Tired of treading the path she had chosen in this life, Mrs. Nellie Simpson essayed Monday evening to terminate a miserable existence by taking ten grains of that deadly drug -- morphine -- and but for the prompt arrival and action of a physician, she would have filled a suicide's grave. Mrs. Simpson, who is yet a young woman of hardly eighteen summers, was wedded to her present husband, John Simpson, last fall in Leadville, and the following December, they moved to this city, and since that time, he has followed float driving as an avocation. They reside in a tenement house, No. 1016, on South Main street. Mrs. Simpson's mother was an actress, and at one time, was a favorite on the boards of Leadville, and the daughter's wild and careless life is no doubt due to her early training. Her besetting sin is strong drink, and for several days prior to the rash attempt, she had been considerably under the influence of whisky, and when in this condition, she broods over her poverty, for she and her husband are very poor. While in this mood Monday evening, she purchased ten grains of morphine, and taking it, lay down on the bed to await the approach of death. The attention of some of the female inmates of the house was attracted to her, and when questioned, she confessed that she had taken the drug with the avowed purpose of terminating a misspent life. They gave her a lot of hot coffee and dispatched a courier for Dr. R. W. Allen, who administered antidotes, and by keeping up within her, what the medical fraternity term, artificial respiration, the physician managed to bring her safely through, and when last heard from, she was still improving.

     Louisa Heath, this morning, made affidavit in the city court against Maggie Monell and Angie Moore, charging them with throwing stones at her, abusing her with most outrageous and opprobrious epithets, and drawing a knife on her, all of which, she stated, occurred last night. She wants her grievance righted, and appeals to the majesty of the law to protect her, and to throw over her, the aegis of the poor.

     In this court, Angie Moore was fined $17.50 and sent to the poor farm for 100 days for drunkenness. Angie may be short for Angel, but, if so, she is one of the sadly fallen kind.

     Angie Moore, who got raging drunk and waged war with a Mexican for refusing to wed her, was yesterday fined $17.50 and sent to the poor farm for a hundred days by Justice Braswell.

     There is a caravansary on Main street that is a sort of a fatherland for all races. To the Mexican, it is a hacienda; to the negro, a bungalow; to the two-bit cat, a headquarters, and to the neighborhood, a combination of earthquake and circus. This establishment was thrown into a Sahara of moral desolation yesterday, by a jamboree, in which an enraged female and a raging Mexican played leading parts. Hearing squalls and cat calls, officers Meely and Russell rushed to the scene of the disturbance. Their approach was the signal for a general stampede of the African and Aztec races, but they got hold of a white female named Angie Moore, who was too full to tell an officer from a Nanny goat. She was bleeding from lacerations on her hands, but she had a story of the bewailing kind, and which strung out into something like a straight narrative, was to the effect that she had been betrothed to a Mexican manufacturer of tamales, who was a daisy, till he went girling with another girl, whom he finally married. This cut the deponent so, that she sailed into him, three sheets in the wind, and he cut her again -- this time, with a knife. The officers arrested Angie, and forthwith, transferred her to the calaboose, where she berated her lover with the tongue, till long after midnight. Further investigation satisfied the officers that Don Alfonso, the Mexican, acted on the defensive, and that the woman had cut herself by throwing broken glass at him.

     Officers Neely, Russell, Beard and Waller made a raid on a low dive on Main street, east of the new government building, which has been attracting a good deal of attention the past few days. Their haul consisted of ten people, women and men, Mexicans, negroes and Americans. This motley crew were arraigned before Squire Braswell this afternoon, and he will deal out fitting justice to these miserable people.
     The officers have done a righteous act, for this hole of iniquity was most vile and becoming an intolerable nuisance.

