Weekend Link Dump

It's time for yet another Link Dump!

Everybody dance!

What the hell caused the Moon's largest crater?

What the hell do conductors do?

Who the hell murdered Nellie Byers?

First-hand accounts of the battle of Jena.

These may be the oldest bones in Britain.  (No, no, I'm not talking about the Queen.  Now, shut up.)

A scorned and insulted woman's revenge.

I'm not surprised by this story; every morning, coffee brings me back from the brink of the grave.

A look at Georgian sedan chairs.

Let's talk Victorian feral sewer hogs.

You can now buy Caligula's ring.

Garrick's Shakespeare Jubilee, and other theater-related links.

The origins of sea shanties.

Britain's Great Theater Ticket Riot.

An inscription from the final years of Pompeii.

A 19th century vicar speaks ill of the dead, to the delight of future historians.

The ghost of a doll.

Two political New York cats.

The man who declared war on Canada.

A woman's highly suspicious disappearance.

A look at some trials for "concealment of birth."

The disappearance of Glen and Bessie Hyde.  (Personally, I don't find the case very mysterious, but it's attracted an astonishing amount of folklore.)

Why a family collected human skulls.

19th century accidents on Rotten Row.

Grip, one of history's most famous ravens.

Neil Armstrong and the search for extraterrestrials...on this planet.

One of the strangest kidnapping cases.

How dance was used to deal with WWII.

Personally, I'd rather just drink coffee.

Detectives in the Victorian era.

A man with the habit of murdering his wives.

Queen Victoria's dogs.

The weird Crystal Skull of Belize.

A memorial service for a beloved supermarket cat.

Remember Balloon Boy?  Here's the complete story behind that hoax.

Your salad is a lot smarter than you think.

That wraps it up for this week. See you on Monday, when we'll look at a murder that could literally be called star-crossed. In the meantime, here's more autumn-themed music.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

I suppose the headline pretty much says it all, but read on. The "Los Angeles Herald," January 21, 1910:

NEW YORK, Jan. 20.—Assistant Purser L.F. Lipscombe of the Royal Mail Packet steamship Orotava was in desperate straits last night. The curse foretold by the Obi woman, the seeress he had consulted many months ago in Hamilton, Bermuda, had come upon him. 

He had seen a white rat, not once, but three times, on the voyage, from the Summer lsle that ended here yesterday.

All of the 101 passengers know of the direful thing that menaced the assistant purser. All knew he must have that rat killed by a black tomcat that had not a single while hair. For had not the Obi woman said so? Mr. Lipscombe himself confirmed it and groaned as he did so.

"You will have good fortune," she told him, "until you see a wild white rat. When you do ill luck will follow you unless a perfectly black male cat kills the rat."

The assistant purser laughed with joy. His fortune teemed assured, for who ever heard of a wild white rat?

That was last summer, and the assistant purser's lucky star seemed on the ascendant until the Orotava was cutting the Atlantic two days ago. Then the rat appeared. It leaped on the table in front of Mr. Lipscombe, ran across it, jumped to the floor, scampered the length of the saloon and disappeared. The sight of that white rat spoiled the assistant purser's dinner. He sought the ship's cat, but alas! the animal's tail was tipped with white. It was such a tiny white speck in the very end of the tail that Mr. Lipscombe did not notice it until the cat made many futile efforts to catch the white rat that appeared twice on Sunday.

Then Mr. Lipscombe shut up the cat, fearing it would kill the rat, and to have the wrong sort of cat do that would be the worst of evils. He was moody when the ship berthed, and as soon as he could leave his duties and the sympathizing passengers he went ashore to look for an utterly black tomcat.

Purser Sturgess says he has not the least idea how that white rat came aboard the Orotava.

As is usually the case with the really good newspaper items, there was no follow-up to this story, so I have no idea how Mr. Lipscombe's travails ended.

