2
THE bAiiii- EVENING TELEGRAPH PHILADELPHIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 14, 18C9.
I Oontinwd from the First Pntfe.
'I had better go to bed; she did not wish me to
wait ups she would read the paper and wait for
the girl herself. " I wont to y room, saying, at
the same time, " George, I am going to bed, "to
which be replied, "Very well. ' My mother
arose and went with me to my room, remaining
and conversing pleasantly with me until 1 went to
bed, when she passed ont of the room, and In a
abort time (how lonii I cannot say) George came
Into the room, undressed, and came to bed. I
was soon asleep, and knew nothing more until
awakened by the)fg1iVluBlnBth door-tall. I
cannot say if GeoiW wirleep, but I think he
laald "George.thatmnstbetheglrl. " Heroplled
he supposed It was. lie made no attempt at that
time toget up and let the girl In. 1 came out of
my room into the entry and called my mother
twice to which I received no reply. I returned to
mr room with the intention of finding something
to throw over my shoulders, when Georgo cat up,
and said to me in an abrupt manner "TOucome
to bed and I will go down and let the girl In. ' ' I
remained at my room door waiting for George to
come up, thinking my mother was down stairs.
I heard Sarah call htm, heard what he said when
he went Into the yard. I flow down stairs and saw
my mother lying on the settee In the kitchen a
dead woman. This is all I know about the mur
der. I knew nothing about my husband's busi
ness; I believed it to bo In a flourishing condi
tion, being told by him only a few days be
fore the murder that he was doing well,
making money, and out of debt. I was kept In
perfect ignorance, not only concerning his bust
ness affairs, but many other acts of his private
life. I deny that I ever deserted my husband,
but, on the contrary, repeatedly offered to give
every dollar I possessed to save his life if possible.
After my acquittal 1 treated him kindly, visited him
three times every week, never, in any way, referred
by look or word to the murder, never spoke an un
kind word to him, and never once said to him,
Mother!" On Wednesday morning, March 24,
when I visited him as usual, in shaking hands
with him, he conveyed to me a letter of Instruc
tion, On Good Friday morning, March 20, du
ring my conversation with him, he conveyed to
me a written confession, which he wished me to
tudy well and commit to memory, and come to
prison prepared upon Monday morning.
From reading this I saw that It was arranged
for me to go there and become a party to the false
hood. It was arranged that Mr. Perkins and the
Kev. Mr. Brlngburst were to receive me, and I
was to play a part in order to deceive them and
the world. I was to accuse myself of having taken
my mother's life, and commit perjury by swear-
ng to such a statement. Much as I desired to aid
my husband, I could not do this thing; and find
ing I could not trust myself safely, and fearing
from the arrangements made I might be en
trapped, I went no more to the prison. Finding
I did not come on the Monday as he desired, he
aent me, on Wednesday morning, March SI, two
other confessions, from which I was to make a
choice. On Thursday morning, April 1, I received
the fourth and last one. Since that fatal hour
thaw I bade my mother good night I have been
surprised and stunned to find that mother mur
dered in her own bouse ; I have been imprisoned
many sad days and gloomy nights, charged with
the crime of having murdered my own mother.
My husband has been convicted of that crime; my
home has been utterly destroyed ; I myself have
been put on trial for my life ; my husband has
commfhed suicide; I have been Judged not only
by the tribunals of the country, but fearfully
Judged by those who have been warned by the
Waster to "Judge not;" I have been accused by
my husband, who did it In a desperate effort to
aave his life, of killing my mother. He did this,
I repeat, in an effort to save his life. In the de
fence of all that makes life desirable, I am com
pelled to submit these letters to the public to show
them bow utterly unreliable was such a statement,
made by my husband under the circumstances In
which he was placed, and how little I should have
been believed, had I even made such a statement
myself.
I have felt and I continue to feel that there Is no
sympathy for me. I am a woman believed to be
a guilty one, and for such the gates of human
sympathy are shut. My only hope Is that in the
little lfe that is left of me, and during those times
I may be compelled, reluctantly though it may be,
to come In contact with the great world, I may be
spared the distress of hearing, as I have heard, un
consciously to those who spoke of me, myself de
nounced as a murderess In thought as well as ac
tionr the murderess of my mother and destroyer
of my husband. Camilla E. Twitchbll.
Ueorge
8. Twrltchell'a
Wife.
Letters to Ills
FIBST LETTER.
Sunday Mobneno, March 7, 1809.
Mt Dear Wife: I have Just listened to an ex
hortation upon the 1st Chapter of James, and
though it was not very elaborate, yet it was suffi
ciently plain to make it evident to an attentive
hearer the great need we have of a Saviour. The
situation that I am in makes me feel that great
blessing, for oh, dear Camilla, no earthly help
can afford me the consolation that I can receive
from an all-wise and ever-merciful God, through
the righteousness of His Divine Son, our Lord
Jesus ClirUl. I am aware of the fearful doom
which awaits me by the condemnation of the law,
No hand can stay it except guided by God. I feel
that my time on earth Is short, but, blessed be
God, there Is a better land above, where, by faith
In the great atonement, the trials, sufferings, and
awful death of that Being, sinless in Himself, yet
wno.m ooeaience to me win oi ills Divine Father.
took upon Himself the sins of the whole world.
and endured the punishment in order that we poor
. sinners mignt escape me righteous law of God.
