Roma Sickles, General Sickles step-sister, who eloped with a butcher, the brother of her washerwoman, has but followed the example of Victoria Morosini, who eloped with her coachman; and since Roma’s time a young lady, the daughter of the wealthy drygoods dealer, has eloped with a market gardener. There is an epidemic of elopements and the disease appears to be contagious.
Twenty-five or thirty years ago there was an elopement in Brooklyn which caused a great stir at the time, both in Brooklyn and New York. At that period there lived in Hicks street, near Pierrepont, Brooklyn, a rich Merchant doin’ business in New York called Waldor. He had two children, a son, Edwin, who was in business with him as his confidential clerk and junior partner, and a daughter, quite handsome and accomplished, Miss Jane Waldor.
Like Morosini, Waldor was a self-made and self-educated man, and got, in course of time, more “high-toned” and “way up” in his notions than those who had been rich and big bugs all their lives. He wouldn’t have anythin’ to do with “common people,” and kept himself and family quite exclusive.
He had a fine house and extensive grounds around it, and a garden in the rear. Of course a city garden can’t amount to much in the way of space, but in point of style old Waldor’s garden was unsurpassed by any in all Brooklyn, and the old gentleman was very proud of it. He was constantly changin’ his gardeners, because he exacted too much of ‘em; but finally he got hold of a young chap, Philip Adams, who as a gardener as well as a coachman, suited him exactly, and old Waldor congratulated himself on the possession of such a treasure of a servant.
One of Waldor’s partners in business, and his principal one, was named Brady, a young man of ability, and it had always been one of Waldor’s pet ideas to marry his daughter to Brady, so that the families and the business should be kept united. Brady was willin’ enough for this arrangement, but the young lady didn’t see it in that light. In fact, she wouldn’t look at Brady in any light–didn’t like him–and although, out of respect and love for her father, she had never absolutely refused to ultimately marry him, it was pretty well understood between Brady and herself that that marriage would never take place. Meanwhile the young lady took a deep interest in her father’s pet pursuit of gardenin’, a deeper interest in his garden, and the deepest interest of all in his gardener, and coachman.
Waldor was a widower, and a maiden aunt kept house for him, and served as a chaperone and guardian for his daughter. But the young girl didn’t take kindly to the maiden aunt, and the maiden aunt had the rheumatism. So Miss Jane Waldor was much alone durin’ the daytime, when her father and brother were engaged in New York at business.
But what with her gardenin’ and her goin’ shoppin’ in the carriage (in both of which recreations Philip Adams as gardner and coachman was her natural attendant), she got along very well, and Philip Adams got along very well with her, too; so well that one day there was a missin’ Miss Jane Waldor.
In fact, Miss Jane Waldor was never seen alive again, but in her place there was a Mrs. Phillip Adams.
This last fact was not however known at first, and a great time was made in the papers over the disappearance of the young lady. But it soon got to be settled in the public mind that Philip Adams, who had likewise disappeared, was in the secret, and when at last it was ascertained that the two had gone and got married, nobody was so very astonished or mad, exceptin’ the maiden aunt, the partner Brady and the old man Waldor. These three, especially the last two, raised Cain, but were not able, nevertheless, to change matters. The old father employed Detective Bowden to trace out the fugitives, who were at last unearthed in St. Louis, where they were livin’ in a very quiet style, indeed, compared to the luxurious home to which the young lady had been accustomed, but still comfortably and decently. The husband had procured a situation in a seed store, for which his experience as a gardener had qualified him, and the wife was teachin’ French and music at fifty cents a lesson. Between the young man’s salary and the young woman’s earnin’s the pot was kept boilin’ and there was somethin’ to boil.
And above all, the pair were happy–really happy. Philip Adams was a decent sort of a chap, who appreciated the honor bestowed upon him by the love of lady so far his social superior, and did all he could to render himself worthy of it, studyin’ at night and makin’ up as far as he could for his early neglected education. He was sober, honest, industrious, with a good business head, and such men as he don’t go at beggin’ in this country. At least they don’t have to beg for any length of time. When the war broke out the young seed man was a confidential clerk in the seed house, and when the war ended he was a junior partner. By this time his position was as good almost as that of his former rival for his wife’s hand, Brady, had originally been. But by this time Brady himself had come to grief; had “speculated on the street,” lost everythin’ of his own, and so heavily involved his partner, Waldor, that the old man, now a very old man, “failed,” and surrenderin’ almost everythin’, went to Jersey City, where he lived on a pittance that came to him from a little property that had been able to save from the general wreck.
But all this while the old man had kept up his anger at his daughter Jane for havin’ “disgraced him,” as he phrased it, by marryin’ “a common fellow,” and held no communication of any kind either with her or her husband.
In the year 1870 a fine lookin’ couple, man and wife, “put up” at the St. Nicholas Hotel in this city, and made quite a splurge, not in any vulgar way, but by havin’ and spendin’ a good deal of money.
And one day this couple went over to Jersey City and called at the little house near the railroad, occupied by old Waldor, or what was left of him.
The old man was very feeble and didn’t recognize his two visitors at first. But within five minutes he found that he had been well acquainted with ‘em, for the husband was none other than his former coachman and gardener, Philip Adams, and the wife was his daughter Jane.
The daughter, now herself a mother, had refused to be separated from her father any longer, and as he wouldn’t make any advances towards a reconciliation, she made ‘em and carried them through. She also carried off the old gentleman with her to her elegant home in St. Louis, where he died about ten years ago, well satisfied that his only daughter had run off with her coachman.
Let us trust that Mr. Morosini’s “late unpleasantness” will wind up equally satisfactory.
[Editor’s notes: A search of New York/Brooklyn newspaper databases and city directories reveals no “Waldor” family in Brooklyn, and no publicity in Brooklyn over a similar elopement under other names. So this column appears to be a total fabrication. But why? This column appeared in September, 1884, and references the elopement of Victoria Morosini, which occurred just days before. Victoria was the daughter of Giovanni Morosini, an assistant and bodyguard of financier Jay Gould. Despite his own humble origins, Morosini was outraged that his daughter fell in love with a coachman, and disowned her. Public sentiment was very strong in favor of Victoria, and her plight became the most notable of the period’s reported elopements. The “Harry Hill’s Gotham” writer probably fabricated a similar story to argue that marrying for love can have a good outcome, supporting popular opinion.]
