Several of Emmet’s deluded followers met the fate of their leader, and by their ignominious deaths, taught their countrymen the folly and madness of attempting to separate Ireland from this kingdom by violent means.

The following pathetic history of Miss Curran, after the death of her lover, is extracted from Washington Irving’s “Sketch Book,” in which it appears under the title of “The Broken Heart.” It is rather long, but its beauty will amply repay the trouble of its perusal:—

“Every one must recollect the tragical story of young E——, the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. He was so young—so intelligent—so generous—so brave—so everything that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid! The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country—the eloquent vindication of his name—and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation—all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.

“But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervour of a woman’s first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her whose soul was occupied by his image! Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth—who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.

“But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonoured! There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation—none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, that endear the parting scene—nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parching hour of anguish.

“To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father’s displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation; for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her lover. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul—that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness—and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as in the depth of solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and ‘heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.’

“The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay—to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an utter air of abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility of the garish scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.

“The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation; for she was existing on the kindness of her friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another’s.

“He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow, but hopeless decline; and at length sank into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.”

COLONEL EDWARD MARCUS DESPARD, JOHN FRANCIS, JOHN WOOD, AND OTHERS.

EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

He now came home, and demanded that his conduct should be investigated; but, after two years’ constant attendance on all the departments of government, he was at last told by the ministers, that there was no charge against him worthy of notice, and that his Majesty had thought proper to abolish the office of superintendant at Honduras, otherwise he should have been reinstated in it; but he was then, and on every occasion, assured, that his services should not be forgotten, but that they should, in due time, meet their reward.

Irritated by continued disappointments, he began to vent his indignation in an unguarded manner, and thus rendering himself liable to suspicion, he was for a considerable time confined in Cold Bath-fields’ Prison, under the provisions of the Habeas Corpus Suspension Act, then recently passed. On his liberation it was found that his passions were not cooled by the imprisonment which he had undergone; and inflamed against the government himself, he at length succeeded in gaining over to his views others whose causes of complaint were even more trivial than those of their leader. Their proceeding soon became so notorious, that it was determined that the existence of the society which they had formed was no longer consistent with public safety; and in consequence of representations which were made, a search-warrant was issued, which was placed in the hands of the police for execution. A strong body of constables having assembled, they all proceeded to the Oakley Arms, Oakley-street, Lambeth, where they found and apprehended Colonel Despard and about forty other persons assembled in a room together, the greater part of whom were men of indifferent character, and of low station in life. The prisoners were on the following day carried to Union Hall, to be examined by the magistrates sitting there; and in the end Colonel Despard, and thirty-two of his companions, were committed to Horsemonger-lane Gaol to await the final and determinate investigation of their cases before a jury.

For the better and more effectual trial of the prisoners, a special commission was issued, by virtue of which they were arraigned, on indictments which had been found against them, on the 7th February, 1803.

The first case gone into was that of Despard, and the indictment having been read, the case for the prosecution was opened by the attorney-general; and he stated that the prisoners had formed a society, the object of which was to overturn the government. His Majesty having intended to meet his Parliament a week earlier than he actually did, namely, on the 16th January instead of on the 23rd, the society proposed on that day to carry out their plan, which was in the first instance to lay a restraint upon the King’s person, and to destroy him. They frequently attempted to seduce soldiers into their club, and on any of them being persuaded to join them, they administered false oaths to them, and gave them copies of the oath, in order that they might endeavour to make proselytes in their turn. Among others thus gained over was one Windsor, but soon after he had joined he became dissatisfied, and gave information of the conspiracy to a Mr. Bonus, to whom he showed a copy of the oath, but by the advice of that gentleman, he remained a member of the society with the design of learning whether there were any persons of note among its members. On the Friday before the intended assassination of the King, a meeting was held, at which Broughton, the prisoner, prevailed upon two of the associates to go to the Flying Horse, Newington, where they would meet with a “nice man,” and it turned out that the person so described was Colonel Despard.

The witnesses were then examined; and after proof of the apprehension of the prisoners, as described already, had been given, and the printed papers which had been found, and which contained the form of the oath, &c., had been read, Thomas Windsor, the chief witness, was called.

He deposed as to the manner in which he took the oath, the effect of which was to bind him to support the views of the society in opposition to the King and his Government, and then proceeded to detail the plan which was proposed to be put into execution. Despard was the leader and director of the whole proceedings; and he recommended that the proposed attack should be made on that day when his Majesty went to open Parliament. The object was to seize the person of the King; and Despard declared that “he had weighed the matter well, and that his heart was callous, and the King must be put to death.” When the murder of his Majesty had been effected, the mail-coaches were to be stopped, so as to convey information to the agents of the plotters in the country of what had occurred; and then a simultaneous rising was to take place. The witness was to be engaged as an active party in the proceedings of the conspirators, and he was desired by the prisoner to meet him on Tower-hill, with some comrades, who were desirous of joining the society, to consider the best mode of surprising the Tower and securing the arms. Accompanied by the prisoner Wood therefore, and two other men, he went to the Tiger public-house, Tower-hill, where Despard soon joined them. The determination to destroy the reigning monarch was then again mentioned by Despard; and after a long discussion, it was agreed that Wood, whose turn it would be to stand sentry in the Park, near the great gun, should fire into the King’s carriage. Before this diabolical design, however, could be carried into execution, the parties to the plot were apprehended.

Mr. Serjeant Best and Mr. Gurney, who were retained as counsel for Despard, severally addressed the jury on his behalf, contending that the testimony of Windsor was of such a character as to be entitled to no belief; and they then called Lord Nelson, Sir A. Clarke, and Sir E. Nepean, all of whom bore testimony to the character of the prisoner as a zealous and gallant officer. Lord Ellenborough, however, having summed up the evidence, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty, but earnestly recommended the prisoner to mercy, on account of his previous good character, and the services he had rendered to his country.

The other prisoners were subsequently tried, and twelve of them convicted upon the same evidence, three of whom were recommended to mercy.

On the prisoners being brought up to receive judgment, Colonel Despard, who had hitherto invariably preserved a strict silence, declared his innocence of the charge imputed to him of seducing the soldiers, and urged that the jury ought not to have convicted him upon such evidence as had been adduced.

