{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_17050/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_17050","id":"gutenberg_17050","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17050","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends","Superstition"],"text":"Produced by Clare Boothby, Jeannie Howse and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n    +------------------------------------------------+\n    |  Transcriber's Note: Some very obvious typos   |\n    | were corrected in this text. For a list please |\n    | see the bottom of the document.                |\n    +------------------------------------------------+\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: \"FOR THE BLAST OF DEATH IS ON THE HEATH, AND THE\nGRAVE YAWNS WIDE FOR THE CHILD OF MOY.\"]\n\n\n\n\nSTRANGE PAGES\n\nFROM\n\nFAMILY PAPERS\n\nBy T.F. THISELTON DYER\n\nAUTHOR OF\n\n\"GREAT MEN AT PLAY,\" \"CHURCH LORE GLEANINGS,\"\n\"THE GHOST WORLD,\" &C.\n\nLONDON\nSAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY\nLIMITED\nSt. Dunstan's House,\nFETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.\n1895\n\n\n\n\nLONDON:\nPRINTED BY HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE,\nBREAM'S BUILDINGS, E.C.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\nFatal Curses                                          page 1\n\nCHAPTER II.\nThe Screaming Skull                                       29\n\nCHAPTER III.\nEccentric Vows                                            46\n\nCHAPTER IV.\nStrange Banquets                                          69\n\nCHAPTER V.\nMysterious Rooms                                          88\n\nCHAPTER VI.\nIndelible Bloodstains                                    114\n\nCHAPTER VII.\nCurious Secrets                                          135\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\nThe Dead Hand                                            154\n\nCHAPTER IX.\nDevil Compacts                                           162\n\nCHAPTER X.\nFamily Death Omens                                       180\n\nCHAPTER XI.\nWeird Possessions                                        198\n\nCHAPTER XII.\nRomance of Disguise                                      208\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\nExtraordinary Disappearances                             229\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\nHonoured Hearts                                          253\n\nCHAPTER XV.\nRomance of Wealth                                        262\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\nLucky Accidents                                          279\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\nFatal Passion                                            289\n\n\nIndex                                                    309\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n1. \"For the blast of Death is on the heath,\n    And the grave yawns wide for the child of Moy.\"\n                                               Frontispiece.\n\n2. She opened it in secret                          page  38\n\n3. \"Madam, you have attained your end. You\n    and I shall meet no more in this world\"               72\n\n4. The figure stood motionless                           150\n\n5. Lady Sybil at the Eagle's Crag                        168\n\n6. Dorothy Vernon and the Woodman                        214\n\n7. Lady Mabel and the Palmer                             248\n\n8. There came an old Irish harper, and sang an\n   ancient song                                          272\n\n\n\n\nSTRANGE PAGES\n\nFROM\n\nFAMILY PAPERS.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFATAL CURSES.\n\n    May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods\n    Deny thee shelter! Earth a home! the dust\n    A grave! The sun his light! and heaven her God.\n               BYRON, _Cain_.\n\n\nMany a strange and curious romance has been handed down in the history\nof our great families, relative to the terrible curses uttered in\ncases of dire extremity against persons considered guilty of injustice\nand wrong doing. It is to such fearful imprecations that the\nmisfortune and downfall of certain houses have been attributed,\nalthough, it may be, centuries have elapsed before their final\nfulfilment. Such curses, too, unlike the fatal \"Curse of Kehama,\" have\nrarely turned into blessings, nor have they been thought to be as\nharmless as the curse of the Cardinal-Archbishop of Rheims, who\nbanned the thief--both body and soul, his life and for ever--who stole\nhis ring. It was an awful curse, but none of the guests seemed the\nworse for it, except the poor jackdaw who had hidden the ring in some\nsly corner as a practical joke. But, if we are to believe traditionary\nand historical lore, only too many of the curses recorded in the\nchronicles of family history have been productive of the most\ndisastrous results, reminding us of that dreadful malediction given by\nByron in his \"Curse of Minerva\":\n\n    \"So let him stand, through ages yet unborn,\n    Fix'd statue on the pedestal of scorn.\"\n\nA popular form of curse seems to have been the gradual collapse of the\nfamily name from failure of male-issue; and although there is,\nperhaps, no more romantic chapter in the vicissitudes of many a great\nhouse than its final extinction from lack of an heir, such a disaster\nis all the more to be lamented when resulting from a curse. A\ncatastrophe of this kind was that connected with the M'Alister family\nof Scotch notoriety. The story goes that many generations back, one of\ntheir chiefs, M'Alister Indre--an intrepid warrior who feared neither\nGod nor man--in a skirmish with a neighbouring clan, captured a\nwidow's two sons, and in a most heartless manner caused them to be\nhanged on a gibbet erected almost before her very door. It was in vain\nthat, with well nigh heartbroken tears, she denounced his iniquitous\nact, for his comrades and himself only laughed and scoffed, and even\nthreatened to burn her cottage to the ground. But as the crimson and\nsetting rays of a summer sun fell on the lifeless bodies of her two\nsons, her eyes met those of him who had so basely and cruelly wronged\nher, and, after once more stigmatizing his barbarity, with deep\nmeasured voice she pronounced these ominous words, embodying a curse\nwhich M'Alister Indre little anticipated would so surely come to pass.\n\"I suffer now,\" said the grief-stricken woman, \"but you shall suffer\nalways--you have made me childless, but you and yours shall be\nheirless for ever--never shall there be a son to the house of\nM'Alister.\"\n\nThese words were treated with contempt by M'Alister Indre, who mocked\nand laughed at the malicious prattle of a woman's tongue. But time\nproved only too truly how persistently the curse of the bereaved woman\nclung to the race of her oppressors, and, as Sir Bernard Burke\nremarks, it was in the reign of Queen Anne that the hopes of the house\nof M'Alister \"flourished for the last time, they were blighted for\never.\" The closing scene of this prophetic curse was equally tragic\nand romantic; for, whilst espousing the cause of the Pretender, the\nyoung and promising heir of the M'Alisters was taken prisoner, and\nwith many others put to death. Incensed at the wrongs of his exiled\nmonarch, and full of fiery impulse, he had secretly left his youthful\nwife, and joined the army at Perth that was to restore the Pretender\nto his throne. For several months the deserted wife fretted under the\nterrible suspense, often silently wondering if, after all, her\nhusband--the last hope of the House of M'Alister--was to fall under\nthe ban of the widow's curse. She could not dispel from her mind the\nhitherto disastrous results of those ill-fated words, and would only\ntoo willingly have done anything in her power to make atonement for\nthe wrong that had been committed in the past. It was whilst almost\nfrenzied with thoughts of this distracting kind, that vague rumours\nreached her ears of a great battle which had been fought, and ere long\nthis was followed by the news that the Pretender's forces had been\nsuccessful, and that he was about to be crowned at Scone. The shades\nof evening were fast setting in as, overcome with the joyous prospect\nof seeing her husband home again, she withdrew to her chamber, and,\nflinging herself on her bed in a state of hysteric delight, fell\nasleep. But her slumbers were broken, for at every sound she started,\nmentally exclaiming \"Can that be my husband?\"\n\nAt last, the happy moment came when her poor overwrought brain made\nsure it heard his footsteps. She listened, yes! they were his! Full of\nfeverish joy she was longing to see that long absent face, when, as\nthe door opened, to her horror and dismay, there entered a figure in\nmartial array without a head. It was enough--he was dead. And with an\nagonizing scream she fell down in a swoon; and on becoming conscious\nonly lived to hear the true narrative of the battle of Sheriff-Muir,\nwhich had brought to pass the Widow's Curse that there should be no\nheir to the house of M'Alister.\n\nThis story reminds us of one told of Sir Richard Herbert, who, with\nhis brother, the Earl of Pembroke, pursuing a robber band in Anglesea,\nhad captured seven brothers, the ringleaders of \"many mischiefs and\nmurders.\" The Earl of Pembroke determined to make an example of these\nmarauders, and, to root out so wretched a progeny, ordered them all to\nbe hanged. Upon this, the mother of the felons came to the Earl of\nPembroke, and upon her knees besought him to pardon two, or at least\none, of her sons, a request which was seconded by the Earl's brother,\nSir Richard. But the Earl, finding the condemned men all equally\nguilty, declared he could make no distinction, and ordered them to be\nhanged together.\n\nUpon this the mother, falling upon her knees, cursed the Earl, and\nprayed that God's mischief might fall upon him in the first battle in\nwhich he was engaged. Curious to relate, on the eve of the battle of\nEdgcot Field, having marshalled his men in order to fight, the Earl of\nPembroke was surprised to find his brother, Sir Richard Herbert,\nstanding in the front of his company, and leaning upon his pole-axe\nin a most dejected and pensive mood.\n\n\"What,\" cried the Earl, \"doth thy great body\" (for Sir Richard was\ntaller than anyone in the army) \"apprehend anything, that thou art so\nmelancholy? or art thou weary with marching, that thou dost lean thus\nupon thy pole-axe?\"\n\n\"I am not weary with marching,\" replied Sir Richard, \"nor do I\napprehend anything for myself; but I cannot but apprehend on your part\nlest the curse of the woman fall upon you.\"\n\nAnd the curse of the frantic mother of seven convicts seemed, we are\ntold, to have gained the authority of Heaven, for both the Earl and\nhis brother Sir Richard, were defeated at the battle of Edgcot, were\nboth taken prisoners and put to death.\n\nSir Walter Scott has made a similar legend the subject of one of his\nballads in the \"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,\" entitled \"The\nCurse of Moy,\" a tale founded on an ancient Highland tradition that\noriginated in a feud between the clans of Chattan and Grant. The\nCastle of Moy, the early residence of Mackintosh, the chief of the\nclan Chattan, is situated among the mountains of Inverness-shire, and\nstands on the edge of a small gloomy lake called Loch Moy, in which is\nstill shown a rocky island as the spot where the dungeon stood in\nwhich prisoners were confined by the former chiefs of Moy. On a\ncertain evening, in the annals of Moy, the scene is represented as\nhaving been one of extreme merriment, for\n\n    In childbed lay the lady fair,\n    But now is come the appointed hour.\n    And vassals shout, \"An heir, an heir!\"\n\nIt is no ordinary occasion, for a wretched curse has long hung over\nthe Castle of Moy, but at last the spell seems broken, and, as the\nwell-spiced bowl goes round, shout after shout echoes and re-echoes\nthrough the castle, \"An heir, an heir!\" Many a year had passed without\nthe prospect of such an event, and it had looked as if the ill-omened\nwords uttered in the past were to be realised. It was no wonder then\nthat \"in the gloomy towers of Moy\" there were feasting and revelry,\nfor a child is born who is to perpetuate the clan which hitherto had\nseemed threatened with extinction. But, even on this festive night\nwhen every heart is tuned for song and mirth, there suddenly appears a\nmysterious figure, a pale and shivering form, by \"age and frenzy\nhaggard made,\" who defiantly exclaims \"'Tis vain! 'Tis vain!\"\n\nAt once all eyes are turned on this strange form, as she, in mocking\ngesture, casts a look of withering scorn on the scene around her, and\nstartles the jovial vassals with the reproachful words \"No heir! No\nheir!\" The laughter is hushed, the pipes no longer sound, for the\nwitch with uplifted hand beckons that she had a message to tell--a\nmessage from Death--she might truly say, \"What means these bowls of\nwine--these festive songs?\"\n\n    For the blast of Death is on the heath,\n    And the grave yawns wide for the child of Moy.\n\nShe then recounts the tale of treachery and cruelty committed by a\nchief of the House of Moy in the days of old, for which \"his name\nshall perish for ever off the earth--a son may be born--but that son\nshall verily die.\" The witch brings tears into many an eye as she\ntells how this curse was uttered by one Margaret, a prominent figure\nin this sad feud, for it was when deceived in the most base manner,\nand when betrayed by a man who had violated his promise he had\nsolemnly pledged, that she is moved to pronounce the fatal words of\ndoom:\n\n    She pray'd that childless and forlorn,\n      The chief of Moy might pine away,\n    That the sleepless night, and the careful morn\n      Might wither his limbs in slow decay.\n\n    But never the son of a chief of Moy\n      Might live to protect his father's age,\n    Or close in peace his dying eye,\n      Or gather his gloomy heritage.\n\nSuch was the \"Curse of Moy,\" uttered, it must be remembered, too, by a\nfair young girl, against the Chief of Moy for a blood-thirsty\ncrime--the act of a traitor--in that, not content with slaying her\nfather, and murdering her lover, he satiates his brutal passion by\nletting her eyes rest on their corpses.\n\n    \"And here,\" they said, \"is thy father dead,\n    And thy lover's corpse is cold at his side.\"\n\nHer tale ended, the witch departs, but now ceased the revels of the\nshuddering clan, for \"despair had seized on every breast,\" and \"in\nevery vein chill terror ran.\" On the morrow, all is changed, no joyous\nsounds are heard, but silence reigns supreme--the silence of death.\nThe curse has triumphed, the last hope of the house of Moy is gone,\nand--\n\n    Scarce shone the morn on the mountain's head\n    When the lady wept o'er her dying boy.\n\nBut tyranny, or oppression, has always been supposed to bring its own\npunishment, as in the case of Barcroft Hall, Lancashire, where the\n\"Idiot's Curse\" is commonly said to have caused the downfall of the\nfamily. The tradition current in the neighbourhood states that one of\nthe heirs to Barcroft was of weak intellect, and that he was fastened\nby a younger brother with a chain in one of the cellars, and there in\na most cruel manner gradually starved to death. It appears that this\nunnatural conduct on the part of the younger brother was prompted by a\ndesire to get possession of the property; and it is added that, long\nbefore the heir to Barcroft was released from his sufferings, he\ncaused a report to be circulated that he was dead, and by this piece\nof deception made himself master of the Barcroft estate. It was in one\nof his lucid intervals that the poor injured brother pronounced a\ncurse upon the family of the Barcrofts, to the effect that their name\nshould perish for ever, and that the property should pass into other\nhands. But this malediction was only regarded as the ravings of an\nimbecile, unaccountable for his words, and little or no heed was paid\nto this death sentence on the Barcroft name. And yet, light as the\nfamily made of it, within a short time there were not wanting\nindications that their prosperity was on the wane, a fact which every\nyear became more and more discernible until the curse was fulfilled in\nthe person of Thomas Barcroft, who died in 1688 without male issue.\nAfter passing through the hands of the Bradshaws, the Pimlots, and the\nIsherwoods, the property was finally sold to Charles Towneley, the\ncelebrated antiquarian, in the year 1795.[1] Whatever the truth of\nthis family tradition, Barcroft is still a good specimen of the later\nTudor style, and its ample cellarage gives an idea of the profuse\nhospitality of its former owners, some rude scribblings on one of the\nwalls of which are still pointed out as the work of the captive.\n\nIn a still more striking way this spirit of persecution incurred its\nown condemnation. In the 17th century, Francis Howgill, a noted\nQuaker, travelled about the South of England preaching, which at\nBristol was the cause of serious rioting. On returning to his own\nneighbourhood, he was summoned to appear before the justices who were\nholding a court in a tavern at Kendal, and, on his refusing to take\nthe oath of allegiance, he was imprisoned in Appleby Gaol. In due\ntime, the judges of assizes tendered the same oath, but with the like\nresult, and evidently wishing to show him some consideration offered\nto release him from custody if he would give a bond for his good\nbehaviour in the interim, which likewise declining to do, he was\nrecommitted to prison. In the course of his imprisonment, however, a\ncurious incident happened, which gave rise to the present narrative.\nHaving been permitted by the magistrates to go home to Grayrigg for a\nfew days on private affairs, he took the opportunity of calling on a\njustice of the name of Duckett, residing at Grayrigg Hall, who was not\nonly a great persecutor of the Quakers but was one of the magistrates\nwho had committed him to prison. As might be imagined, Justice Duckett\nwas not a little surprised at seeing Howgill, and said to him, \"What\nis your wish now, Francis? I thought you had been in Appleby Gaol.\"\n\nHowgill, keenly resenting the magistrate's behaviour, promptly\nreplied, \"No, I am not, but I am come with a message from the Lord.\nThou hast persecuted the Lord's people, but His hand is now against\nthee, and He will send a blast upon all that thou hast, and thy name\nshall rot out of the earth, and this thy dwelling shall become\ndesolate, and a habitation for owls and jackdaws.\" When Howgill had\ndelivered his message, the magistrate seems to have been somewhat\ndisconcerted, and said, \"Francis, are you in earnest?\" But Howgill\nonly added, \"Yes, I am in earnest, it is the word of the Lord to thee,\nand there are many living now who will see it.\"\n\nBut the most remarkable part of the story remains to be told. By a\nstrange coincidence the prophetic utterance of Howgill was fulfilled\nin a striking manner, for all the children of Justice Duckett died\nwithout leaving any issue, whilst some of them came to actual poverty,\none begging her bread from door to door. Grayrigg Hall passed into the\npossession of the Lowther family, was dismantled, and fell into ruins,\nlittle more than its extensive foundations being visible in 1777, and,\nafter having long been the habitation of \"owls and jackdaws,\" the\nruins were entirely removed and a farmhouse erected upon the site of\nthe \"old hall,\" in accordance with what was popularly known as \"The\nQuaker's Curse, and its fulfilment.\" Cornish biography, however, tells\nhow a magistrate of that county, Sir John Arundell, a man greatly\nesteemed amongst his neighbours for his honourable conduct--fell under\nan imprecation which he in no way deserved. In his official capacity,\nit seems, he had given offence to a shepherd who had by some means\nacquired considerable influence over the peasantry, under the\nimpression that he possessed some supernatural powers. This man, for\nsome offence, had been imprisoned by Sir John Arundell, and on his\nrelease would constantly waylay the magistrate, always looking at him\nwith the same menacing eye, at the same time slowly muttering these\nwords:\n\n    \"When upon the yellow sand,\n    Thou shalt die by human hand.\"\n\nNotwithstanding Sir John Arundell's education and position, he was not\nwholly free from the superstition of the period, and might have\nthought, too, that this man intended to murder him. Hence he left his\nhome at Efford and retired to the wood-clad hills of Trevice, where he\nlived for some years without the annoyance of meeting his old enemy.\nBut in the tenth year of Edward IV., Richard de Vere, Earl of Oxford,\nseized St. Michael's Mount; on hearing of which news, Sir John\nArundell, then Sheriff of Cornwall--led an attack on St. Michael's\nMount, in the course of which he received his death wound in a\nskirmish on the sands near Marazion. Although he had broken up his\nhome at Efford \"to counteract the will of fate,\" the shepherd's\nprophecy was accomplished; and tradition even says that, in his dying\nmoments, his old enemy appeared, singing in joyous tones:\n\n    \"When upon the yellow sand,\n    Thou shalt die by human hand.\"\n\nThe misappropriation of property, in addition to causing many a family\ncomplication, has occasionally been attended with a far more serious\nresult. There is a strange curse, for instance, in the family of Mar,\nwhich can boast of great antiquity, there being, perhaps, no title in\nEurope so ancient as that of the Earl of Mar. This curse has been\nattributed by some to Thomas the Rhymer, by others to the Abbot of\nCambuskenneth, and by others to the Bard of the House at that epoch.\nBut, whoever its author, the curse was delivered prior to the\nelevation of the Earl, in the year 1571, to be the Regent of Scotland,\nand runs thus:\n\n\"Proud Chief of Mar, thou shalt be raised still higher, until thou\nsittest in the place of the King. Thou shalt rule and destroy, and thy\nwork shall be after thy name, but thy work shall be the emblem of thy\nhouse, and shall teach mankind that he who cruelly and haughtily\nraiseth himself upon the ruins of the holy cannot prosper. Thy work\nshall be cursed, and shall never be finished. But thou shalt have\nriches and greatness, and shall be true to thy sovereign, and shalt\nraise his banner in the field of blood. Then, when thou seemest to be\nhighest, when thy power is mightiest, then shall come thy fall; low\nshall be thy head amongst the nobles of the people. Deep shall be thy\nmoan among the children of dool (sorrow). Thy lands shall be given to\nthe stranger, and thy titles shall lie among the dead. The branch that\nsprings from thee shall see his dwelling burnt, in which a King is\nnursed--his wife a sacrifice in that same flame; his children\nnumerous, but of little honour; and three born and grown who shall\nnever see the light. Yet shall thine ancient tower stand; for the\nbrave and the true cannot be wholly forsaken. Thou, proud head and\ndaggered hand, must _dree thy_ weird, until horses shall be stabled in\nthy hall, and a weaver shall throw his shuttle in thy chamber of\nstate. Thine ancient tower--a woman's dower--shall be a ruin and a\nbeacon, until an ash sapling shall spring from its topmost stone. Then\nshall thy sorrows be ended, and the sunshine of royalty shall beam on\nthee once more. Thine honours shall be restored; the kiss of peace\nshall be given to thy Countess, though she seek it not, and the days\nof peace shall return to thee and thine. The line of Mar shall be\nbroken; but not until its honours are doubled, and its doom is ended.