The New York Herald

A DEAD SECRET.

Tragedy in a Broadway Boarding House.

A Beautiful and Accomplished Southern Lady Shoots Herself in a Fit of Hysteria—The Story of a Proud Woman's Struggle for Bread—A Tale of Domestic Trouble Ending in Madness and Suicide.

How, in the midst of everyday life, the fine thread of existence is suddenly and violently snapped policemen, coroners and reporters well know. The instantaneous breaking of the golden bowl of vitality will throw a certain social coterie into excitement: policemen, coroners and reporters come along, and the story of the death becomes public property. Like a pebble dropped into the ocean, it sinks away out of sight, leaving nothing but a rippling, widening circle on the surface, which the first tremble of the smallest succeeding wave effaces, and then it is lost to the world forever. But the tale of life which has gone down into the depths along with it, what of that?

YOUTH, BEAUTY, CULTURE

and accomplishments were the outward characteristics of Fanny May Anderson, a Southern married lady of twenty-three years of age, who four weeks ago took up her abode in the genteel boarding house kept by Mrs. Graham at 1,148 Broadway. She hired a neat parlor and bedroom on the third floor, facing Broadway, and struck all the inmates of the house by her gentle, retiring demeanor and ladylike bearing. She came from Baltimore, and in her few conversations on domestic affairs referred vaguely to

A PAST OF TROUBLE

and seemed to live in a present of anxiety. The nature of her difficulties never transpired; a husband in the South was once referred to and there her communications ended. She exploited all the fine qualities and defects of high Southern training, the love of reading, the passion for the aesthetic and the hot, gloomy, unbending pride. They cultivate "hearts that break but will not bend"—hearts little fitted for the

ROUGH STRUGGLE OF EXISTENCE

when unexpected want or change of fortune brings them face to face with the difficulty of obtaining bread. In Mrs. Anderson's case her embarrassing situation would seem to have sprung from some point of whim or principle, in defence of which she preferred to suffer and die rather than yield. It was evident for some time that she was

ANXIOUS TO SUPPORT HERSELF

by her own exertions. She advertised a fortnight ago in the Herald for a position in almost any capacity, but failed to meet with a friendly response. This preyed upon her sensitive mind and she became nervous and depressed, in various ways she tried to turn her undoubted talents to account, and bitter failure still met her efforts. Among other essays she wrote a number of poems, mostly of the dreamy, morbid kind, reflecting her own mental torture, but which were one by one

REJECTED AS "UNSUITABLE"

by the various papers to which she sent them. Her nervous irritability increased, and a week ago she was stricken down in a severe fit of hysteria. Mr. Edward Greey, a merchant of this city and author of "Blue Jackets," lived with his family in the house and hurried to her assistance. Dr. Seguin, of West Twenty-fifth street, Mr. Greey's family doctor, was called in. He found her to be suffering terribly from

AN ACUTE ATTACK OF HYSTERICS.

She gradually recovered, but remained very much prostrated during the entire week. He visited her several times and believed her to be mending rapidly. It had been her habit to write a great many letters and she received many also. The doctor advised her to refrain from all excitement; but she continued her writing and reading despite his admonitions, yet she exteriorly bore her troubles with

A SWEET COMPOSURE.

Thinking, perhaps, that she might need material aid, Mr. Greey offered to furnish Mrs. Anderson with all the money she required, but she politely declined the offer, saying she needed no assistance, notwithstanding she was believed to be nearly, if not quite, out of money. Like most Southern ladies Mrs. Anderson was known to constantly carry a small and handsomely finished

TOILET PISTOL,

which, however, evoked no suspicion in the minds of those in the house. About half-past eleven o'clock on Thursday night Mrs. Anderson, while alone in her bedroom, became aware that she was about to have another fit and hastened down to the room of Mrs. Graham for assistance. Her most serious fears were realized, as the attack was severe, and Mr. Greey being present instantly summoned Dr. Seguin, who was

SPEEDILY IN ATTENDANCE

and prescribed the necessary remedy, which was procured at a neighboring drug store. Dr. Seguin, wishing to administer the medicine himself, remained by the bedside, whither she had been removed. When the doctor entered the room she was writhing in spasmodic agony, but he thought she exhibited more command of wit in her movements than when under the previous attack. While the messenger was procuring the medicine the doctor leaned against the sill of the door steadily

WATCHING THE BEAUTIFUL SUFFERER.

As is common with hysteric patients she several times tore her hands across her breast, about the region of the heart. This did not cause him, therefore, any suspicion, as he had noticed her doing this on the former occasion of her hysteric fit. He noticed her make a movement with her left hand, as if feeling for her heart, and the next instant he heard

THE REPORT OF A PISTOL

proceed from under the bed clothes. The sufferer's hand relaxed, and as she fell back in the bed he saw a small pistol slipping from her grasp. He rushed forward, turned down the clothes and saw in his horror a thick stream of blood gushing from a wound under the left breast and just over the heart. He called for assistance, and the members of the household rushed in.

The unfortunate woman did not utter a cry.

A FEW DEEP GASPS AND SHE WAS DEAD.

The bedding was covered with the poor creature's blood. They tied up her jaw and smoothed her lips, but did not close her eyes, and thus left the body until the opening of the inquest yesterday. A Herald reporter was ushered into the sitting room off the chamber of death, where he found Coroner Keenan, Dr. Beach and some police officers engaged in the investigation. He was led into the bedroom, and there, as above described, habited in a blue morning wrapper, over her chemise lay the mortal remains of the high-toned Southern lady of the day before, her "silver skin laced with her golden blood." A single glance took in at once a full, fine face, marbled over with the hue of death; a high-arched brow, from which her dark brown curling hair was twined gracefully off; a full, boldly rounded jaw; a firm chin, like Minerva's; a Grecian nose; dark gray eyes, peeping ghastily out from long brown lashes; a snowy neck; a horrid, round,

BLOOD-ENCRUSTED, Gaping Wound

below a beautifully moulded breast, and clotted blood in huge patches upon the white chemise. On the table in the sitting room lay a novel with the page doubled over, where the departed spirit had last agonized over the illness. Its title was a key to the dim recesses of her troubled soul.

IT WAS "THE DEAD SECRET,"

by Wilkie Collins, king of the morbid in literature. Dr. Seguin deposed as above related. As far as known she left no letters explaining her reasons for so tragically terminating her existence, and so for the present it remains one of the

UNSOLVED DUAL MYSTERIES.

Yesterday morning Mr. Greey telegraphed to Mr. W. Stebbins, a brother-in-law of deceased, living in Baltimore, announcing her tragic death, and received in reply a despatch requesting him to spare no expense in regard to the funeral, and stating that the family relatives would come on by the first train. No post mortem examination is thought necessary. The arrival of her relatives may throw some light upon the strange history of her motives, but there is little doubt a verdict of suicide while of unsound mind will be rendered. The pistol is almost a toy in appearance, being single barrelled and not more than three inches long. An empty copper cartridge remained in it. A deed conveying some real estate in Washington county, Delaware, to herself and husband, W. J. A. Anderson, of that place, was found in her trunk. But two letters were discovered, and it is evident she must have destroyed many received by her during her residence in New York. On the arrival of her friends Coroner Keenan will issue a certificate permitting the body to be interred. Such are the facts as far as elicited in this extraordinary, romantic story, which began in the sunny South and ended so tragically and darkly in New York.