, and yet that law be vindicated by sacrifice, that
we might have a home above throughout the
countless ages of eternity. Oh, Camilla l think of
- (his great love for us, and then think how it is re-
. paid by us. Dear Camilla, please don't neglect
the salvation of your soul, though we must soon
part . here. Oh I let me feel before I go that you
will try to live so tnat you win meet me above.
where there will be no more sorrow nor parting
where man cannot Intrude his will or power to
make his fellow mourn. Dear Camilla, I want to
feel before I go that when your time shall come
that I can stand and meet you on the pearly shores
of heaven, and sing, as I see you on your way,
'welcome home,".
"Go when the morning shinelh,'
Uo when the moon is bright.
Go when the eve dtelineth,
Go In the ihade of night.
Go with pure mind and feeling.
Fling earthly thought wy,
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in leeret pray.
Dear Camilla, seek the mercy seat alone, and
often, and there pour out your sorrows, griefs,
and trouble, and He will answer your prayers,
perhaps not as you wish, but In a way which will
be best for you. There, before His all-pervading
eye, lay barfl your heart; roll your sins on to
Jesus, He can and will bear them, If you will only
believe It; and He is your "Advocate with the
Father. ' ' What a blessed thought that we can
Individualize the Saviour, that we can Bay: "My
fHariour, He bore my sins on the cross, He died to
save me, " and, dear Camilla, when evil thoughts
and doubts and fears come over you, go and pray
to Him for help to overcome them, and for strength
and faith. U you will do this He will enable you to
endure all that you may be called upon to bear, with
patience. I am right well, and I expect Charles
Perkins to spend the evening with me. Please
give my respects to Miss Kate. Please don't for
get me at six o'clock In the evening. Keep this
letter and often look, at It. This wlU probably be
the last one that I will be able to wend you, and
when I am gone please read it very often.
X am, as ever, yours, with love unto death,
Osobos.
second letter.
Mondat Evening, March 8, 1809.
Dear Camilla) Mr. Brlnghurst spent about
two hours with me yesterday afternoon, and we
had a very pleasant time, as we always do,
although he has not been very welt. Last evening
Charles Ferkins came up about 7 o'clock, and
stayed until quarter of nine. We had a lovely
evening, singing some hymns, and each one offer
ing an humble prayer to Almighty .God, In which
yon were remembered. Oh, Camilla, I always
remember you In my prayers, hoping that God
will direct your heart aright, and He will if you
will only ask Him. Father, John McCully,
Frank Moore, and my warm friend, George Nel
nian, were here this morning to see me; they let
Geo. Neiman stay about a half an hour, and we
had a delightful time, he offering up a prayer, and
then we sang several hymns. I have been
very happy to-day. This afternoon Mr. Farr
came In about half past two o'clock and stayed
aboutanhour. Mr. Brlnghurst did not get here
till about three o'clock. Before Mr. Farr left we
had one hymn, and he led us In prayer. He
prayed very sweetly, yet very earnestly, for
me, and you were also reraembored In It.
Mr. Farr Is a very sweet Christian charac
ter; he Is about seventy years of age, and Is
a member of the committee of the Prison So
ciety. He is very interesting in his conversation,
having travelled considerably. He formerly kept
the Jewelry store in Chestnut street, below
Fourth; his sons now keep It My dear Ca
milla, I feel that God has been very kind to
me in my affliction, having blessed me with
many warm friends, and many peaceful and
pleasant and happy hours. Oh I dear Camilla, He
has made my soul very happy; He has made me
feel enabled to say that, come what will, whether
it be life or death, I know in whom I trust, and
though the flesh is weak, yet He will give me
strength to meet all, and enable me to feel that It
is but a moment of pain here, and then an eter
nity of everlasting life in that bright, glorious
kingdom which is promised to them that believe.
These are blessed thoughts, and dear Camilla, let
me again entreat you to prepare for this. A few
hours may, a few years must bring you to the close
of life; and if I go first I want to meet you where
there is no more sighing, neither any sorrow nor
any crying. Dear Camilla, the spirit of Christian
ity Is good to live with, as well as to
die with. You may think this very strange
language from one who has been such a
skeptic and scorner as I have been, but In my
calamity God has changed my heart and shown
me the fallacy of my ways. Oh, Camilla ! I have
been a very great sinner, but God's mercy has
been far greater. I am a very different man from
the George S. Twltchell'of Ave months ago, and
far happier one, even with the dark earthly
prospects ahead. Jesus says, "Fear nothing, those
who kill the body can after that do nothing."
Please don't forget God, for He, through the
blessed Saviour, is your only salvation. Dear Ca
milla, if the worst should come, I think I would
like to sleep in Mount Moriab, near that beauti
ful stream of water, Brook Hedron, I think it Is
called, far away from the noise and bustle of the
world, where you can come and commune with
me, and I want you to put no costly monument
over my grave, but plant some roses and some
thing that will be green In winter. G.