The sentence was then pronounced upon them as traitors in the usual form; and on Saturday the 19th of February, information was received that the warrant of execution, authorising their being hanged on the Monday following, was made out, a portion of their sentence, namely, the taking out and burning of the bowels, being remitted. It was sent to the keeper of the New Gaol in the Borough, at six o’clock on Saturday evening, and included the names already given, three other prisoners, named Newman, Tyndal and Lander, being respited. As soon as the warrant for execution was received, it was communicated to the unhappy persons by the keeper of the prison; when Colonel Despard observed that the time was short, yet he had not had, from the first, any strong expectation that the recommendation of the jury would be effectual. The mediation of Lord Nelson, and a petition to the crown, were tried; but Colonel Despard was convinced, according to report, that they would be unavailing. Mrs. Despard, who was a native of the Bay of Honduras, was greatly affected when she first heard his fate was sealed; but she afterwards recovered her fortitude, and bore up with great firmness at parting with her husband.

The other prisoners bore their doom with equal fortitude, but conducted themselves with less solemnity than the colonel. Their wives were allowed to take a farewell of them on the same day, and the scene was truly distressing.

At day-light on Sunday morning, the drop, scaffold, and gallows, on which they were to be executed, were erected on the top of the gaol. All the Bow-street patrol, and many other peace-officers, were on duty all day and night; and a large body of the military was drawn up close to it.

On the following morning, Monday the 21st of February, 1803, at half-past six o’clock, the prison bell rang—the signal for unlocking the cells. At seven, Broughton, Francis, Graham, Wood, and Wratton went into the chapel with the Rev. Mr. Winkworth. They attended to the prayers with great earnestness, but at the same time without seeming to lose that firmness which they had displayed since their trial. Before they received the sacrament, four of them confessed they had done wrong, but not to the extent charged against them by the evidence. The fifth, Graham, said that he was innocent of the charges brought against him; but he admitted that he had attended two meetings, the second at the instigation of Francis.

For some time the clergyman refused to administer the sacrament to Francis, because he persisted in declaring he had been guilty of no crime. The clergyman said to him, “You admit you attended meetings?” He answered, “Yes.” “You knew they were for the purpose of overturning the constitution of the country? I by no means wish you to enter into particulars. I only wish you to acknowledge generally.” Francis rejoined, “I admit I have done wrong in attending those meetings;” and the sacrament was then administered to them.

Colonel Despard and Macnamara were then brought down from their cells, their irons knocked off, and their arms bound with ropes. On observing the sledge and apparatus the colonel smilingly cried out, “Ha! ha! what nonsensical mummery is this!”

When the awful procession began, which was at half-past eight o’clock precisely, Macnamara was the first that came out. Colonel Despard was the last that appeared. He stept into the hurdle with much fortitude, having an executioner on the right and on the left, on the same seat, with naked cutlasses. He was thus conducted to the outer lodge, whence he ascended the staircase leading to the place of execution. The prisoners were preceded by the sheriff, Sir R. Ford, the clergyman, Mr. Winkworth, and the Roman Catholic clergyman, Mr. Griffith.

Coffins, or shells, which had been previously placed in a room under the scaffold, were then brought up, and placed on the platform, on which the drop was erected; a bag of sawdust, to catch the blood when the heads were severed from the bodies, was placed beside them. The block was near the scaffold. There were about a hundred spectators on the platform, among whom were some persons of distinction, but the greatest order was observed.

Macnamara was the first on the platform; and when the cord was placed round his neck, he exclaimed, “Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me! O Lord, look down with pity upon me!” The populace were much struck by his appearance. Graham came second; he looked pale and ghastly, but spoke not; Wratton was the third; he ascended the scaffold with much firmness. Broughton, who was the fourth, joined in prayer with much earnestness. Wood was the fifth, and Francis the sixth. They were all equally composed.

Colonel Despard ascended the scaffold with great firmness, and his countenance underwent not the slightest change while the awful ceremony of fastening the rope round his neck, and placing the cap on his head, was performing; he even assisted the executioner in adjusting the rope; and looked at the multitude with perfect calmness.

The clergyman, who ascended the scaffold after the prisoners were tied up, spoke to him a few words as he passed, and the colonel bowed and thanked him. The ceremony of fastening the prisoners being finished, the colonel advanced, as near as he could, to the edge of the scaffold, and made the following speech to the multitude:—

“Fellow Citizens,—I come here, as you see, after having served my country—faithfully, honourably, and usefully served it, for thirty years and upwards—to suffer death upon a scaffold for a crime of which I protest I am not guilty. I solemnly declare that I am no more guilty of it than any of you who may be now hearing me. But, though his Majesty’s ministers know as well as I do that I am not guilty, yet they avail themselves of a legal pretext to destroy a man, because he has been a friend to truth, to liberty, and justice——” [There was a considerable huzza from part of the populace the nearest to him, but who, from the height of the scaffold from the ground, could not, for a certainty, distinctly hear what was said. The colonel proceeded]——“because he has been a friend to the poor and distressed. But, citizens, I hope and trust, notwithstanding my fate, and the fate of those who no doubt will soon follow me, that the principles of freedom, of humanity, and of justice, will finally triumph over falsehood, tyranny, and delusion, and every principle hostile to the interests of the human race. And now, having said this, I have little more to add——” [The colonel’s voice seemed to falter a little here—he paused a moment, as if he had meant to say something more, but had forgotten it. He then concluded in the following manner.] “I have little more to add, except to wish you all health, happiness, and freedom, which I have endeavoured, as far as was in my power, to procure for you and for mankind in general.”

The Colonel generally spoke in a firm and audible tone of voice, and left off sooner than was expected. There was no public expression of feeling at the conclusion of his address.

As soon as he had ceased speaking, the clergyman prayed with the other prisoners, and after a few minutes he shook each by the hand. The executioners then pulled the caps over the faces of the unhappy men, and having quitted the scaffold, the signal was immediately afterwards given, and the drop fell. The Colonel had not one struggle; twice he opened and shut his hands, convulsively, and he stirred no more. Macnamara, Graham, Wood, and Wratton were motionless after a few struggles, but Broughton and Francis were much convulsed for some time after their companions had ceased to live.

After they had hung for about half an hour, and when they were quite dead, they were cut down. Colonel Despard was the first who was removed from the gallows; his body was placed upon sawdust, and his head upon a block; and after his coat had been taken off, his head was severed from his body by persons engaged on purpose to perform that ceremony. The executioner then took the head by the hair, and carrying it to the edge of the parapet on the right hand, held it up to the view of the populace, and exclaimed “This is the head of a traitor, Edward Marcus Despard.” The same ceremony was performed on the parapet at the left hand. There was some hooting and hissing when the colonel’s head was exhibited. His remains were now put into the shell that had been prepared for them.