\"\n\nIn support of this strange curse, it may be noted that the Earl of\n1571 was raised to be Regent of Scotland, and guardian of James VI. As\nRegent, he commanded the destruction of Cambuskenneth Abbey, and took\nits stones to build himself a palace at Stirling, which never advanced\nfarther than the facade, which has been popularly designated \"Marr's\nWork.\"\n\nIn the year 1715, the Earl of Mar raised the banner of his Sovereign,\nthe Chevalier James Stuart, son of James the Second, or Seventh. He\nwas defeated at the battle of Sheriff-Muir, his title being forfeited,\nand his lands of Mar confiscated and sold by the Government to the\nEarl of Fife. His grandson and representative, John Francis, lived at\nAlloa Tower (which had been for some time the abode of James VI. as an\ninfant) where, a fire breaking out in one of the rooms, Mrs. Erskine\nwas burnt, and died, leaving, beside others, three children who were\nborn blind, and who all lived to old age.\n\nBut this remarkable curse was to be further fulfilled, for at the\ncommencement of the present century, upon the alarm of the French\ninvasion, a troop of the cavalry and yeomen of the district took\npossession of the tower, and for a week fifty horses were stabled in\nits lordly hall; and in the year 1810, a party of visitors were\nsurprised to find a weaver plying his loom in the grand old Chamber of\nState. Between the years 1815 and 1820, an ash sapling might be seen\nin the topmost stone, and many of those who \"clasped it in their hands\nwondered if it really were the twig of destiny, and if they should\never live to see the prophecy fulfilled.\"\n\nIn the year 1822, George IV. visited Scotland and searched out the\nfamilies who had suffered by supporting the Princes of the Stuart\nline. Foremost of them all was the Erskine of Mar, grandson of Mar who\nhad raised the Chevalier's standard, and to him the King restored his\nearldom. John Francis, the grandson of the restored Earl, likewise\ncame into favour, for when Queen Victoria accidentally met his\nCountess in a small room in Stirling Castle, and ascertained who she\nwas, she detained her, and, after conversing with her, kissed her.\nAlthough the Countess had never been presented at St. James's, yet, in\na marvellous way, \"the kiss of peace was given to her, though she\nsought it not\"; and then, after the curse had worked through 300\nyears, the \"weird dreed out, and the doom of Mar was ended.\"[2]\n\nAnother instance which may be quoted relates to Sherborne Castle.\nAccording to the traditionary accounts handed down, it appears that\nOsmund, one of William the Conqueror's knights, who had been rewarded,\namong other possessions, with the castle and barony of Sherborne, in\nthe decline of life determined to resign his temporal honours, and to\ndevote himself exclusively to religion. In pursuance of this object,\nhe obtained the Bishopric of Salisbury, to which he gave certain\nlands, but annexed to the gift the following conditional curse: \"That\nwhosoever should take those lands from the Bishopric, or diminish them\nin great or small, should be accursed, not only in this world, but in\nthe world to come, unless in his lifetime he made restitution\nthereof.\" In a strange and wonderful manner this curse is said to have\nbeen more than once fulfilled. Upon Osmund's death, the castle and\nlands fell into the hands of the next bishop, Roger Niger, who was\ndispossessed of them by King Stephen, on whose death they were held by\nthe Montagues, all of whom, it is affirmed, so long as they kept these\nlands, were subjected to grievous disasters, in so much that the male\nline became altogether extinct. About two hundred years from this\ntime, the lands again reverted to the Church, but in the reign of\nEdward VI. the Castle of Sherborne was conveyed by the then Bishop of\nSarum to the Duke of Somerset, who lost his head on Tower Hill. Sir\nWalter Raleigh, again, obtained the property from the crown, and it\nwas to expiate this offence, it has been suggested, he ultimately lost\nhis head. But in allusion to this reputed curse, Sir John Harrington\ngravely tells how it happened one day that Sir Walter riding post\nbetween Plymouth and the Court, \"the castle being right in the way, he\ncast such an eye upon it as Ahab did upon Naboth's vineyard, and\nwhilst talking of the commodiousness of the place, and of the great\nstrength of the seat, and how easily it might be got from the\nBishopric, suddenly over and over came his horse, and his very\nface--which was then thought a very good one--ploughed up the earth\nwhere he fell.\" Then again Prince Henry died shortly after he took\npossession, and Carr, Earl of Somerset, the next proprietor fell in\ndisgrace. But the way the latter obtained Sherborne was far from\ncreditable, for, having discovered a technical flaw in the deed in\nwhich Sir Walter Raleigh had settled the estate on his son, he\nsolicited it of his royal master, and obtained it. It was in vain that\nLady Raleigh on her knees appealed to James against this injustice,\nfor he only answered, \"I mun have the land, I mun have it for Carr.\"\nBut Lady Raleigh was a woman of high spirit, and there on her knees,\nbefore King James, she prayed to God that He would punish those who\nhad thus wrongfully exposed her, and her children, to ruin. She was,\nin fact, re-echoing the curse uttered centuries beforehand. And that\nprayer was not long unanswered, for Carr did not enjoy Sherborne for\nany length of time. Committed to the Tower for the murder of Sir\nThomas Overbury, he was at last released and restricted to his house\nin the country, \"where in constant companionship with the wife, for\nthe guilty love of whom he had become the murderer of his friend, he\npassed the remainder of his life, loathing the partner of his crimes,\nand by her as cordially detested.\"\n\nSpelman goes so far as to say that \"all those families who took or had\nChurch property presented to them, came, either in their own persons or\nthose of their descendants, to sorrow and misfortune.\" One of the many\nstrange occurrences relating to Sir Anthony Browne, standard-bearer to\nKing Henry VIII., was communicated some years ago in connection with\nthe famous Cowdray Castle, the principal seat of the Montagues. It is\nsaid that at the great festival given in the magnificent hall of the\nmonks at Battle Abbey, on Sir Anthony Browne taking possession of his\nSovereign's gift of that estate, a venerable monk stalked up the hall\nto the dais, where Sir Anthony Browne sat, and, in prophetic language,\ndenounced him and his posterity for usurping the possessions of the\nChurch, predicting their destruction by fire and water--a fate which\nwas eventually fulfilled.\n\nOne of the last viscounts was, in 1793, drowned when trying to pass\nthe Falls of Schaffhausen on the Rhine, accompanied by Mr. Sedley\nBurdett, the elder brother of the distinguished Sir Francis. They had\nengaged an open boat to take them through the rapids; but it seems the\nauthorities tried to prevent so dangerous an enterprise. In order,\nhowever, to carry out their project, they started two hours earlier\nthan the time previously fixed--four o'clock in the morning--and\nsuccessfully passed the first or upper fall. But, unhappily, the same\ngood fortune failed them in their next descent, for \"the boat was\nswamped and sunk in passing the lower fall, and was supposed to have\nbeen jammed in a cleft of the submerged rock, as neither boat nor\nadventurers ever appeared again. In the same week, the ancient seat of\nthe family, Cowdray Castle, was destroyed by fire, and its venerable\nruins are the significant monument at once of the fulfilment of the\nold monk's prophecy, and of the extinction of the race of the great\nand powerful noble.\"\n\nIt is further added that the last inheritor of the title--the\nimmediate successor and cousin of the ill-fated young nobleman of\nSchaffhausen, Anthony Browne, the last Montague, who died at the\nopening of this century--left no male issue, and his estates devolved\non his only daughter, who married Mr. Stephen Poyntz, a great\nBuckinghamshire landlord. Some years after their marriage Mr. Poyntz\nwas desirous of obtaining a grant of the dormant title \"Viscount\nMontague\" in favour of the elder of his two sons, issue of this\nmarriage; but his hopes were suddenly destroyed by the death of the\ntwo boys, who were drowned while bathing at Bognor, the \"fatal water\"\nthus becoming the means, in fulfilment of the monk's terrible\ndenunciation on the family in his fearful curse.\n\nIn a similar manner the great Tichborne trial followed, it is said,\nupon the fulfilment, in a manner, of a prophecy, respecting that\nancient family, made more than seven hundred years before. When the\nLady Mabelle Tichborne, wife of the Sir Roger who flourished in the\nreign of Henry II., was lying on her death-bed, she besought her\nhusband to grant her the means of leaving behind her a charitable\nbequest in the form of an annual dole of bread. To gratify her whim,\nhe accordingly promised her the produce of as much land in the\nvicinity of the park as she could walk over while a certain brand was\nburning; for, as she had been bedridden for many years, he supposed\nthat she would be able to go round only a small portion of the\nproperty. But when the venerable dame was carried out upon the ground,\nshe seemed to regain her strength, and, greatly to the surprise of her\nhusband, crawled round several rich and goodly acres, which, to this\nday, retain the name of \"The Crawls.\" On being reconveyed to her\nchamber, Lady Mabelle summoned her family to her bedside and predicted\nits prosperity so long as the annual dole was observed, but she left\nher solemn curse on any of her descendants who should discontinue it,\nprophesying that when such should happen, the old house would fall,\nand the family name \"become extinct from failure\" of male issue. And\nshe further added, that this would be foretold by a generation of\nseven sons being followed immediately after by a generation of seven\ndaughters and no son.\n\nThe custom of the annual doles was observed for six hundred years on\nevery 25th of March, until--owing to the complaints of the magistrates\nand local gentry that vagabonds, gipsies, and idlers of every\ndescription swarmed into the neighbourhood, under the pretence of\nreceiving the dole--it was discontinued in the year 1796. Strangely\nenough, Sir Henry Tichborne, the baronet of that day, had issue seven\nsons, and his eldest son, who succeeded him, had seven daughters and\nno son. The prophecy was apparently completed by the change of name\nof the possessors of the estate to Doughty, in the person of Sir\nEdward Doughty, who had assumed the name under the will of a relative\nfrom whom he inherited certain property. Finally, it may be added,\n\"the Claimant\" appeared, and instituted one of the most costly\nlawsuits ever tried, in which the Tichborne estate was put to an\nexpense of close upon one hundred thousand pounds!\n\nBut, occasionally, the effect of a family curse, through the\nmisappropriation of property, has been more sweeping and speedy in its\nretribution, as in the case of Furvie or Forvie, which now forms part\nof the parish of Slains, Scotland--much, if not most of it, being\ncovered with sand. The popular account of the downfall of this parish\ntells how, in times gone by, the proprietor to whom it belonged left\nthree daughters as heirs of his fair lands; who were, however, most\nunjustly bereft of their property, and thrown homeless on the world.\nOn quitting their home--their legal heritage--they uttered a terrible\ncurse, which was quickly accomplished, and was considered an\nunmistakable sign of Divine displeasure at the wrong they had\nreceived. Before many days had elapsed, a storm of almost unparalleled\nviolence--lasting nine days--burst over the district, and transformed\nthe parish of Forvie into a desert of sand;--a calamity which is said\nto have befallen the district about the close of the 17th century. In\nthis way, many local traditions account for the ruined and desolate\ncondition of certain wild and uninhabited spots. Ettrick Hall, for\ninstance, near the head of Ettrick Water, had such a history. On and\naround its site in former days there was a considerable village, and\n\"as late as the Revolution, it contained no fewer than fifty-three\nfine houses.\" But about the year 1700, when the numbers in this little\nvillage were still very considerable, James Anderson, a member of the\nTushielaw family, pulled down a number of small cottages, leaving many\nof the tenants--some of whom were aged and infirm--homeless. It was in\nvain that these poor people appealed to him for a little merciful\nconsideration, for he refused to lend an ear to their complaints, and\nin a short time a splendid house was built on the property, known as\nEttrick Hall. What was considered by the inhabitants far and wide as\nan act of cruel injustice incurred its own punishment, for a prophetic\nrhyme was about the same period made on it, by whom nobody could tell,\nand which, says James Hogg, writing in the year 1826, has been most\nwonderfully verified:\n\n    Ettrick Hall stands on yon plain,\n    Right sore exposed to wind and rain;\n    And on it the sun shines never at morn,\n    Because it was built in the widow's corn;\n    And its foundations can never be sure,\n    Because it was built on the ruin of the poor.\n    And or an age is come and gane,\n    Or the trees o'er the chimly-taps grow green,\n    We kinna wen where the house has been.\n\nThe curse that alighted on this fair mansion at length accomplished\nits destructive work, because nowadays there is not a vestige of it\nremaining, nor has there been for these many years; indeed, so\ncomplete was the collapse of this ill-fated house, that its site could\nonly be identified by the avenue and lanes of trees; while many clay\ncottages, on the other hand, which were built previously, long\nremained intact. Equally fatal, also, was the curse uttered against\nthe old persecuting family of Home of Cowdenknowes--a place in the\nimmediate neighbourhood of St. Thomas's Castle.\n\n    Vengeance, vengeance! When and where?\n    Upon the house of Cowdenknowes, now and evermair!\n\nThis anathema, awful as the cry of blood, is generally said to have\nbeen realised in the extinction of the family and the transference of\ntheir property to other hands. But some doubt, writes Mr. Robert\nChambers,[3] seems to hang on the matter, \"as the Earl of Home--a\nprosperous gentleman--is the lineal descendant of the Cowdenknowes\nbranch of the family which acceded to the title in the reign of\nCharles I., though, it must be admitted, the estate has long been\nalienated.\"\n\nLove and marriage, again, have been associated with many imprecations,\none of which dates as far back as the time of Edmund, King of the East\nAngles, in connection with his defeat and capture at Hoxne, in\nSuffolk, on the banks of the Waveney not far from Eye. The story, as\ntold by Sir Francis Palgrave in his Anglo-Saxon History, is this:\n\"Being hotly pursued by his foes, the King fled to Hoxne, and\nattempted to conceal himself by crouching beneath a bridge, now called\nGoldbridge. The glittering of his golden spurs discovered him to a\nnewly-married couple, who were returning home by moonlight, and they\nbetrayed him to the Danes. Edmund, as he was dragged from his hiding\nplace, pronounced a malediction upon all who should afterwards pass\nthis bridge on their way to be married. So much regard was paid to\nthis tradition by the good folks of Hoxne that no bride or bridegroom\nwould venture along the forbidden path.\"\n\nThat inconstancy has not always escaped with impunity may be gathered\nfrom the following painful story, one which, if it had not been fully\nattested, would seem to belong to the domain of fiction rather than\ntruth: On April 28, 1795, a naval court-martial, which had lasted for\nsixteen days, and created considerable excitement, was terminated. The\nofficer tried was Captain Anthony James Pye Molloy, of H.M. Ship\n_Caesar_ and the charge brought against him was that, in the memorable\nbattle of June 1, 1794, he did not bring his ship into action, and\nexert himself to the utmost of his power. The decision of the court\nwas adverse to the Captain, but, \"having found that on many previous\noccasions Captain Molloy's courage had been unimpeachable,\" he was\nsentenced to be dismissed his ship, instead of the penalty of death.\n\nIt is said that Captain Molloy had behaved dishonourably to a young\nlady to whom he was betrothed. The friends of the lady wished to bring\nan action for breach of promise against the Captain, but the lady\ndeclined doing so, only remarking that God would punish him. Some time\nafterwards the two accidentally met at Bath, when the lady confronted\nher inconstant lover by saying: \"Capt. Molloy, you are a bad man. I\nwish you the greatest curse that can befall a British officer. When\nthe day of battle comes, may your false heart fail you!\"\n\nHer words were fully realised, his subsequent conduct and irremediable\ndisgrace forming the fulfilment of her wish.[4]\n\nAnother curse, which may be said to have a historic interest, has been\npopularly designated the \"Midwife's Curse.\" It appears that Colonel\nStephen Payne, who took a foremost part in striving to uphold the\ntottering fortunes of the Stuarts, had wooed and won a fair wife amid\nthe battles of the Rebellion. The Duke of York promised to stand as\ngodfather to the first child if it should prove a boy; but when a\ndaughter was born, the Colonel in his mortification, it is said,\n\"formally devoted, in succession, his hapless wife, his infant\ndaughter, himself and his belongings, to the infernal deities.\"\n\nBut the story goes that the midwife, Douce Vardon, was commissioned by\nthe shade of Normandy's first duke to announce to her master that not\nonly would his daughter die in infancy, but that neither he nor anyone\ndescended from him would ever again be blessed with a daughter's love.\nNot many days afterwards the child died, \"whose involuntary coming had\nbeen the cause of the Payne curse.\" Time passed on, and that \"Heaven\nis merciful,\" writes Sir Bernard Burke,[5] Stephen Payne experienced\nin his own person, for his wife subsequently presented him with a son,\nwho was sponsored by the Duke of York by proxy. \"But six generations\nof the descendants of Colonel Stephen Payne,\" it is added, \"have come\nand gone since the utterance of the midwife's curse, but they never\nyet have had a daughter born to them.\" Such is the immutability of the\ndecrees of Fate.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Harland's \"Lancashire Legends\" (1882), 4, 5.\n\n[2] See Sir J. Bernard Burke's \"Family Romance,\" 1853.\n\n[3] \"Popular Rhymes of Scotland\" (1870), 217-18.\n\n[4] See \"Book of Days,\" I., 559.\n\n[5] \"The Rise of Great Families,\" 191-202.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE SCREAMING SKULL.\n\n    \"Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall,\n      Its chambers desolate, its portals foul;\n    Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall--\n      The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.\"\n               BYRON.\n\n\nThere are told of certain houses, in different parts of the country,\nmany weird skull stories, the popular idea being that if any profane\nhand should be bold enough to remove, or in any way tamper with, such\ngruesome relics of the dead, misfortune will inevitably overtake the\nfamily. Hence, for years past, there have been carefully preserved in\nsome of our country homes numerous skulls, all kinds of romantic\ntraditions accounting for their present isolated and unburied\ncondition.\n\nAn old farmstead known as Bettiscombe, near Bridport, Dorsetshire, has\nlong been famous for its so-called \"screaming skull,\" generally\nsupposed to be that of a negro servant who declared before his death\nthat his spirit would not rest until his body was buried in his native\nland. But, contrary to his dying wish, he was interred in the\nchurchyard of Bettiscombe, and hence the trouble which this skull has\never since occasioned. In the August of 1883, Dr. Richard Garnett, his\ndaughter, and a friend, while staying in the neighbourhood determined\nto pay this eccentric skull a visit, the result of which is thus\namusingly told by Miss Garnett:\n\n\"One fine afternoon a party of three adventurous spirits started off,\nhoping to discover the skull and investigate its history. This much we\nknew, that the skull would only scream when it was buried, and so we\nhoped to get leave to inter it in the churchyard. The village of\nBettiscombe was at length reached, and we found our way to the old\nfarmhouse, which stood at the end of the village by itself. It had\nevidently been a manor house, and a very handsome one, too. We were\nadmitted into a fine paved hall, and attempted to break the ice by\nasking for milk. We then endeavoured to draw the good woman of the\nhouse into conversation by admiring the place, and asking in a guarded\nmanner respecting the famous skull. On this subject she was most\nreserved. She had only lately had the farmhouse, and had been obliged\nto take possession of the skull also; but she did not wish us to\nsuppose that she knew much about it; it was a veritable 'skeleton in\nthe closet' to her. After exercising great diplomacy, we persuaded her\nto allow us a sight of it. We tramped up the fine old staircase till\nwe reached the top of the house, when, opening a cupboard door, she\nshowed us a steep, winding staircase, leading to the roof, and from\none of the steps the skull sat grinning at us. We took it in our hands\nand examined it carefully; it was very old and weather-beaten, and\ncertainly human. The lower jaw was missing, the forehead very low and\nbadly proportioned. One of our party, who was a medical student,\nexamined it long and gravely, and then, after first telling the good\nwoman that he was a doctor, pronounced it to be, in his opinion, the\nskull of a negro. After this oracular utterance, she resolved to make\na clean breast of all she knew, which, however, did not amount to\nmuch. The skull, we were informed, was that of a negro servant, who\nhad lived in the service of a Roman Catholic priest. Some difference\narose between them; but whether the priest murdered the servant, in\norder to conceal some crimes known to the negro, or whether the negro,\nin a fit of passion, killed his master, did not clearly appear.\n\nHowever, the negro had declared before his death that his spirit would\nnot rest unless his body was taken to his native land and buried\nthere. This was not done, he being buried in the churchyard of\nBettiscombe. Then the haunting began; fearful screams proceeded from\nthe grave, the doors and windows of the house rattled and creaked,\nstrange sounds were heard all over the house; in short, there was no\nrest for the inmates until the body was dug up. At different periods\nattempts were made to bury the body, but similar disturbances always\nrecurred. In process of time the skeleton disappeared, 'all save the\nskull,' and its reputation as 'the screaming skull' remains\nunimpaired.\"\n\nIn a farm-house in Sussex are preserved two skulls from Hastings\nPriory, about which many gruesome stories are current in the\nneighbourhood. One of these skulls, it appears, has been in the house\nmany years; the other was placed there by a former tenant of the farm.\nIt is the prevalent impression in the locality, that, if by any chance\nthe former skull were to be removed, the cattle in the farm would die,\nand unearthly sounds be heard in and about the house at night time.