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  ATTACHMENTS

  The last of these clippings is an advertisement which we suspect may have been placed by the guilty party.

  MARRIED LADIES IN DISTRESS in NEED of medical consultation of a private and personal nature can turn with confidence to Dr. Tobin, who has had the finest medical education available and twenty years of valuable experience. Simple removal of all obstructions to nature’s rhythms. Modern hygienic methods, safe, and discreet. Box 92, Broadway P.O. By return mail you will receive a description of services offered. Specific details of your case will make a detailed response, including an estimation of costs, possible.

  DR. GUSTAV NAGY OF ST. PETERSBURG AND VIENNA. Formerly private physician to the Tsarina Empress Maria Feodorovna, cures all diseases particular to the fairer sex. Suppression, irregularity, obstruction of the monthly flow &c., regardless of circumstances or origin, can be safely cured by Dr. Nagy in his spacious, modern, and hygienic clinic in the Lispenard Building. The Nagy Clinic operates at all times with the strictest regard to privacy and discretion.

  TO THE REFINED, DIGNIFIED, BUT DISTRAUGHT LADY departing Smithson’s near the Jefferson Market yesterday morning: I believe I can provide the assistance you require. Write for particulars to Dr. dePaul, Station A, Union Square.

  The New-York Times.

  THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 1883

  DIED: At Philadelphia, Penn., on Aug 22, James McGrath Cameron, physician. His funeral will take place on 25th inst., from the Church of the Redeemer, Philadelphia, at 1 o’clock. The relatives and friends of the family are respectfully invited to attend his funeral, without further notices, on the arrival of the 7 a.m. train from New York, at about noon.

  THE PHILADELPHIA EAGLE

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1883

  OBITUARY

  On Wednesday, the 22nd day of August, Dr. James McGrath Cameron, eminent physician, died in this city at the residence of his sister, the widow Mrs. Malvina Galbraith. He was 92 years, 2 months, and 4 days of age.

  Dr. Cameron graduated from the medical department of the University of Pennsylvania in 1824 and then opened a medical practice in New York City, where he tended the sick with wisdom and skill. At age 71, despite failing health, he volunteered to serve as a physician for the Army of the Potomac.

  In addition to his care for the sick and injured, Dr. Cameron was a respected author best known for Christian Virtues and Health and Mortality and Systematic Morality.

  A number of prominent citizens of New York and Philadelphia attended Dr. Cameron’s funeral service. Anthony Comstock of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice remembered him as “that rarest of men, a doctor of medicine whose first purpose was to serve the will of the Divine Physician. If he saved a life but not the soul, he considered his work incomplete.”

  Dr. Cameron was a man of intense fervor and energy, of sterling ability and rock-solid faith.

  MEZZANOTTE

  GREENWOOD, NEW JERSEY

  January 20, 1884

  Dearest Aunt Sophie and Uncle Cap

  I write to you from the Mezzanotte farm where we are living now with Uncle Leo and Aunt Carmela in their house that doesn’t have a name. We must stay here because the judge made a rule. Lia and Tonino are here too, Lia sitting next to me and Tonino not here. He is probably in the apiary with the bees. He likes them better than people, or at least better than us, his sisters.

  It is wrong of me to be in a bad temper. The Mezzanottes are so very good to us, and the judge could have sent us back to the nuns and the orphans, but he didn’t because Uncle Conrad made him see the truth about the terrible priest whose name I will never write or say again. The priest wanted the judge to send us back to the orphans. I know because I read the newspapers though Aunt Quinlan said I shouldn’t. She said that it is not a good feeling to see your own name in the newspaper, and she was right about that. But still it was important to know.