The other prisoners were afterwards successively cut down, their heads severed from their bodies, and exhibited to the populace, with the same exclamation of, “This is the head of another traitor:” and the bodies were put into their different shells, and delivered to their friends for interment.

The crowd at the entrance of Horsemonger-lane was immense; and as the time of execution drew near, the people from all parts came with such force as to bear down all opposition. Those who had been in dry situations were pushed into the middle of the road, where they stood almost up to the knees in mud, and many lost their shoes by the continual pushing and jostling.

While the heads were exhibiting, the populace took off their hats. The execution was over by ten o’clock, and the populace soon after dispersed quietly. There was not the least tendency to riot or disturbance. The precautions, however, taken by Government, were only such as were highly necessary and proper. A sky-rocket was sent to the keeper of the prison to be let off, as a signal to the military, in case of any disturbance.

The body of Colonel Despard having lain at Mount-row, opposite the Asylum, was taken away on the first of March, by his friends, with a hearse and three mourning-coaches, and interred near the north door of St. Paul’s Cathedral, St. Paul’s churchyard. The crowd was great; but when the grave was covered in, the people immediately and quietly dispersed. The city marshal was present, lest there should be any disturbance on the occasion.

JOHN HATFIELD.

EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

It appears that he was the son of poor parents, who lived at Mortram, near Longdale, in Cheshire, and that he was born there, in the year 1759. Having by some means procured the situation of rider or traveller to a linen-draper in the north of England, in the course of his travels he became acquainted with a young woman, who was under the guardianship of a respectable farmer, but who was in reality the natural daughter of Lord Robert Manners. The secret of her birth was not generally known, but it was communicated to our hero, with an intimation that upon her marriage, provided it should be with the consent of her father, a dowry of 1000l. would be paid. He therefore lost no time in securing the good will of the young lady, and having then obtained the consent of her noble father, he was married to her, and received from his lordship the sum of 1500l. The money, however, was soon spent in the gaieties of London, by the bridegroom, and with his wife he was compelled to retreat into the country, where he continued until the year 1782. He, then, again visited the metropolis, having deserted his wife and three children, and in spite of his fallen fortunes he proceeded to live in a style of considerable extravagance, boasting of his near connexion with the Rutland family, and of his estates in the country. In the course of his residence in London, his unhappy wife died, and our hero was almost immediately afterwards conveyed to the King’s Bench Prison for a debt of 160l. By the practice of an imposture he succeeded in obtaining the payment of his debt by the Duke of Rutland, and his consequent discharge, and he was then again thrown upon town to live upon his wits.

In the year 1785, the Duke of Rutland was appointed lord-lieutenant of Ireland; and directly after his arrival in Dublin, Hatfield followed him, and taking up his abode at a hotel in College-green, acquainted the landlord with his pretended connexion with the viceroy, and declared that he was only prevented from proceeding at once to the Castle, by the circumstance of his carriage, and horses, and servants, not having yet arrived. A month was passed by the lodger in a pretended continued state of disappointment at the non-appearance of his equipage, and at the expiration of that period the landlord took the liberty of presenting his bill, which amounted to upwards of sixty pounds. Mr. Hatfield was in nowise confused, but said that although, fortunately, his agent was then in Ireland holding a public situation, he was, at that time, on a visit in the country, from which he would not return for three days. The landlord was satisfied; but on the fourth day he again made his appearance, and having been now directed to a gentleman at the Castle, he forthwith proceeded to him with his account. The answer was of a nature most unsatisfactory to his wishes; for the supposed agent very frankly told him, that he was the dupe of an impudent impostor; but he received some consolation from his being informed that others had suffered as well as he. His guest, however, was one who was no longer welcome at his table, but being under the necessity of driving him from his own house, he provided him with other lodgings in the Marshalsea, to which he was conveyed by virtue of a writ issued at his instance. On his entering the jail, Hatfield whispered the keeper and his wife, “to be sure and keep it a profound secret that he was a relation of the viceroy, as it might not be agreeable to his Excellency, that it should be known that he was in prison;” and the people, astonished at the discovery, which they then made for the first time, conducted him to the best apartment, had a table provided, and continued to furnish him with all the necessary commodities for his support during the ensuing three weeks. In the meantime, however, he had again petitioned the Duke for fresh supplies, and his Grace, being apprehensive that he might continue his impositions in Dublin, released him on condition of his quitting Ireland; and in order to be assured that this stipulation was obeyed, he sent a servant to see him on board the next vessel sailing for Holyhead.

He next visited Scarborough, and there practised similar impositions; but his frauds being discovered, he was arrested and lodged in jail, where he now continued for a period of eight years and a half. At the expiration of that time, a Miss Nation, of Devonshire, paid his debts and procured his liberation; and furthermore bestowed her hand on him in marriage. He then had the good fortune to obtain admission into a respectable firm at Tiverton as partner, and continued to live during about three years in apparent respectability; but then, having put up as a candidate for the borough of Queenborough, his real character was discovered, and he was made a bankrupt. He now retired, leaving his second wife and two children behind him; and nothing more was heard of him until the year 1802, when he drove up in a carriage to the Queen’s Head Inn, at Keswick, and assumed the name of Colonel the Hon. Alexander Augustus Hope, brother of the Earl of Hopetoun, and member for Linlithgow. Unfortunately some evil genius directed his steps to the once happy cottage of poor Mary, the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, an old couple, who kept a small public-house at the side of the beautiful lake of Buttermere, Cumberland; and who, by their industry, had amassed a small property; and poor Mary of Buttermere, whose charms have since become so celebrated from Wordsworth’s sweet poem in which they are described, was doomed to become the victim of his villanous schemes. During a short stay at Buttermere, he contrived to wheedle himself into the good graces of poor Mary; but he was not to be satisfied with the possession of a country girl, when higher game came in view. On his first arrival at Keswick, he became acquainted with an Irish gentleman named Murphy, a member of the then existing Irish House of Commons, who with his family, and accompanied by a young lady, possessed of a considerable fortune, and no less personal attractions, was on a tour through the justly admired lakes of England. The affable condescension with which his advances were received, induced him to suppose, that his address and manners were not displeasing to the young lady, or her guardian, and he resolved to improve upon the opportunity which presented itself. Quitting the society of the gentle Mary, therefore, he returned to Keswick, and, ere long, he had so far ingratiated himself with the young lady, as to obtain from her a promise of her hand in marriage. Being known only by his assumed title, he was urged to write to Lord Hopetoun, to acquaint him with the intended union, and he promised instantly to comply with a request which appeared so reasonable. Writing letters, therefore, which by virtue of his pretended rank of M.P. he franked, he despatched them, and until answers were received, he proposed various trips to while away the time. The preparations for the marriage, however, occupied the time and attention of the young lady to too great a degree to permit her quitting Keswick, and Hatfield seized the opportunity to continue his courtship to the Beauty of Buttermere. In this manner some weeks elapsed, without any communication being received from the Earl of Hopetoun; and the frequent, and now prolonged, absences of the supposed colonel excited some degree of surprise among his Irish friends.