\nAccording to a local tradition, the skull belonged to a man who\nmurdered the owner of the house, and marks of blood are pointed out on\nthe floor of the adjoining room, where the murder is said to have been\ncommitted, and which no washing will remove. But, on more than one\noccasion, the skull has been taken away without any ill-effects, and,\none year, was placed by a profane hand in a branch of a neighbouring\ntree, where it remained a whole summer, during which time a bird's\nnest was constructed within it, and a young brood successfully reared.\nAnd yet the old superstition still survives, and the prejudice\nagainst tampering with this peculiar skull has in no way\ndiminished.[6]\n\nThere are the remains of a skull, in three parts, at Tunstead, a\nfarmhouse about a mile and a half from Chapel-en-le-Frith, which,\nalthough popularly known by the male cognomen \"Dickie,\" has always\nbeen said to be that of a woman. How long it has been located in its\npresent home is not known, but tradition tells how one of two\nco-heiresses residing here was murdered, who solemnly affirmed that\nher bones should remain in the place for ever. In days past, this\nskull has been guilty of all sorts of eccentric pranks, many of which\nare still told by the credulous peasantry with respectful awe. It is\nadded,[7] also, that if \"Dickie\" should accidentally be removed,\neverything in the farm will go wrong. The cows will be dry and barren,\nthe sheep have the rot, and horses fall down, breaking their knees and\notherwise injuring themselves. The story goes, too, that when the\nLondon and North-Western Railway to Manchester was being made, the\nfoundations of a bridge gave way in the yielding sands and bog, and,\nafter several attempts to build the bridge had failed, it was found\nnecessary to divert the highway, and pass it under the railway on\nhigher ground. These engineering failures were attributed to the\nmalevolent influence of \"Dickie,\" but as soon as the road was\ndiverted it was bridged successfully, because no longer in Dickie's\nterritory.\n\nA similar superstition attaches to a skull kept in a farmhouse at\nChilton Cantelo, in Somersetshire. From the date on the tombstone of\nthe former owner of the skull--1670--it has been conjectured that he\ncame to the retired village, in which he was buried, after taking an\nactive part, on the Republican side, in the Civil War; and that seeing\nthe way in which the bodies of some of them who had acted with him\nwere treated after the Restoration, he wished to provide against this\nin his own case. But, whatever the previous history of this curious\nskull, it has at times caused a good deal of trouble, resenting any\nproposal to consign it to the earth, for buried it will not be, no\nmatter how many attempts are made to do so. Strange to say, most of\nthis class of skulls behave in the same extraordinary fashion. At a\nshort distance from Turton Tower--one of the most interesting\nstructures in the neighbourhood of Bolton--is a farmhouse locally\ndesignated Timberbottom, or the Skull House, so called from the\ncircumstance that two skulls are or were kept there, one of which was\nmuch decayed, whereas the other appeared to have been cut through by a\nblow from some sharp instrument. These skulls, it is said, have been\nburied many times in the graveyard at Bradshaw Chapel, but they have\nalways had to be exhumed, and brought back to the farm-house. On one\noccasion, they were thrown into the adjacent river, but to no purpose;\nfor they had to be fished up and restored to their old quarters before\nthe ghosts of their owners could once more rest in peace.\n\nA popular cause assigned for this strange behaviour on the part of\ncertain skulls is that their owners met with a violent death, and that\nthe avenging spirit in this manner annoys the living, reminding us of\nMacbeth's words:\n\n    \"Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,\n    Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;\n    Ay, and since too, murders have been performed\n    Too terrible for the ear; the times have been\n    That, when the brains were out, the man would die\n    And there an end; but now they rise again,\n    With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,\n    And push us from our stools. This is more strange\n    Than such a murder is.\"\n\nHence, a romantic and tragic story is told of two skulls which have\nlong haunted an old house near Ambleside. It appears that a small\npiece of ground, known as Calgrath, was owned by a humble farmer,\nnamed Kraster Cook, and his wife Dorothy. But their little inheritance\nwas coveted by a wealthy magistrate, Myles Phillipson, who, unable to\ninduce them to part with it, swore \"he'd have that ground, be they\n'live or dead.\" As time wore on, however, he appeared more gracious to\nKraster and Dorothy, and actually invited them to a great Christmas\nbanquet given to the neighbours. It was a dear feast for them, for\nMyles Phillipson pretended they had stolen a silver cup, and, sure\nenough, it was found in Kraster's house--a \"plant,\" of course. Such an\noffence was then capital, and, as Phillipson was the magistrate,\nKraster and Dorothy were sentenced to death. Thereupon, Dorothy arose\nin the court-room and addressed Phillipson in words that rang through\nthe building and impressed all for their awful earnestness:\n\n\"Guard thyself, Myles Phillipson! Thou thinkest thou hast managed\ngrandly, but that tiny lump of land is the dearest a Phillipson has\never bought or stolen, for you will never prosper, neither your breed.\nWhatever scheme you undertake will wither in your hand; the side you\ntake will always lose; the time shall come when no Phillipson shall\nown an inch of land; and while Calgarth walls shall stand we'll haunt\nit night and day. Never will ye be rid of us!\"\n\nHenceforth, the Phillipsons had for their guests two skulls. They were\nfound at Christmas at the head of a staircase. They were buried in a\ndistant region, but they turned up in the old house again. Again and\nagain were the two skulls burned; they were brazed to dust and cast to\nthe winds, and for several years they were cast in the lake, but the\nPhillipsons could never get rid of them. In the meantime, Dorothy's\nweird went steadily on to its fulfilment, until the family sank into\npoverty, and at length disappeared.[8]\n\nAs a more rational explanation of the matter, it is told by some local\nhistorians \"that there formerly lived in the house a famous doctress,\nwho had two skeletons by her for the usual purposes of her profession,\nand these skulls, happening to meet with better preservation than the\nrest of the bones, they were accidentally honoured\" with this singular\ntradition.[9]\n\nWardley Hall, Lancashire, has its skull, which is supposed to be the\nwitness of some tragedy committed in the past, and to have belonged to\nRoger Downes, the last male representative of his family, and who was\none of the most abandoned courtiers of Charles II. Roby, in one of his\n\"Traditions,\" entitled \"The Skull House,\" has represented him as\nrushing forth \"hot from the stews,\" drawing his sword as he staggered\nalong, and swearing that he would kill the first man he met. Terrible\nto say, that fearful oath was fulfilled, for his victim was a poor\ntailor, whom he ran through with his weapon and killed on the spot. He\nwas apprehended for the crime, but his interest at Court quickly\nprocured him a free pardon, and he soon continued his reckless course.\nBut one evening, as his sister and cousin Eleanor were chatting\ntogether at Wardley, the carrier from Manchester brought a wooden\nbox, \"which had come all the way from London by Antony's waggon.\"\nSuspecting that there was something mysterious connected with this\npackage, for the direction was \"a quaint, crabbed hand,\" she opened it\nin secret, when, to her amazement and horror, this writing attracted\nher notice:\n\n\"Thy brother has at length paid the forfeit of his crimes. The wages\nof sin is death! And his head is before thee. Heaven hath avenged the\ninnocent blood he hath shed. Last night, in the lusty vigour of a\ndrunken debauch, passing over London Bridge, he encounters another\nbrawl, wherein, having run at the watchmen with his rapier, one blow\nof the bill which they carried severed thy brother's head from his\ntrunk. The latter was cast over the parapet into the river. The head\nonly remained, which an eye witness, if not a friend, hath sent to\nthee!\" His sister tried at first to keep the story of her brother's\ndeath a secret, and hid with all speed this ghastly memorial for ever,\nas she hoped, from the gaze and knowledge of the world. It was her\ndesire to conceal this foul stain upon the family name, but \"the grave\ngives back its dead. The charnel gapes. The ghastly head hath burst\nits cold tabernacle, and risen from the dust.\" No human power could\ndrive it away. It hath \"been torn in pieces, burnt, and otherwise\ndestroyed, but even on the subsequent day it is seen filling its\nwonted place. Yet it was always observed that sore vengeance\nlighted on its persecutors. One who hacked it in pieces was seized\nwith such horrible torments in his limbs that it seemed as though he\nmight be undergoing the same process. Sometimes, if only displaced, a\nfearful storm would arise, so loud and terrible that the very elements\nthemselves seemed to become the ministers of its wrath.\" Nor will this\neccentric piece of mortality allow the little aperture in which it\nrests to be walled up, for it remains there still, whitened and\nbleached by the weather, \"looking forth from those rayless sockets\nupon the scenes which, when living, they had once beheld.\" Towards the\nclose of the last century, Thomas Barritt, the Manchester antiquary,\nvisited this skull--\"this surprising piece of household furniture,\" as\nhe calls it, and adds that \"one of us who was last in company with it,\nremoved it from its place into a dark part of the room, and there left\nit, and returned home.\" But on the following night a violent storm\narose in the neighbourhood, causing an immense deal of damage--trees\nbeing blown down and roofs unthatched--and the cause, as it was\nsupposed, being ascertained, the skull was replaced, when these\nterrific disturbances ceased. And yet, as Thomas Barritt sensibly\nremarks, \"All this might have happened had the skull never been\nremoved; but withal it keeps alive the credibility of the tradition.\"\nFormerly two keys were provided for this \"place of a skull,\" one being\nkept by the tenant of the Hall, and the other by the Countess of\nEllesmere, the owner of the property. The Countess occasionally\naccompanied visitors from the neighbouring Worsley Hall, and herself\nunlocked the door, and revealed to her friends the grinning skull of\nWardley Hall.[10]\n\n[Illustration: SHE OPENED IT IN SECRET.]\n\nAnother romantic story is associated with Burton Agnes Hall, between\nBridlington and Driffield, Yorkshire, which is haunted by the spirit\nof a lady a former co-heiress of the estate--who is popularly known as\n\"Awd Nance.\" The skull of this lady is carefully preserved in the\nHall, and so long as it is left undisturbed all goes well, but\nwhenever any attempt is made to remove it, the most unearthly noises\nare heard in the house, and last until it is restored. According to a\nlocal tradition, many years ago the three co-heiresses of the estate\nof Burton Agnes were possessed of considerable wealth, and finding the\nancient mansion, in which they resided, not in harmony with their\nideas of what a home should be suited to their position, determined to\nerect a house in such a style as should eclipse all others in the\nneighbourhood. The most prominent organiser of the scheme was the\nyounger sister, Anne, who could talk or think of nothing but the\nmagnificent home about to be built, which in due time, it is said,\n\"emerged from the hands of artists and workmen, like a palace erected\nby the genii of the Arabian Nights, a palace encrusted throughout on\nwalls, roof, and furniture with the most exquisite carvings and\nsculptures of the most skilled masters of the age, and radiant with\nthe most glowing tints of the pencil of Peter Paul.\"\n\nBut soon after its completion and occupation by its three\nco-heiresses, Anne, the enthusiast, paid an afternoon visit to the St.\nQuentins, at Harpham. On starting to return home about nightfall with\nher dog, she had gone no great distance when she was confronted by two\nruffianly-looking beggars, who asked alms. She readily gave them a few\ncoins, and in doing so the glitter of her finger-ring accidentally\nattracted their notice, which they at once demanded should be given up\nto them. This she refused to do, as it had been her mother's ring, and\nwas one which she valued above all price.\n\n\"Mother or no mother,\" gruffly replied one of the rogues, \"we mean to\nhave it, and if you do not part with it freely, we must take it,\"\nwhereupon he seized her hand and attempted to drag off the ring.\n\nFrightened at this act of violence, Anne screamed for help, at which\nthe other ruffian, exclaiming, \"Stop that noise!\" struck her a blow,\nand she fell senseless to the earth. But her screams had attracted\nattention, and the approach of some villagers caused the villains to\nmake a hasty retreat, without being able to get the ring from her\nfinger. In a dying condition, as it was supposed, Anne was carried\nback to Harpham Hall, where, under the care of Lady St. Quentin, she\nmade sufficient recovery to be removed the following day to her own\nhome. The brutal treatment she had received from the highwaymen,\nhowever, had done its fatal work, and after a few days, during which\nshe was alternately sensible and delirious, she succumbed to the\neffects. Her one thought previous to death was her devotion to her\nhome, which had latterly been the ruling passion of her life; and\nbidding her sisters farewell, she addressed them thus:--\n\n\"Sisters, never shall I sleep peacefully in my grave in the churchyard\nunless I, or a part of me at least, remain here in our beautiful home\nas long as it lasts. Promise me this, dear sisters, that when I am\ndead my head shall be taken from my body and preserved within these\nwalls. Here let it for ever remain, and on no account be removed. And\nunderstand and make it known to those who in future shall become\npossessors of the house, that if they disobey this my last injunction,\nmy spirit shall, if so able and so permitted, make such a disturbance\nwithin its walls as to render it uninhabitable for others so long as\nmy head is divorced from its home.\"\n\nHer sisters promised to accede to her dying request, but failed to do\nso, and her body was laid entire under the pavement of the church.\nWithin a few days Burton Agnes Hall was disturbed by the most\nalarming noises, and no servant could be induced to remain in the\nhouse. In this dilemma, the two sisters remembered that they had not\ncarried out Anne's last wish, and, at the suggestion of the clergyman,\nthe coffin was opened, when a strange sight was seen. The \"body lay\nwithout any marks of corruption or decay; but the head was disengaged\nfrom the trunk, and appeared to be rapidly assuming the semblance of a\nfleshless skull.\" This was reported to the two sisters, and on the\nvicar's advice the skull of Anne was taken to Burton Agnes Hall,\nwhere, so long as it remained undisturbed, no ghostly noises were\nheard. It may be added that numerous attempts have from time to time\nbeen made to rid the hall of this skull, but without success.\n\nMany other similar skulls are still existing in various places, and,\nin addition to their antiquarian interest, have attracted the\nsightseer, connected as they mostly are with tales of legendary\nromance. An amusing anecdote of a skull is told by the late Mr. Wirt\nSikes.[11] It seems that on a certain day some men were drinking at an\ninn when one of them, to show his courage and want of superstition,\naffirmed that he was \"afraid of no ghosts,\" and dared to go to the\nchurch and fetch a skull. This he did, and after an hour or so of\nmerrymaking over the skull, he carried it back to where he had found\nit; but, as he was leaving the church, \"suddenly a tremendous blast\nlike a whirlwind seized him, and so mauled him that he ever after\nmaintained that nothing should induce him to do such a thing again.\"\nThe man was still more convinced that the ghost of the original owner\nof the skull had been after him, when his wife informed him that the\ncane which hung in his room had been beating against the wall in a\ndreadful manner.\n\nByron had his skull romance at Newstead, but in this case the skull\nwas more orderly, and not given to those unpleasant pranks of which\nother skulls have seemingly been guilty. Whilst living at Newstead, a\nskull was one day found of large dimensions and peculiar whiteness.\nConcluding that it belonged to some friar who had been domesticated at\nNewstead--prior to the confiscation of the monasteries by Henry\nVIII.--Byron determined to convert it into a drinking vessel, and for\nthis purpose dispatched it to London, where it was elegantly mounted.\nOn its return to Newstead, he instituted a new order at the Abbey,\nconstituting himself grand master, or abbot, of the skull. The\nmembers, twelve in number, were provided with black gowns--that of\nByron, as head of the fraternity, being distinguished from the rest. A\nchapter was held at certain times, when the skull drinking goblet was\nfilled with claret, and handed about amongst the gods of this\nconsistory, whilst many a grim joke was cracked at the expense of\nthis relic of the dead. The following lines were inscribed upon it by\nByron:\n\n    Start not, nor deem my spirit fled;\n      In me behold the only skull\n    From which, unlike a living head,\n      Whatever flows is never dull.\n\n    I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee;\n      I died: let earth my bones resign.\n    Fill up, thou canst not injure me;\n      The worm hath fouler lips than mine.\n\n    Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,\n      In aid of others, let me shine,\n    And when, alas! our brains are gone,\n      What nobler substitute than wine.\n\n    Quaff while thou canst. Another race,\n      When thou and thine, like me, are sped,\n    May rescue thee from earth's embrace,\n      And rhyme and revel with the dead.\n\n    Why not? since through life's little day\n      Our heads such sad effects produce;\n    Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,\n      This chance is theirs, to be of use.\n\nThe skull, it is said, is buried beneath the floor of the chapel at\nNewstead Abbey.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] Sussex Archaeological Collections xiii. 162-3.\n\n[7] See _Notes and Queries_, 4th S., XI. 64.\n\n[8] Told by Mr. Moncure Conway in _Harper's Magazine_.\n\n[9] \"Tales and Legends of the English Lakes,\" 96-7.\n\n[10] \"Harland's Lancashire Legends,\" 1882, 65-70.\n\n[11] \"British Goblins,\" 1880, p. 146.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nECCENTRIC VOWS.\n\n    No man takes or keeps a vow,\n    But just as he sees others do;\n    Nor are they 'bliged to be so brittle\n    As not to yield and bow a little:\n    For as best tempered blades are found\n    Before they break, to bend quite round,\n    So truest oaths are still more tough,\n    And, tho' they bow, are breaking-proof.\n               BUTLER'S \"Hudibras,\" Ep. to his Lady, 75.\n\n\nSome two hundred and fifty years ago, the prevailing colour in all\ndresses was that shade of brown known as the \"couleur Isabelle,\" and\nthis was its origin:--A short time after the siege of Ostend\ncommenced, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Isabella\nEugenia, Gouvernante of the Netherlands, incensed at the obstinate\nbravery of the defenders, is reported to have made a vow that she\nwould not change her chemise till the town surrendered. It was a\nmarvellously inconvenient vow, for the siege, according to the precise\nhistorians thereof, lasted three years, three months, three weeks,\nthree days, and three hours; and her highness's garment had\nwonderfully changed its colour before twelve months of the time had\nexpired. But the ladies and gentlemen of the Court, in no way\ndismayed, resolved to keep their mistress in countenance, and, after a\nstruggle between their loyalty and their cleanliness, they hit upon\nthe compromising expedient of wearing dresses of the presumed colour,\nfinally attained by the garment which clung to the Imperial\nArchduchess by force of religious obstinacy. But, foolish and\neccentric as was the conduct of Isabella Eugenia, there have been\npersons gifted, like herself, with sufficient mental power and\nstrength of character to keep the vows they have sworn.\n\nThus, at a tournament held on the 17th November, 1559--the first\nanniversary of Queen Elizabeth's accession--Sir Henry Lee, of\nQuarendon, made a vow that every year on the return of that auspicious\nday, he would present himself in the tilt yard, in honour of the\nQueen, to maintain her beauty, worth, and dignity, against all comers,\nunless prevented by infirmity, accident, or age. Elizabeth accepted\nSir Henry as her knight and champion; and the nobility and gentry of\nthe Court formed themselves into an Honourable Society of Knights\nTilters, which held a grand tourney every 17th November. But in the\nyear 1590, Sir Henry, on account of age, resigned his office, having\npreviously, by Her Majesty's permission, appointed the famous Earl of\nCumberland as his successor. On this occasion, the royal choir sang\nthe following verses as Sir Henry Lee's farewell to the Court:\n\n    My golden locks time hath to silver turned,\n      O Time, too swift, and swiftness never ceasing!\n    My youth 'gainst age, and age at youth both spurned,\n      But spurned in vain--youth waned by increasing;\n    Beauty, and strength, and youth, flowers fading been;\n    Duty, faith, love, are roots and evergreen.\n\n    My helmet now shall make a hive for bees,\n      And lover's songs shall turn to holy psalms;\n    A man-at arms must now sit on his knees,\n      And feed on prayers that are old age's alms.\n    And so from Court to cottage I depart,\n    My Saint is sure of mine unspotted heart.\n\n    And when I sadly sit in homely cell,\n      I'll teach my saints this carol for a song:\n    Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well!\n      Cursed be the souls that think to do her wrong!\n    Goddess! vouchsafe this aged man his right\n    To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.\n\nBut not long after Sir Henry Lee had resigned his office of especial\nchampion of the beauty of the sovereign, he fell in love with the new\nmaid of honour--the fair Mrs. Anne Vavasour--who, though in the\nmorning flower of her charms, and esteemed the loveliest girl in the\nwhole court, drove a whole bevy of youthful lovers to despair by\naccepting this ancient relic of the age of chivalry.[12]\n\nQueen Isabella vowed to make a pilgrimage to Barcelona, and return\nthanks at the tomb of that City's patron Saint, if the Infanta Eulalie\nrecovered from an apparently mortal illness, and Queen Joan of Naples\nhonoured the knight Galeazzo of Mantua by opening the ball with him at\na grand feast at her castle of Gaita. At the conclusion of the dance,\nGaleazzo, kneeling down before his royal partner, vowed, as an\nacknowledgment of the honour he had received, to visit every country\nwhere feats of arms were performed, and not to rest until he had\nsubdued two valiant knights, and presented them as prisoners to the\nqueen, to be disposed of at her royal pleasure. After an absence of\ntwelve months, Galeazzo, true to his vow, appeared at Naples, and laid\nhis two prisoners at the feet of Queen Joan, but who, it is said,\ndisplayed commendable wisdom on the occasion, and \"declined her right\nto impose rigorous conditions on her captives, and gave them liberty\nwithout ransom.