomplices, brought in a pail of blood and smeared the sheets, and otherwise made it appear that a birth had actually taken place. Mrs. Cunningham exclaimed soon after, "I have put my trust in God, and he has favored me; I shall now be revenged upon my persecutors." On being asked by Doctor De la Montagne, "Do you claim this child as the

child of Harvey Burdell?" she said, "Of course, whose else should it be?" On the officers entering her room, they found the two nurses busily preparing some warm drink for the pretended patient. On the infant being removed by the officers, Mrs. Cunningham said, "Don't take away my dear baby from me.” Doctor De la Montagne demanded, in the presence of the officers, to see the umbilical cord. Mrs. Cunningham and the nurse objected, but after some persuasion, gave their consent. He then removed the bandage and saw the piece of pocket-handkerchief on the cord, which was placed there at 190 Elm street. The infant was now taken to Bellevue Hospital and restored to its mother, a lying-in patient in that institution. Doctor Catlin turned state's evidence, and exposed the fictitious birth. Mrs. Cunningham escaped the penalty attaching to so flagrant a crime, because of the irregular proceedings which had been resorted to by the officers of the law in enabling her to consummate her plans. She failed, however, to establish her claim to having been married to Doctor Burdell, and thus the whole amazing and abhorrent scheme, by which she was to obtain possession of the doctor's property, utterly miscarried.

Two of the most terrible tragedies, therefore, arising from the guilty relation of libertine and mistress, have thus been furnished by New York, namely, the murder of Doctor Burdell by the hands or at the instigation of Mrs. Cunningham, and that of the brilliant and beautiful, but depraved courtesan, Helen Jewett. This last-named tragedy occurred April 9, 1836. Richard P. Robinson, the alleged perpetrator of this horrid deed, had for some time been in the habit of "keeping" a girl named Helen Jewett, at No. 41 Thomas street, a noted house of ill-fame, kept by Rosina Townsend, one of the most splendid of the Palaces of Pleasure and Passion to be found in that city.

Having, as he suspected, some cause for jealousy, he went to the house on that fatal night, with the intention of murdering her, for he carried a hatchet with him.

On going up into her room, quite late at night, he mentioned his suspicions, expressed his determination to quit her, and demanded his watch and miniature, together with some letters which were in her possession. She refused to give them up, and he then drew from beneath his cloak the hatchet, and inflicted upon her head three blows, either of which must have proved fatal, as the bone was cleft to the extent of three inches in each place. She died without a struggle; and the coldblooded villain then set fire to the bed, after which he ran down stairs secretly, went out of the back door, and escaped to his boarding-house. In a short time, Mrs. Townsend was aroused by the smell of smoke, and, rushing up stairs, saw the bed on fire and the mangled body of the unfortunate girl upon it. She ran down, raised the alarm, and the watchmen, running to the spot, rescued the body and preserved the house from being consumed.

A cloak was found in the yard, which, being identified as that of Robinson, at once the murderer was suspected. Receiving such information as the horrorstricken inmates could furnish them, the policemen proceeded on their search for the assassin, and in a short time Robinson was arrested in his bed, and brought at once to the house where had been committed the awful crime. On seeing the body, he exhibited no signs of emotion, but gazed around and on his victim coolly and calmly.

The coroner was summoned, a jury formed, and, after a patient examination of the testimony, a verdict was rendered that "she came to her death by blows upon

her head, inflicted with a hatchet, by Richard P. Robinson." But, notwithstanding the weight of evidence against him, at the regular trial, the jury failed to convict him of the deed. Among other proofs of his guilt, was the complete identification of the cloak found, as that belonging to Robinson and worn by him that evening, and the identification of the bloody hatchet as one that belonged to Robinson's employer, Mr. Joseph Hoxie, and which had been missing from the store exactly from the day of the murder.

The extreme youthfulness-only nineteen years, handsome appearance, and social standing of Robinson, and the reputation of Helen Jewett, as one of the most beautiful and accomplished "women of pleasure," invested the case with an allpervading public interest. She was wellknown to every pedestrian on Broadway, and had probably seduced, by her personal attractions, more young men than any other of her degraded class. She was oftentimes conspicuous on Wall street, which she paraded in an elegant green dress, and generally with a letter in her hand. Her walk was in the style of an English woman, and she gazed with great boldness of demeanor upon the gentlemen who passed by. Her handwriting was beautiful, and she carried on an extensive. correspondence with acquaintances in all parts of the country. Not a fulsome expression nor an unchaste word was found in any of the letters written by her. Her wit, talents, beauty, and depravity, constituted her a remarkable character, and she came to a remarkable end.

Hatteras, and, out of nearly six hundred persons on board at the time, about threefourths went down with her, together with the vast amount of bullion, and the prodigious California mails. Hundreds of family circles, in all parts of the land, were thus suddenly bereaved and desolated; and, so direful was the disaster, as to greatly aggravate the financial panic that had just begun to shake and shatter the foundations of the business world.