At length, on the 1st October 1802, a letter was received from Hatfield, dated Buttermere, by Mr. Murphy, in which a request was contained that a draft inclosed, purporting to be drawn by Col. Hope, on Mr. Crampt, a banker in Liverpool, might be cashed; and that gentleman, still having no good reason to doubt the integrity of his correspondent, immediately transmitted to him 30l., the amount of the check. On the 4th of the same month, however, Wood, the landlord of the Queen’s Head, where the whole party had been stopping, brought over intelligence from the village of Lorton, in Buttermere, that Colonel Hope had been married on the previous day to Mary Robinson. On inquiry it turned out that this was perfectly true, and that the marriage having taken place, the bride and bridegroom had gone into Scotland to spend the honeymoon; and it being now obvious, that the latter, whoever he might be, had acted most dishonourably towards his ward, Mr. Murphy determined to write to Lord Hopetoun, for the purpose of ascertaining how far he was entitled to the name and rank which he had assumed. Circumstances soon transpired, which induced a belief that he had no pretensions to the character which he had taken, and a warrant was issued for his apprehension. In the meantime, he had proceeded with his bride, as far as Longtown, on their wedding trip, but on reaching that spot, he pretended surprise at not meeting some friends, whom, he said, he had expected, and returned to Buttermere. He was there charged with having assumed a fictitious name, but he flatly denied the truth of the allegation; but the warrant being brought, by which he was alleged to have forged several franks, as M.P. for Linlithgow, he was committed to the care of a constable. He, however, found means to make his escape from this custody; and having with great boldness passed through several towns, where his person was known, he was at length apprehended within sixteen miles of Swansea, and committed to Brecon jail. Before the magistrates, he declared that his name was Tudor Henry, but his person being identified, he was sent to London to be examined. He was then transmitted to Cumberland, where he was charged with forging several franks, and also with forging the bill for which he had obtained cash at Keswick, and he was committed for trial; the charge for bigamy, which also stood against him, not being preferred.

He was indicted at the ensuing assizes at Carlisle, and tried before Sir A. Thompson, when the jury found him guilty, and he was sentenced to death.

A notion very generally prevailed that he would escape capital punishment, and the arrival of the mail was daily expected with the greatest impatience. No pardon arriving, however, September 3, 1803, (Saturday,) was at last fixed upon for the execution.

The gallows was erected on the preceding night, between twelve and three, in an island formed by the river Eden, on the north side of the town, between the two bridges. From the hour when the jury found him guilty, he behaved with the utmost serenity and cheerfulness. He received the visits of all who wished to see him, and talked upon the topics of the day with the greatest interest or indifference. He could scarcely ever be brought to speak of his own case, and he neither blamed the verdict, nor made any confession of his guilt. He said that he had no intention to defraud those whose names he forged; but was never heard to say that he was to die unjustly. The alarming nature of the crime of forgery, in a commercial country, had taught him from the beginning to entertain no hope of mercy.

By ten o’clock in the morning of September 3, his irons were struck off; and he then appeared as usual, and no alteration or increased agitation, whatever, was observed in his manner.

Soon after ten o’clock he sent for the “Carlisle Journal,” and perused it for some time, and a little after he had laid aside the paper, two clergymen attended him, and prayed with him. He afterwards wrote several letters and shaved himself, and at three o’clock he ate a hearty dinner with the jailor. Having afterwards drunk two glasses of wine, he partook of some coffee, and then set out for the scaffold. He was pinioned in the turnkey’s lodge, where he sent for the executioner and gave him some silver. He afterwards exhibited great composure, and when he came to the gallows, he asked whether that “was the tree he was to die on?” On being answered in the affirmative, he exclaimed, “Oh! a happy sight, I see it with pleasure.”

He then ascended the cart, which had been placed under the rope, and appeared perfectly cool and collected. Having himself assisted in completing the requisite preparations, he took leave of the sheriffs, and prepared himself calmly for his fate.

On his being turned off, great apprehensions were entertained that it would be necessary to tie him up a second time. The noose slipped twice, and he fell down above eighteen inches, and his feet at last were almost touching the ground; but his excessive weight, which occasioned this accident, speedily relieved him from pain. He expired in a moment, and without any struggle.

He was cut down after he had hung about an hour. On the preceding Wednesday he had had a carpenter to take his measure for his coffin, and he ordered it to be a strong oak one, plain and neat, requesting that, after he was taken down, he might be put into it immediately, with the apparel he might have on, and carried to the churchyard of Burgh-on-Sands, there to be interred in the evening.

The conscientious parishioners of Burgh, however, objected to his being laid there, and the body was consequently conveyed in the hearse to St. Mary’s, Carlisle, where it was interred in a distant corner of the churchyard, far from the other tombs. No priest attended, and the coffin was lowered without any religious service. Notwithstanding his various and complicated enormities, his untimely end excited considerable commiseration. His manners were extremely polished and insinuating, and he was possessed of qualities which might have rendered him an ornament of society.

Shooting a Ghost. p. 399
Shooting a Ghost.
P. 399

FRANCIS SMITH.

CONDEMNED FOR THE MURDER OF A SUPPOSED GHOST.

The defence set up was that no bad design actuated the prisoner in his attack upon the supposed spirit, and many witnesses were called, who proved the alarm which had been occasioned by the visits of a preternatural being.

The Lord Chief Baron, Mr. Justice Rooke, and Mr. Justice Lawrence, who were on the Bench, severally expressed their opinion, that the case proved amounted to murder; and that if a man killed another by design, without authority, but from a supposition that he ought to be killed, the offence amounted to murder. The Jury attempted to bring in a verdict of manslaughter only, but the opinion of the learned Judges being repeated they returned a general verdict of guilty, and recommended the prisoner to mercy.