  The terrible priest told the judge that we have to be Catholic, and so the judge sent us here because Aunt Carmela goes all the way to Hoboken to Sunday mass at the church where we met Aunt Anna and Uncle Jack. But the terrible priest doesn’t know the truth: she doesn’t make us go with her, and that’s good because she would have to tie me up and carry me and cover my mouth too because I would yell. That’s how angry I am at that priest who ruins families to suit his pride. He still will not tell us where Vittorio is, he would not say even when the judge asked him. He said only that once a child was adopted into a good Catholic family he could not break trust. Break trust, those were his words. He has broke our trust for all time.

  Auntie Anna was so angry. She tried to hide it but couldn’t, and I was glad, because I couldn’t hide it either. Mrs. Lee was too mad to talk, and that was so odd it made Lia weep and then they were both weeping. Auntie Quinlan was sad but I think so many sad things have happened in her life her eyes have given up on making tears.

  So here we are. The judge said that Uncle Leo and Aunt Carmela should adopt us so we are safe. Then we will write our name Mezzanotte instead of Russo. I wonder what our father would have said.

  It is not an easy thing either to go from four children to seven children, but Auntie Carmela says not to be silly, this is now our home but we don’t have to call her Mama if we don’t want to. And I don’t think I can.

  We have new brothers and a new sister. You have never met them so I will tell you. They are No. 1 Marco, who is eleven and who is a good student and hard worker but teases too much, No. 2 Arrighetto, called Ari, who is seven and loves dogs above all else, No. 3 Giuseppe called Joe, four, who hides whenever I come in the room but giggles when he peeks, and No. 4 Bella called Lolo is almost two. She is a funny baby. If you call her Bella she makes a mad face and stamps her foot and says Lolo! When she tells her big brothers No! No! No! she scowls and laughs at the same time, and everybody laughs with her, even the brothers she is scolding. She is a happy baby but she makes me miss Vittorio. He must be walking and saying words now. I wonder if he remembers us. I hope that he does not.

  Instead of being upset I try to stay busy. It is my job to help Lia when she is homesick for the gardens at Weeds and Roses and feeling sad, and to help Tonino feel better so he starts to talk again, and to help Auntie Carmela in the kitchen and with cleaning, so that they don’t regret taking us into the family. Really everyone here is very good to us. And it is good to be able to speak Italian. They scolded us when we spoke Italian in the asylum, even when I spoke it to Lia to calm her when she was so sad and missing Mama.

  It’s hard to say how much I miss Waverly Place because then my throat gets sore and tears come into my eyes though I forbid it. But I do miss Roses and Weeds and every person, all of them, every day. And I miss you. Very much.

  Lia sends many kisses and hugs and so do I, all the way to Switzerland where there are mountains with ice on top, and cows.

  I see now I am a rude girl, because I never asked about Uncle Cap. We hope he is feeling much better and that you will be able to come home soon with healthy lungs.

  Love from all three of us,

  Your Rosa

  Post Script: I think I will feel more at home here when I know the names for the houses. There are six of them: where Nonno and Nonna live, and then Uncle Jack’s brothers each have a house for their families. It’s a little village, almost.

  HOCHGEBIRGSKLINIK GRAUBÜNDEN

  February 6, 1884

  Dear Rosa,

  Your Aunt Sophie is writing a letter to you and Lia and Tonino, but this letter is from me, alone, to you, alone, because I need to talk to you. It would be much more pleasant to sit down together over cocoa to talk, but as you are there with honeybees and greenhouses, and I am here with the ice and cows, this letter-writing business will have to be enough.

  It is very hard, what has happened to you. First to lose your parents and brother and now to lose the new home where you were so hap
py and comfortable, and for no good reason. Through no fault of your own, nor of the people you trusted to look after you. You remember, I am sure, that I am a lawyer by training and it is on the basis of my education and experience that I tell you that I disagree with Judge Sutherland’s ruling and his decision to send you away to New Jersey. I believe you can and will be happy there, but there was no good cause to remove you from the people you love, from Weeds and Roses and your friends.