The gale which caused this terrible calamity was described by experienced seamen as one of the fiercest ever known. It commenced on the evening of the eighth —the day on which the Central America left Havana-and continued, lulling at intervals, until the night of the twelfth. On the latter day, it rose to the power of an appalling hurricane, against which the ship labored very hard. A low, gloomy sky shut out the sun by day, and the stars by night; the sea did not rise into waves, but was one plain of foam, over which a heavy mist of spray was driven by the force of the wind. On the morning of Friday, the eleventh, the ship was discovered to have sprung a leak. This appears to have extinguished the fires almost immediately; the steam pumps were, therefore, useless, and the only hope was in bailing, as the ship even then was making water very fast. The passengers worked vigorously at the buckets, and at first with so much success that the fires were again lighted— but only for a few moments; the water returned, and extinguished them forever.

So terrific was the power of the elements, that the vessel was now completely at the mercy of the winds and waves. During the whole of the night of the eleventh, the bailing was kept up with unremitting energy, but on the morning of the twelfth, in spite of all efforts to keep her afloat, the ship was evidently sinking fast. The passengers continued to demean themselves, however, with the greatest propriety; there was no weeping, no exhibition of despair, even among the women. At two o'clock, in the afternoon, a sail was reported to windward, and in

about an hour after, the brig Marine, Captain Burt, of Boston, came up under the Central America's stern. Boats were now lowered, but two were instantly swamped and destroyed, the sea being at a terrible height. Three boats still remained, though one of them was in a bad condition. At four o'clock the work of removing the women and children to the deck of the Marine was commenced. The brig, however, being much lighter than the ship, had drifted two or three miles to leeward, and the boats were long in making their trips. After the women and children had all been safely placed on board, the chief engineer and some fifteen others took the boats, made for the brig, and did not return. It was now dark. About two hours before the sinking of the ship, a schooner ran down under her stern, but could render no assistance for want of boats, just then. This was the El Dorado, Captain Stone, who, as stated by him, supposing from Captain Herndon's asking him to lie by until morning, that the steamer would be kept afloat till that time, made all the preparations in his power to assist. The vessels drifted apart in the storm, though the lights from the steamer were visible to the schooner until nearly eight o'clock, when they suddenly disappeared. Captain Stone then ran as near the spot as could be ascertained, but could discover nothing of the steamer.

Until within an hour of the fatal event, the passengers continued to bail. Lifepreservers were then given out to them. Captain Herndon stood upon the wheel, and was heard to say, "I will never leave the ship." The final scene took place more suddenly, and at an earlier period, than her unfortunate passengers anticipated. All at once the ship made a plunge at an angle of forty-five degrees, and then disappeared forever.

A simultaneous shriek of agony rose from five hundred human voices, and five hundred human beings were now floating on the bosom of the ocean, with no hope but death.

About half-past one o'clock, on the

morning of the thirteenth, the Norwegian bark Ellen came run

ning down with a free wind. The cries of distress from the Central America's passengers were heard, and the Ellen hove-to under short sail. And now the task of rescuing those who had been able to survive in the water for some five hours was commenced, and, by nine o'clock in the forenoon, thirty-one men were rescued. Diligent search was made until twelve o'clock, but no more survivors could be seen, so the Ellen bore away for Norfolk, where the passengers rescued by her, as well as those taken off by the Marine, were placed on board the steamer Empire City, and conveyed to New York. Out of a total of five hundred and seventy-nine persons on board-four hundred and seventy-four passengers and a crew of one hundred and five-only one hundred and fifty-two were saved. Captain Herndon, the brave commander, stood courageously at his post to the last, and went down with his noble vessel. He was one of the most brilliant officers in the American naval service, distinguished himself in the Mexican war, assisted for some years in the con

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duct of the national observatory at Washington, and in 1851-2 explored the Amazon river, under the direction of the United States government.

Among the thrilling narratives of the wreck and of their own personal sufferings, given by some of the passengers, that by Mr. George furnishes an idea of the terrors of a night on the waves. Mr. George was one of the hundreds who had supplied themselves with life-preservers, pieces of plank, etc., and preferred to await the ship's going down to leaping overboard in anticipation of her fate. When she went down stern foremost, after giving three lurches that made every timber quiver, and which were to every quaking heart as the throes that instantly preceded her dissolution, he was dragged, with the rest on board of her, some twentyfive feet below the surface. He heard no shriek-nothing but the seething rush and hiss of waters that closed above her as she hurried, almost with the speed of an arrow, to her ocean bed. Night had

closed in before the vessel sank, and he was sucked in by the whirlpool caused by her swift descent, to a depth that was seemingly unfathomable, and into a darkness that he had never dreamed of. Com