The Recorder then passed sentence of death on the prisoner in the usual form; which was, that he should be executed on the following Monday, and his body given to the surgeons to be dissected.

The prisoner, who was dressed in a suit of black clothes, was twenty-nine years of age, a short but well-made man, with dark hair and eye brows; and the pallid hue of his countenance, during the whole trial, together with all the signs of contrition which he exhibited, commanded the sympathy of every spectator.

The case excited great interest, and the Court and its environs were crowded during the trial, by persons anxious to learn his fate.

The Lord Chief Baron having told the jury, after they had given their verdict, that he would immediately report the case to his Majesty, was so speedy in this humane office, that a respite during pleasure was sent to the Old Bailey before seven o’clock, and on the twenty-fifth, the prisoner received a pardon on condition of his being imprisoned during one year.

The ghost appears to have taken alarm at the consequences of his absurd trifling with the feelings of his fellow subjects, and he was not again seen.

We cannot dismiss this subject without referring to other cases of supposed ghosts, which in their time attracted no inconsiderable portion of public attention, and excited no small degree of alarm. The most famous of these was known by the name of the “Cock Lane Ghost,” and the circumstances connected with the case are so curious, and afford so fair a specimen of the easy credulity even of well-informed and otherwise sensible people, that we feel little hesitation in placing an account of them before our readers.

The Cock Lane Ghost kept London in a state of commotion for no short time, and was the universal theme of conversation among the learned and the illiterate, and in every circle of society, “from the prince to the peasant.” It appears that at the commencement of the year 1760, there resided in Cock Lane, near West Smithfield, in the house of one Parsons, the parish clerk of St. Sepulchre’s, a stockbroker, named Kent. The wife of this gentleman had died in child-bed during the previous year; and his sister-in-law, Miss Fanny, had arrived from Norfolk to keep his house for him. They soon conceived a mutual affection, and each of them made a will in the other’s favour. They lived some months in the house of Parsons, who, being a needy man, borrowed money of his lodger. Some differences arose betwixt them, and Mr. Kent left the house, and instituted legal proceedings against the parish clerk for the recovery of his money.

While this matter was yet pending, Miss Fanny was suddenly taken ill of the small-pox, and, notwithstanding every care and attention, she died in a few days, and was buried in a vault under Clerkenwell church. Parsons now began to hint that the poor lady had come unfairly by her death, and that Mr. Kent was accessory to it, from his too great eagerness to enter into possession of the property she had bequeathed him. Nothing further was said for nearly two years; but it would appear that Parsons was of so revengeful a character, that he had never forgotten or forgiven his differences with Mr. Kent, and the indignity of having been sued for the borrowed money. The strong passions of pride and avarice were silently at work during all that interval, hatching schemes of revenge, but dismissing them one after the other as impracticable, until, at last, a notable one suggested itself. About the beginning of the year 1762, the alarm was spread over all the neighbourhood of Cock Lane, that the house of Parsons was haunted by the ghost of poor Fanny, and that the daughter of Parsons, a girl about twelve years of age, had several times seen and conversed with the spirit, who had, moreover, informed her, that she had not died of the small-pox, as was currently reported, but of poison, administered by Mr. Kent. Parsons, who originated, took good care to countenance these reports; and, in answer to numerous inquiries, said his house was every night, and had been for two years—in fact ever since the death of Fanny, troubled by a loud knocking at the doors and in the walls. Having thus prepared the ignorant and credulous neighbours to believe or exaggerate for themselves what he had told them, he sent for a gentleman of a higher class in life, to come and witness these extraordinary occurrences. The gentleman came accordingly, and found the daughter of Parsons, to whom the spirit alone appeared, and whom alone it answered, in bed, trembling violently, having just seen the ghost, and been again informed that she had died from poison. A loud knocking was also heard from every part of the chamber, which so mystified the not very clear understanding of the visiter, that he departed, afraid to doubt and ashamed to believe, but with a promise to bring the clergyman of the parish and several other gentlemen on the following day, to report upon the mystery.

On the following night he returned, bringing with him three clergymen, and about twenty other persons, including two negroes, when, upon a consultation with Parsons, they resolved to sit up the whole night, and await the ghost’s arrival. It was then explained by Parsons, that although the ghost would never render itself visible to anybody but his daughter, it had no objection to answer the questions that might be put to it by any person present, and that it expressed an affirmation by one knock, a negative by two, and its displeasure by a kind of scratching. The child was then put into bed along with her sister, and the clergymen examined the bed and bed-clothes to satisfy themselves that no trick was played, by knocking upon any substance concealed among the clothes, as, on the previous night, the bed was observed to shake violently.

After some hours, during which they all waited with exemplary patience, the mysterious knocking was heard in the wall, and the child declared that she saw the ghost of poor Fanny. The following questions were then gravely put by the clergyman, through the medium of one Mary Frazer, the servant of Parsons, and to whom it was said the deceased lady had been much attached. The answers were in the usual fashion, by a knock or knocks:—

“Do you make this disturbance on account of the ill usage you received from Mr. Kent?”—“Yes.”

“Were you brought to an untimely end by poison?”—“Yes.”

“How was the poison administered, in beer or in purl?”—“In purl.”

“How long was that before your death?”—“About three hours.”

“Can your former servant, Carrots, give any information about the poison?”—“Yes.”

“Are you Kent’s wife’s sister?”—“Yes.”

“Were you married to Kent after your sister’s death?”—“No.”

“Was anybody else, besides Kent, concerned in your murder?”—“No.”

“Can you, if you like, appear visibly to any one?”—“Yes.”

“Will you do so?”—“Yes.”

“Can you go out of this house?”—“Yes.”

“Is it your intention to follow this child about everywhere?”—“Yes.”

“Are you pleased in being asked these questions?”—“Yes.”

“Does it ease your troubled soul?”—“Yes.”

[Here there was heard a mysterious noise, which some wiseacre present compared to the fluttering of wings.]

“How long before your death did you tell your servant, Carrots, that you were poisoned?—An hour?”—“Yes.”

[Carrots, who was present, was appealed to; but she stated positively that such was not the fact, as the deceased was quite speechless an hour before her death. This shook the faith of some of the spectators, but the examination was allowed to continue.]

“How long did Carrots live with you?”—“Three or four days.”

[Carrots was again appealed to, and said that this was true.]

“If Mr. Kent is arrested for this murder, will he confess?”—“Yes.”

“Would your soul be at rest if he were hanged for it?”—“Yes.”