THIRD letter.
Received Wednesday before Good Friday.
Dear, Dear Camilla: I know that you think
that you would not be believed if you made a con
fession; but I know that if you will make such a
one as I tell you to, and do exactly as I tell you, it
will be believed. If I were acquitted, and you were
convicted, I would make one to save you, If it
would be death for me. Now, I ask you
to do the same thing, Camilla. You have my life
in your hand. If you do as I direct, you will save It ;
and if you do not, no power under Heaven can save
me. Amend of mine who talked a longtime with
the Governor, said that he told him that he had
to carry out the law, but if any mitigating circum
stances should arise he would spare me. I am
pledged not to tell who he Is. The Governor told
John McCully that the sentence would have to be
carried out, unless somebody says they did it
Camilla, I hear that while you were In prison you
said some very Injudicious things. Mr. Brlng
hurst says you have done the same thing when
talking with him at his house. I hope for the
sake of charity and mercy that you will
do so no more. You must never say to
him anything about this, for he tells me
in confidence, and I only tell you to show
how careful you ought to be; and if he should
know that I told you It would do me a great deai
of harm. I want to tell you plainly, that he thinks
you know something about it, and a great many
others think so, too. This is one reason why you
will be believed. Some of the leading lawyers of
Philadelphia have told him that if you made a
confession it would save me. Among them Is a
man who used to be Governor of this State, and
also one who has known Gov. Geary all his life.
Now I will tell you what steps I have taken to
prepare the way. I have been urged to ask you
here, In the presence of somebody, whether you
know anything about it Mr. Brlnghurst thinks I
ought to do this, and many other prominent men.
So to-day I sent for Mr. Perkins, the Superinten
dent Of the Prison, and asked him about it He
said I ought to do It He said It was probable that
you would say no; but if you should admit it, it
would save me, and it was the only thing that
would. I also asked Mr. Chandler; he said the
same thing. I tell them that I expect you would
deny It although I don't believe that you
know anything. This sets their minds at rest
about me. You must never say anything to
Mr. Brlnghurst, for that would ruin it all. I will
write out a confession tor you, and give It to you
on Friday ; and you must learn it thoroughly. I
will also give you all the directions how to act and
when you will do it Mr. O'Byrne told me
that he did not want you to know anything
about it You must not say anything at all about
this, not even to father. It must be kept perfect
ly secret, or it will do no good.
Camilla, spare me this horrible, awful death.
You, and you alone, can do It. Oh I do not dis
appoint me; it would be more than I could bear.
Oh Camilla, I have tried to be kind to you ; you can
not torget the days and nights that I have
nursed you when vou were sick the nlehts I
walked the road with you in the country when you
7 1" ainma, and I did not complain. And.
dear Camilla, you have been a good wife to me.
Do not, ohl do not, I pray you, desert me now.
Save! ohl save me. You have got a noble heart,
and I know that you will do this. Camilla, you
would be awful lonely without any one. and in
your present position. Oh, If you will save me.
or at least make the effort for if vmi h nt nv
the effort you know that you can't do It ; but oh for
my sake make this last effort-It's all you cau'do
And if It saves me I will starve If It Is necessary to
give you comforts; and In another State and
under another name we may yet be happy. Dear
Camilla, if you really intend to do this you must
have a trunk packed all ready to leave the city at
the shortest notice. I think I would go to Baltl-
more ana stop at a second-class hotel Of course
you will have to change your name, please urge
Mr. O'Byrne to come down this afternoon, and
get here as soon alter lour o'clock as he can.
Good-bye; don't let any one see this. Burn
It as soon as you have read It It Is an
awful thing to ask you to do this, but dear
Camilla, It Is for my life. If it was for auythlng
else I would not auk you to do It Please, oh I
please spare my life. Save me, oh I save me. You
are the only one who can, Camilla, think of this.
I am young, and in the full flush of health, and it
is not too late yet to try and make you happy. I
would go in rags to do it, If you will save me.
Oh ! remember this, and m ve me if you can. Oh I
don't let your courage full you; remember that
you cannot give me life after 1 am dead ; and oh t
dear Camilla, do ai I at; you to In this case
Don't forget It is for my life. George.
fourth letter.
Tlil wm rect'lveJ on Ciooil Krlday.
Mr Dear Camilla: You mint make the follow
Ing confession if you would ve me, and you mint
lo Just exactly as I toll you here ; nothing else can
save me but this, and this will positively do it.
You have said you woulti irlve your life to do It,
but that will not do unless it was accompanied by
a confession, and I would rather die myself than
have you to die; butyouean do ibis without death,
and this is the way to do it. You muH write out
the following confession writo It out twice put
one away in some secret place so that after you
have done as I tell you you can have one to look at
so that you will not forget It In case you should
ever be wanted ; if the Governor or any of the au
thorities should ever send for you to ask you any
questions you could answer them correctly. You
must also learn this, so that if you are asked any
questions you can answer so as not to contradict
them or this
CONFESSION.
