The Elms

A True Story

Among the verdant hills of Eastern Pennsylvania, near where the noble, winding, Susquehanna, coursing through the State, divides the Blue Ridge mountains, snugly nestles the little town, or rather village, of Linton—for it is so small it scarcely merits the appellation of town—and which, if it were not for the self-asserting dazzle of the guilt vane which surmounts the spire of the little moss-covered church in that place, would be lost to view even if its existence was not forgotten by the great, worrying, busy, outside world. 

It was a picturesque little place; the great high mountains, their tops almost seeming to pierce the heavens, towering at its rear, the shimmering waters of the Susquehanna flowing at its feet, and the numerous shady trees casting their cooling umbrage over its dwellings and lawns, all conspired to make it one of the most delightlul spots one could imagine; and one would scarcely believe it could be made the scene of a tragedy so heinous as that which was perpetrated in it during the latter part of the summer of 185—, and which, for the cold-bloodedness and ingenuity evinced in its consummation, has scarcely a parallel. 

Mr. Edson, the victim of the tragedy, was a retired merchant, who resided with his family in an elegant villa situated on the outskirts of the town, and which, from the fact of its being surrounded by a shady grove of trees… Read More