“Will he be hanged for it?”—“Yes.”

“How long a time first?”—“Three years.”

“How many clergymen are there in this room?”—“Three.”

“How many negroes?”—“Two.”

“Is this watch (held up by one of the clergymen) white?”—“No.”

“Is it yellow?”—“No.”

“Is it blue?”—“No.”

“Is it black?”—“Yes.”

[The watch was in a black shagreen case.]

“At what time this morning will you take your departure?”

The answer to this question was four knocks, very distinctly heard by every person present; and accordingly, at four o’clock precisely, the ghost took its departure to the Wheatsheaf public-house, close by, where it frightened mine host and his lady almost out of their wits by knocking in the ceiling right above their bed.

The rumour of these occurrences very soon spread over London, and every day Cock-lane was rendered impassable by the crowds of people who assembled around the house of the parish clerk, in expectation of either seeing the ghost or of hearing the mysterious knocks. It was at last found necessary, so clamorous were they for admission within the haunted precincts, to admit those only who would pay a certain fee; an arrangement which was very convenient to the needy and money-loving Mr. Parsons. Indeed, things had taken a turn greatly to his satisfaction; he not only had his revenge, but he made a profit out of it. The ghost, in consequence, played its antics every night, to the great amusement of many hundreds of people, and the great perplexity of a still greater number.

Unhappily, however, for the parish clerk, the ghost was induced to make some promises which were the means of utterly destroying its reputation. It promised, in answer to the questions of the Reverend Mr. Aldritch of Clerkenwell, that it would not only follow the little Miss Parsons wherever she went, but would also attend him, or any other gentleman, into the vault under St. John’s church, where the body of the murdered woman was deposited, and would there give notice of its presence by a distinct knock upon the coffin. As a preliminary, the girl was conveyed to the house of Mr. Aldritch near the church, where a large party of ladies and gentlemen, eminent for their acquirements, their rank, or their wealth, had assembled. About ten o’clock on the night of the 1st of February, the girl, having been brought from Cock-lane in a coach, was put to bed by several ladies in the house of Mr. Aldritch, a strict examination having been previously made that nothing was hidden in the bedclothes. While the gentlemen, in an adjoining chamber, were deliberating whether they should proceed in a body to the vault, they were summoned into the bedroom by the ladies, who affirmed, in great alarm, that the ghost was come, and that they heard the knocks and scratches. The gentlemen entered accordingly, with a determination to suffer no deception. The little girl, on being asked whether she saw the ghost, replied, “No; but she felt it on her back like a mouse.” She was then required to put her hands out of bed, and they being held by some of the ladies, the spirit was summoned in the usual manner to answer, if it were in the room. The question was several times put with great solemnity; but the customary knock was not heard in reply in the walls, neither was there any scratching. The ghost was then asked to render itself visible, but it did not choose to grant the request. It was next solicited to give some token of its presence by a sound of any sort, or by touching the hand or cheek of any lady or gentleman in the room; but even with this request the ghost would not comply.

There was now a considerable pause, and one of the clergymen went down-stairs to interrogate the father of the girl, who was waiting the result of the experiment. He positively denied that there was any deception, and even went so far as to say that he himself, upon one occasion, had seen and conversed with the awful ghost. This having been communicated to the company, it was unanimously resolved to give the ghost another trial; and the clergyman called out in a loud voice to the supposed spirit that the gentleman to whom it had promised to appear in the vault was about to repair to that place, where he claimed the fulfilment of its promise. At one hour after midnight they all proceeded to the church, and the gentleman in question, with another, entered the vault alone, and took up their position alongside of the coffin of poor Fanny. The ghost was then summoned to appear, but it appeared not; it was summoned to knock, but it knocked not; it was summoned to scratch, but it scratched not; and the two retired from the vault, with the firm belief that the whole business was a deception practised by Parsons and his daughter. There were others, however, who did not wish to jump so hastily to a conclusion, and who suggested that they were, perhaps, trifling with this awful and supernatural being, which, being offended with them for their presumption, would not condescend to answer them. Again, after a serious consultation, it was agreed on all hands that, if the ghost answered anybody at all, it would answer Mr. Kent, the supposed murderer; and he was accordingly requested to go down into the vault. He went with several others, and summoned the ghost to answer whether he had indeed poisoned her. There being no answer, the question was put by Mr. Aldritch, who conjured it, if it were indeed a spirit, to end their doubts—make a sign of its presence, and point out the guilty person. There being still no answer for the space of half an hour, during which time all these boobies waited with the most praiseworthy perseverance, they returned to the house of Mr. Aldritch, and ordered the girl to get up and dress herself. She was strictly examined, but persisted in her statement that she used no deception, and that the ghost had really appeared to her.

So many persons had, by their openly expressed belief of the reality of the visitation, identified themselves with it, that Parsons and his family were far from being the only persons interested in the continuance of the delusion. The result of the experiment convinced most people; but these were not to be convinced by any evidence, however positive, and they therefore spread about the rumour, that the ghost had not appeared in the vault, because Mr. Kent had taken care beforehand to have the coffin removed. That gentleman, whose position was a very painful one, immediately procured competent witnesses, in whose presence the vault was entered, and the coffin of poor Fanny opened. Their deposition was then published; and Mr. Kent indicted Parsons and his wife, his daughter, Mary Frazer the servant, the Rev. Mr. Moor, and a tradesman, two of the most prominent patrons of the deception, for a conspiracy. The trial came on in the Court of King’s Bench, on the 10th of July, before Lord Chief-Justice Mansfield, when, after an investigation which lasted twelve hours, the whole of the conspirators were found guilty. The Rev. Mr. Moor and his friend were severely reprimanded in open court, and recommended to make some pecuniary compensation to the prosecutor for the aspersions they had been instrumental in throwing upon his character. Parsons was sentenced to stand three times in the pillory, and to be imprisoned for two years: his wife to one year’s, and his servant to six months’ imprisonment in the Bridewell. A printer, who had been employed by them to publish an account of the proceedings for their profit, was also fined fifty pounds, and discharged.

The precise manner in which the deception was carried on has never been explained. The knocking in the wall appears to have been the work of Parsons’ wife, while the scratching part of the business was left to the little girl. That any contrivance so clumsy could have deceived anybody, cannot fail to excite our wonder. But thus it always is. If two or three persons can only be found to take the lead in any absurdity, however great, there is sure to be plenty of imitators. Like sheep in a field, if one clears the stile, the rest will follow.