The Body in the Hayrick

"Ottawa Journal," May 16, 1936, via Newspapers.com

If this goofy little blog of mine has a theme, it would be, "Life is weird." It fascinates me to find so many cases where utterly normal people are going about their utterly normal lives one moment, and in the next moment are suddenly plunged head-first into High Strangeness--often, permanently.

Take the now-forgotten case of Thomas Patteson Moss.

Moss was one of those people who seemed destined for a golden life. He was born into a wealthy and influential Canadian family. His father, John H. Moss, was a well-known Toronto barrister, and his grandfather had been Chief Justice of Ontario. His maternal grandfather, Thomas Patteson, was postmaster of Toronto, as well as the founder of the Ontario Jockey Club and editor of the "Toronto Mail." On both sides, Moss had a lineage both accomplished and highly respectable.

After being educated in his home country, Moss temporarily relocated to England. He began studying law at Oxford, after which he planned to return to Canada and be called to the Ontario bar. His classmates described Moss as likable, intelligent, and responsible: in the words of one friend, he was "an exceedingly fine and quiet young man, interested in his studies." Another contemporary later wrote of Moss, "I have a vivid impression of him from the few times when I did meet him. He was above all a scholar in the truest sense, and besides mastering his own subjects, he read a good deal and was a very interesting and amusing talker...He had a most lovable character." By all accounts, he was a sober, honest youth, not given to late hours or dissipation of any sort.

In 1936, the twenty-one year-old Moss was in his third year of studies at Balliol College. His time there was happy and successful, and the youth was looking forward to returning home and beginning what everyone assumed would be a fine legal career. To put it briefly, all seemed well.

At about 10:30 p.m. on the night of May 14, a friend saw Moss walking along Broad Street, in the direction of his lodgings at Oxford's Holywell Manor House Hostel. He was in his usual good spirits, and gave no indication of anything unusual. There was nothing to suggest that he would never be seen alive again.

About five hours later, a farmer in Stadhampton, a small, isolated village about ten miles south-east of Oxford, observed a hayrick burning in a nearby field. When he and some neighbors went to investigate, something quite unexpected and extremely horrifying was found in the ashes: a corpse, so badly charred as to be completely unrecognizable. Bits of paper found in the pockets, as well as a leather belt with a name engraved on it, enabled authorities to tentatively identify the body as that of Thomas Patteson Moss.

The local police immediately realized they had something extremely bizarre on their hands, and promptly called in assistance from London. Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the renowned Home Office pathologist, was given the task of doing the post-mortem. After the examination, he announced that he was unable to find a cause of death. There were no drugs or poison found in the body. The arms and skull had been fractured, but Spilsbury believed that was due to the intense heat of the fire. He found no other signs of pre-fire injury to the corpse. Spilsbury was also of the opinion that Moss had been alive, but presumably unconscious, when the fire started

All the obvious questions were asked: Presuming this was indeed young Moss, what on earth was he doing in a hayrick in a remote hamlet so far from his residence? How did the fire break out? Was it a case of accident, suicide, or murder, and how on earth could one come up with a logical explanation for any of those three possibilities?

The inquest primarily concerned itself with identifying the body. Moss' dentist examined the corpse's teeth, and testified that a distinctive broken tooth was identical with one Moss had had for some years. Friends identified the surviving bits of clothing as belonging to Moss. The laundry mark on the clothing was also positively his. Moss' watch, with the hands stopped at 2:10 a.m., had been found near the corpse. By such means, it was proved to the coroner's satisfaction that they were indeed dealing with the body of Thomas Moss. The jury ruled that he died from asphyxiation, but there was no evidence to show how he met his end. The young man was dead. Answering the question of how he died, was, unfortunately, a much more difficult matter.