One afternoon last spring, my mother and I were
walking up Chestnut street, and, as we passed the
Continental, Mr. Gilbert came out and a gontle
man with him. He came up and spoke to us, and
introduced his friend to us his name was Lee,
Mr. Ie. They walked up Chestnut street to
Tenth with us, they went on up Chestnut and we
took the Tenth-stieet cars and came home. A
few days after I met Mr. Gilbert in Ninth street ;
he came over and walked with me to Chestnut
street; he went into the Continental; he asked
me how my mother was; he always did whenever
I saw him, and asked me If she was any better
natured yet; he spoke about his friend Mr. Lee,
and said lie was a very elegant gentleman, and
worth a great deal of money; that he always had
plenty of money. I asked where Mr. Lee lived, and
Mr. Gilbert said that when be was in the city he
stopped at the Girard House, but he was a great
traveller. I saw Mr. Lee as I was going down
Chestnut street ; he bowed to me; he' was a fine
looking man, rather tall, with a moustache and
military side-whiskers, and dressed in the top of
the fashion. I often saw him after this, some
times on Chestnut street, and sometimes on Eighth
street; occasionally he would Join me; he was a
splendid talker, and I got to like him very much.
After I got right well acquainted with him I found
out that he was a gambler. He always asked me
how fny mother was. After we got well acquainted
I told him how my mother treated me when my
husband was away ; how cross she was. He asked
me why I did not put her out of the way, and I
said 1 could not do that. He then said, "Get your
husband to do It. " I told him that my husband
would leave me if I ever hinted such a thing to
him; and he replied, "That would be no great
loss, for you could get another one as
good as" him any day." I then told him
that my husband was very kind to me. This
conversation took place in Arch street be
tween Seventh and Ninth streets. I was looking
at the pictures in Gutekunst's window when he
came up and spoke to me, and from there we
walked up to Ninth street, where he took a car.
made an appointment with him to meet me that
day one week, which was Tuesday, at three
o'clock In the afternoon, In Franklin Square. I
told him I would be standing around the fountain.
He came at the time appointed, and we took seats
and talked matters over. He asked me a great
many questions about my mother ; what her habits
were; when the servant was out; what time
she came in ; If my husband stayed up to let her
In ; how much money my mother carried about
her and where she carried It; if my husband
slept soundly, &c. He then said he would
fix it for me; but that he must have
all the money and 'I must let him see
the house. I told him to come to the house
about half past four o'clock on Thursday after
noon ; that the girl would be out, and I would get
mother to go out so that nobody would be home
but me. He .came, and I showed him all over the
house and the yard. We then fixed the time for
the next Sunday week ; he said Sunday night was
the best time, because there would not be so many
people about and this would be the girl's night
out. He told me to unbolt the gate on Tenth
street as soon as it got dark, and that he would
bring somebody with blm; that I must have the
dogs fed as much as they could eat, and put away
where they would make no noise, and that then
they would come In and hide themselves. I told
him to go Into the back privy; that no one ever
went in there, and that when mother, was up
stairs I would get them into the cellar.
Our plan was that I was to come out of
the kitchen singing if the way was clear;
and If he was there, he was to give a slight cough,
This was to be done before I went to bed; then
after my husband was fast asleep I was to come
down and tell them. This was our plan, and
everything seemed to favor it that night I asked
him when I would see him again, and he said we
must not see each other again till the night we had
fixed on, for If we were seen together It might look
suspicious. He stayed at the house about half an
hour, and this was the last time I saw him till that
Sunday night. Everything passed off as we had
expected. After my husband was fast asleep,
got up and went down stairs very quietly in my
bare feet and looked in ttie dining-room, ine
door was partly open, and the gas was turned low,
but I saw mother lying down on the sofa. I went
up to her and found she was asleep, l went rignt
down stairs as quietly as I could, opened the cellar
door and told them to come as quickly and as
quietly as they could ; that she was asleep in the
dining-room, and now was their time. Mr. Lee
told the man who was with him to go out in the
yard; he then went up stairs into the dining
room, and I shut the door and stayed outside. J
heard several blows given, but do not know how
many, and then all was quiet 1 waited a moment
and then went in. He said he guessed that would
do. When I went In I did not see any blood, and I
said to him, " let us throw her out of the window,
and when the girl comes home she will think she
fell out." I went and pulled up the blind and
raised the window. He then came and gave a
kind of low hiss, which the man in the yard an
swered. ne wished to see if anybody was
about. The man in the yard got on the ash
barrel, and In a minute he gave a kind of low
whistle. Mr. Lee told me to take hold of the feet,
and he caught hold of her body and carried her
and threw her out Then I turned up the gas and
for the first time saw blood on the floor. I said
would wipe It up. We went down stairs, and the
man in the yard came in, and Mr. Lee took his
overcoat from the man. I think he called him
John. I opened the front door and let them out.