P. L. Prudaloca, associating with a prostitute; dismissed.
John Mendez, same offense; fined $10.
M. Howenstine, same offense; fined $10.
Mattie Monell, cursing and swearing; transferred.
Angie Moore, same offense, transferred.
Mrs. Monell and May Frank, vagrants; transferred.
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...
     The police have raided the "Red Mansion" and captured the contents, consisting of Mexican men and American women of a low grade.
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     There stands on Main street, just above the new federal building, an old two-story rookery, decaying, and almost ready to tumble. It is partly occupied by a set of the worst class of lewd women, sustained principally by a lot of Mexican tamale vendors. Respectable people living for blocks around, and it is situated right in the midst of many houses of respectability and wealth, complain that at all hours or of the day and night the most disgraceful orgies are carried on, supplemented with screams, curses, and all sorts of Billingsgate too horrible to mention. A reporter recently witnessed an appalling illustration of this, mention of which, was made yesterday. A young woman was cursing, screaming and howling at the top of her voice; abusing every one personally who came in sight. A lady living near the scene, informed the reporter that such was of hourly occurrence, both day and night, and the police seldom or never interfered. Why this nuisance is allowed to exist, is beyond our ken. Can the city council do nothing to abate it? Why do not the respectable element in the neighborhood take steps to remove this one great menace to decency, and by a combined effort, have it blotted out. Such dives should be driven off the main streets of the city, at least.

     The HERALD was in error when it said that the police had made no effort to "pull" the dive on East Main street. They had had their eagle eyes on that den for some time, and [were] waiting until the fruit was ripe, and "pulled" it just as the second article was published.
     The crowd arrested at the dive on east Main street, Tuesday evening, is on trial this afternoon in Squire Braswell's court.

     Day before yesterday, there was a case against Angie Moore for drunkenness and vile language before Justice Braswell, the fine and costs amounting to $17.50, which her Mexican lover paid. Yesterday morning she was up again on the same charge, but owing to a press of business it was continued until this morning. Her Mexican lover, Pedro Penaloza, said he wanted to marry her. All his fiery, untamed Aztec blood was ablaze with love for her, and Angie said he was the darling of her life. By persuasions with the court and the prosecuting attorney, it was agreed if they would marry and leave town the case against her should be dismissed.
     Pedro obtained the license and the pair stood up on the floor of the justice's office to be united in the holy bonds of matrimony. A couple of newspaper men acted as groomsmen, two young lawyers, as bridesmaids and a policeman gave the bride away -- glad to get rid of her -- and they were made one by the holy ordinance of marriage. In a few days the happy couple leave for their home in Gainesville. Angie, the bride, has been a tough one for some time, and has even graced the poor farm with her charming presence, but this morning, in all soberness and earnestness, she declared that she loved her husband; that she had turned over a new leaf, and would from this day forward lead a virtuous and honest life, striving to make her husband happy, and to merit at least the good will of all respectable and good people by her deportment. It is earnestly to be hoped she will carry out her resolutions, and that she may come up out of the low ground and cess pools of degradation, where she has so long been, to a higher level of purity and honest virtue. She is young, and can do so, if she will.

     The cases against Mrs. Frank, Mrs. Monell and Mattie Monell, all charged with vagrancy, Mattie Monell having been tried by a jury yesterday, which resulted in three for conviction and three for acquittal, were all disposed of this morning. Justice Braswell dismissed all the cases on the solemn promise of the women that they would leave the city. Mattie Monell could never have been legally convicted on the evidence against her, albeit she is a hard case. They will, no doubt, leave. Already, is the "Red Mansion" deserted, and its walls no longer echo and re-echo the sounds of Bacchanalian and Aspasian revels.
...