Scotland Yard was utterly stumped. A minute search of Moss' past showed nothing at all abnormal. He had a wide circle of friends, and no enemies. He dated a few girls, but none of the relationships were serious. He had no history of depression. The police felt confident in dismissing the possibility of foul play or suicide. They believed it was a case of accidental death. Their theory--inasmuch as they could be said to have had one--was that in the middle of the night, Moss took it into his head to make a very long walk along unfamiliar country lanes to an obscure hamlet he had never before visited and had no reason to visit, then settled down to take a nap inside a hayrick. The hay then mysteriously burst into flames, asphyxiating him in his sleep.

A scenario which, frankly, seemed even stranger than any murder plot could possibly have been.

Thomas Moss' friends and family had likely always imagined that after a long and stellar career at the bar, he would peacefully pass away at a ripe old age, and then given a suitably elaborate funeral. Instead, before his life could be said to have really begun, he was quietly buried at the parish churchyard in North Leach, Gloucestershire, amid an air of sinister mystery.

On June 4, Mr. A. Lett, the Coroner for South Oxfordshire, told a reporter that while there was nothing about Moss' death to indicate foul play, "That does not say it was an accidental death." He added, "I very much question whether we shall get to the bottom of it."

Unfortunately, Lett's prediction was entirely correct.

Weekend Link Dump

It's time for the weekly Link Dump!

Let's dance!

Why the hell do ghosts wear clothes?

Watch out for the Cave of Death!

3,500 years of UFOs.

Have a bad cough?  Get the garlic and bacon ready!

If today's post just isn't enough for you, here's a theatrical link dump!

Just a reminder that Mozart could make today's most vulgar lyricists blush.

The internet's most mysterious song.

Diaries and sketchbooks as records of women's lives.

A mysterious ancient sword.

18th century female dentists.

So, you think Francis Drake landed in California?  Well, maybe not.

The woes of 19th century jurors.

The real-life adventures of the inspiration for a famous novel.

A look at the Thomas Cook company, which is now as dead as...Thomas Cook.

The outlaws of Inglewood Forest.

Ancient Egypt and Cinderella.

Theater censors in the 1930s.

Paris' 19th century Grief Factory.

When wearing mourning clothes can be overdone.

That time Jonathan Swift wrote advertising copy for wool.

The alchemy of gin.

When criminologists cook the books.

A particularly messy execution.

A mysterious attack in the Forest of Dean.

A medieval man's very bad historical "first."

Musical cheese.

This week's pro tip:  If a Greek revenant knocks on your door, don't answer.

The crimes of the Blonde Rattlesnake.

Venus might once have been habitable.

Autumn comes to Spitalfields.

This week in Russian Weird:  Russian Navy: 0  Walrus: 1.

Probably the world's most literary mastectomy.

A ghost and a lot of Thomases.

The crazy cat man of Forsyth Street.

The life of a medieval matriarch.

Fair warning: this is a story involving a sixty-foot snake.

WWI's haunted trenches.

How Celia Holloway came to be murdered by her husband.

That's it for this week! See you on Monday, when we'll look at a young man's extremely weird end. In the meantime, Van Morrison closes out the first WLD of autumn 2019:

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

"Jackson's Oxford Journal," March 27, 1858, via Newspapers.com

The following is a remarkably clue-free poisoning mystery. "Jackson's Oxford Journal," April 3, 1858:

We last week recorded the death of Elizabeth, wife of Mr. John James, of Brize-Norton, and to-day our obituary contains a record of the death of the latter named person.

These two events, having taken place under very suspicious circumstances, have been the cause of much consternation and surmise. We will endeavour to give an outline of the case, as far as we are enabled to do so, from the materials within our reach.

Mr. and Mrs. James were well-to-do industrious people, the husband occasionally working as an agricultural labourer, and his wife conducted the business of a general shop. On the 13th of March Mrs. James complained of being unwell, and she took a small quantity of gin, a spirit she occasionally used when feeling unwell; on the next day she became worse, and on the 16th medical aid was called in, but it did not avail, and on the 24th she died. Previous to her death her husband became unwell, and vomited several times; he, too, it was found, had partaken of gin from the same jar. On the night of the 25th he became much worse, and a person, named Preston, was sent to Bampton for Mr. Madden, surgeon; but as the hour was early and the morning cold, he (Preston) had a glass of the gin, and before he had proceeded far on the way he became ill, and vomited; however, he reached Bampton, and summoned the medical gentleman; when he reached home he found himself worse, and complained of the gin.