\"\n\nSuch cases, it is true, have been somewhat rare, for made oftentimes\non the impulse of the moment, \"unheedful vows,\" as Shakespeare says,\n\"may heedfully be broken.\" But, scarce as the records of unbroken vows\nmay be, they are deserving of a permanent record, more especially as\nthe direction of their eccentricity is, for the most part, in itself\ncurious and uncommon. Love, for instance, has been responsible for\nmany strange and curious vows in the past, and some years ago it was\nstated that the original of Charles Dickens's Miss Havisham was living\nin the flesh not far from Ventnor in the person of an old maiden lady,\nwho, because of the maternal objection to some love affair in her\nearly life, made and kept a vow that she would retire to her bed, and\nthere spend the remainder of her days. It was a stern vow but she kept\nher word, \"and the years have come and gone, and the house has never\nbeen swept or garnished, the garden is an overgrown tangle, and the\neccentric lady has spent twenty years between the sheets.\" But whether\nthis piece of romance is to be accepted or not, love has been the\ncause of many foolish acts, and many a disappointed damsel, has acted\nin no less eccentric a fashion than Miss Havisham, who was so\ncompletely overcome by the failure of Compeyson to appear on the\nwedding morning that she became fossilised, and gave orders that\neverything was to be kept unchanged, but to remain as it had been on\nthat hapless day. Henceforth she was always attired in her bridal\ndress with lace veil from head to foot, white shoes, bridal flowers in\nher white hair, and jewels on her hands and neck. Years went on, the\nwedding breakfast remained set on the table, while the poor half\ndemented lady flitted from one room to another like a restless ghost;\nand the case is recorded of another lady whose lover was arrested for\nforgery on the day before their marriage was to have taken place. Her\nvow took the form of keeping to her room, sitting winter and summer\nalike at her casement and waiting for him who was turning the\ntreadmill, and who was never to come again.\n\nOn the other hand, vows have been made, but persons have contrived to\nrid themselves of the inconveniences without breaking them, reminding\nus of Benedick, who finding the charms of his \"Dear Lady Disdain\" too\nmuch for his celibate resolves, gets out of his difficulty by\ndeclaring that \"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I\nshould live till I were married.\" Equally ludicrous, also, is the\nstory told of a certain man, who, greatly terrified in a storm, vowed\nhe would eat no haberdine, but, just as the danger was over, he\nqualified his promise with \"Not without mustard, O Lord.\" And\nVoltaire, in one of his romances, represents a disconsolate widow\nvowing that she will never marry again, \"so long as the river flows by\nthe side of the hill.\" But a few months afterwards the widow recovers\nfrom her grief, and, contemplating matrimony, takes counsel with a\nclever engineer. He sets to work, the river is deviated from its\ncourse, and, in a short time, it no longer flows by the side of the\nhill. The lady, released from her vow, does not allow many days to\nelapse before she exchanges her weeds for a bridal veil. However far\nfetched this little romance may be, a veritable instance of thus\nkeeping the letter of the vow and neglecting the spirit, was recorded\nnot so very long ago: A Salopian parish clerk seeing a woman crossing\nthe churchyard with a bundle and a watering can, followed her, curious\nto know what intentions might be, and discovered that she was a widow\nof a few months' standing. Inquiring what she was going to do with the\nwatering pot, she informed him that she had been obtaining some grass\nseed to sow on her husband's grave, and had brought a little water to\nmake it spring up quickly. The clerk told her there was no occasion to\ntrouble, the grave would be green in good time. \"Ah! that may be,\" she\nreplied, \"but my poor husband made me take a vow not to marry again\nuntil the grass had grown over his grave, and, having a good offer, I\ndo not wish to break my vow, or keep as I am longer than I can help.\"\n\nBut vows have not always been broken with impunity. Janet Dalrymple,\ndaughter of the first Lord Stair, secretly engaged herself to Lord\nRutherford, who was not acceptable to her parents, either on account\nof his political principles, or his want of fortune. The young couple\nbroke a piece of gold together, and pledged their troth in the most\nsolemn manner, the young lady, it is said, imprecating dreadful evils\non herself should she break her plighted faith. But shortly afterwards\nanother suitor sought the hand of Janet Dalrymple, and, when she\nshowed a cold indifference to his overtures, her mother, Lady Stair,\ninsisted upon her consenting to marry the new suitor, David Dunbar,\nson and heir of David Dunbar of Baldoon, in Wigtonshire. It was in\nvain that Janet Dalrymple confessed her secret engagement, for Lady\nStair treated this objection as a mere trifle.\n\nLord Rutherford, apprised of what had happened, interfered by letter,\nand insisted on the right he had acquired by his troth plighted with\nJanet Dalrymple. But Lady Stair answered in reply that \"her daughter,\nsensible of her undutiful behaviour in entering into a contract\nunsanctioned by her parents, had retracted her unlawful vow, and now\nrefused to fulfil her engagement with him.\" Lord Rutherford wrote\nagain to Lady Stair, and briefly informed her that \"he declined\npositively to receive such an answer from anyone but Janet Dalrymple,\"\nand, accordingly, an interview was arranged between them, at which\nLady Stair took good care to be present, with pertinacity insisting on\nthe Levitical law, which declares that a woman shall be free of a vow\nwhich her parents dissent from.\n\nWhile Lady Stair insisted on her right to break the engagement, Lord\nRutherford in vain entreated Janet Dalrymple to declare her feelings;\nbut she remained \"mute, pale, and motionless as a statue,\" and it was\nonly at her mother's command, sternly uttered, she summoned strength\nenough to restore the broken piece of gold--the emblem of her troth.\nAt this unexpected act Lord Rutherford burst into a tremendous\npassion, took leave of Lady Stair with maledictions, and, as he left\nthe room, gave one angry glance at Janet Dalrymple, remarking, \"For\nyou, madam, you will be a world's wonder\"--a phrase denoting some\nremarkable degree of calamity.\n\nIn due time, the marriage between Janet Dalrymple and David Dunbar of\nBaldoon, took place, the bride showing no repugnance, but being\nabsolutely impassive in everything Lady Stair commanded or advised,\nalways maintaining the same sad, silent, and resigned look.\n\nThe bridal feast was followed by dancing, and the bride and bridegroom\nretired as usual, when suddenly the most wild and piercing cries were\nheard from the nuptial chamber, which at length became so hideous that\na general rush was made to learn the cause. On opening the door a\nghastly scene presented itself, for the bridegroom was discovered\nlying on the floor, dreadfully wounded, and streaming with blood. The\nbride was seen sitting in the corner of the large chimney, dabbled in\ngore--grinning--in short, absolutely insane, and the only words she\nuttered were; \"Take up your bonny bridegroom.\" She survived this\ntragic event little over a fortnight, having been married on the 24th\nAugust, and dying on the 12th September.\n\nThe unfortunate bridegroom recovered from his wounds, but, strange to\nsay, he never permitted anyone to ask him respecting the manner in\nwhich he had received them; but he did not long survive this dreadful\ncatastrophe, meeting with a fatal injury by a fall from a horse as he\nwas one day riding between Leith and Holyrood House. As might be\nexpected, various reports went abroad respecting this mysterious\naffair, most of them being inaccurate.[13] But the story has gained a\nlasting notoriety from Sir Walter Scott having founded his \"Bride of\nLammermoor\" upon it; who, in his introductory notes to that novel, has\ngiven some curious facts concerning this tragic occurrence, quoting an\nelegy of Andrew Symson, which takes the form of a dialogue between a\npassenger and a domestic servant. The first recollecting that he had\npassed Lord Stair's house lately, and seen all around enlivened by\nmirth and festivity, is desirous of knowing what has changed so gay a\nscene into mourning, whereupon the servant replies:--\n\n                      \"Sir, 'tis truth you've told,\n    We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me!\n    Our joyful song's turned to an elegie.\n    A virtuous lady, not long since a bride,\n    Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied,\n    And brought home hither. We did all rejoice\n    Even for her sake. But presently her voice\n    Was turned to mourning for that little time\n    That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime,\n    For Atropos, with her impartial knife,\n    Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life;\n    And for the time, we may it well remember\n    It being in unfortunate September;\n    Where we must leave her till the resurrection,\n    'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.\"\n\nMany a vow too rashly made has been followed by an equally tragic\nresult, instances of which are to be met with in the legendary lore of\nour county families. A somewhat curious legend is connected with a\nmonument in the church of Stoke d'Abernon, Surrey. The story goes that\ntwo young brothers of the family of Vincent, the elder of whom had\njust come into his estate, were out shooting on Fairmile Common, about\ntwo miles from the village. They had put up several birds, but had not\nbeen able to get a single shot, when the elder swore with an oath that\nhe would fire at whatever they next met with. They had not gone far\nbefore a neighbouring miller passed them, whereupon the younger\nbrother reminded the elder of his oath, who immediately fired at the\nmiller, and killed him on the spot. Through the influence of his\nfamily, backed by large sums of money, no effective steps were taken\nto apprehend young Vincent, but, after leading a life of complete\nseclusion for some years, death finally put an end to the\ninsupportable anguish of his mind.\n\nA pretty romance is told of Furness Abbey, locally known as \"The Abbey\nVows.\" Many years ago, Matilda, the pretty and much-admired daughter\nof a squire residing near Stainton, had been wooed and won by James, a\nneighbouring farmer's son. But as Matilda was the only child, her\nfather fondly imagined that her rare beauty and fortune combined would\nprocure her a good match, little thinking that her heart was already\ngiven to one whose position he would never recognise. It so happened,\nhowever, that the young people, through force of circumstances, were\nseparated, neither seeing nor hearing of each other for some years.\n\nAt last, by chance, they were thrown together, when the active service\nin which James was employed had given his fine manly form an\nappearance which was at once imposing and captivating. Matilda, too,\nwas improved in every eye, and never had James seen so lovely a maid\nas his former playmate. Their youthful hearts were disengaged, and\nthey soon resolved to render their attachment as binding and as\npermanent as it was pure and undivided. The period had arrived, also,\nwhen James must again go to sea, and leave Matilda to have her\nfidelity tried by other suitors. Both, therefore, were willing to bind\nthemselves by some solemn pledge to live but for each other. For this\npurpose they repaired, on the evening before James's departure, to the\nruins of Furness Abbey. It was a fine autumnal evening; the sun had\nset in the greatest beauty, and the moon was hastening up the eastern\nsky; and in the roofless choir they knelt, near where the altar\nformerly stood, and repeated, in the presence of Heaven, their vows of\ndeathless love.\n\nThey parted. But the fate of the betrothed lovers was a melancholy\none. James returned to his ship for foreign service, and was killed by\nthe first broadside of a French privateer, with which the captain had\ninjudiciously ventured to engage. As for Matilda, she regularly went\nto the abbey to visit the spot where she had knelt with her lover; and\nthere, it is said, \"she would stand for hours, with clasped hands,\ngazing on that heaven which alone had been witness to their mutual\nvows.\"\n\nAnother momentous vow, but one of a terribly tragic nature, relates to\nSamlesbury Hall, which stands about midway between Preston and\nBlackburn, and has long been famous for its apparition of \"The Lady in\nWhite.\" The story generally told is that one of the daughters of Sir\nJohn Southworth, a former owner, formed an attachment with the heir of\na neighbouring house, and nothing was wanting to complete their\nhappiness except the consent of the lady's father. Sir John was\naccordingly consulted by the youthful couple, but the tale of their\nlove for each other only increased his rage, and he dismissed them\nwith the most bitter denunciations.\n\n\"No daughter of his should ever be united to the son of a family which\nhad deserted its ancestral faith,\" he solemnly vowed, and to\nintensify his disapproval of the whole affair, he forbade the young\nman his presence for ever. Difficulty, however, only served to\nincrease the ardour of the lovers, and, after many secret interviews\namong the wooded slopes of the Ribble, an elopement was arranged, in\nthe hope that time would eventually bring her father's forgiveness.\nBut the day and place were unfortunately overheard by the lady's\nbrother, who had hidden himself in a thicket close by, determined, if\npossible, to prevent what he considered to be his sister's disgrace.\nOn the evening agreed upon both parties met at the appointed hour,\nand, as the young knight moved away with his betrothed, her brother\nrushed from his hiding-place, and, in pursuance of a vow he had made,\nslew him. After this tragic occurrence, Lady Dorothy was sent abroad\nto a convent, where she was kept under strict surveillance; but her\nmind at last gave way--the name of her murdered sweetheart was ever on\nher lips--and she died a raving maniac. It is said that on certain\nclear, still evenings, a lady in white can be seen passing along the\ngallery and the corridors, and then from the hall into the grounds,\nwhere she meets a handsome knight, who receives her on his bended\nknees, and he then accompanies her along the walks. On arriving at a\ncertain spot, in all probability the lover's grave, both the phantoms\nstand still, and as they seem to utter soft wailings of despair, they\nembrace each other, and then their forms rise slowly from the earth\nand melt away into the clear blue of the surrounding sky.[14]\n\nA strange and romantic story is told of Blenkinsopp Castle, which,\ntoo, has long been haunted by a \"white lady.\" It seems that its owner,\nBryan de Blenkinsopp, despite many good qualities, had an inordinate\nlove of wealth which ultimately wrecked his fortune. At the marriage\nfeast of a brother warrior with a lady of high rank and fortune, the\nhealth was drunk of Bryan de Blenkinsopp and his \"lady love.\" But to\nthe surprise of all present Bryan made a vow that \"never shall that be\nuntil I meet with a lady possessed of a chest of gold heavier than ten\nof my strongest men can carry into my Castle.\" Soon afterwards he went\nabroad, and after an absence of twelve years returned, not only with a\nwife, but possessed of a box of gold that took three of the strongest\nmen to convey it to the Castle. A grand banquet was given in honour of\nhis return, and, after several days feasting and rejoicing, vague\nrumours were spread of dissensions between the lord and his lady. One\nday the young husband disappeared, and never returned to Blenkinsopp,\nnothing more being heard of him. But the traditionary account of this\nmystery asserts that his young wife, filled with remorse at her\nundutiful conduct towards him, cannot rest in her grave, but must\nwander about the old castle, and mourn over the chest of gold--the\ncursed cause of all their misery--of which it is supposed she, with\nthe assistance of others, had deprived her husband. It is generally\nadmitted that the cause of Bryan de Blenkinsopp's future unhappiness\nwas the rash vow he uttered at that fatal banquet.\n\nAssociated with this curious romance there are current in the\nneighbourhood many tales of a more or less legendary character, but\nthere has long been a firm belief that treasure lies buried beneath\nthe crumbling ruins. According to one story given in Richardson's\n\"Table Book of Traditions\" some years ago, two of the more habitable\napartments of Blenkinsopp Castle were utilized by a labourer of the\nestate and his family. But one night, the parents were aroused by\nscreams from the adjoining room, and rushing in they found their\nlittle son sitting up in bed, terribly frightened. \"What was the\nmatter?\"\n\n\"The White Lady! The White Lady!\" cried the boy.\n\n\"What lady,\" asked the bewildered parents; \"there is no lady here!\"\n\n\"She is gone,\" replied the boy, \"and she looked so angry because I\nwould not go with her. She was a fine lady--and she sat down on my\nbedside and wrung her hands and cried sore; then she kissed me and\nasked me to go with her, and she would make me a rich man, as she had\nburied a large box of gold, many hundred years since, down in a\nvault, and she would give it me, as she could not rest so long as it\nwas there. When I told her I durst not go, she said she would carry\nme, and was lifting me up when I cried out and frightened her away.\"\nWhen the boy grew up he invariably persisted in the truth of his\nstatement, and at forty years of age could recall the scene so vividly\nas \"to make him shudder, as if still he felt her cold lips press his\ncheeks and the death-like embrace of her wan arms.\"\n\nEqually curious is the old tradition told of Lynton Castle, of which\nnot a stone remains, although, once upon a time, it was as stately a\nstronghold as ever echoed to the clash of knightly arms. One evening\nthere came to its gates a monk, who in the name of the Holy Virgin\nasked alms, but the lady of the Castle liked not his gloomy brow, and\nbade him begone. Resenting such treatment, the monk drew up his\nwell-knit frame, and vowed:--\"All that is thine shall be mine, until\nin the porch of the holy church, a lady and a child shall stand and\nbeckon.\"\n\nLittle heed was taken of these ominous words, and as years passed by a\nbaron succeeded to the Lynton estates, whose greed was such that he\ndared to lay his sacrilegious hand even upon holy treasures. But as he\nsate among his gold, the black monk entered, and summoned him to his\nfearful audit; and his servants, aroused by his screams, found only a\nlifeless corpse. This was considered retribution for his sins of the\npast, and his son, taking warning, girded on his sword, and in\nPalestine did doughty deeds against the Saracen. By his side was\nconstantly seen the mysterious Black Monk--his friend and guide--but\n\"at length the wine-cup and the smiles of lewd women lured him from\nthe path of right.\" After a time the knight returned to Devonshire,\n\"and lo, on the happy Sabbath morning, the chimes of the church-bells\nflung out their silver music on the air, and the memories of an\ninnocent childhood woke up instantly in his sorrowing heart.\" In vain\nthe Black Monk sought to beguile him from the holy fane, and whispered\nto him of bright eyes and a distant bower. He paused only for a\nmoment. In the shadow of the porch stood the luminous forms of his\nmother and sister, who lifted up their spirit hands, and beckoned. The\nknight tore himself from the Black Monk's grasp and rushed towards\nthem, exclaiming, \"I come! I come! Mother, sister, I am saved! O,\nHeaven, have pity on me!\" The story adds that the three were borne up\nin a radiant cloud, but \"the Black Monk leapt headlong into the depths\nof the abyss beneath, and the castle fell to pieces with a sudden\ncrash, and where its towers had soared statelily into the sunlit air\nwas now outspread the very desolation--the valley of the rocks--\" and\nthus the vow was accomplished, all that remains nowadays to remind the\nvisitor of that stately castle and its surroundings being a lonely\nglen in the valley of rocks where a party of marauders, it is said,\nwere once overtaken and slaughtered.\n\nIn some cases churches have been built in performance of vows, and at\nthe Tichborne Trial one of the witnesses deposed how Sir Edward\nDoughty made a vow, when his son was ill, that if the child recovered\nhe would build a church at Poole. Contrary to all expectation, the\nchild \"did recover most miraculously, for it had been ill beyond all\nhope, and Sir Edward built a church at Poole, and there it stands\nuntil this day.\" There are numerous stories of the same kind, and the\npeculiar position of the old church of St. Antony, in Kirrier,\nCornwall, is accounted for by the following tradition: It is said\nthat, soon after the Conquest, as some Normans of rank were crossing\nfrom Normandy into England, they were driven by a terrific storm on\nthe Cornish coast, where they were in imminent danger of destruction.\nIn their peril and distress they called on St. Antony, and made a vow\nthat if he would preserve them from shipwreck they would build a\nchurch in his honour on the spot where they first landed. The vessel\nwas wafted into the Durra Creek, and there the pious Normans, as soon\nas possible, fulfilled their vow. A similar tradition is told of\nGunwalloe Parish Church, which, a local legend says, was erected as a\nvotive offering by one who here escaped from shipwreck, for, \"when he\nhad miraculously escaped from the fury of the waves, he vowed that he\nwould build a chapel in which the sounds of prayer and praise to God\nshould blend with the never-ceasing voice of those waves from which he\nhad but narrowly escaped. So near to the sea is the church, that at\ntimes it is reached by the waves, which have frequently washed away\nthe walls of the churchyard.\" But vows of a similar nature have been\nconnected with sacred buildings in most countries, and Vienna owes the\nchurch of St. Charles to a vow made by the Emperor Charles the Sixth\nduring an epidemic. The silver ship, given by the Queen of St. Louis,\nwas made in accordance with a vow. According to Joinville, the queen\n\"said she wanted the king, to beg he would make some vows to God and\nthe Saints, for the sailors around her were in the greatest danger of\nbeing drowned.\"\n\n\"'Madam,' I replied, 'vow to make a pilgrimage to my lord St. Nicholas\nat Varengeville, and I promise you that God will restore you in safety\nto France. At least, then, Madam, promise him that if God shall\nrestore you in safety to France, you will give him a silver ship of\nthe value of five masses; and if you shall do this, I assure you that,\nat the entreaty of St. Nicholas, God will grant you a successful\nvoyage.' Upon this, she made a vow of a silver ship to St. Nicholas.