Three weeks after the couple and their young daughters, Amelia and Jane, had moved into the home, the Heinzs began to suspect their dream house contained the stuff that nightmares are made of.

For no man can unfold / The many plicatures ſo cloſely preſt / At loweſt verge.

At the foot of the hill, trancey music from a garage party beckoned.

Still sails the Robber Baron’s yacht in sunny Southern seas. Daily she jams her nose ashore, and daily takes on and puts off a fresh cargo of telegraph dispatches; and he who is idling for his liver's sake knows every night the tale of Wall-street's ticker and baiteth still without cessation his everlasting mouse trap.