In the meanwhile Mr. Taylor and his man (J. Long) had taken home the coffin for the wife, and they both partook of gin, and both suffered considerably, as did several other persons who had also tasted of the deleterious compound. Suspicions were now directed towards the gin, which was taken possession of and secured.

At eleven o'clock Mr. James died. Next day an inquest was held at the Chequers Inn, before Mr. F. Westell, deputy coroner, when evidence corroborating the above statement was given on oath, and tho following is an outline of it:

Mrs. Broadis, a nurse, said that Mr. James was taken with fits and vomiting at three o'clock on the morning of his death; at six she sent for Mr. Madden; deceased had been subject to fits; several persons had partaken of the gin, and they all suffered.

One witness said she had one "quilt " out of the bottle, and was ill.

The inquest was then adjourned till Monday to enable Mr. Madden to make a post mortem examination of the bodies, having received instructions to that effect from the coroner.

On Monday, on the re-assembling of the Jury, the following witnesses were heard.

John Long said he went with his master to assist in taking Mrs. James's coffin home; he had three glasses of gin; went home to supper; felt very sick, and vomited, and was unable to work the next day.

W. James, son of the deceased, said that he had some of the gin on the 25th, and felt ill.

Dr. A. Batt, of Witney, said he first saw Mrs. James on the 16th; she was sitting in a chair, and complained of cold; her countenance was tinged with bile, and she had pain in the shoulder blade. Saw her again on the 18th; found she had vomited and been much purged on the previous day; attended her in consequence of the illness of Mr.. Madden, of Bampton; that gentleman having got better, witness lost sight of the case.

Mr. Madden said that he made up the prescriptions of Dr. Batt, and afterwards prescribed himself, from reports; saw Mrs. James on the 21st, and found her in bed, unable to lie down; looked upon her as suffering from influenza and double bronchitis; the air tubes were loaded with mucus; hrr nervous system was very much excited, and she said she must die;. she vomited, and was purged a good deal, but saw no remains of either; the vomiting ceased for two days, but the purging continued; on examination of the stool, saw nothing unusual; her breathing was much oppressed; if no relief could be afforded, saw she must die; on the next day she died. From the fact that ten or twelve persons had all suffered after having partaken of the gin, he had no doubt poison had been mixed with it.

On making the post mortem examination of Mr. James, he saw that the state of the lungs was sufficient to cause death; could not undertake to say how far the deleterious compound had contributed to the fatal termination. Mr. Madden further said that he was called in to see Mr. James on the morning of the day on which he died ; found him suffering from epilepsy, which had attacked him at three o'clock, a.m.; several fits followed at short intervals, till eleven o'clock a.m., when he died; had previously attended him for epilepsy; was unable to state whether the attack of epilepsy was sua sponte [of its own accord], or had been induced by partaking of the gin.

On Sunday, assisted by Dr. Batt, ho made a post mortem examination of the bodies, but owing to the pressure of professional duties, declined to make an analysis of the portions which he had carefully sealed up for that purpose, but he advised that Prof. Taylor should be employed in that duty.

W. Taylor said he had some gin at James's house, and had been very ill in consequence.

John Preston Is a tailor, and resides at Brize-Norton. He had some gin at five o'clock in the morning, having been called by the son of deceased to go to Bampton to fetch Mr. Madden; felt very ill all that day and part of the next.