\"\nSimilarly, there was a statue at Venice said to have performed great\nmiracles. A merchant vowed perpetual gifts of wax candles in gratitude\nfor being saved by the light of a candle on a dark night, reminding\nus of Byron's description of a storm at sea, in 'Don Juan' (Canto\nII.):\n\n    \"Some went to prayers again and made vows\n    Of candles to their saints.\"\n\nNumerous vows of this kind are recorded, and it may be remembered how\na certain Empress promised a golden lamp to the church of Notre Dame\ndes Victoires, in the event of her husband coming safely out of the\ndoctor's hands; and, as recently as the year 1867, attired in the garb\nof a pilgrim of the olden time, walked, in fulfilment of a vow, from\nMadrid to Rome when she fancied herself at death's door.\n\nMany card-players and gamesters, unable to bear reverse, have made\nvows which they lacked the moral courage to keep. Dr. Norman Macleod\ntells a curious anecdote of a well-known character who lived in the\nparish of Sedgley, near Wolverhampton, and who, having lost a\nconsiderable sum of money by a match at cock-fighting--to which\npractice he was notoriously addicted--made a vow that he would never\nfight another cock as long as he lived, \"frequently calling upon God\nto damn his soul to all eternity if he did, and, with dreadful\nimprecations, wishing the devil might fetch him if he ever made\nanother bet.\"\n\nFor a time he adhered to his vow, but two years afterwards he was\ninspired with a violent desire to attend a cock-fight at\nWolverhampton, and accordingly visited the place for that purpose. On\nreaching the scene he soon disregarded his vow, and cried: \"I hold\nfour to three on such a cock!\"\n\n\"Four what?\" said one of his companions.\n\n\"Four shillings,\" replied he.\n\n\"I'll lay,\" said the other, upon which they confirmed the wager, and,\nas his custom was, he threw down his hat and put his hand in his\npocket for the money, when he instantly fell down dead. Terrified at\nthe sight, \"some who were present for ever after desisted from this\ninfamous sport; but others proceeded in the barbarous diversion as\nsoon as the dead body was removed from the spot.\"\n\nAnother inveterate gambler was Colonel Edgeworth, who on one occasion,\nhaving lost all his ready cash at the card tables, actually borrowed\nhis wife's diamond earrings, and staking them had a fortunate turn of\nluck, rising a winner; whereupon he solemnly vowed never to touch\ncards or dice again. And yet, it is said, before the week was out, he\nwas pulling straws from a rick, and betting upon which should prove\nthe longest. On the other hand, Tate Wilkinson relates an interesting\nanecdote of John Wesley who in early life was very fond of a game of\nwhist, and every Saturday was one of a constant party at a rubber, not\nonly for the afternoon, but also for the evening. But the last\nSaturday that he ever played at cards the rubber at whist was longer\nthan he expected, and, \"on observing the tediousness of the game he\npulled out his watch, and to his shame he found it was some minutes\npast eight, which was beyond the time he had appointed for the Lord.\nHe thought the devil had certainly tempted him beyond his hour, he\nsuddenly therefore gave up his cards to a gentleman near him to finish\nthe game,\" and left the room, making a vow never to play with \"the\ndevil's pages,\" as he called them, again. That vow he never broke.\n\nPolitical vows, as is well known, have a curious history, and an\ninteresting incident is told in connection with one of the ancestors\nof Sir Walter Scott. It appears that Walter Scott, the first of\nRaeburn, by Ann Isabel, his wife, daughter of William Macdougall, had\ntwo sons, William, direct ancestor of the Lairds of Raeburn, and\nWalter, progenitor of the Scotts of Abbotsford. The younger, who was\ngenerally known by the curious appellation of \"Bearded Watt,\" from a\nvow which he had made to leave his beard unshaven until the\nrestoration of the Stuarts, reminds us of those Servian patriots who\nduring the bombardment of Belgrade thirty years ago, made a vow that\nthey would never allow a razor to touch their faces until the thing\ncould be done in the fortress itself. Five years afterwards, in 1867,\nthe Servians marched through the streets of Belgrade, with enormous\nbeards, preceded by the barbers, each with razor in hand, and entered\nthe fortresses to have the last office of the vow performed on them.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] Agnes Strickland, \"Lives of the Queens of England,\" 1884, iii.,\n454-5.\n\n[13] See Sir Walter Scott's notes to the \"Bride of Lammermoor.\"\n\n[14] Harland's \"Lancashire Legends,\" 1882, p. 263-4.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nSTRANGE BANQUETS.\n\n    \"O'Rourke's noble feast will ne'er be forgot\n    By those who were there--or those who were not.\"\n\n\nIn the above words the Dean of St. Patrick has immortalised an Irish\nfestival of the eighteenth century; and some such memory will long\ncling to many a family or historic banquet, which--like the tragic one\ndepicted in \"Macbeth,\" where the ghost of the murdered Banquo makes\nits uncanny appearance, or that remarkable feast described by Lord\nLytton, where Zanoni drinks with impunity the poisoned cup, remarking\nto the Prince, \"I pledge you even in this wine\"--has been the scene of\nsome unusual, or extraordinary occurrence.\n\nAt one time or another, the wedding feast has witnessed many a strange\nand truly romantic occurrence, in some instances the result of\nunrequited love, or faithless pledges, as happened at the marriage\nfeast of the second Viscount Cullen. At the early age of sixteen he\nhad been betrothed to Elizabeth Trentham, a great heiress; but in the\ncourse of his travels abroad he formed a strong attachment to an\nItalian lady of rank, whom he afterwards deserted for his first\nbetrothed. In due time arrangements were made for their marriage; but\non the eventful day, while the wedding party were feasting in the\ngreat hall at Rushton, a strange carriage, drawn by six horses, drew\nup, and forth stepped a dark lady, who, at once entering the hall and,\nseizing a goblet--\"to punish his falsehood and pride\"--to the\nastonishment of all present, drank perdition to the bridegroom, and,\nhaving uttered a curse upon his bride, to the effect that she would\nlive in wretchedness and die in want, promptly disappeared to be\ntraced no further.\n\nNo small consternation was caused by this unlooked-for _contretemps_;\nbut the young Viscount made light of it to his fair bride, dispelling\nher alarm by explanations which satisfied her natural curiosity. But,\nit is said, in after days, this unpleasant episode created an\nunfavourable impression in her mind, and at times made her give way to\nfeelings of a despondent character. As events turned out, the curse of\nher marriage day was in a great measure fulfilled. It is true she\nbecame a prominent beauty of the Court of Charles II., and was painted\nwith less than his usual amount of drapery by Sir Peter Lely. It is\nrecorded also, that she twice gave an asylum to Monmouth, in the room\nat Rushton, still known as the \"Duke's Room\"; but, living unhappily\nwith her husband, she died, notwithstanding her enormous fortune, in\ncomparative penury, at Kettering, at a great age, as recently as the\nyear 1713.\n\nA curious tale of love and deception is told of Bulgaden Hall,\nonce--according to Ferrers, in his \"History of Limerick\"--the most\nmagnificent seat in the South of Ireland--erected by the Right Hon.\nGeorge Evans, who was created Baron Carbery, County of Cork, on the\n9th of May, 1715. A family tradition proclaims him to have been noted\nfor great personal attractions, so much so, that Queen Anne, struck by\nhis appearance, took a ring from her finger at one of her levees, and\npresented it to him--a ring preserved as a heir-loom at Laxton Hall,\nNorthamptonshire. In 1741, he married Grace, the daughter, and\neventually heiress of Sir Ralph Freke, of Castle Freke, in the County\nof Cork, by whom he had four sons and the same number of daughters;\nand it was George Evans, the eldest son and heir, who became the chief\npersonage in the following extraordinary marriage fraud.\n\nIt appears that at an early age he fell in love with the beautiful\ndaughter of his host, Colonel Stamer, who was only too ready to\nsanction such an alliance. But, despite the brilliant prospects which\nthis contemplated marriage opened to the young lady, she turned a deaf\near to any mention of it, for she loved another. As far as her parents\ncould judge she seemed inexorable, and they could only allay the\nsuspense of the expectant lover by assuring him that their daughter's\n\"natural timidity alone prevented an immediate answer to his suit.\"\n\nBut what their feelings of surprise were on the following day can be\nimagined, when Miss Stamer announced to her parents her willingness to\nmarry George Evans. It was decided that there should be no delay, and\nthe marriage day was at once fixed. At this period of our social life,\nthe wedding banquet was generally devoted to wine and feasting, while\nthe marriage itself did not take place till the evening. And,\naccording to custom, sobriety at these bridal feasts was, we are told,\n\"a positive violation of all good breeding, and the guests would have\nthought themselves highly dishonoured had the bridegroom escaped\nscathless from the wedding banquet.\"\n\nAccordingly, half unconscious of passing events, George Evans was\nconducted to the altar, where the marriage knot was indissolubly tied.\nBut, as soon as he had recovered from the effects of the bridal feast,\nhe discovered, to his intense horror and dismay, that the bride he had\ntaken was not the woman of his choice--in short, he was the victim of\na cheat. Indignant at this cruel imposture, he ascertained that the\nplot emanated from the woman who, till then, had been the ideal of his\nsoul, and that she had substituted her veiled sister Anne for herself\nat the altar. The remainder of this strange affair is briefly\ntold:--George Evans had one, and only one, interview with his wife,\nand thus addressed her in the following words: \"Madam, you have\nattained your end. I need not say how you bear my name; and, for the\nsake of your family, I acknowledge you as my wife. You shall receive\nan income from me suitable to your situation. This, probably, is all\nyou cared for with regard to me, and you and I shall meet no more in\nthis world.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"MADAM, YOU HAVE ATTAINED YOUR END. YOU AND I SHALL\nMEET NO MORE IN THIS WORLD.\"]\n\nHe would allow no explanation, and almost immediately left his home\nand country, never to meet again the woman who had so basely betrayed\nhim. The glory of Bulgaden Hall was gone. Its young master, in order\nto quench his sorrow and bury his disgust, gave way to every kind of\ndissipation, and died its victim in 1769. And, writes Sir Bernard\nBurke, \"from the period of its desertion by its luckless master,\nBulgaden Hall gradually sank into ruin; and to mark its site nought\nremains but the foundation walls and a solitary stone, bearing the\nfamily arms.\"\n\nA strange incident, of which, it is said, no satisfactory explanation\nhas ever yet been forthcoming, happened during the wedding banquet of\nAlexander III. at Jedburgh Castle, a weird and gruesome episode which\nEdgar Poe expanded into his \"Masque of the Red Death.\" The story goes\nthat in the midst of the festivities, a mysterious figure glided\namongst the astonished guests--tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head\nto foot in the habiliments of the grave, the mask which concealed the\nvisage resembling the countenance of a stiffened corpse.\n\n\"Who dares,\" demands the royal host, \"to insult us with this\nblasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him, that we may know whom\nwe have to hang at sunrise from the battlements.\"\n\nBut when the awe-struck revellers took courage and grasped the figure,\n\"they gasped in unutterable horror on finding the grave cerements and\ncorpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness,\nuntenanted by any tangible form, vanishing as suddenly as it had\nappeared.\" All sorts of theories have been suggested to account for\nthis mysterious figure, but no satisfactory solution has been\nforthcoming, an incident of which, it may be remembered, Heywood has\ngiven a graphic picture:\n\n    In the mid-revels, the first ominous night\n    Of their espousals, when the room shone bright\n    With lighted tapers--the king and queen leading\n    The curious measures, lords and ladies treading\n    The self-same strains--the king looks back by chance\n    And spies a strange intruder fill the dance,\n    Namely, a mere anatomy, quite bare,\n    His naked limbs both without flesh and hair\n    (As he deciphers Death), who stalks about,\n    Keeping true measure till the dance be out.\n\nInexplicable, however, as the presence of this unearthly, mysterious\npersonage was felt to be by all engaged in the marriage revels, it\nwas regarded as the forerunner of some approaching catastrophe.\nProphets and seers lost no time in turning the affair to their own\ninterest, and amongst them Thomas the Rhymer predicted that the 16th\nof March would be \"the stormiest day that ever was witnessed in\nScotland.\" But when the supposed ill-fated day arrived, it was the\nvery reverse of stormy, being still and mild, and public opinion began\nto ridicule the prophetic utterance of Thomas the Rhymer, when, to the\namazement and consternation of all, there came the appalling news,\n\"The king is dead,\" whereupon Thomas the Rhymer ejaculated, \"That is\nthe storm which I meant, and there was never tempest which will bring\nto Scotland more ill-luck.\"\n\nThe disappearance of the heir to a property, which has always been a\nfavourite subject with novelists and romance writers, has occasionally\nhappened in real life, and a Shropshire legend relates how, long ago,\nthe heir of the house of Corbet went away to the wars, and remained\nabsent so many years that his family--as in the case of Enoch\nArden--gave up all hope of ever seeing him again, and eventually\nmourned for him as dead. His younger brother succeeded to the\nproperty, and prepared to take to himself a wife, and reign in the old\nfamily hall.\n\nBut on the wedding day, in the midst of the feasting, a pilgrim came\nto the gate asking hospitality and alms. He was bidden to sit down\nand share the feast, but scarcely was the banquet ended when the\npilgrim revealed himself as the long lost elder brother. The\ndisconcerted bridegroom acknowledged him at once, but the latter\ngenerously resigned the greater part of the estates to his brother,\nand, sooner than mar the prospects of the newly married couple, he\nlived a life of obscurity upon one small manor. There seems, however,\nto be a very small basis of fact for this story. The Corbets of\nShropshire--one branch of whom are owners of Moreton Corbet--are among\nthe very oldest of the many old Shropshire families. They trace their\ndescent back to Corbet the Norman, whose sons, Robert and Roger,\nappear in Domesday Book as holding large estates under Roger, Earl of\nShrewsbury. The grandsons of Roger Corbet were Thomas Corbet of\nWattlesborough, and Robert Corbet. Thomas, who was evidently the elder\nof the two, it seems went beyond seas, leaving his lands in the\ncustody of his brother Robert. Both brothers left descendants, but the\nelder branch of the family never attained to such rank and prosperity\nas the younger one.\" Hence, perhaps, the origin of the legend; but\nMoreton Corbet did not come into the possession of the family till\nlong after this date.[15]\n\nWhatever truth there may be in this old tradition, there is every\nreason to believe that some of the worst tragedies recorded in family\nhistory have been due to jealousy; and an extraordinary instance of\nsuch unnatural feeling was that displayed by the second wife of Sir\nRobert Scott, of Thirlestane, one of the most distinguished cadets of\nthe great House of Buccleuch. Distracted with mortification that her\nhusband's rich inheritance would descend to his son by his first wife,\nshe secretly resolved to compass the destruction of her step-son, and\ndetermined to execute her hateful purpose at the festivities held in\nhonour of the young laird's twentieth birthday. Having taken into her\nconfidence one John Lally, the family piper, this wretched man\nprocured three adders, from which he selected the parts replete with\nthe most deadly poison, and, after grinding them to fine powder, Lady\nThirlestane mixed them in a bottle of wine. Previous to the\ncommencement of the birthday feast, the young laird having called for\nwine to drink the healths of the workmen who had just completed the\nmason work of the new Castle of Gamescleugh--his future residence--the\npiper Lally filled a silver cup from the poisoned bottle, which the\nill-fated youth hastily drank off. So potent was the poison that the\nyoung laird died within an hour, and a feeling of horror seized the\nbirthday guests as to who could have done so foul a deed. But the\nfather seems to have had his suspicions, and having caused a bugle to\nbe blown, as a signal for all the family to assemble in the castle\ncourt, he inquired, \"Are we all here?\"\n\nA voice answered, \"All but the piper, John Lally!\"\n\nThese words, it is said, sounded like a knell in Sir Robert's ear, and\nthe truth was manifest to him. But unwilling to make a public example\nof his own wife, he adopted a somewhat unique method of vengeance, and\npublicly proclaimed that as he could not bestow the estate on his son\nwhile alive, he would spend it upon him when dead. Accordingly, the\nbody of his son was embalmed with the most costly drugs, and lay in\nstate for a year and a day, during which time Sir Robert kept open\nhouse, feasting all who chose to be his guests; Lady Thirlestane\nmeanwhile being imprisoned in a vault of the castle, and fed upon\nbread and water. \"During the last three days of this extraordinary\nfeast\", writes Sir Bernard Burke,[16] \"the crowds were immense. It was\nas if the whole of the south of Scotland was assembled at Thirlestane.\nButts of the richest and rarest wine were carried into the fields,\ntheir ends were knocked out with hatchets, and the liquor was carried\nabout in stoups. The burn of Thirlestane literally ran with wine.\" Sir\nRobert died soon afterwards, and left his family in utter destitution,\nhis wife dying in absolute beggary. Thus was avenged the crime of this\ncruel and unprincipled woman, whose fatal jealousy caused the ruin of\nthe family.\n\nPolitical intrigue, again, has been the origin of many an act of\ntreachery, done under the semblance of hospitality, or given rise to\nstrange incidents.\n\nTo go back to early times, it seems that Edward the Confessor had long\nindulged a suspicion that Earl Godwin--who had in the first instance\naccused Queen Emma of having caused the death of her son--was himself\nimplicated in that transaction. It so happened that the King and a\nlarge concourse of prelates and nobility were holding a large dinner\nat Winchester, in honour of the Easter festival, when the butler, in\nbringing in a dish, slipped, but recovered his balance by making\nadroit use of his other foot.\n\n\"Thus does brother assist brother,\" exclaimed Earl Godwin, thinking to\nbe witty at the butler's expense.\n\n\"And thus might I have been now assisted by my Alfred, if Earl Godwin\nhad not prevented it,\" replied the King: for the Earl's remark had\nrecalled to his mind the suspicion he had long entertained of the Earl\nhaving been concerned in Prince Alfred's death.\n\nResenting the king's words, the Earl holding up the morsel which he\nwas about to eat, uttered a great oath, and in the name of God\nexpressed a wish that the morsel might choke him if he had in any way\nbeen concerned in that murder. Accordingly he there and then put the\nmorsel into his mouth, and attempted to swallow it; but his efforts\nwere in vain, it stuck fast in his throat--immovable upward or\ndownward--his respiration failed, his eyes became fixed, his\ncountenance convulsed, and in a minute more he fell dead under the\ntable.\n\nEdward, convinced of the Earl's guilt, and seeing divine justice\nmanifested, and remembering, it is said, with bitterness the days past\nwhen he had given a willing ear to the calumnies spread about his\ninnocent mother, cried out, in an indignant voice, \"Carry away that\ndog, and bury him in the high road.\" But the body was deposited by the\nEarl's cousin in the cathedral.\n\nSeveral accounts have been written of that terrible banquet, to which\nthe Earl of Douglas was invited by Sir Alexander Livingstone and the\nChancellor Crichton--who craftily dissembled their intentions--to sup\nat the royal table in the Castle of Edinburgh. The Earl was foolhardy\nenough to accept the ill-fated invitation, and shortly after he had\ntaken his place at the festive board, the head of a black bull--the\ncertain omen, in those days in Scotland, of immediate death--was\nplaced on the table. The Earl, anticipating treachery, instantly\nsprang to his feet, and lost no time in making every effort to escape.\nBut no chance was given him to do so, and with his younger brother he\nwas hurried along into the courtyard of the castle, and after being\nsubjected to a mock trial, he was beheaded \"in the back court of the\ncastle that lieth to the west\". The death of the young earl, and his\nuntimely fate, were the subjects of lament in one of the ballads of\nthe time.\n\n    \"Edinburgh castle, town, and tower,\n      God grant them sink for sin;\n    And that even for the black dinner\n      Earl Douglas gat therein.\"\n\nThis emphatic malediction is cited by Hume of Godscroft in his\n\"History of the House of Douglas,\" as referring to William, sixth Earl\nof Douglas, a youth of eighteen; and Hume, speaking of this\ntransaction, says, with becoming indignation: \"It is sure the people\ndid abhorre it--execrating the very place where it was done, in\ndetestation of the fact--of which the memory remaineth yet to our\ndayes in these words.\"\n\nMany similar stories are recorded in the history of the past, the\nworst form of treachery oftentimes lurking beneath the festive cup,\nand in times of commotion, when suspicion and mistrust made men feel\ninsecure even when entertained in the banqueting hall of some powerful\nhost, it is not surprising that great persons had their food tasted by\nthose who were supposed to have made themselves acquainted with its\nwholesomeness. But this practice could not always afford security when\nthe taster was ready to sacrifice his own life, as in King John (act\nv. sc. 6):\n\n  HUBERT. The king, I fear, is poisoned by a monk:\n          I left him almost speechless.\n\n  BASTARD. How did he take it? Who did taste to him?\n\n  HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain.\n\nBut, in modern days, one of the most unnatural tragedies on record was\nthe murder of Sir John Goodere, Foote's maternal uncle, by his brother\nCaptain Goodere, a naval officer. In the year 1740, the two brothers\ndined at a friend's house near Bristol. For a long time they had been\non bad terms, owing to certain money transactions, but at the dinner\ntable a reconciliation was, to all appearance, made between them. But\nit was a most terrible piece of underhand treachery, for on leaving\nthat dinner table, Sir John was waylaid on his return home by some men\nfrom his brother's vessel--acting by his brother's authority--carried\non board, and deliberately strangled; Captain Goodere not only\nunconcernedly looking on, but actually furnishing the rope with which\nthis fearful crime was committed. One of the strangest parts of this\nterrible tale, Foote used to relate, was the fact that on the night\nthe murder was committed he arrived at his father's house in Truro,\nand was kept awake for some time by the softest and sweetest strains\nof music he had ever heard. At first he fancied it might be a serenade\ngot up by some of the family to welcome him home, but not being able\nto discover any trace of the musicians, he came to the conclusion that\nhe was deceived by his own imagination. Shortly afterwards, however,\nhe learnt that the murder had been committed at the same hour of the\nsame night as he had been haunted by the mysterious sounds. In after\ndays, he often spoke of this curious occurrence, regarding it as a\nsupernatural warning, a conviction which he retained till his death.