     The readers of THE NEWS with a memory a yard long have not forgotten the case of Angie Moore, which occurred one night in the early part of the week, and was the cause of the seismetic disturbances of a moral nature that stampeded the boarders at that noted caravansary known as the Red Mansion. On the night in question, the police were drawn in a double quick gait to the mansion aforesaid by squalls, squeals, shrieks and screeches, the modulations of a woman's voice set to a high key by the force of scorn, which had sprung into play at the reproaches of her Mexican lover, Don Patricio Lorenzo Penolozo, who, judging from his euphonious name, may be the ramification of some noble duke, through whose veins meandered the blood of old Spain.
     Her hands were bleeding, and to the official query, "What in thunder is the matter?" she answered in elevated exclamations, as her frail form rocked from larboard to starboard. "Patricio cut me -- he cut me -- he cut me -- and he said he was going to marry another."
     The police conveyed the broken-hearted Angie to the calaboose, and they then started after Don Patricio, imagining that the cutting business had been done with a cortapiumas, navajo or billdoky, instruments with which Mexicans carve their enemies. The investigations, however, proved that Angie had cut herself with broken glass, and that her charge against Patricio referred to a cruel statement made by him to her to the effect that there were as good fish in the sea of matrimony as ever were caught. A slight reference to the leading characters in this drama is here in order: "Angie," who is 26 years old, good looking and fairly educated, was born during the transit of Venus. By adverse fate in early life, she cut her tiller rope and embarked on a sea of troubles, attacked by pirates on all sides, while the registered craft sailed by and refused a helping hand. Such is hell! No hope broods over its victim like a dove, and the smitten conscience feeds on its appetite, which acts as a tonic until vice becomes natural.
     Following the event of the Red Mansion above related, Angie -- once the child of an esteemed father and a good and loving mother -- found herself the next day consigned to the poor farm from the Justice's Court, and was preparing to betake herself to that refuge of sinners, when Patricio put in an appearance and paid her fine and costs. Having no place better than the Red Mansion or the bungalow to go to, she naturally drifted back into that maelstrom of wretchedness, and was re-arrested with some other of its incongruous inhabitants in an effort by the police to break up the establishment, which was fast becoming a nuisance to the neighborhood. Her case was called yesterday in Justice Braswell's Court, but just as the Magistrate was about to pronounce condemnation, Patricio stepped forward and said in fair English, "I love that girl, and if the court pleases, I will marry her, pay her fine, take care of her, and leave the city with her." The court readily assented to the proposition. Patricio started for the County Clerk's office, and the reporters and lawyers, of the latter, a score or more -- their curiosity aroused -- waited to watch the turn of events. Patricio, owing to the press of business, lingered so long that his affianced grew impatient and muttered to herself: "I wonder where he is, that he don't come." An officer entered the court room a moment later, she asked:
     Mr. Russell, have you seen him; is he coming?"
     "He is, here he comes," replied the officer, as Patricio entered the room, holding his license in his hand.
     They then vowed eternal vows of constancy and she registered an intention to reform, which had all the appearances of sincerity and which induced a religious reporter to remark, "May the Lord Almighty grant it!"
     The Judge cautioned her to be a good girl and she said she would, and Patricio said it would not be his fault if she wouldn't, and he then invited the crowd to take a drink, saying: "Senores, convido a todo la corte que me acompanen en una copa brindando mi matrimonio," which they did. The groom is a handsome and industrious young Mexican, and if Angie will behave and save herself, he will make her a good husband.

     Angie Moore and another soiled dove were before his honor, Mayor Brown, this morning. It turned out that they had been arrested as common prostitutes a few days ago and taken before 'squire Braswell, who released them upon their promise to quit the city instanter. The mayor sent the females back to 'squire Braswell. The father of Angie was a silent spectator of the scene. Mr. Moore is a preacher, and as he stood shivering over the stove, a gentleman remarked that there stood one of Alexander Dumas' characters come to life. Take it all in all, it was a sad, disgusting scene.

     The Mexican bride, Angie Moore, over whom the Dallas papers gushed at a fearful rate, surrounding the pair with a very interesting romantic career, turns out to be utterly bad, and very likely the bride of another man.