Mary Ann James Is the wife of deceased's son, William James; Mrs. James, her mother-in-law, was taken ill on the 13th; went to Mr. James's on an errand, and E. Broadist told her Mrs. James was ill; complained of a pain in her bowels and chest, but did not name any ground for her complaint; saw her again on the 14th; she was no better, but was up; visited her on the 15th and 16th, but she got no better; had some of the gin on tho 24th, but had not had any for two months previously; thought the gin looked very queer, and after she had tasted it observed it looked thick, and found her throat very hot; her husband was taken ill on the same day that Mrs. Railway came, which was the 17th; he vomited very much, and went to bed; did not see him take any gin, nor did ho express any suspicion of it; Taylor was the first person who complained that the gin had made him ill; the gin came on the 12th, which was the day before Mrs. James was taken ill.

William James, son of deceased, and husband of last witness, said he first saw his mother on the 16th, and called Dr. Batt to see her; did not see her vomit, but distinctly recollects seeing his father vomit on the 24th, as well as on the day of his death.

William Cantivell, shopman to Mr. Warrington, of Witney, spirit merchant, said the deceased, Mr. James, was in the habit of buying spirits from their house; the last lot (a gallon) was delivered on the 12th of March; on that day he put up several other quantities tor various individuals; he carefully washed each jar; the whole of them were filled from the standard cask in the shop, which holds 150 gallons; each jar was carefully corked and sealed, and then handed over to their carman tor delivery in the usual manner.

It is but justice to this witness to state that he gave his evidence in the most satisfactory manner. We may also state that not the slightest suspicion is entertained that the gin was adulterated before it reached the house of the deceased; but how, when, or by whom the deleterious substance was added, is at present a mystery.

After hearing several other witnesses, the inquest was adjourned to the 16th of April, in order to procure the authority of the Secretary of State to enable the Coroner to send the various matters to Professor Taylor for analysis.

So, what happened next, you ask? As far as I've been able to tell, not a damned thing. For whatever inexplicable reason, the gin was never analyzed, and the investigation dropped.  The story simply disappeared from the newspapers after this, leaving the answer to all these deaths and illnesses forever unknown to history.

This Hat's So Fly: Guest Post by Ella Bessmer

[For this week's post, I'm loaning the keys to Strange Company HQ over to Ella Bessmer, author of the new(ish) history blog, Now, Where Shall We Begin.  History is full of odd fashion fads, but only a select few resulted in a body count.  Ella's here to inform us about the popularity of one of these fashion disasters, and the efforts to eradicate it.]

Your Hat's So Fly...Not: The Sordid History Of The Plume Trade


Feathers. Soft, lux, elegance made tangible. Feathers have been significant amongst many global cultures and societies for thousands of years.

The Gilded Age was a period in US history lasting from the late 1800s to about 1900. It was a time of economic prosperity and massive industrial growth.

With increased economic prosperity and rapid industrial development, many people found they had more disposable income than ever before. Meanwhile, cities were becoming more urbanized. With this rise in population and the increased reliance on machinery and factories, city dwellers found themselves wanting more exposure to the natural world. People began to keep terrariums and aquariums. Taxidermied specimens became common in many households.

Eventually, clothing was influenced by this trend. Fashion began to reflect this interest in nature and the desire to own pieces of natural beauty and extravagance.

It was during this time that the plume was taken to a new, unprecedentedly morbid level.
Hats, a sartorial staple, started to be decorated with birds. Everything from entire owls, peacocks, and egrets, to parakeets, were being proudly displayed on the heads of fashionable Victorian women. No one gave a second thought to snapping up a hat adorned with a jewel-toned bird of paradise or an animated diving gull. Birds were seen as an inexhaustible resource, a product to be freely used.

The bird of paradise had what was termed “fancy feathers”. This meant that they had feathers that were hard to come by in the plume trade. As a result, they commanded higher prices.

One well-known anecdote that describes the variety of birds used for these hats came from an ornithologist named Frank Chapman. During two instances when he was walking down a street in Manhattan, Chapman was able to spot specimens from over forty species of birds on the hats of passersby.