\n\nBut, strange and varied as are the scenes that have taken place at the\nbanquet, whether great or small, such acts of fratricide have been\nrare, although, according to a family tradition relating to\nOsbaldeston Hall, a similar tragedy once happened at a family banquet.\nThere is one room in the old hall whose walls are smeared with several\nred marks, which, it is said, can never be obliterated. These stains\nhave some resemblance to blood, and are generally supposed to have\nbeen caused when, many years ago, one of the family was brutally\nmurdered. The story commonly current is that there was once a great\nfamily gathering at Osbaldeston Hall, at which every member of the\nfamily was present. The feast passed off satisfactorily, and the\nliquor was flowing freely round, when, unfortunately, family\ndifferences began to be discussed. These soon caused angry\nrecriminations, and at length two of the company challenged each other\nto mortal combat. Friends interfered, and, by the judicious\nintervention on their part, the quarrel seemed to be made up. But soon\nafterwards the two accidentally met in this room, and Thomas\nOsbaldeston drew his sword and murdered his brother-in-law without\nresistance. For this crime he was deemed a felon, and forfeited his\nlands. Ever since that ill-fated day the room has been haunted.\nTradition says that the ghost of the murdered man continues to haunt\nthe scene of the conflict, and during the silent hours of the night it\nmay be seen passing from the room with uplifted hands, and with the\nappearance of blood streaming from a wound in the breast.[17]\n\nBut, turning to incidents of a less tragic nature, an amusing story is\ntold of the Earl of Hopetoun, who, when he could not induce a certain\nScottish laird, named Dundas, to sell his old family residence known\nas \"The Tower,\" which was on the very verge of his own beautiful\npleasure grounds, tried to lead him on to a more expensive style of\nliving than that to which he had been accustomed, thinking thereby he\nmight run into debt, and be compelled to sell his property.\n\nAccordingly, Dundas was frequently invited to Hopetoun House, and on\none occasion his lordship invited himself and a fashionable shooting\nparty to \"The Tower,\" \"congratulating himself on the hole which a few\ndinners like this would make in the old laird's rental.\" But, as soon\nas the covers were removed from the dishes, no small chagrin was\ncaused to Lord Hopetoun and his friends when their eyes rested on \"a\ngoodly array of alternate herrings and potatoes spread from the top to\nthe bottom,\" Dundas at the same time inviting his guests to pledge\nhim in a bumper of excellent whiskey. Drinking jocularly to his\nlordship's health, he humorously said, \"It won't do, my lord; it won't\ndo! But, whenever you or your guests will honour my poor hall of Stang\nHill Tower with your presence at this hour, I promise you no worse\nfare than now set before you, the best and fattest salt herrings that\nthe Forth can produce, and the strongest mountain dew. To this I beg\nthat your lordship and your honoured friends may do ample justice.\"\n\nIt is needless to say that Lord Hopetoun never dined again at Stang\nHill Tower but some time after, when Dundas was on his death-bed, he\nadvised his son to make the best terms he could with Lord Hopetoun,\nremarking, \"He will, sooner or later, have our little property.\" An\nexchange was made highly advantageous to the Dundas family, the estate\nof Aithrey being made over to them.[18]\n\nA curious and humorous narrative is told of General Dalzell, a noted\npersecutor of the Covenanters. In the course of his Continental\nservice he had been brought into the immediate circle of the German\nCourt, and one day had the honour to be a guest at a splendid Imperial\nbanquet, where, as a part of his state, the German Emperor was waited\non by the great feudal dignitaries of the empire, one of whom was the\nDuke of Modena, the head of the illustrious house of Este. After his\nappointment by Charles II. as Commander-in-Chief in Scotland, he was\ninvited by the Duke of York--afterwards James II., and then residing\nat Holyrood--to dine with him and the Duchess, Princess May of Modena.\nBut as this was, we are told, what might be called a family dinner,\nthe Duchess demurred to the General being admitted to such an honour,\nwhereupon he naively replied that this was not his first introduction\nto the house of Este, for that he had known her Royal Highness's\nfather, the Duke of Modena, and that he had stood behind his chair,\nwhile he sat by the Emperor's side.\n\nThere was another kind of banquet, in which it has been remarked the\ndefunct had the principal honours, having the same ceremonious respect\npaid to his waxen image as though he were alive. Thus we are reminded\nhow the famous Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough demonstrated her\nappreciation for Congreve in a most extraordinary manner. Report goes\nthat she had his figure made in wax, talked to it as if it had been\nalive, placed it at the table with her, took every care that it was\nsupplied with different sorts of meat, and, in short, the same\nformalities were, throughout, scrupulously observed in these weird and\nstrange repasts, just as if Congreve himself had been present.\n\nSaint Foix, it may be remembered, who wrote in the time of Louis XIV.,\nhas left an interesting account of the ceremonial after the death of\na King of France, during the forty days before the funeral, when his\nwax effigy lay in state. It appears that the royal officers served him\nat meals as though he were still alive, the maitre d'hotel handed the\nnapkin to the highest lord present to be delivered to the king, a\nprelate blessed the table, and the basins of water were handed to the\nroyal armchair. Grace was said in the accustomed manner, save that\nthere was added to it the \"De Profundis.\" We cannot be surprised that\nsuch strange proceedings as these gave rise to much ridicule, and\nhelped to bring the Court itself into contempt.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] Miss Jackson's \"Shropshire Folklore,\" 101.\n\n[16] Family Romance, 1853, pp. 1-8.\n\n[17] Harland's \"Lancashire Legends,\" 271-2.\n\n[18] Sir Bernard Burke, \"Family Romance,\" 1853, I., 307-12.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nMYSTERIOUS ROOMS.\n\n    A jolly place, said he, in days of old;\n    But something ails it now--the spot is curst.\n               WORDSWORTH.\n\n\nA peculiar feature of many old country houses is the so-called\n\"strange room,\" around which the atmosphere of mystery has long clung.\nIn certain cases, such rooms have gained an unenviable notoriety from\nhaving been the scene, in days gone by, of some tragic occurrence, the\nmemory of which has survived in the local legend, or tradition. The\nexistence, too, of such rooms has supplied the novelist with the most\nvaluable material for the construction of those plots in which the\nmysterious element holds a prominent place. Historical romance, again,\nwith its tales of adventure, has invested numerous rooms with a grim\naspect, and caused the imagination to conjure up all manner of weird\nand unearthly fancies concerning them. Walpole, for instance, writing\nof Berkeley Castle, says: \"The room shown for the murder of Edward\nII., and the shrieks of an agonising king, I verily believe to be\ngenuine. It is a dismal chamber, almost at the top of the house, quite\ndetached, and to be approached only by a kind of footbridge, and from\nthat descends a large flight of steps that terminates on strong gates,\nexactly a situation for a _corps de garde_.\" And speaking of Edward's\nimprisonment here, may be mentioned the pathetic story told by Sir\nRichard Baker, in his usual odd, circumstantial manner: \"When Edward\nII. was taken by order of his Queen and carried to Berkeley Castle, to\nthe end that he should not be known, they shaved his head and beard,\nand that in a most beastly manner; for they took him from his horse\nand set him upon a hillock, and then, taking puddle water out of a\nditch thereby, they went to wash him, his barber telling him that the\ncold water must serve for this time; whereat the miserable king,\nlooking sternly upon him, said that whether they would or no he would\nhave warm water to wash him, and therewithal, to make good his word,\nhe presently shed forth a shower of tears. Never was king turned out\nof a kingdom in such a manner.\" And there can be no doubt that many of\nthe rooms which have attracted notice on account of their\narchitectural peculiarities, were purposely designed for concealment\nin times of political commotion. Of the numerous stories told of the\nmysterious death of Lord Lovel, one informs us[19] how, on the\ndemolition of a very old house--formerly the patrimony of the\nLovel's--about a century ago, there was found in a small chamber, so\nsecret that the farmer who inhabited the house knew it not, the\nremains of an immured being, and such remnants of barrels and jars as\nappeared to justify the idea of that chamber having been used as a\nplace of refuge for the lord of the mansion; and that after consuming\nthe stores which he had provided in case of a disastrous event, he\ndied unknown even to his servants and tenants. But the circumstances\nattending Lord Lovell's death have always been matter of conjecture,\nand in the \"Annals of England,\" another version of the story is\ngiven:[20] \"Lord Lovel is believed to have escaped from the field, and\nto have lived for a while in concealment at Minster Lovel,\nOxfordshire, but at length to have been starved to death through the\nneglect or treachery of an attendant.\"\n\nAt Broughton Castle there is a curiously designed room, which, at one\ntime or another, has attracted considerable attention. According to\nLord Nugent, in his \"Memorials of Hampden,\" this room is \"so\ncontrived, by being surrounded by thick stone walls, and casemated,\nthat no sound from within can be heard. The chamber appears to have\nbeen built about the time of King John, and is reported, on very\ndoubtful grounds of tradition, to have been the room used for the\nsittings of the Puritans.\" And, he adds: \"It seems an odd fancy,\nalthough a very prevailing one, to suppose that wise men, employed in\ncapital matters of state, must needs choose the most mysterious and\nsuspicious retirements for consultation, instead of the safer and less\nremarkable expedient of a walk in the open fields.\" It was probably in\nthis room that the secret meetings of Hampden and his confederates\nwere held, which Anthony a Wood thus describes: \"Several years before\nthe Civil War began, Lord Sage, being looked upon as the godfather of\nthat party, had meetings of them in his house at Broughton, where was\na room and passage thereunto, which his servants were prohibited to\ncome near. And when they were of a complete number, there would be a\ngreat noise and talkings heard among them, to the admiration of those\nthat lived in the house, yet never could they discern their lord's\ncompanions.\"\n\nAmongst other secret rooms which have their historical associations,\nare those at Hendlip Hall, near Worcester. This famous residence--which\nhas scarcely a room that is not provided with some means of escape--is\ncommonly reported to have been built by John Abingdon in the reign of\nQueen Elizabeth, this personage having been a zealous partisan of Mary\nQueen of Scots. It was here also, under the care of Mr. and Mrs.\nAbingdon, that Father Garnet was concealed for several weeks in the\nwinter of 1605-6, but who eventually paid the penalty of his guilty\nknowledge of the Gunpowder Plot. A hollow in the wall of Mrs.\nAbingdon's bedroom was covered up, and there was a narrow crevice into\nwhich a reed was laid, so that soup and wine could be passed by her\ninto the recess, without the fact being noticed from any other room.\nBut the Government, suspecting that some of the Gunpowder Conspirators\nwere concealed at Hendlip Hall, sent Sir Henry Bromley, of Holt Castle,\na justice of the peace, with the most minute orders, which are very\nfunny: \"In the search,\" says the document, \"first observe the parlour\nwhere they use to dine and sup; in the last part of that parlour it is\nconceived there is some vault, which to discover, you must take care to\ndraw down the wainscot, whereby the entry into the vault may be\ndiscovered. The lower parts of the house must be tried with a broach,\nby putting the same into the ground some foot or two, to try whether\nthere may be perceived some timber, which if there be, there must be\nsome vault underneath it. For the upper rooms you must observe whether\nthey be more in breadth than the lower rooms, and look in which places\nthe rooms must be enlarged, by pulling out some boards you may discover\nsome vaults. Also, if it appear that there be some corners to the\nchimneys, and the same boarded, if the boards be taken away there will\nappear some secret place. If the walls seem to be thick and covered\nwith wainscot, being tried with a gimlet, if it strike not the wall but\ngo through, some suspicion is to be had thereof. If there be any\ndouble loft, some two or three feet, one above another, in such places\nany person may be harboured privately. Also, if there be a loft towards\nthe roof of the house, in which there appears no entrance out of any\nother place or lodging, it must of necessity be opened and looked into,\nfor these be ordinary places of hovering (hiding).\"\n\nThe house was searched from garret to cellar without any discovery\nbeing made, and Mrs. Abingdon, feigning to be angry with the\nsearchers, shut herself up in her bedroom day and night, eating and\ndrinking there, by which means through the secret tube she fed Father\nGarnet and another Jesuit father. But after a protracted search of ten\ndays, these two men surrendered themselves, pressed, it is said, \"for\nthe need of air rather than food, for marmalade and other sweetmeats\nwere found in their den, and they had warm and nutritive drinks passed\nto them by the reed through the chimney,\" as already described. This\nhistoric mansion, it may be added, on account of its elevated\nposition, was capitally adapted as a place of concealment, for \"it\nafforded the means of keeping a watchful look-out for the approach of\nthe emissaries of the law, or of persons by whom it might have been\ndangerous for any skulking priest to be seen, supposing his reverence\nto have gone forth for an hour to take the air.\"\n\nAnother important instance of a strange room is that existing at\nIngatestone Hall, in Essex, which was, in years gone by, a summer\nresidence belonging to the Abbey of Barking. It came with the estate\ninto possession of the family of Petre in the reign of Henry VIII.,\nand continued to be occupied as their family seat until the latter\nhalf of the last century. In the south-east corner of a small room\nattached to what was probably the host's bedroom, there was discovered\nsome years ago a mysterious hiding place--fourteen feet long, two feet\nbroad, and ten feet high. On some floor-boards being removed, a hole\nor trap door--about two feet square--was found, with a twelve-foot\nladder, to descend into the room below, the floor of which was\ncomposed of nine inches of dry sand. This, on being examined, brought\nto light a few bones which, it has been suggested, are the remains of\nfood supplied to some unfortunate occupant during confinement. But the\nexistence of this secret room must, it is said, have been familiar to\nthe heads of the family for several generations, evidence of this\ncircumstance being afforded by a packing case which was found in this\nhidden retreat, and upon which was the following direction: \"For the\nRight Honble the Lady Petre, at Ingatestone Hall, in Essex.\" The wood,\nalso, was in a decayed state, and the writing in an antiquated style,\nwhich is only what might be expected considering that the Petre family\nleft Ingatestone Hall between the years 1770 and 1780.\n\nThere are numerous rooms of this curious description which, it must be\nremembered, were, in many cases, the outcome of religious intolerance\nin the sixteenth century, and early in the seventeenth, when the\ncelebration of Mass in this country was forbidden. Hence those families\nthat persisted in adhering to the Roman Catholic faith oftentimes kept\na priest, who celebrated it in a room--opening whence was a secret one,\nto which in case of emergency he could retreat. Evelyn in his _Diary_,\nspeaking of Ham House, at Weybridge, belonging to the Duke of Norfolk,\nas having some of these secret rooms, writes: \"My lord, leading me\nabout the house, made no scruple of showing me all the hiding places\nfor Popish priests, and where they said Masse, for he was no bigoted\npapist.\" The old Manor House at Dinsdale-upon-Tees has a secret room,\nwhich is very cleverly situated at the top of the staircase, to which\naccess is gained from above. The compartment is not very large, and is\nbetween two bedrooms, and alongside of the fireplace of one of them.\n\"It would be a very snug place when the fire was lighted,\" writes a\ncorrespondent of \"Notes and Queries,\" \"and very secure, as it is\nnecessary to enter the cockloft by a trap door at the extreme end of\nthe building, and then crawl along under the roof into the hiding-place\nby a second trap-door.\" Among further instances of these curious relics\nof the past may be mentioned Armscott Manor, two or three miles distant\nfrom Shipston-on-Stour. According to a local tradition, George Fox at\none time lived here. In a passage at the top of the house is the\nentrance to a secret room, which receives light from a small window in\none of the gables, and in this room George Fox is said to have been\nconcealed during the period he was persecuted by the county\nmagistrates.\n\nBut sometimes such rooms furthered the designs of those who abetted\nand connived at deeds that would not bear the light, and Southey\nrecords an anecdote which is a good illustration of the bad uses to\nwhich they were probably often put: \"At Bishop's Middleham, a man died\nwith the reputation of a water drinker; and it was discovered that he\nhad killed himself by secret drunkenness. There was a Roman Catholic\nhiding place, the entrance to which was from his bedroom. He converted\nit into a cellar, and the quantity of brandy which he had consumed was\nascertained.\" Indeed, it is impossible to say to what ends these\nsecret rooms were occasionally devoted; and there is little doubt but\nthat they were the scenes of many of those thrilling stories upon\nwhich many of our local traditions have been founded.\n\nPolitical refugees, too, were not infrequently secreted in these\nhiding places, and in the Manor House, Trent, near Sherborne, there is\na strangely constructed chamber, entered from one of the upper rooms\nthrough a sliding panel in the oak wainscoting, in which tradition\ntells us Charles II. lay concealed for a fortnight on his escape to\nthe coast, after the battle of Worcester. And Boscobel House, which\nalso afforded Charles II. a safe retreat, has two secret chambers; and\nthere are indications which point to the former existence of a third.\nThe hiding place in which the King was hidden is situated in the\nsquire's bedroom. It appears there was formerly a sliding panel in the\nwainscot, near the fireplace, which, when opened, gave access to a\ncloset, the false floor of which still admits of a person taking up\nhis position in this secret nook. The wainscoting, too, which\nconcealed the movable panel in the bedroom was originally covered with\ntapestry, with which the room was hung. A curious story is told of\nStreet Place, an old house, a mile and a half north of Plumpton, in\nthe neighbourhood of Lewes, which dates from the time of James I., and\nwas the seat of the Dobells. Behind the great chimney-piece of the\nhall was a deep recess, used for purposes of concealment; and it is\nsaid that one day a cavalier horseman, hotly pursued by some troopers,\nbroke into the hall, spurred his horse into the recess, and\ndisappeared for ever.\n\nBistmorton Court, an old moated manor house in the Malvern district,\nhas a cunningly contrived secret room, which is opened by means of a\nspring, and this hidden nook is commonly reported to have played an\nimportant part in the War of the Roses, when numerous persons were\nconcealed there at this troublous period. And a curious discovery was\nmade some years ago at Danby Hall, in Wensleydale, Yorkshire, when, on\na small secret room being brought to light, it was found to contain\narms and saddlery for a troop of forty or fifty horse. It is generally\nsupposed that these weapons had been hidden away in readiness for the\nJacobite rising of 1715 or 1745.\n\nIn certain cases it would appear that, for some reason or other, the\nhiding place has been specially kept a secret among members of the\nfamily. In the north of England there is Netherall, near Maryport,\nCumberland, the seat of the old family of Senhouse. In this old\nmansion there is said to be a veritable secret room, its exact\nposition in the house being known but to two persons--the heir-at-law\nand the family solicitor. It is affirmed that never has the secret of\nthis hidden room been revealed to more than two living persons at a\ntime. This mysterious room has no window, and, despite every endeavour\nto discover it, has successfully defied the ingenuity of even visitors\nstaying in the house. This Netherall tradition is very similar to the\ncelebrated one connected with Glamis Castle, the seat of Lord\nStrathmore, only in the latter case the secret room possesses a\nwindow, which, nevertheless, has not led to its identification. It is\nknown as the \"secret room\" of the castle, and, although every other\npart of the castle has been satisfactorily explored, the search for\nthis famous room has been in vain. None are supposed to be acquainted\nwith its locality save Lord Strathmore, his heir, and the factor of\nthe estate, who are bound not to reveal it unless to their successors\nin the secret. Many weird stories have clustered round this remarkable\nroom; one legend connected with which has been thus described:\n\n    The castle now again behold,\n    Then mark yon lofty turret bold,\n    Which frowns above the western wing,\n    Its grim walls darkly shadowing.\n    There is a room within that tower\n    No mortal dare approach; the power\n    Of an avenging God is there.\n    Dread--awfully display'd--beware!\n    And enter not that dreadful room,\n    Else yours may be a fearful doom.\n\nAccording to one legendary romance--founded on an incident which is\nsaid to have occurred during one of the carousals of the Earl of\nCrawford, otherwise styled \"Earl Beardie\" or the \"Tiger Earl\"--there\nwas many years ago a grand \"meet\" at Glamis, as the result of which\nmany a noble deer lay dead upon the hill, and many a grizzly boar dyed\nwith his heart's blood the rivers of the plain. As the day drew to its\nclose, \"the wearied huntsmen, with their fair attendants, returned,\n'midst the sounds of martial music and the low whispered roundelays of\nthe ladies, victorious to the castle.