and then shut It very auletlv. I don't know
whether I locked It or not; 1 don't think I did,
Then I went out to the hydrant and got a towel
that was there, and went up stairs to wipe up the
blood. When I saw It was splashed around the
room, I knew It was no use, so I went down stairs
again with the bloody towel and washed It under
the hydrant, and let the hydrant run a minute or
two. I thought I saw mother move, and was afraid
that she was not dead, so I went and got the poker
from beside the range and struck her on the side
of the head with the point laid It down mere,
washed my hands, and went to bed, where I found
my husband fast asleep. I n about fifteen or i wen
ty minutes the bell rang, and I knew It was
the girl, but I was afraid to go down and let her
in, so I waited, thinking that maybe sne wouiu
wake George, but after she rang several times I
woke him and asked him U be would not go down
and let her In. He asked where mother was. I
said: "I guess she is asleep; I will look In her
room. " He put on his pants, his coat, and boots
and went down and let her In. .Wbat happened
after that is already known. Mr. Lee Is
rather tall and spare, broad shoulders, dark
eyes ana straigniaam nair; ne nas lair ssin,
and dark military side whiskers ana moustache.
The night of the murder he had whiskers on his
chin, so that I hardly knew him. I never saw
him have them there before. The man he bad
with him he called John. I would not know him
if I was to see him again, for I took no notice of
him except to see that he was not as tall as Mr.
Lee. Mr. Lee was a low, fluent talker, and laughed
a great deal, which showed his teeth, which were
very pretty.
INSTRUCTIONS.
When you come in on Monday morning Mr.
rcrklnswlll come In with you, instead of a keeper.
Mr. Chandcler may be with me, or he may not. I
w ill meet you the same as usual, and will talk to
you about general matters. You must not appear
to be the least suspicious while I am talking to
you. I will ask you, very suddenly, . 'Camilla,
do you know anything about this murder?". Mr.
Perkins w ill watch you very closely, and on pour
actions now the result depends. You must act, a
well as speak. You must be awfully taken off. You
must half get off of your chair and appear to be
greatly excited. You must act just as you think
a guilty person would act when asked such a
question suddenly. Then yon must answer.
very quickly, "Jfow should I know any
thino about itt" The reason of this Is, our
theory is, that if you know anything about it that
you would deny It; but that you would shorn it in
your wanner. Itemember this, and act guilty.
After you answer this I will say to you: "Don't
you know in your own heart that when this mur
der was committed that I was in bed and asleep T'
You must hesitate a moment, when 1 will repeat
the question, then you must answer, "Yes."
Then I will ask, "Do you know anything about
itt" You must not say anything to this. Then
I will say, "Camilla, If you know anything about
this, say so, before it Is too late. " You must not
answer this. Then I will say, "Do you know
anything T" Then say, "Yes." Then I will
say, "Did you do Itt" Answer, "I helped."
Who was with you ? Answer, ' ' You would not
know if I told you. " Then I will ask Mr. Perkins
to talk to you. He ' will probably ask you
who was with you T You must answer, Mr. Lee
and another man Then you will probably be
asked who Mr. Lee is. Your answer will be, A
gentleman whom Mr. Gilbert introduced to your
mother and you in front of the Continental last
spring. Then you will probably be asked what
time last spring ? Your answer will be. About
May, you th ink. You will also no doubt be asked
If your husband knew htm, or If you ever spoke to
your husband about him T To this you will ansiocr,
ivo. Why did you not ? Answer, I did not think
it necessary. You need not go on and tell this
whole confession right through, tell It by piece
meal as you are asked ; make all your answers fit
together and coincide with this theory, and don't
contradict yourself. Study this well. You must
not be surprised at anything I do or any; it will
all be for the best I may speak unkindly
to you, but don't let that worry you; I will be
aeting for my life. When I ask the first question
you must try to snow consternation in your
countenance; life is the stake you will be acting
for. No doubt you will be asked a great miny
questions; you must not be eager In your replies,
but rather reluctant If you are asked what mo
tive you had to do this, you must answer that
your mother was very cross to you ; that she was
willing to let your husband nave gentlemen's com.
pany, but would not allow you to have ladies'
company at the house, and you got so that you
hated her for it; and you thought that if she was
dead you could rent the house, and we could live
and be happy. Camilla, the reason I want
you to write the confession twice, Is this: I wish
you to put one in your bosom ; then If you feel that
you cannot toll this theory, why after I ask vou if
you don't know in your own heart that I was
asleep, and you answer "Yes, " and I ask you to
tell wbat you know about It, you can, after a little
hesitation, open your dress and hand me the written
confession. If you are asked why you wrote that,
your answer is, "That if you were to die it would
be found, and would clear up your husband's
character." It asked if you did not intend to
make it known before your husband's death, an
swer "iVo." Question, "Why?" Answer. "You
thought you would not be believed." You must
write nothing but the confession, and that In your
own language. If you can tell It I should prefer It
Now, dear Camilla, I have done all that I can;
It remains for you to do the rest; when you come
in my cell the next time you bring either life or
death with you. Remember, this I know, from
the very best authority, will save my life; If I did
not know this, I would not ask you to do it Ca
milla, how would you feel to let me die this way,
without making this effort; would you not blame
yourself all your life f If I die this awful death,
you never can be happy. Save, oh 1 save me from
this horrible, horrible death; you can do it, and
no one else can. If your courage should grow
weak, think of this and be strong. Don't forget
to act as I have told you; you must see the neces
sity of acting your own good sense will show you
that I have been urged by many persons to ask
you if you knew anything about It; they all
think you would deny it if you did, but you would
show It in your manner, so you see the need of
acting. Please to study this well, and be pre
pared for Monday morning. I dare not leave it
any longer. There will only be nine days, then.