  But this is your situation, and you have no choice but to make the best of it. When hard things come along someone always has to be the strong one, the one who takes charge and is responsible for making things better. You did that when your mother died and you were left behind to care for your sister and brothers. You did it then when you yourself were so young, and you are doing it now.

  So what I want to say to you is this: you do not have to be strong all the time. It’s important to know that there are people who love you who are willing and even eager to be strong for you. You will have days when it all feels like too much, when you want to hide your face in a pillow and cry, but you will be sure that you can’t give in to such feelings because Lia and Tonino need you.

  Listen now, Rosa: in this you will be wrong. When you are feeling sad and angry, let those feelings into the light of day. If you feel you can’t talk to your Aunt Carmela or anyone there, then write down what you are feeling. You can write it for yourself, or you can mail it to me and Aunt Sophie or to Aunt Anna or Aunt Quinlan. I know for a fact that Anna will be glad if you talk to her about how angry you are. Because I have known her since she was a little girl, and she is very good at being angry. Sometimes I think she feels a little lonely because her anger is too big to get her arms around. In this way you can help each other.

  The important thing is this: you don’t have to do everything yourself. Others are there who are strong and capable and who want to help. Uncle Jack’s family in Greenwood, all of them have drawn you into the circle of the Mezzanottes, and you are safe there. Judge Sutherland advised that you become Mezzanottes by adoption, and I think that this would in fact be a good idea, legally, if you are willing and comfortable.

  It’s hard to imagine, but it won’t last forever, the way you feel now. You will never agree with the ruling that took you away from Aunt Anna and Uncle Jack and sent you to New Jersey, and you will always miss Vittorio, but your anger will become resolve, in time. And then when you grow up you could study law so that you can help other children who are in a situation like yours. I think you would be an excellent lawyer one day.

  I am tired now. You can see that my handwriting is very shaky. Talking like this is far harder work and certainly less delicious than talking over cocoa so I am going to take a nap with my little dog Pip, who sends you his very best bark. I send you and Lia and Tonino all my love and good wishes,

  Uncle Cap

  PS I have no brothers or sisters, so you are the only children who will ever call me Uncle Cap. I like very much that you do. Please write to me again and tell me more about how you stay busy. And certainly you must find names for the houses. I am curious to hear what you come up with.

  HOTEL DEL MAR

  PIAZZA DELLA RAIBETTA

  GENOVA

  I T A L I A

  March 24, 1884

  Miss Amelie Savard

  Buttonwood Farm

  Old Bloomingdale Road

  New York, New York

  Dear Aunt Amelie,

  As you will have known as soon as you saw my handwriting on the envelope, Cap is gone. In the end it was very sudden, and still not so quick as I had wished for him. Just before he slipped away he smiled at me with such love. I will hold on to that memory for as long as I live.

  You used to tell me stories about people who could fly. How I wish I could. I would land in your garden and you would take me in and feed me and put me to bed as you did when I was little and missing my parents. You made all the difference. But as I have not yet learned the trick of flying, I sail for home tomorrow. I hope to see you very soon. Please tell me when I may come visit.

  Your loving niece

  Sophie

  BELMONT, VERHOEVEN & DECKER

  ATTORNEYS AT LAW

  11 WALL STREET

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  March 24, 1884, 7:00 a.m.

  Mrs. Harrison Quinlan

  18 Waverly Place

  New York, N.Y.

  Dear Lily,

  I believe I must have read Sophie’s telegram a hundred times but the truth of it evades me. And so now I must admit that I thought I was prepared for this, and find I had done a fine job of deceiving myself. You who have lost so many will understand, I know.

  You are aware that Sophie has decided to take up residence on Stuyvesant Square where Cap’s father built two houses when he married my sister. At the New Year I had engineers examine all the buildings on the lots and then arranged for improvements which are just recently completed. The kitchens and bathrooms have been modernized and the plumbing updated, and the first, second, and third floors now have electricity. She will scold me for the extravagance, but Cap would have approved. Both roofs have been repaired as well, and many of the rooms freshly painted and papered.

