The Life and Death of Mrs. Maria Bickford: A beautiful female, who was inhumanly murdered, in the moral and religious city of Boston, on the night of the 27th of October, 1845, by Albert J. Tirrell, her paramour, arrested on board the Ship Sultana, off New Orleans, December 6th — John Shaqi
The Life and Death of Mrs. Maria Bickford: A beautiful female, who was inhumanly murdered, in the moral and religious city of Boston, on the night of the 27th of October, 1845, by Albert J. Tirrell, her paramour, arrested on board the Ship Sultana, off New Orleans, December 6thClergyman of Brunswick, Me.
History
The Life and Death of Mrs. Maria Bickford: A beautiful female, who was inhumanly murdered, in the moral and religious city of Boston, on the night of the 27th of October, 1845, by Albert J. Tirrell, her paramour, arrested on board the Ship Sultana, off New Orleans, December 6th
Clergyman of Brunswick, Me.
Bickford, Mary Ann, 1824-1845; Murder -- Massachusetts -- Boston; Tirrell, Albert John, 1824-1880
Dearest, Dearest Theodore: I have not yet lain down. Did you reach
home in safety? That was a swift, ugly horse! I would give worlds
to hear from you, Theodore, even one word! What joys hath God
revealed to me this day! Can our love endure forever? May angels
guard you, Theodore, and learn you to think of your betrothed
Maria! It begins to rain dreadfully, and I know not what to do. I
beat about my chamber like a silly bird in a cage. What a destiny
broods over us! Write me one line, only one line, to tell me of
your welfare. I shall be in despair until I hear from you. Do not
delay the bearer an instant. He promises to return in a very, very
short time. I will pray for you all this night, that seems as if it
would never end. God bless you, my darling Theodore! Do not fail to
write, and, till we meet again, believe me your own
MARIA.
_Monday Morning._
Sweetest, Dearest One: Yours found me quite safe and well, at home,
smoking over a glass of wine. I love you, if that could be, more
than before. You was a darling, to send to inquire after my safety
and health so soon! A wet jacket frightens not me. God bless you,
enchanting one! I will pledge your name and welfare in a glass of
sparkling liquor--I will, ’pon my suavity.[4] Won’t that be
sublime! I sigh for the regaling drinks of my mother’s cupboard!
Your penny-wise people here in Maine would grudge a dog his bone,
and would starve one of my big Cuba hounds, I am sure. But when we
get off there, eh? Won’t you shine, a princess? I’ll pistol the
fool that says you’re not one. By my honor, you shall have a
hundred servants at your heels, deary, eh? Well, good bye for a
short time, love. I love you, and that’s gospel truth. I’ll be back
to-morrow. My soul goes forth after you, as the sunflower follows
in the wake of the sun.
Believe me to be your own THEODORE.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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