About ten years afterwards, London was again alarmed by the story of a haunted house. Stockwell, near Vauxhall, the scene of the antics of this new ghost, became almost as celebrated in the annals of superstition as Cock Lane. Mrs. Golding, an elderly lady, who resided alone with her servant, Anne Robinson, was sorely surprised on the evening of Twelfth-day, 1772, to observe a most extraordinary commotion among her crockery. Cups and saucers rattled down the chimney—pots and pans were whirled down stairs, or through the windows; and hams, cheeses, and loaves of bread disported themselves upon the floor as if the devil were in them. This, at least, was the conclusion that Mrs. Golding came to; and being greatly alarmed, she invited some of her neighbours to stay with her, and protect her from the evil one. Their presence, however, did not put a stop to the insurrection of china, and every room in the house was in a short time strewed with the fragments. The chairs and tables joined, at last, in the tumult, and things looked altogether so serious and inexplicable, that the neighbours, dreading that the house itself would next be seized with a fit of motion, and tumble about their ears, left poor Mrs. Golding to bear the brunt of it by herself. The ghost in this case was solemnly remonstrated with, and urged to take its departure; but the demolition continuing as great as before, Mrs. Golding finally made up her mind to quit the house altogether. She took refuge with Anne Robinson in the house of a neighbour; but his glass and crockery being immediately subjected to the same persecution, he was reluctantly compelled to give her notice to quit. The old lady, thus forced back to her own house, endured the disturbance for some days longer, when suspecting that Anne Robinson was the cause of all the mischief, she dismissed her from her service. The extraordinary appearances immediately ceased, and were never afterwards renewed; a fact which is of itself sufficient to point out the real disturber. A long time afterwards, Anne Robinson confessed the whole matter to the Rev. Mr. Brayfield. This gentleman confided the story to Mr. Hone, who has published an explanation of the mystery. Anne, it appears, was anxious to have a clear house, to carry on an intrigue with her lover, and resorted to this trick to effect her purpose. She placed the china on the shelves in such a manner that it fell on the slightest motion, and attached horse-hairs to other articles, so that she could jerk them down from an adjoining room without being perceived by any one. She was exceedingly dexterous at this sort of work, and would have proved a formidable rival to many a juggler by profession.

In later days, the alarming vagaries of “Swing,” and “Spring-heeled Jack,” have occasioned scarcely less alarm. Their claims to supernatural powers have not been supported by such plausible evidence as those of any of the ghosts which we have yet named, but their proceedings have been no less troublesome and mischievous to the well-disposed of the subjects of this realm.

One or two anecdotes with regard to haunted houses, though rather beside the immediate object of this work, may yet prove interesting, as illustrative of the general subject of ghosts, and the degree of belief to be put in such supernatural visitors.

One of the best stories which we recollect to have heard of a haunted house, is that which is related of the Royal Palace at Woodstock, in the year 1649, when the commissioners sent from London by the Long Parliament to take possession of it, and efface all the emblems of royalty about it, were fairly driven out by their fear of the devil, and the annoyances they suffered from a roguish cavalier, who played the imp to admiration. The commissioners, dreading at that time no devil, arrived at Woodstock on the 13th of October 1649. They took up their lodgings in the late King’s apartments—turned the beautiful bed-rooms and withdrawing-rooms into kitchens and sculleries—the council-hall into a brewhouse, and made the dining-room a place to keep firewood in. They pulled down all the insignia of royal state, and treated with the utmost indignity everything that recalled to their memory the name or the majesty of Charles Stuart. One Giles Sharp accompanied them in the capacity of clerk, and seconded their efforts apparently with the greatest zeal. He aided them to uproot a noble old tree, merely because it was called the King’s Oak, and tossed the fragments into the dining-room to make cheerful fires for the commissioners. During the first two days they heard some strange noises about the house, but they paid no great attention to them. On the third, however, they began to suspect they had got into bad company; for they heard, as they thought, a supernatural dog under their bed, which gnawed their bedclothes. On the next day the chairs and tables began to dance, apparently of their own accord. On the fifth day, something came into the bedchamber and walked up and down, and fetching the warming-pan out of the withdrawing-room, made so much noise with it that they thought five church-bells were ringing in their ears. On the sixth day, the plates and dishes were thrown up and down the dining-room. On the seventh, they penetrated into the bed-room in company with several logs of wood, and usurped the soft pillows intended for the commissioners. On the eighth and ninth nights, there was a cessation of hostilities; but on the tenth the bricks in the chimneys became locomotive, and rattled and danced about the floors, and round the heads of the commissioners all the night long. On the eleventh, the demon ran away with their breeches; and on the twelfth filled their beds so full of pewter-platters that they could not get into them. On the thirteenth night, the glass became unaccountably seized with a fit of cracking, and fell into shivers in all parts of the house. On the fourteenth, there was a noise as if forty pieces of artillery had been fired off, and a shower of pebble-stones, which so alarmed the commissioners, that, “struck with great horror, they cried out to one another for help.”

They first of all tried the efficacy of prayers to drive away the evil spirits; but these proving unavailing, they began seriously to reflect whether it would not be much better to leave the place altogether to the devil that inhabited it. They ultimately resolved, however, to try it a little longer; and having craved forgiveness of all their sins, betook themselves to bed. That night they slept in tolerable comfort, but it was merely a trick of their tormentor to lull them into false security. When, on the succeeding night, they heard no noises, they began to flatter themselves that the devil was driven out, and prepared accordingly to take up their quarters for the whole winter in the palace. These symptoms on their part became the signal for renewed uproar among the fiends. On the 1st of November, they heard something walking with a slow and solemn pace up and down the withdrawing-room, and immediately afterwards a shower of stones, bricks, mortar, and broken glass pelted about their ears. On the 2nd the steps were again heard in the withdrawing-room, sounding to their fancy very much like the treading of an enormous bear, which continued for about a quarter of an hour. This noise having ceased, a

Witchery at Woodstock. P. 406.
Witchery at Woodstock.
P. 406.