  Of the two houses I have concentrated on the one where Cap spent so much time as a little boy because that is where she is most likely to be happy. All in all it is a very fine house, well laid out with a lovely if smaller garden than your own.

  Many furnishings were removed from Park Place before my sister Undine took possession, including all of Cap’s art collection, the family china and silver, the contents of the library, his favorite pieces of furniture, and anything of a personal nature. All of these items are now at Stuyvesant Square in one or the other house; however, I would like, if possible, to consult with you before proceeding any further. Sophie must be surrounded by the familiar and soothing rather than by sterile and impersonal luxury, and so I would be thankful if you could tell me which pieces of hers that are still on Waverly Place might reasonably be relocated. There is also the matter of staff, about which I hesitate to make decisions. As time is short, may I call on you this evening to discuss what would best suit Sophie?

  I am most sincerely yours in mourning,

  Conrad Belmont

  QUINLAN

  18 WAVERLY PLACE

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  March 24, 1884, 11 a.m.

  Conrad Belmont, Esq.

  11 Wall Street

  New York, N.Y.

  Dear Conrad,

  I miss Cap every day, too. I always will, however much time is left me.

  Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Anna, Jack, and I would be pleased to see you this evening to discuss how we may best contribute to your work on the Stuyvesant Square house, which we think will suit Sophie very well.

  Jane and Henry Lee’s granddaughter Laura Lee Washington is currently looking for a position, and I can hardly imagine a better person to take over the household for Sophie. I will ask Laura Lee to come by this evening so that you can discuss the possibility with her.

  Please come as soon as you are able. I hope you and Mr. York will then join us for a light supper.

  Yours in deepest sorrow,

  your devoted friend

  Lily Quinlan

  The New-York Times.

  TUESDAY, MARCH 25, 1884

  OBITUARY

  Peter Belmont Verhoeven, known to his friends and family as Cap, left this world on the 19th day of March while in treatment for consumption at the Zängerle Hochgebirgsklinik Graubünden, a Swiss sanatorium. He was twenty-eight years old.

  Cap was the son of the late Anton Verhoeven, an engineer and architect originally of Bruges, Belgium, and his wife Clarinda Belmont, also deceased, whose ancestors reached back to the first New Amsterdam patroons.

  After gradua
ting with highest honors from Columbia College and the School of Law at Yale, Cap entered into partnership with his uncle Conrad Belmont, Esq. Early in his career Cap distinguished himself in the litigation of complex civil cases. He excelled at cross-examination, where his intellect, recall of intricate details, and calm self-assurance made short work of even the most difficult witness. At the same time, he considered litigation to be a last resort, and prided himself on the art of negotiation and the forging of informed compromise. He was also a master of the practical joke.

  Cap was generous with all his gifts and supported a wide variety of causes. He was especially dedicated to improving the lot of destitute veterans of the Civil War and to caring for the poor and sick children of the city.

  He leaves behind his business partner and uncle Conrad Belmont, cousins Abraham and Baltus Decker, many grieving colleagues and friends, and his beloved wife, the physician Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven, who was at his side during his decline and at the time of his passing. Private interment in Switzerland.

  The World.

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26, 1884

  DEATH OF A KNICKERBOCKER

  The notice of the death of Cap Verhoeven, heir to a tremendous fortune, brings back into focus the surprising circumstances of his marriage last May, when he took as wife Dr. Sophie Savard, a mulatto lady physician originally of New Orleans. The scandalous union drove a deep divide into the extended family; many aunts, uncles, and cousins refused to attend the ceremony and some did not scruple to express their disappointment and concern publicly. This may account for the odd fact that many of Mr. Verhoeven’s closest relatives were not mentioned in the obituary written, we have been assured by sources, by his uncle and law partner, Conrad Belmont.