You will have to leave the city. The people would
tear you In pieces, if you went out. The best
place to go, I think, would be either to Baltimore
or to New York. Change your name. Pack your
trunk so as to be ready to leave at a moment's
notice. You can send word to Mr. Brlnghurst
where you are, and what your name is, In case you
should be wanted. You must always stick to tills
confession. You must not breathe to any one that we
are in communication, or that you have any idea
of doing tills. Not even to Mr. Brlnghurst or any
body else under Heaven, or it will kill me. It Mr.
Perkins should tell you that you must tell this to
any one else, you must do it, and if the Governor
should send for you, you must go. If you should
be asked if you are not sorry your mother is dead,
you must say, no, the reason of this is, the world
thinks you are a very cold-hearted person, and
you must keep up this idea now. And now, dear
Camilla, study this well, and do Just as I have told
you and you give me life ; fall, and It Is death ;
don't forget that the next time you see me you
bring life or death to me; and ohl dear Camilla,
for Heaven's sake, let It be life. Don't don't, for
God's sake, don't fall me now. If you are asked
If your mother and I ever quarrelled, your answer
will be, no, he never quarrelled with any one. If
you can remember this confession I would prefer
you to tell it, but, If you think you cannot repeat
it, then you can give me the written one; If you
should give me the written one. and you should
be asked when you wrote It you can fix any time a
week or two ago. Your own wish may be to let
this be till after Mr. O'Byrne comes from Harris
burg; but he only does that out of a sense of duty
to me; be knows that he can do no rood, and you
will be believed more, because the paople will say
that if it was not so you'd have waited till every,
thing else was done, and not have confessed while
the counsel was up to see the Governor. Any
questions you may be asked your own good sense
will tell you how to answer. Good-bye. Don't
torget to burn this. Camilla, do your best, and
all will be right Gkouob.
If you are asked how the men eould cowe
out the gate and it be locked, answer, they
could lock it themselves, it was a spring padlock.
You must not come to see me any more after you
tell this.
FIFTH LBTTBB. J
CRcwtTed on Wednesday neeeedlng owl Friday.)
Dear Camilla: I have concluded to alter the
plan of making a confession. I do it In order to
make it easier for you. Instead of asking you
here, I want you to go and see Mr. Brlnghurst to
morrow morning; go early, he does not know that
you will be there, and make a voluntary confes
sion to him; tell him you cannot endure the
thought of my being executed without telling whit
you know about this murdsr; you must be positive
about my being In bed and asleep when It was
done. If, when you go there, the girl should
tell you that he cannot be seen, you must in
sist on seeing him, gtviug your name. Camilla,
you must make the confession that P gave
you on Friday, but I wish you to alter It some.
I wish to make this alteration: Instead of
being Introduced to Mr. Lee by Mr. Gilbert, you
must have it that you got acquainted with him in
an Eighth-street car In this way: You got in the
car at Eighth and Spruce streets to take a ride, as
you ofteu did. A gentleman got In at Chestnut
street, and Uok a seat alongside of you. After
riding a short distance the car became very much
crowded, and you dropped your parasol, and this
gentleman picked It up. You thanked him, and
he spoke about the nuisance of riding in a crowded
car. This opened a conversation, and you talked
along quite pleasantly, until he got out of
the car at Spring Garden street. In the
course of conversation he told yon his name
was Lee, ana then asuea your name; you
told him. After this you often saw him on
Chestnut street and on Eighth street ; he always
bowed to you and you returned his bow. After
awhile he would speak to you, and finally shook
bands with yon, and after that you got quite fa
miliar, and used to meet like old friends. This
w ill avoid saving anything about Gilbert, and will
not bring blm In the matter at all. You can con
nect this theory with your after conversation with
him by degrees, until you make him the person who
was in the house on that night This will not seem
strange, as such acquaintances are often made,
and the people think you bad enough tor anything ;
but you must not mind this now, for you have my
life to save. You need not be afraid of this, be
cause there is no such a man as I have
mentioned, so he ' can't come forward and
prove where he was, and Philadelphia is a large
place to find such a man j besides, such a man as
you will describe blm to be would be likely to
travel, and It is such a long time since that even
if there was such a man he could not be found
now. You can use any other name if you like.
If, after you have made this confession to Mr.