But this craze for birds was not without detriment. Abroad and in the US, bird populations were being decimated. Snowy egret plumes, or aigrettes, brought the highest prices at market. At their highest rate, the feathers fetched a price of $510 per ounce. The birds were sought out for the extravagant plumage they had when they were nesting and mating. As a result of this, massive numbers of egrets were killed in their nests. This meant their now orphaned chicks were left to starve. At the height of the plume trade, many species of egrets were very nearly wiped out.

Women were unfairly blamed for the mass die-off of many species of birds.

Ornithologists were scared. They observed that over 50 varieties of birds were on the verge of extinction. Campaigns were started to curb this practice. One such campaign headed by the Royal Society For The Protection Of Birds was highly sexist in nature. They preached that the sole fault of the bird-killing trend fell upon women as they were the main consumers of the hats. The people in charge of the campaign chose to neglect the fact that men also played a role in the plume trade. Ironically enough, men were the ones responsible for the relentless hunt and acquisition of the birds as well as for the selling and production of the hats.

As this ineffective campaign went on, countless birds continued to be slaughtered.

Enter, Harriet Hemenway and her cousin, Minna Hall.

Harriet Hemenway was from a wealthy Boston family. She was well-educated and came from a family of political activists. Harriet was married to Augustus Brewster, a wealthy heir to a shipping company. He had a dedication to the natural world and devoted much of his time to preserving it. Augustus was one of the original members of the Metropolitan Park Commission, an organization that is still going strong today.

After reading an article about the horrors of the cruelty of the plume trade, Harriet was shocked and disgusted. With the support of Minna and her cousin, she set out to take down the barbaric plume trade. Their first mode of action; rallying people to join the cause.

Together, Harriet and Minna identified the names of the wealthiest women in society. They then invited them to a series of tea parties. At these parties, they urged the women to boycott the hats and join them in protesting the cruel feather trade. Some women refused to join the cause and left. The ones that stayed swore off wearing feathers and joined the movement.

Eventually, the women worked out an effective strategy. They planned to have their protest target primarily upper-class women, the main consumers of the hats, rather than the people responsible for the creation of the hats.

Harriet Hemenway, conservationist, leader, BAMF

These parties proved to be a rousing success. During the time in which the society had been meeting, the movement amassed the support of over 900 women. These women, in turn, recruited men to the movement, furthering visibility for their cause in the political sphere.

Despite this, more visibility was needed. It was the late 1800’s and the women's right to vote had not passed. Harriet knew she would have to enlist the help of men to get any political friction with the movement. She recruited scientists and prominent male figures to join the cause.

Through the collective efforts of the community they had formed, in 1896 Minna and Harriet came to found the Massachusetts Audobon Society. The society was named after the famed painter, James Audobon, who was known for his lifelike portraits of birds. The Audobon society was (and continues to be) a nonprofit organization whose mission is to preserve the biodiversity and habitats of birds and other wildlife. The creation of the original Massachusetts chapter led to the development of other Audobon societies in 12 states. The Audobon society later would come to be instrumental in the passage of the Lacey Act in 1900, which banned the trafficking of illegal wildlife in the United States.

The Lacey Act was a huge achievement for the conservation movement. It created severe penalties for people who illegally transported wildlife. Despite this, the plume industry was still killing birds in record numbers. The Lacey Act had been beneficial but had failed to shut down the interstate feather trade. Milliners had switched from using egrets to using shorebirds and wading birds. As a result, these populations were now threatened.

A tragic image detailing some of the many victims of the plume trade.

When others voiced their opposition to using birds on hats, milliners said that stopping the feather trade would result in many people losing their jobs. They dismissed the supporters of the anti-plume movement saying they were too weak and sentimental.

When questioned about the source of their feathers, suppliers would claim that their hats were only adorned with found feathers (only a small percentage of them were). This gave some consumers peace of mind, but by this point, more politicians and conservationists were starting to take action to stop the industry.