    Monell, Annie (widow of A. G.), residence 1016 Main, between Ervay, St. Paul.
    Medina, Juan, tamales maker, boards w/Mrs. Annie Monell.
    Mendez, Juan, tamales peddler, boards w/Mrs. Annie Monell.
    Mendiola, Carlos, laborer, boards w/Mrs. Annie Monell.
    Poeteeyou, Fernando, tamale maker, residence 1016 Main, between Ervay, St. Paul.
    Rodrigues, Tiburcio, laborer, boards w/Mrs. Annie Monell.

     Angie Moore was settled in the county court this morning -- for a time, at least. Angie is the woman who married a Mexican some time ago, reformed and went to pieces again. Yesterday, she got on the rampage and used abusive language, etc., to the proprietor of the St. Charles Hotel, and this morning, Judge Bower fined her $100 in one case and $10 for being a vagrant.

     Angie Moore, the unfortunate who, a few months ago, became, by wedlock, the senora of a Mexican, got on a high lonesome a few nights ago, as the result of which, she was before the County Court yesterday, on the charge of disturbing the peace, and the further one of vagrancy. In the former case, she was fined $100 and costs, and in the latter, $10 and costs, and it is probable that she will have to work out those incumbrances on the poor farm. Her husband betook himself sometime ago, to labor on a railroad.
...

     At 10:30 this morning, a little boy gave the alarm of fire on Main street, and in a few moments, a black column of smoke was seen issuing from the old red front frame building immediately east of the government building on Main street. The department was promptly on hand and soon had four streams on the building.
     The building was occupied by Mr. Goble as a broom factory.      Everything on the inside was destroyed. Mr. Goble estimates his loss at $350. There was no insurance. The building was one of the oldest in the city, whose walls, if they could speak, could tell wonderful and startling tales. It is difficult to place an estimate of the loss. To the owner, Mrs. Mary Burke, it was worth what could be realized in the way of a precarious rent.

     There is a report to the effect that Angie Moore, a county convict, has been whipped in the style of ye olden times. A county commissioner says that they have no right to punish any one at the county farm in that manner; that the usual mode of punishment is confinement on bread and water. It is possible that there will be an investigation.

     The police have hauled in Matt Evans and Angie Moore, who are charged with robbing the man Jameson of $80 in the Cow Boy saloon in East Dallas last Friday night. It is thought their arrest will implicate about four men who, acting in collusion with the woman, have made a practice of inducing men into a questionable resort of the suburb and robbing them of any valuables obtainable.

     Mattie Watkins, known as Mattie Monell, suicided Saturday night by taking morphine. It was the same old story of shame and disgrace. Saturday, papers were issued for her arrest, charged jointly with the Velvet Kidd, with kidnapping. The papers were not served and Matt has gone to answer a higher tribunal.

     Geo. Monelle, a newsboy, was accidentally shot at the corner of Main and Houston streets about 8 o'clock last night by another boy who is known among the newsboys as "Pat." The wounded boy ran into a saloon nearby, where he died in a few minutes.
     George and a friend by the name of Will Ethridge met their friend, Pat, who had two target rifles, on the spot where the shooting occurred. It seems that Pat was preparing to exhibit his marksmanship to his friends, when the gun went off accidentally and the ball struck George in the neck and killed him.
     George was about 14 years old and the son of a temale man.
     It soon spread that George had been shot and killed, and his newsboy friends gathered around his body with sad faces, and in low voices, expressed their regrets.

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Monday, Jan. 11:
16,043 -- Angie Moore et al, theft from person.
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     The following is the assignment of the criminal docket for the fourteenth judicial district court Dallas county, for the May term, 1892, Hon. R. E. Burke, judge, presiding:
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Monday, May 23:
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16,043 -- Angie Moore, Lula Prickett, Wm. Pope.
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     Angie Moore was arrested to-day on charge of theft from the person, and Jim Allen on charge of theft of a handsaw. One is a county court case and the other a felony.

     Angie Moore, aged about 35 years, died yesterday at No. 178 South Lamar street. The cause of death was not given.
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