Brlnghurst, he should want you to make it to
any one else, you must do it. Ask him to go with
you, and he will do it, and he will treat you kind
ly for my sake ; but you mast not even hint to him
that I know anything about this. He thinks that
you know something about this; consequently this
will hav weight. You must not forget that it was
you who proposed to throw the body out of the
window; this is plausible for a woman, but
not from a man. Now, Camilla, I wish yon
to tell this if you can; but if you think
you will fail then write it, and give it to him or any
one be tells you to. It you should be asked if you
have seen Mr. Lee since, you must say no. Now,
Camilla, don't make any mistake, and don't stop
to say you are afraid that it will not avail, or
that Mr. O'Byrne thinks so, for I tell you it will
save me. I have got it from the best authority. I
will mention some authority, but you must keep it
secret from O'Byrne or any one else, for I am
bound in confidence not to reveal It, but I tell you
tb assure you. A lawyer, whose word cannot be
doubted, has spent a night with Governor Geary's
private secretary, Dr. Glhou, and he told him that
both himself and the Governor think that you are
the guilty party, and that if anything new was to
turn up, or yeu was to come forward and confess,
the Governor would spare me. This Is from too
good a source to be doubted. Now you can see the
need of a confession; it Is the only thing that can
save me, and you must make it to-morrow morn
ing, for there is not an hour to be lost. I have
laid the ground for this, and you must do the rest
Here are some questions that you may be asked, be
sides those I gave you before:
Question. Which way did those men go when
they left the house T
Answer. I don't know; I did not look; I stood
behind the door.
Question. How were those men dressed ?
Answer. In dark clothes.
Question. Were the clothes black T
Answer. I don't know; they were dark; I did
not take particular notice.
Question.' Was the overcoat he had on long or
short T
Answer. I don't know; I did not notice.
Question. Did you get any blood on you T
Answer. I got some spots on my night-cap.
Question. What did you do with the nightcap T
Answer. Burned it
Question. Where?
Answer. In the range m the kitchen.
Question. When did you first see that you bad
blood on your nightcap T
Answer. As soon as I came In the kitchen. Af
ter washing my hands I looked In the looking
glass and saw it
Question. Have you seen Mr. Lee since that
nightT
Answer. No.
Question. Have you heard from him ?
Answer. No.
Question. Did your mother and husband ever
quarrel?
Answer. No, he never quarrelled with any one.
Question. Did you have a candle?
Answer. Yes; my mother had the entry gas
turned off, and the candle lit standing on a chair
in the entry. I took it out to the hydrant when I
went to wash my hands, and took it and put it on
the kitchen table.
Question. Did you hear the blows very loud
when you stood at the dining-room door?
Answer. No; I could Just hear them, that was
all.
Question. Was the door open or shut?
Answer. Shut.
Question. Who shut It?
Answer. I did.
Camilla, these questions may be asked and they
may not:
Question. Why did you say to your husband,
when you were going to prison, "George, If you
know anything about it, tell it and save me?"
Answer. To throw suspicion off myself.
Any other questions of a like character about
remarks you bave made, you must answer the
same.
Question. If that was so, why do you make this
confession now?
Answer. I can't endure it any longer. If my
husband should be hung for this I would kill my
self, because I am the one that ought to be hung.
Question. Don't be know something about it?
Answer. No.
Now, Camilla, here is another confession, and
you can make which one you please, but you must
make one or the other to-morrow morning, as I
have directed you.
SIXTH LETTER.
CONFESSION NUMBER TWO. .
You will know what to say about our going to
bed that night, because it has all been produced
In evidence. Now, you inust tell the following
story: After my husband went to sleep that night,
which was In a very short time after be got In
bed, I could not go to sleep; so, after lying there
a long time, I looked at my watch. It was a quar
ter to nine o'clock. I thought I would got up and
go down and see what mother was doing, and sit
and talk awhile with her. I often used to do this
when George was asleep, and he knew nothing
about It. I found her in the dining-room,
sittlug beside the fire. We talked awhile,
when we got to quarrelling. (Camilla, 7w
know what you wd about( If
you are asked what tt was about, you will know
what to say). We often quarrelled when my
husband was not about-whlie we were both
angry. She said that if it was not for her that l'
would be a beggar, and would have to go to the
almshouse. This made me so angry that I did
not know what to do. I saw the poker lying beside
the grate, and I ran and got it and sttuok her with
It several times before I knew what I was doing.
She fell on the sofa ; then 1 got frightened and did .
not know what to do. Then I thought I would
throw her out of the window, and people would
think she fell out, and I would wash the blood
off the floor. I. went to the window in the
fmoklng room, because I thought the wll.
low tree Would hide me. 1 pulled up the blinds
and window and went and tried to lift her.
At first I could not move her; then I got
desperate, and It seemed that I had five times my
natural strength, and I lifted her as easy as though
she had been a baby. I did not feel her at alL I
could have carried three times as much. After I
threw her out, I felt so weak for a moment or two
that I had to hold myself up by the wall. Then I
felt stronger, and went down stairs to get some
thing to wipe the blood off of the floor. I took a
towel that hung up near the hydrant, and went up
and began to wipe It; then I saw that I could not
do it, and when I looked around and saw the blood
on the walls, I knew it could not be hid. It then
occurred to me to go down and take her money;
then It would look as though it had been done
by some one for her money. After I took her
money, she moved, and I went up to the dining
room and got the poker and came down and struck
her In the temple with the point of it, and then
left it lying there. When I went up after the poker
I laid the money on the table. After I struck her
In the yard I washed the towel and my face and
hands under the hydrant, and let the hydrant run
a short time. Then I saw I bad a great deal of
blood on my night-gown, so I took it off, and my
night-cap also, and put them In the range and
shut it up and pulled out the drafts, and In a
few minutes they were all burned up, and I
went up stairs In the dining-room, and
picked up the money and found that It '
had blood on it, and I was afraid to keep It, so
I put it In the fire and waited till it was burned up ;
then I went up to my room, and put on a short
night-gown and a red sack, and got into bed. I
was In bed about five or ten minutes when the
girl rang the bell. I was afraid to go down, so I
waited to see If she would wake George ; but bo
did not wake, so I woke him, and asked him to go
down and let her In. He asked where mother was?