\" In the old baronial dining hall\nwas spread a sumptuous and savoury feast, at which \"venison and\nreeking game, rich smoked ham and savoury roe, flanked by the wild\nboar's head, and viands and pasties without name, blent profusely on\nthe hospitable board, while jewelled and capacious goblets, filled\nwith ruby wine, were lavishly handed round to the admiring guests.\"\n\nAt the completion of the banquet, the minstrel strung his ancient\nharp, and soon the company tripped lightly on the oaken floor, till\nthe rafters rang with the merry sounds of their midnight revelry. For\nthree days and nights the hunt and the feast continued, and as, at\nlast, the revelries drew to a close, still four dark chieftains\nremained in the inner chamber of the castle, \"and sang, and drank, and\nshouted, right merrilie. The day broke, yet louder rang the wassail\nroar; the goblets were over and over again replenished, and the\nterrible oaths and ribald songs continued, and the dice rattled, and\nthe revelry became louder still, till the many walls of the old castle\nshook and reverberated with the awful sounds of debauchery, blasphemy,\nand crime.\"\n\n\"At length their wild, ungovernable frenzy reached its climax. They\nhad drunk until their eyes had grown dim, and their hands could\nscarcely hold the hellish dice, when, driven by expiring fury, with\nfiendish glee, they defiantly gnashed their teeth and cursed the God\nof heaven! Then, with returning strength, and exhausting its last and\nfitful energies in still louder imprecations and more fearful yells,\nthey deliberately and with unanimous voice consigned their guilty\nsouls to the nethermost hell! Fatal words! In a bright, broad sheet of\nlurid and sulphurous flame the Prince of Darkness appeared in their\nmidst, and struck--not the shaft of death, but the vitality of eternal\nlife--and there to this day in that dreaded room they sit, transfixed\nin all their hideous expression of ghastly terror and dismay--doomed\nto drink the wine cup and throw the dice till the dawning of the Great\nJudgment Day.\"[21]\n\nAnother explanation of the mystery is that during one of the feuds\nbetween the Lindsays and the Ogilvies, a number of the latter Clan,\nflying from their enemies, came to Glamis Castle, and begged\nhospitality of the owner. He admitted them, and on the plea of hiding\nthem, he secured them all in this room, and then left them to starve.\nTheir bones, it is averred, lie there to this day, the sight of which,\nit has been stated, so appalled the late Lord Strathmore on entering\nthe room, that he had it walled up. Some assert that, owing to some\nhereditary curse, like those described in a previous chapter, at\ncertain intervals a kind of vampire is born into the family of the\nStrathmore Lyons, and that as no one would like to destroy this\nmonstrosity, it is kept concealed till its term of life is run. But,\nwhatever the mystery may be, such rooms, like the locked chamber of\nBlue Beard, are not open to vulgar gaze, a circumstance which has\nnaturally perpetuated the curiosity attached to them. The reputation,\ntoo, which Glamis Castle has long had for possessing so strange a room\nhas led to a host of the most gruesome stories being circulated in\nconnection with it, many of which from time to time have appeared in\nprint. According to one account,[22] \"a lady, very well known in\nLondon society, an artistic and social celebrity, went to stay at\nGlamis Castle for the first time. She was allotted very handsome\napartments just on the point of junction between the new\nbuildings--perhaps a hundred or two hundred years old--and the very\nancient part of the castle. The rooms were handsomely furnished; no\ngrim tapestry swung to and fro, all was smooth, easy, and modern, and\nthe guest retired to bed without a thought of the mysteries of Glamis.\nIn the morning she appeared at the breakfast table cheerful and\nself-possessed, and, to the inquiry how she had slept, replied, \"Well,\nthanks, very well, up to four o'clock in the morning. But your\nScottish carpenters seem to come to work very early. I suppose they\nare putting up their scaffolding quickly, though, for they are quiet\nnow.\"\n\nHer remarks were followed by a dead silence, and, to her surprise, she\nnoticed that the faces of the family party were very pale. But, she\nwas asked, as she valued the friendship of all there, never to speak\non that subject again, there had been no carpenters at Glamis for\nmonths past. The lady, it seems, had not the remotest idea that the\nhammering she had heard was connected with any story, and had no\nnotion of there being some mystery connected with the noise until\nenlightened on the matter at the breakfast table.\n\nAt Rushen Castle, Isle of Man, there is said to be a room which has\nnever been opened in the memory of man. Various explanations have been\nassigned to account for this circumstance, one being that the old\nplace was once inhabited by giants, who were dislodged by Merlin, and\nsuch as were not driven away remain spellbound beneath the castle.\nWaldron, in his \"Description of the Isle of Man,\" has given a curious\ntradition respecting this strange room, in which the supernatural\nelement holds a prominent place, and which is a good sample of other\nstories of the same kind: \"They say there are a great many fine\napartments underground, exceeding in magnificence any of the upper\nrooms. Several men, of more than ordinary courage have, in former\ntimes, ventured down to explore the secrets of this subterranean\ndwelling-place, but as none of them ever returned to give an account\nof what they saw, the passages to it were kept continually shut that\nno more might suffer by their temerity. But about fifty years since, a\nperson of uncommon courage obtained permission to explore the dark\nabode. He went down, and returned by the help of a clue of packthread,\nand made this report: 'That after having passed through a great number\nof vaults he came into a long narrow place, along which having\ntravelled, as far as he could guess, for the space of a mile, he saw a\nlittle gleam of light. Reaching at last the end of this lane of\ndarkness, he perceived a very large and magnificent house, illuminated\nwith a great many candles, whence proceeded the light just mentioned.\nAfter knocking at the door three times, it was opened by a servant,\nwho asked him what he wanted. \"I would go as far as I can,\" he\nreplied; \"be so kind as to direct me, for I see no passage but the\ndark cavern through which I came hither.\" The servant directed him to\ngo through the house, and led him through a long entrance passage and\nout at the back door. After walking a considerable distance, he saw\nanother house, more magnificent than the former, where he saw through\nthe open windows lamps burning in every room. He was about to knock,\nbut looking in at the window of a low parlour, he saw in the middle of\nthe room a large table of black marble, on which lay extended a\nmonster of at least fourteen feet long, and ten round the body, with a\nsword beside him. He therefore deemed it prudent to make his way back\nto the first house where the servant reconducted him, and informed him\nthat if he had knocked at the second door he never would have\nreturned. He then took his leave, and once more ascended to the light\nof the sun.'\"\n\nBut, leaving rooms of this supernatural kind, we may allude to those\nwhich have acquired a strange notoriety from certain peculiarities of\na somewhat gruesome character; and, with tales of horror attached to\ntheir guilty walls, it is not surprising that many rooms in our old\ncountry houses have long been said to be troubled with mysterious\nnoises, and to have an uncanny aspect. Wye Coller Hall, near Colne,\nwhich was long the seat of the Cunliffes of Billington, had a room\nwhich the timid long avoided. Once a year, it is said, a spectre\nhorseman visits this house and makes his way up the broad oaken\nstaircase into a certain room, from whence \"dreadful screams, as from\na woman, are heard, which soon subside into groans.\" The story goes\nthat one of the Cunliffes murdered his wife in that room, and that the\nspectre horseman is the ghost of the murderer, who is doomed to pay an\nannual visit to the house of his victim, who is said to have predicted\nthe extinction of the family, which has literally been fulfilled. This\nstrange visitor is always attired in the costume of the early Stuart\nperiod, and the trappings of his horse are of a most uncouth\ndescription; the evening of his arrival being generally wild and\ntempestuous.\n\nAt Creslow Manor House, Buckinghamshire, there is another mysterious\nroom which, although furnished as a bedroom, is very rarely used, for\nit cannot be entered, even in the daytime, without trepidation and\nawe. According to common report, this room, which is situated in the\nmost ancient portion of the building, is haunted by the restless\nspirit of a lady, long since deceased. What the antecedent history of\nthis uncomfortable room really is no one seems to know, although it is\ngenerally agreed that in the distant past it must have been the silent\nwitness of some tragic occurrence.\n\nBut Littlecote House, the ancient seat of the Darrells, is renowned,\nwrites Lord Macaulay, \"not more on account of its venerable\narchitecture and furniture, than on account of a horrible and\nmysterious crime which was perpetrated there in the days of the\nTudors.\" One of the bedchambers, which is said to have been the scene\nof a terrible murder, contains a bedstead with blue furniture, which\ntime has made dingy and threadbare. In the bottom of one of the bed\ncurtains is shown a strange place where a small piece has been cut out\nand sewn in again--a circumstance which served to identify the scene\nof a remarkable story, in connection with which, however, there are\nseveral discrepancies. According to one account, when Littlecote was\nin possession of its founders--the Darrells--a midwife of high repute\ndwelt in the neighbourhood, who, on returning home from a professional\nvisit at a late hour of the night, had gone to rest only to be\ndisturbed by one who desired to have her immediate help, little\nanticipating the terrible night's adventure in store for her, and\nwhich shall be told in her own words:\n\n\"As soon as she had unfastened the door, a hand was thrust in which\nstruck down the candle, and at the same time pulled her into the road.\nThe person who had used these abrupt means desired her to tie a\nhandkerchief over her head and not wait for a hat, and, leading her to\na stile where there was a horse saddled, with a pillion on its back,\nhe desired her to seat herself, and then, mounting, they set off at a\nbrisk trot. After travelling for an hour and a half, they entered a\npaved court, or yard, and her conductor, lifting her off her horse,\nled her into the house, and thus addressed her: 'You must now suffer\nme to put this cap and bandage over your eyes, which will allow you to\nbreathe and speak, but not to see. Keep up your presence of mind; it\nwill be wanted. No harm will happen to you.' Then, taking her into a\nchamber, he added, 'Now you are in a room with a lady in labour.\nPerform your office well, and you shall be amply rewarded; but if you\nattempt to remove the bandage from your eyes, take the reward of your\nrashness.\"\n\nShortly afterwards a male child was born, and as soon as this crisis\nwas over the woman received a glass of wine, and was told to prepare\nto return home, but in the interval she contrived to cut off a small\npiece of the bed curtain--an act which was supposed sufficient\nevidence to fix the mysterious transaction as having happened at\nLittlecote. According to Sir Walter Scott, the bandage was first put\nover the woman's eyes on her leaving her own house that she might be\nunable to tell which way she travelled, and was only removed when she\nwas led into the mysterious bedchamber, where, besides the lady in\nlabour, there was a man of a \"haughty and ferocious\" aspect. As soon\nas the child was born, adds Scott, he demanded the midwife to give it\nhim, and, hurrying across the room, threw it on the back of a fire\nthat was blazing in the chimney, in spite of the piteous entreaties of\nthe mother. Suspicion eventually fell on Darrell, whose house was\nidentified by the midwife, and he was tried for murder at Salisbury,\n\"but, by corrupting his judge, Sir John Popham, he escaped the\nsentence of the law, only to die a violent death by a fall from his\nhorse.\" This tale of horror, it may be added, has been carefully\nexamined, and there is little doubt but that in its main and most\nprominent features it is true, the bedstead with a piece of the\ncurtain cut out identifying the spot as the scene of the tragic\nact.[23]\n\nWith this strange story Sir Walter Scott compares a similar one which\nwas current at Edinburgh during his childhood. About the beginning of\nthe eighteenth century, when \"the large castles of the Scottish\nnobles, and even the secluded hotels, like those of the French\n_noblesse_, which they possessed in Edinburgh, were sometimes the\nscenes of mysterious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was\ncalled up at midnight to pray with a person at the point of death.\" He\nwas put into a sedan chair, and after being transported to a remote\npart of the town, he was blindfolded--an act which was enforced by a\ncocked pistol. After many turns and windings the chair was carried\nupstairs into a lodging, where his eyes were uncovered, and he was\nintroduced into a bedroom, where he found a lady, newly delivered of\nan infant.\n\nHe was commanded by his attendants to say such prayers by her bedside\nas were suitable for a dying person. On remonstrating, and observing\nthat her safe delivery warranted better hopes, he was sternly\ncommanded to do as he had been ordered, and with difficulty he\ncollected his thoughts sufficiently to perform the task imposed on\nhim. He was then again hurried into the chair, but as they conducted\nhim downstairs he heard the report of a pistol. He was safely\nconducted home, a purse of gold was found upon him, but he was warned\nthat the least allusion to this transaction would cost him his life.\nHe betook himself to rest, and after a deep sleep he was awakened by\nhis servant, with the dismal news that a fire of uncommon fury had\nbroken out in the house of ****, near the head of the Canongate, and\nthat it was totally consumed, with the shocking addition that the\ndaughter of the proprietor, a young lady eminent for beauty and\naccomplishments had perished in the flames.\n\nThe clergyman had his suspicions; he was timid; the family was of the\nfirst distinction; above all, the deed was done, and could not be\namended. Time wore away, but he became unhappy at being the solitary\ndepository of this fearful mystery, and, mentioning it to some of his\nbrethren, the anecdote acquired a sort of publicity. The divine,\nhowever, had long been dead, and the story in some degree forgotten,\nwhen a fire broke out again on the very same spot where the house of\n**** had formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of an\ninferior description. When the flames were at their height, the tumult\nwas suddenly suspended by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful\nfemale, in a nightdress, extremely rich, but at least half a century\nold, appeared in the very midst of the fire, and uttered these words\nin her vernacular idiom: \"Anes burned, twice burned; the third time\nI'll scare you all.\" The belief in this apparition was formerly so\nstrong that on a fire breaking out and seeming to approach the fatal\nspot, there was a good deal of anxiety manifested lest the apparition\nshould make good her denunciation.\n\nBut family romance contains many such tales of horror, and one told of\nSir Richard Baker, surnamed \"Bloody Baker,\" is a match even for Blue\nBeard's locked chamber. After spending some years abroad in\nconsequence of a duel, he returned to his old home at Cranbrook, in\nKent; he only brought with him a foreign servant, and these two lived\nalone. Very soon strange stories began to be whispered of unearthly\nshrieks having been frequently heard at nightfall to issue from his\nhouse, and of persons who were missed and never heard of again. But it\nnever occurred to anyone to connect incidents of this kind with Sir\nRichard Baker, until, one day, he formed an apparent attachment to a\nyoung lady in the neighbourhood, who always wore a great number of\njewels. He had often pressed her to call and see his house, and,\nhappening to be near it, she determined to surprise him with a visit.\nHer companion tried to dissuade her from doing so, but she would not\nbe turned from her purpose. They knocked at the door, but receiving no\nanswer determined to enter. At the head of the staircase hung a\nparrot, which, on their passing, cried out:\n\n    \"Peapot, pretty lady, be not too bold,\n    Or your red blood will soon run cold.\"\n\nAnd the blood of the adventurous women did \"run cold\" when on opening\none of the room doors they found it nearly full of the bodies of\nmurdered persons, chiefly women. And when, too, on looking out of the\nwindow they saw \"Bloody Baker\" and his servant bringing in the body of\na lady, paralysed with fear they concealed themselves in a recess\nunder the staircase, and, as the murderers with their ghastly burden\npassed by, the hand of the murdered lady hung in the baluster of the\nstairs, which, on Baker chopping it off with an oath, fell into the\nlap of one of the concealed ladies. They quickly made their escape\nwith the dead hand, on one of the fingers of which was a ring.\nReaching home, they told the story, and in proof of it displayed the\nring. Families in the neighbourhood who had lost friends or relatives\nmysteriously were told of this \"blood chamber of horrors,\" and it was\narranged to ask Baker to a party, apparently in a friendly manner, but\nto have constables concealed ready to take him into custody. He\naccepted the invitation, and then the lady, pretending it was a dream,\ntold him all she had seen.\n\n\"Fair lady,\" said he, \"dreams are nothing; they are but fables.\"\n\n\"They may be fables,\" she replied, \"but is this a fable?\" And she\nproduced the hand and ring, upon which the constables appeared on the\nscene, and took Baker into custody. The tradition adds that he was\nfound guilty, and was burnt, notwithstanding that Queen Mary tried to\nsave him on account of his holding the Roman Catholic religion.[24]\n\nThis tradition, of course, must not be taken too seriously; the red\nhand in the armorial bearings having led, it has been suggested, to\nthe supposition of some sanguinary business in the records of the\nfamily. Among the monuments in Cranbrook Church, Kent, there is one\nerected to Sir Richard Baker--the gauntlet, red gloves, helmet, and\nspurs, having been suspended over the tomb. On one occasion, a visitor\nbeing attracted by the colour of the gloves, was accosted by an old\nwoman, who remarked, \"Aye, Miss, those are Bloody Baker's gloves;\ntheir red colour comes from the blood he shed.\" But the red hand is\nonly the Ulster badge of baronetcy, and there is scarcely a family\nbearing it of which some tale of murder and punishment has not been\ntold.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[19] Andrew's \"History of Great Britain,\" 1794-5.\n\n[20] Oxford, 1857.\n\n[21] \"Scenes and Legends of the Vale of Strathmore.\" J. Cargill\nGuthrie, 1875.\n\n[22] \"All the Year Round,\" 1880.\n\n[23] See \"Wilts Archaeological Magazine,\" vols. i.-x.\n\n[24] See \"Notes and Queries,\" 1st S., I., p. 67.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nINDELIBLE BLOOD STAINS.\n\n    \"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood\n    Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather\n    The multitudinous seas incarnardine,\n    Making the green one red.\"--MACBETH.\n\n\nIt was a popular suggestion in olden times that when a person had died\na violent death, the blood stains could not be washed away, to which\nMacbeth alludes, as above, after murdering Duncan. This belief was in\na great measure founded on the early tradition that the wounds of a\nmurdered man were supposed to bleed afresh at the approach or touch of\nthe murderer. To such an extent was this notion carried, that \"by the\nside of the bier, if the slightest change were observable in the eyes,\nthe mouth, feet, or hands of the corpse, the murderer was conjectured\nto be present, and many an innocent spectator must have suffered\ndeath. This practice forms a rich pasture in the imagination of our\nold writers; and their histories and ballads are laboured into pathos\nby dwelling on this phenomenon.\"[25] At Blackwell, near Darlington,\nthe murder of one Christopher Simpson is described in a pretty local\nballad known as \"The Baydayle Banks Tragedy.\" A suspected person was\ncommitted, because when he touched the body at the inquest, \"upon his\nhandlinge and movinge, the body did bleed at the mouth, nose, and\nears,\" and he turned out to be the murderer. Similarly Macbeth (Act\nIII., sc. 4), speaking of the ghost, says:--\n\n    \"It will have blood; they say blood will have blood;\n    Stones have been known to move and trees to speak,\n    Auguries and understood relations have\n    By magot pies and choughs and rooks brought forth\n    The secret'st man of blood.\"\n\nShakespeare here, in all probability, alludes to some story in which\nthe stones covering the corpse of a murdered man were said to have\nmoved of themselves, and so revealed the secret. In the same way, it\nwas said that where blood had been shed, the marks could not be\nobliterated, but would continually reappear until justice for the\ncrime had been obtained. On one occasion, Nathaniel Hawthorne enjoyed\nthe hospitality of Smithells Hall, Lancashire, and was so impressed\nwith the well-known legend of \"The Bloody Footstep\" that he, in three\nseparate instances, founded fictions upon it. In his romance of\n\"Septimius\" he gives this graphic account of what he saw: \"On the\nthreshold of one of the doors of Smithells Hall there is a bloody\nfootstep impressed into the doorstep, and ruddy as if the bloody foot\nhad just trodden there, and it is averred that on a certain night of\nthe year, and at a certain hour of the night, if you go and look at\nthe doorstep, you will see the mark wet with fresh blood. Some have\npretended to say that this is but dew, but can dew redden a cambric\nhandkerchief? And this is what the bloody footstep will surely do when\nthe appointed night and hour come round.\" A local tradition says that\nthe stone bearing the imprint of the mysterious footprint was once\nremoved and cast into a neighbouring wood, but in a short time it had\nto be restored to its original position owing to the alarming noises\nwhich troubled the neighbourhood. This strange footprint is\ntraditionally said to have been caused by George Marsh, the martyr,\nstamping his foot to confirm his testimony, and has been ever since\nshewn as the miraculous memorial of the holy man. The story is that\n\"being provoked by the taunts and persecutions of his examiner, he\nstamped with his foot upon a stone, and, looking up to heaven,\nappealed to God for the justice of his cause, and prayed that there\nmight remain in that place a constant memorial of the wickedness and\ninjustice of his enemies.