In 1913, the Weaks-McLean Law, otherwise known as the Migratory Bird Law, was passed. It was a direct result of the work of the Audobon society. This act was later replaced by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 due to a constitutional weakness ( it was passed as a rider to an appropriation bill for the Department of Agriculture). This act prohibited the hunting and illegal transport of wildlife, essentially protecting birds from people. It took the federal legislation of the MBTA to put an end to the plume movement. As a direct result of this law, bird populations that had been killed for the millinery industry have since rebounded to their previous levels.

President Theodore Roosevelt established Pelican Island in 1903 for birds from plume hunters. Its creation leads to a trend in other bird refuges being created.

As times and fashions changed and new laws were instated, feathers were no longer sought after. Hats were now being decorated with ribbons and fabric. As a result of this, hunters who had previously relied on the plume trade were forced to find other ways to make a living.

As feathered hats lost popularity, ribbon and hats with smaller brims became fashionable.

The movement, originally organized against the use of birds and their feathers, set the precedent for other protective conservation legislation.

I am eternally grateful for the incredible, unceasing efforts of these early pioneers. Because of them, we are still able to enjoy the elegance of the majestic snowy egret and american egret, as well as the marvels of other incredible bird species.

What are your thoughts on this subject?

What parallels can we draw between the modern-day fur and ivory trade and the plume trade?

What other impacts did the plume trade on the conservation movement?


Further Reading:

https://bt.barnard.edu/nycgildedages/exhibit/project/a-primi/

This article details the parallels between the plume trade and the modern-day fur trade.

https://www.fws.gov/news/blog/index.cfm/2016/8/29/Lessons-of-the-Feather-Trade-can-Help-Service-Combat-Wildlife-Trafficking

This post describes how the plume trade and the era of extermination lead to many modern conservation successes.

https://fashioningfeathers.info/murderous-millinery/

A fascinating article that goes into how the plume trade became an international industry stretching as far as Australia.

Weekend Link Dump

This week's Link Dump is hosted by one of the most popular members of our writing team, Ginger the Typing Cat!

Why the hell are fossils mostly male?

Watch out for the Bromley Batman!

Watch out for those black mirrors!

The tragic life of Queen Juana of Castile.

They're not saying it's aliens, but...oh, hold on.  They are saying that.

If you thought phrenology was weird, meet the science of reading forehead wrinkles.

Why New Yorkers once burned down a quarantine hospital.

The actress and the drunken coachman.

A Regency poisoning.

The folklore of mining.

The mystery of the burning stones.

A look at some groundbreaking surgeries.

Mayor O'Dwyer and the Mob.

A ghoulish trade in second-hand clothes.

A famed 19th century American policeman.

The Rodney Riots and the publishing house.

They may have found Captain Cook's Endeavour.

How to make your own 18th century lip salve.

Psychics sometimes get it right.

The rise and fall of absinthe.

A girl's concentration camp diary.

The strange story of the Acambaro figure.

The mad scientist and his corpse bride.

How to have a theater waste a year of your life.

Some murders may be unsolved, but they're not all that mysterious.

This week in Russian Weird gets romantic. Oh, and nothing to worry about here.  Just exploding smallpox virus.

Google Earth solves a missing-persons case.

Piano prodigy Blind Tom Wiggins.

In case you're planning to make knives with human poop, science has bad news for you.  (Incidentally, one thing I've learned from reading about archaeologists is that they spend an inordinate amount of time working with human waste.  Makes me a bit relieved that I never pursued my early dreams of taking it up as a career.)

In related news, it turns out archaeology is child's play.  Just wait till the kids learn they have to make the knives.

And that's it for this week! See you on Monday, when we'll welcome in a guest post discussing a fashion fad that was truly for the birds. In the meantime, as this is the final WLD of Summer 2019, I thought this seemed appropriate.