I told him ' ' I guessed she was asleep. ' ' He then
put on his pants, coat, and boots, and went down
and let her in. Wbat followed is already known.
Camilla, you must make one of these, or I am
lost. Do it, and lam saved. This will do me
more good than three times all the money you have
got. You may be asked this question, ' ' How you
could carry her yourself?" You must then re
member that at first you could not, then you got
desperate and It seemed to you that all at onoe
you had supernatural strength given you ; that you
never was so strong in your life. This is not un
natural at such a time. If they should Insist that
you had some one to help you, you must be
emphatic about it, and never give In to
them. If you are asked how you were
dressed when you came down to talk with
your mother, you can say, in your night
clothes; a long white muslin night-gown with a
chemise under it, and a night-cap, and bare feet
nothing else. Camilla, to-morrow morning is your
time. If you do it, you must not come to see me
any more. If you do not do It you will never see
me alive ; for I cannot have my 'arms tied behind
me, and be led down to the gallows, there stand
and have a cap tied over my face, then a ropo put
around my neck, and then let drop. Oh 1 it Is ter
rible, awful, horrible t Think of this, and save
me. Oh I for Heaven's sake, save Oh, save met
Now, dear Camilla, if you are willing to do this,
you must do it Just as I tell you to do. They might
arrest you, to try your sincerity, but if they should
do so, yon must submit. Thev cannot do any
thing with you. Now, Camilla, you must not
seek to know how I have got my Information ; but,
it you do as I wish, you will know some time. You
must not hint to any one, except father, that I am
in communication with you. I have it from the
Governor's private secretary, through an undoubt
ed source ; furthermore, I have it from ex-Governor
Pollock, Wm. Meredith, Horace Binney, ex-Mayor
Henry, Daniel Dougherty, and many others, the
most substantial men of the city and State. But for
Heaven's sake don't you go to any of these per
sons or to any one else, tor It must appear to be
voluntary and unpremeditated on your part Ca
milla, if you would save me from this awful fate,
make either of these confessions, whichever you
like, but you must make one. Think of my posi
tion. I know it will be an awful mortifying thing
for you to do; but then It will not take
you long to do It, and then my life will
be saved. If you donH do this it will Just
be the same as If you had killed me, because
you could have saved me, and would not Camilla,
for God's sake don't stop to say I am afraid; it
will do no good ; but do it because I ask you to do
It and you must know I would not ask you to
make your position any worse than It Is, without
it would save my life. You have told me several
times you would do It; don't, for Heaven's sake,
fail me now. 'Tis your last chance to help me,
and there Is not an hour to be lost You can say
to Mr. Brlnghurst, after it is all done, to say to me
that you bave told what you know, and tell him to
ask me to forgive you. This will look natural
I think, perhaps, the last confession will bo the
best, but cither will do; but whichever one you
make, you must write it down for future refer
ence. Don't forget this. Put it In your own lan
guage. Remember that the time is very short,
and, for my sake, Camilla, don't delay. Oh,
Camilla, I will idolize you If you will do this.
Place yourself in my position, and mo in yours,
and you knew I could save you, and would not
make the only effort that would do It It you
do this you will not fail me; only do it as I tell
you. Don't think that you know a better way,
for if I could only have a short conversation with
you alone, you would know that I am right De
spairingly yours, in hope. ' George. ' '
(On the reverse side of this page is the follow
ing:) Camilla: If yon should make the lastconfes
slon, you must remember that you were perfectly
furious, and also that when you first tried to lift
the body you could not, but when you got despe.
rate youhadsnch strength as you never had be
fore ; and don't forget, If you are asked, that all the
Imprudent remarks you have made were to cast
all suspicion from yourself. If you are asked It
any of your counsel knew anything about your
confession, you must say no, and be very decided
about it. You may say you are sorry or not, Just
as you please. It you are asked anything about
the doors of the dining-room or our bed-room, say
they were shut. I will tell father to see you to
day, and I wish you to see him alone.
SEVENTH LETTEK.J
Camilla: Here are two confessions; choose
which one you please. First. You killed your
mother. You got up out of bed on that night
You could not sleep. You husband was asleep,
and you thought you would go down stairs and set
and talk awhile with vour mothr iwi to
often do it when your husband was asleep. He
wem, to sieep almost as soon as he got In bed, and
always slept very sound, so that you could
hardly wake him. You went down stairs to
the dining-room. When you got In the dining
room you saw her asleep on the sofa.
You don't know wbat came over you-lt must
have been the spirit of the devil-but something
ICvntinutd on (he Third rage. ,