large warming-pan was thrown violently upon the table, followed by a number of stones, and the jawbone of a horse. Some of the boldest walked valiantly into the withdrawing-room, armed with swords and pistols, but could discover nothing. They were afraid that night to go to sleep, and sat up, making fires in every room, and burning candles and lamps in great abundance; thinking that, as the fiends loved darkness, they would not disturb a company surrounded with so much light. They were deceived, however: buckets of water came down the chimneys and extinguished the fires, and the candles were blown out, they knew not how. Some of the servants who had betaken themselves to bed were drenched with putrid ditch-water as they lay; and arose in great fright, muttering incoherent prayers, and exposing to the wondering eyes of the commissioners their linen all dripping with green moisture, and their knuckles red with the blows they had at the same time received from some invisible tormentors. While they were still speaking, there was a noise like the loudest thunder, or the firing of a whole park of artillery; upon which they all fell down upon their knees and implored the protection of the Almighty. One of the commissioners then arose, the others still kneeling, and asked in a courageous voice, and in the name of God, who was there, and what they had done that they should be troubled in that manner. No answer was returned, and the noises ceased for a while. At length, however, as the commissioners said, “the devil came again, and brought with it seven devils worse than itself.” Being again in darkness, they lighted a candle and placed it in the doorway that it might throw a light upon the two chambers at once; but it was suddenly blown out, and one commissioner said that he had “seen the similitude of a horse’s hoof striking the candle and candlestick into the middle of the chamber, and afterwards making three escapes on the snuff to put it out.” Upon this, the same person was so bold as to draw his sword; but he asserted positively that he had hardly withdrawn it from the scabbard before an invisible hand seized hold of it and tugged with him for it, and prevailing, struck him so violent a blow with the pommel that he was quite stunned. Then the noises began again; upon which, with one accord, they all retired into the presence-chamber, where they passed the night, praying and singing psalms.

They were by this time convinced that it was useless to struggle any longer with the powers of evil, that seemed determined to make Woodstock their own. These things happened on the Saturday night; and, being repeated on the Sunday, they determined to leave the place immediately, and return to London. By Tuesday morning early, all their preparations were completed; and shaking the dust off their feet, and devoting Woodstock and all its inhabitants to the infernal gods, they finally took their departure.[15]

Many years elapsed before the true cause of these disturbances was discovered. It was ascertained, at the Restoration, that the whole was the work of Giles Sharp, the trusty clerk of the commissioners. This man whose real name was Joseph Collins, was a concealed royalist, and had passed his early life within the bowers of Woodstock; so that he knew every hole and corner of the place, and the numerous trap-doors and secret passages that abounded in the building. The commissioners, never suspecting the true state of his opinions, but believing him to be revolutionary to the back-bone, placed the utmost reliance upon him; a confidence which he abused in the manner above detailed, to his own great amusement, and that of the few cavaliers whom he let into the secret.

Quite as extraordinary and as cleverly managed was the trick played off at Tedworth, in 1661, at the house of Mr. Mompesson, and which is so circumstantially narrated by the Rev. Joseph Glanvil, under the title of “The Demon of Tedworth,” and appended, among other proofs of witchcraft, to his noted work, called “Sadducismus Triumphatus.” About the middle of April, in the year above mentioned, Mr. Mompesson, having returned to his house at Tedworth, from a journey he had taken to London, was informed by his wife that during his absence they had been troubled with the most extraordinary noises. Three nights afterwards he heard the noise himself; and it appeared to him to be that of “a great knocking at his doors, and on the outside of his walls.” He immediately arose, dressed himself, took down a pair of pistols, and walked valiantly forth to discover the disturber, under the impression that it must be a robber; but, as he went, the noise seemed to travel before or behind him; and, when he arrived at the door from which he thought it proceeded, he saw nothing, but still heard “a strange hollow sound.” He puzzled his brains for a long time, and searched every corner of the house; but, discovering nothing, he went to bed again. He was no sooner snug under the clothes, than the noise began again more furiously than ever, sounding very much like a “thumping and drumming on the top of his house, and then by degrees going off into the air.”

These things continued for several nights, when it came to the recollection of Mr. Mompesson that, some time before, he had given orders for the arrest and imprisonment of a wandering drummer, who went about the country with a large drum, disturbing quiet people and soliciting alms, and that he had detained the man’s drum, and that, probably, the drummer was a wizard, and had sent evil spirits to haunt his house, to be revenged of him. He became strengthened in his opinion every day, especially when the noises assumed, to his fancy, a resemblance to the beating of a drum, “like that at the breaking up of a guard.” Mrs. Mompesson being brought to bed, the devil, or the drummer, very kindly and considerately refrained from making the usual riot; but, as soon as she recovered strength, began again, “in a ruder manner than before, following and vexing the young children, and beating their bedsteads with so much violence that every one expected they would fall in pieces.” For an hour together, as the worthy Mr. Mompesson repeated to his wondering neighbours, this infernal drummer “would beat ‘Roundheads and Cuckolds,’ the ‘Tat-too,’ and several other points of war, as cleverly as any soldier.” When this had lasted long enough, he changed his tactics, and scratched with his iron talons under the children’s bed. “On the 5th of November,” says the Rev. Joseph Glanvil, “it made a mighty noise; and a servant, observing two boards in the children’s room seeming to move, he bid it give him one of them. Upon which the board came (nothing moving it, that he saw) within a yard of him. The man added, ‘Nay, let me have it in my hand;’ upon which the spirit, devil, or drummer, pushed it towards him so close, that he might touch it. This,” continues Glanvil, “was in the day-time, and was seen by a whole room-full of people. That morning it left a sulphurous smell behind it, which was very offensive. At night the minister, one Mr. Cragg, and several of the neighbours, came to the house on a visit. Mr. Cragg went to prayers with them, kneeling at the children’s bedside, where it then became very troublesome and loud. During prayer-time, the spirit withdrew into the cock-loft, but returned as soon as prayers were done; and then, in sight of the company, the chairs walked about the room of themselves, the children’s shoes were hurled over their heads, and every loose thing moved about the chamber. At the same time, a bed-staff was thrown at the minister, which hit him on the leg, but so favourably, that a lock of wool could not have fallen more softly.” On another occasion, the blacksmith of the village, a fellow who cared neither for ghost nor devil, slept with John the footman, that he also might hear the disturbance, and be cured of his incredulity, when there “came a noise in the room, as if one had been shoeing a horse, and somewhat came, as it were, with a pair of pinchers,” snipping and snapping at the poor blacksmith’s nose the greater part of the night. Next day it came, panting like a dog out of breath; upon which some woman present took a bed-staff to knock at it, “which was caught suddenly out of her hand, and thrown away; and company coming up, the room was presently filled with a bloomy noisome smell, and was very hot, though without fire, in a very sharp and severe winter. It continued in the bed, panting and scratching for an hour and a half, and then went into the next room, where it knocked a little, and seemed to rattle a chain.”