Writin’ of William E. Burton, last week, caused a correspondent to remind me of that very peculiar fellow Talbot Watts, who in his day was quite a New York notoriety.
Watts was said to have been the half-brother of William E. Burton, although he didn’t resemble him in the least in either appearance or character. Talbot Watts was a tall, lean, lank, grave, shrewd, Yankee-lookin’ sort of a person, which was just about as different from Burton in general appearance as could well be imagined; and then he was very quiet in his habits and reserved in his manner–very different from Burton in these respects also. Yet he resembled Burton, after all, in some points. He was very unscrupulous in his business transactions; and quiet and reserved as he was, he was very fond of the theatre and of women. Money makin’, theatre goin’ and makin’ love to pretty women were his only three objects in life, and he gratified ‘em all three.
He married a very pretty woman, and an; then left her, for her good and his own, after this fashion: life insurance was then a new thing, and he conceived the idea of takin’ advantage of it in a way that was bran new, but which has since become familiar. He disappeared one day, was next heard from in Mexico, and then word was sent to his wife–or widow–that he was drowned. Everythin’ seemed all very regular, as well as very sad. There was every reasonable proof of his havin’ been accidentally drowned, and, after the customary formalities, the money on the policy was paid to his widow–or wife.
But some time after the money was paid to her it was discovered that the husband was not drowned. He had been nearly drowned, it was true, but had been quite saved, and arrived in New York at last all right.
The insurance company made some fuss over the affair, but nothin’ positive in the way of fraud was absolutely found, and then the company and the man alike agreed on a mutually satisfactory arrangement.
The “saved from the sea” then set up in business as an “old book” man near the present site of the Bennett buildin’, and did pretty well in his line. Among his clerks was John Pyne, afterwards a leadin’ “old book” man himself.
But old books are rather humdrum, and there wasn’t money enough in ‘em for Watts. So he struck on another idea, then a new thing, to–but since common enough. He read in a book he once bought in the way of business an article about Indian hemp–cannabis indica–and how it possessed powerful properties. This Indian hemp soothes the nerves, just as alcohol sometimes does by over stimulation, when it brings on reaction; in other words it soothes at last by excitin’ at first, and its effects in this line have long been known in the East. Watts was determined that they should become known in the West. So he bought a quantity of it and did it up in neat packages, and put wrappers on the packages and on each wrapper had printed in big neat letters “Watt’s Nervous Antidote.”
It really had some power, although in the long run, like all these nervous medicines, it was bound to do more harm than good but the good. But then the good came right off, and harm didn’t come till later. So it found lots of customers.
In addition to its sedative powers, it had also the effect, taken in a certain way, of invigoratin’ the nervous system and of makin’ a man very lively–and lovable. It acted as a sort of Love philter or love potion. It was claimed to secure any customer the affections of the opposite sex, like the love powders which the old Greeks and modern gypsies and matrimonial agents used to sell.
Of course, this part of the medicine was all bosh, but Watts found plenty of young and old fools–principally old–to believe in it.
The medicine as a nervous antidote was sold at all the drug stores, but as a love potion Watts charged a good deal more for it, and sold it only himself at his book store. Old women and old men used to “drop in” at the book store to look at the books, and then, when nobody was round, would whisk out the price of a love potion and vanish instantaneously.
After a while, to boom his love powder, Watts hit on a mighty clever and very novel way of advertisin’ his humbug. He got himself arrested two or three times. Yes, got himself arrested and had his arrests published all over the country.
These arrests were for followin’ and accostin’ strange ladies in the street. But the arrests were not made at the instance of these ladies–oh, no. Some man or woman, who would claim to be a relative or friend of the strange lady accosted, would do the complainin’, and would allege in the complaint that this man Watts had spoken to the lady in the street without an introduction, and had made himself so agreeable to the lady that the complaintant, as the guardian husband, mother, sister, aunt, brother, or whatever the pretended relationship might be, felt compelled to interfere before matters proceeded any further.
This was a queer sort of charge, and would in itself make a sensation, which would be increased by Watts’ style of defendin’ himself. He would confess with a smirk that he had taken the liberty of makin’ the lady’s acquaintance without the usual introductory formalities. But then it was because he had been takin’ these love powders of his, and had felt so fine, and then the lady herself had not been offended at all at his freedom, for these love powders of his had made him so agreeable that the lady had learned to like him, instead of being displeased with him. In fact, nobody could be displeased at anybody who had been takin’ regularly these invaluable and infallible love powders, etc.
This sort of arrest worked up this way was a splendid advertisement, and sold the love powders fast.
Watts wound up his own love affairs in a singular sort of fashion, of a piece with his other singularities.
An actor ran off with his wife, he in return ran off with the actor’s wife, then the elopin’ parties got divorces, each from the other, and got married each to the other, and all four got friendly again.
Altogether I think I was right and callin’ Mr. Talbot Watts “a very peculiar fellow.”
[Editor’s notes: William E. Burton (1804-1860) was a English actor and theater manager who emigrated to the United States.
On the success of his nostrums, Talbot Watts set himself up as a physician. He administered a dose of his potion to a girl from Rhode Island which proved fatal. He was sued successfully for $10,000, whereupon he moved from New York to Philadelphia to start a new life. There he was arrested in 1856 for kidnapping; he had seduced a married woman, who moved in with Watts and brought her eleven-year-old daughter. The girl’s father accosted Watts on the street and had him arrested.
Watts was also an amateur orientalist, authoring a book, “Japan and the Japanese.”