\" It is also stated that in 1732 a guest\nsleeping alone in the Green Chamber at Smithells Hall saw an\napparition, in the dress of a minister with bands, and a book in his\nhand. The ghost of Marsh, for so it was pronounced to be, disappeared\nthrough the doorway, and on the owner of Smithells hearing the story,\nhe directed that divine service--long discontinued--should be resumed\nat the hall chapel every Sunday.[26]\n\nThen there are the blood stains on the floor at the outer door of the\nQueen's apartments in Holyrood Palace, where Rizzio was murdered. Sir\nWalter Scott has made these blood marks the subject of a jocular\npassage in his introduction to the \"Chronicles of the Canongate,\"\nwhere a Cockney traveller is represented as trying to efface them with\nthe patent scouring drops which it was his mission to introduce into\nuse in Scotland. In another of his novels--\"The Abbot\"--Sir Walter\nScott alludes to the Rizzio blood stains, and in his \"Tales of a\nGrandfather\" he deliberately states that the floor at the head of the\nstair still bears visible marks of the blood of the unhappy victim. In\nsupport of these blood stains, it has been urged that \"the floor is\nvery ancient, manifestly much more so than the late floor of the\nneighbouring gallery, which dated from the reign of Charles II. It is\nin all likelihood the very floor upon which Mary and her courtiers\ntrod. The stain has been shown there since a time long antecedent to\nthat extreme modern curiosity regarding historical matters which might\nhave induced an imposture, for it is alluded to by the son of Evelyn\nas being exhibited in the year 1722.\"[27]\n\nAt Condover Hall, Shropshire, there is supposed to be a blood stain\nwhich has been there since the time of Henry VIII., and cannot be\neffaced. According to a local tradition, which has long been current\nin the neighbourhood, it is the blood of Lord Knevett--the owner of\nthe hall and estate at this period--who was treacherously slain by his\nson. But unfortunately this piece of romance, which is utterly at\nvariance with facts bearing on the history of Condover and its owners\nin years gone by, must be classed among the legendary tales of the\nlocality. One room in Clayton Old Hall, Lancashire, has for years past\nbeen knicknamed \"The Bloody Chamber,\" from some supposed stains of\nhuman gore on the oaken floor planks. Numerous stories have, at\ndifferent times, been started to account for these blood-tokens, which\nhave gained all the more importance from the mansion having, from time\nimmemorial, been the favourite haunt of a mischievious boggart until\nlaid by the parson, and now--\n\n    Whilst ivy climbs and holly is green\n    Clayton Hall boggart shall no more be seen.\n\nIn Lincoln Cathedral there are two fine rose windows, one made by a\nmaster workman, and the other by his apprentice, out of the pieces of\nstained glass the former had thrown aside. The apprentice's window was\ndeclared to be the more magnificent, when the master, in a fit of\nchagrin, threw himself from the gallery beneath his boasted _chef\nd'oeuvre_, and was killed upon the spot. But his blood-stains on\nthe floor are declared to be indelible. At Cothele, a mansion on the\nbanks of the Tamar, the marks are still visible of the blood spilt by\nthe lord of the manor when, for supposed treachery, he slew the warder\nof the drawbridge; but these are only to be seen on a wet day.\n\nBut there is no mystery about the so-called \"Bloody Chamber,\" for the\nmarks are only in reality natural red tinges of the wood, denoting the\npresence of iron.\n\nIn addition to the appearance of such indelible marks of crime,\noftentimes the ghost of the spiller of blood, or of the murdered\nperson, haunts the scene. Thus, Northam Tower, Yorkshire, an embattled\nstructure of the time of Henry VII.--a true Border mansion--has long\nbeen famous for the visits of some mysterious spectre in the form of a\nlady who was cruelly murdered in the wood, her blood being pointed out\non the stairs of the old tower. Another tragic story is told of the\nManor House which Bishop Pudsey built at Darlington. It was for very\nmany years a residence of the Bishops of Durham, and a resting place\nof Margaret, bride of James IV., of Scotland, and daughter of Henry\nVII., in her splendid progress through the country. This building was\nrestored at great expense in the year 1668, and gained a widespread\nnotoriety on account of the ghost story of Lady Jerratt, who was\nmurdered there; but, as a testimony of the violent death she had\nreceived, \"she left on the wall ghastly impressions of a thumb and\nfingers in blood for ever,\" and always made her appearance with one\narm, the other having been cut off for the sake of a valuable ring on\none of the fingers.\n\nOne room of Holland House is supposed to be haunted by Lord Holland,\nthe first of his name and the chief builder of this splendid old\nmansion. According to Princess Marie Lichtenstein, in her \"History of\nHolland House,\" \"the gilt room is said to be tenanted by the solitary\nghost of its first lord, who, runs the tradition, issues forth at\nmidnight from behind a secret door, and walks slowly through the\nscenes of former triumphs with his head in his hand.\" And to add to\nthis mystery, there is a tale of three spots of blood on one side of\nthe recess whence he issues--three spots which can never be effaced.\n\nStains of blood--stains that cannot be washed away--are to be seen on\nthe floor of a certain room at Calverley Hall, Yorkshire. And there is\none particular flag in the cellar which is never without a mysterious\ndamp place upon it, all the other flags being dry. Of course these are\nthe witnesses of a terrible tragedy which was committed years ago\nwithin the walls of Calverley Hall. It appears that Walter Calverley,\nwho had married Philippa Brooke, daughter of Lord Cobham, was a wild\nreckless man, though his wife was a most estimable and virtuous lady,\nand that one day he went into a fit of insane jealousy, or pretended\nto do so, over the then Vavasour of Weston. Money lenders, too, were\npressing him hard, and he had become desperate. Rushing madly into the\nhouse, he plunged a dagger into one and then into another of his\nchildren, and afterwards tried to take the life of their mother, a\nsteel corset which she wore luckily saving her life. Leaving her for\ndead, he mounted his horse with the intention of killing the only\nother child he had, and who was then at Norton. But being pursued by\nsome villagers, his horse stumbled and threw him off, and the assassin\nwas caught, being pressed to death at York Castle for his crimes. Not\nonly have the stains of this bloody tragedy ever since been indelible,\nbut the spirit of Walter Calverley could not rest, having often been\nseen galloping about the district at night on a headless horse.[28]\nAnd, speaking of ghosts which appear in this eccentric fashion, we may\nnote that Eastbury House, near Blandford--now pulled down--had in a\ncertain marble-floored room, ineffaceable stains of blood,\nattributable, it is said, to the suicide of William Doggett, the\nsteward of Lord Melcombe, whose headless spirit long haunted the\nneighbourhood.\n\nAs a punishment for her unnatural cruelty in causing her child's\ndeath, it is commonly reported that the spirit of Lady Russell is\ndoomed to haunt Bisham Abbey, Berkshire, the house where this act of\nviolence was committed. Lady Russell had by her first husband a son,\nwho, unlike herself, had a natural antipathy to every kind of\nlearning, and so great was his obstinate repugnance to learning to\nwrite that he would wilfully blot over his copy-books in the most\ncareless and slovenly manner. This conduct so irritated his mother\nthat, to cure him of the propensity, she beat him again and again\nseverely, till at last she beat him to death. To atone for her\ncruelty, she is now doomed to haunt the room where the fatal deed was\nperpetrated; and, as her apparition glides along, she is always seen\nin the act of washing the blood stains of her son from her hands.\nAlthough ever trying to free herself of these marks of her unnatural\ncrime, it is in vain, as they are indelible stains which no water will\nremove.\n\nBy a strange coincidence, some years ago, in altering a window\nshutter, a quantity of antique copy-books were discovered pushed into\nthe rubble between the joints of the floor, and one of these books was\nso covered with blots as to fully answer the description in the\nnarrative above. It is noteworthy, also, that Lady Russell had no\ncomfort in her sons by her first husband. Her youngest son, a\nposthumous child, caused her special trouble, insomuch so that she\nwrote to her brother-in-law, Lord Burleigh, for advice how to treat\nhim. This may have been, it has been suggested, the unfortunate boy\nwho was flogged to death, though he seems to have lived to near man's\nestate. Lady Russell was buried at Bisham, by the remains of her first\nhusband, Sir Thomas Hoby, and her portrait may still be seen,\nrepresenting her in widow's weeds and with a very pale face.\n\nA mysterious crime is traditionally reported to have, some years ago,\ntaken place at the old parsonage at Market, or East Lavington, near\nDevizes--now pulled down. The ghost of the lady supposed to have been\nmurdered haunted the locality, and it has been said a child came to an\nuntimely end in the house. \"Previous to the year 1818,\" writes a\ncorrespondent of _Notes and Queries_, \"a witness states his father\noccupied the house, and writes that 'in that year on Feast Day, being\nleft alone in the house, I went to my room. It was the one with marks\nof blood on the floor. I distinctly saw a white figure glide into the\nroom. It went round by the washstand near the bed and disappeared!'\"\nIt may be added that part of the road leading from Market Lavington to\nEasterton which skirts the grounds of Fiddington House, used to be\nlooked upon as haunted by a lady who was locally known as the\n\"Easterton ghost.\" But in the year 1869 a wall was built round the\nroadside of the pond, and curiously close to the spot where the lady\nhad been in the habit of appearing two skeletons were disturbed--one\nof a woman, the other of a child. The bones were buried in the\nchurchyard, and no ghost, it is said, has since been seen. It would\nseem, also, that blood stains, wherever they may fall, are equally\nindelible; and even to this day the New Forest peasant believes that\nthe marl he digs is still red with the blood of his ancient foes, the\nDanes, a form of superstition which we find existing in various\nplaces.\n\nFor very many years the road from Reigate to Dorking, leading through\na lonely lane into the village of Buckland, was haunted by a local\nspectre known as the \"Buckland Shag,\" generally supposed to have been\nconnected with a love tragedy. In the most lonely part of this lane a\nstream of clear water ran by the side of--which laid for years--a\nlarge stone, concerning which the following story is told: Once on a\ntime, a lovely blue-eyed girl, whose father was a substantial yeoman\nin the neighbourhood, was wooed and won by the subtle arts of an\nopulent owner of the Manor House of Buckland.\n\nIn the silence of the evening this lane was their accustomed walk, the\nscene of her devoted love and of his deceitful vows. Here he swore\neternal fidelity, and the unsuspecting girl trusted him with the\nconfiding affection of her innocent heart. It was at such a moment\nthat the wily seducer communicated to her the real nature of his\ndesigns, the moon above being only the witness of his perfidy and her\ndistress. She heard the avowal in tremulous silence, but her deadly\npaleness, and her expressive look of mingled reproach and terror\ncreated alarm even in the mind of her would-be seducer, and he hastily\nendeavoured to recall the fatal declaration; but it was too late, she\nsprang from his agitated grasp, and, with a sigh of agony, fell dead\nat his feet.\n\nWhen he beheld the work of his iniquitous designs, he was seized with\ndistraction, and drawing a dagger from his bosom, he plunged it into\nhis own false heart, and lay stretched by the side of her he had so\nbasely wronged. On the morrow, as a peasant passed over the little\nstream, he saw a dark stone with drops of blood trickling from its\nheart into the pure limpid water. From that day the stream retained\nits untainted purity, and the stone continued its sacrifice of blood.\n\nSoon afterwards a terrific object was seen hovering at midnight about\nthis fatal spot, taking its position at first upon the \"bleeding\nstone,\" but it was ousted by the lord of the manor, who removed the\nblood-tainted stone to his own premises, to satisfy the timid minds of\nhis neighbours. But the stone still continued to bleed, nor did its\nremoval in any way intimidate the spectre. Connected with this\nalarming midnight visitor, writes a correspondent of _The Gentleman's\nMagazine_, \"I remember a circumstance related to me by those who were\nactually acquainted with the facts, and with the person to whom they\nrefer. An inhabitant of Buckland, who had attended Reigate Market and\nbecome exceedingly intoxicated, was joked by a companion upon the\nsubject of the 'Buckland Shag,' whereupon he laid a wager that if Shag\nappeared in his path that night he would fight him with his trusty\nhawthorn. Accordingly he set forth, and arrived at the haunted spot.\nThe spectre stood in his path, and, raising his stick, he struck it\nwith all his strength, but it made no impression, nor did the goblin\nmove. The stick fell as upon a blanket--so the man described it--and\nhe instantly became sober, while a cold tremor ran through every nerve\nof his athletic frame.\n\nHe hurried on, and the spectre followed. At length he arrived at his\nown door; then, and not till then, did the spectre vanish, leaving the\naffrighted man in a state of complete exhaustion upon the threshold of\nhis cottage. He was carried to his bed, and from that bed he never\nrose again; he died in a week.\"\n\nSimilarly, there is a romantic old legend connected with Kilburn\nPriory, to the effect that there was formerly, not far distant, a\nstone of dark red colour, which was said to be the stain of the blood\nof St. Gervase de Mertoun. The story goes that Stephen de Mertoun,\nbeing enamoured of his brother's wife, made immoral overtures to her,\nwhich she threatened to make known to Sir Gervase, to prevent which\ndisclosure Stephen resolved to waylay his brother and slay him. By a\nstrange coincidence, the identical stone on which his murdered body\nhad expired formed a part of his tomb, and the eye of the murderer\nresting upon it, adds the legend, blood was seen to issue from it.\nStruck with horror at this sight, Stephen de Mertoun hastened to the\nBishop of London, and making confession of his guilt, demised his\nproperty to the Priory of Kilburn.\n\nIn the same way the Cornishman knows, from the red, filmy growth on\nthe brook pebbles, that blood has been shed--a popular belief still\nfirmly credited. Some years ago a Cornish gentleman was cruelly\nmurdered, and his body thrown into a brook; but ever since that day\nthe stones in this brook are said to be spotted with gore--a\nphenomenon which had never occurred previously. And, according to\nanother strange Cornish belief told of St. Denis's blood, it is\nrelated that at the very time when his decapitation took place in\nParis, blood fell on the churchyard of St. Denis. It is further said\nthat these blood stains are specially visible when a calamity of any\nkind is near at hand; and before the breaking out of the plague, it is\nsaid the stains of the blood of St. Denis were seen; and, \"during our\nwars with the Dutch, the defeat of the English fleet was foretold by\nthe rain of gore in this remote and sequestered place.\"\n\nIt is also a common notion that not only are the stains of human blood\nwrongfully shed ineffaceable, but a curse lights upon the ground,\ncausing it to remain barren for ever. There is, for instance, a\ndark-looking piece of ground devoid of verdure in the parish of\nKirdford, Sussex. Local tradition says that this was formerly green,\nbut the grass withered gradually away soon after the blood of a\npoacher, who was shot there, trickled down on the place. But perhaps\nthe most romantic tale of this kind was that known as the \"Field of\nForty Footsteps.\" A legendary story of the period of the Duke of\nMonmouth's Rebellion describes a mortal conflict which took place\nbetween two brothers in Long Fields, afterwards called Southampton\nFields, in the rear of Montague House, Bloomsbury, on account of a\nlady who sat by. The combatants fought so furiously as to kill each\nother, after which their footsteps, imprinted on the ground in the\nvengeful struggle, were reported \"to remain, with the indentations\nproduced by their advancing and receding; nor would any grass or\nvegetation grow afterwards over these forty footsteps.\" The most\ncommonly received version of the story is, that two brothers were in\nlove with the same lady, who would not declare a preference for\neither, but coolly sat upon a bank to witness the termination of a\nduel which proved fatal to both. Southey records this strange story in\nhis \"Commonplace Book,\"[29] and after quoting a letter from a friend,\nrecommending him to \"take a view of those wonderful marks of the\nLord's hatred to duelling, called 'The Brothers' Steps,'\" he thus\ndescribes his own visit to the spot: \"We sought for near half an hour\nin vain. We could find no steps at all within a quarter of a mile, no,\nnor half a mile, of Montague House. We were almost out of hope, when\nan honest man, who was at work, directed us to the next ground\nadjoining to a pond. There we found what we sought, about\nthree-quarters of a mile north of Montague House and five hundred\nyards east of Tottenham Court Road. The steps are of the size of a\nlarge human foot, about three inches deep, and lie nearly from\nnorth-east to south-west. We counted only twenty-six; but we were not\nexact in counting. The place where one or both the brothers are\nsupposed to have fallen is still bare of grass. The labourer also\nshowed us the bank where, the tradition is, the wretched woman sat to\nsee the combat.\" Miss Porter and her sister founded upon this tragic\nromance their story, \"Coming Out, or the Field of Forty Footsteps\";\nand at Tottenham Street Theatre was produced, many years ago, an\neffective melodrama based upon the same incident, entitled \"The Field\nof Footsteps.\"\n\nAnother romantic tale of a similar nature is connected with Montgomery\nChurch walls, and is locally designated \"The Legend of the Robber's\nGrave,\" of which there are several versions, the most popular one\nbeing this: Once upon a time, a man was said to have been wrongfully\nhanged at Montgomery; and, when the rope was round his neck, he\ndeclared in proof of his innocence that grass would never grow on his\ngrave. Curious to relate, be the cause what it may, there is yet to be\nseen a strip of sterility--in the form of a cross--amidst a mass of\nverdure.[30]\n\nLikewise, the peasantry still talk mysteriously of Lord Derwentwater's\nexecution, and tell how his blood could not be washed away. Deep and\nlasting were the horror and grief which were felt when the news of his\ndeath reached his home in the north. The inhabitants of the\nneighbourhood, it is said, saw the coming vengeance of heaven in the\nAurora Borealis which appeared in unwonted brilliancy on the evening\nof the execution, and which is still known as \"Lord Derwentwater's\nLight\" in the northern counties; the rushing Devil's Water, too, they\nsaid, ran down with blood on that terrible night, and the very corn\nwhich was ground on that day came tinged from the mill with crimson.\nLord Derwentwater's death, too, was all the more deplored on account\nof his having long been undecided as to whether he should embrace the\nenterprise against the House of Hanover. But there had long been a\ntradition in his family that a mysterious and unearthly visitant\nappeared to the head of the house in critical emergencies, either to\nwarn of danger, or to announce impending calamity. One evening, a few\ndays before he resolved to cast in his lot with the Stuarts, whilst he\nwas wandering amid the solitudes of the hills, a figure stood before\nhim in robe and hood of grey.\n\nThis personage is said to have sadly reproached the Earl for not\nhaving already joined the rising, and to have presented him with a\ncrucifix which was to render him secure against bullet or sword\nthrust. After communicating this message the figure vanished, leaving\nthe Earl in a state of bewilderment. The mysterious apparition is\nreported to have spoken with the voice of a woman, and as it is known\nthat \"in the more critical conjunctures of the history of the Stuarts\nevery device was practised by secret agents to gain the support of a\nwavering follower,\" it is not difficult to guess at a probable\nexplanation of the ghost of the Dilston Groves. It may be added that\nat Dilston, Lady Derwentwater was long said to revisit the pale\nglimpses of the moon to expiate the restless ambition which impelled\nher to drive Lord Derwentwater to the scaffold.\n\nBut how diverse have been the causes of many of these romantic blood\nstains may be gathered from another legendary tale connected with\nPlaish Hall, near Cardington, Shropshire. The report goes that a party\nof clergymen met together one night at Plaish Hall to play cards. In\norder that the real object of their gathering might not be known to\nany but themselves, the doors were locked. Before very long, however,\nthey flew open without any apparent cause. Again they were locked, but\npresently they burst open a second time, and even a third. Astonished\nat what seemed to baffle explanation, and whilst mutually wondering\nwhat it could mean, a panic was suddenly created when, in their midst,\nthere appeared a mysterious figure resembling the Evil One. In a\nmoment the invited guests all rose and fled, leaving the unfortunate\nhost by himself \"face to face with the enemy.\"\n\nWhat happened after their departure was never divulged, for no one\n\"ever saw that wretched man again, either alive or dead.\" That he had\ndied some violent death was generally surmised, for a great stain of\nblood shaped like a human form was found on the floor of the room, and\ndespite all efforts the mark could never be washed out. Ever since\nthis inexplicable occurrence, the house has been haunted, and at\nmidnight a ghostly troop of horses are occasionally heard, creating so\nmuch noise as to awaken even heavy sleepers.\n\nAnd Aubrey in his \"Miscellanies\" tells how when the bust of Charles\nI., carved by Bernini, \"was brought in a boat upon the Thames, a\nstrange bird--the like whereof the bargemen had never seen--dropped a\ndrop of blood, or blood-like, upon it, which left a stain not to be\nwiped off.\" The strange story of this ill-fated bust is more minutely\ntold by Dr. Zacharay Grey in a pamphlet on the character of Charles\nI.: \"Vandyke having drawn the king in three different faces--a\nprofile, three-quarters, and a full face--the picture was sent to Rome\nfor Bernini to make a bust from it. Bernini was unaccountably dilatory\nin the work, and upon this being complained of, he said that he had\nset about it several times, but there was something so unfortunate in\nthe features of the face that he was shocked every time that he\nexamined it, and forced to leave off the work, and, if there was any\nstress to be laid on physiognomy, he was sure the person whom the\npicture represented was destined to a violent end.\"\n\nThe bust was at last finished and sent to England. As soon as the ship\nthat brought it arrived in the river, the king, who was very impatient\nto see the bust, ordered it to be carried immediately to Chelsea. It\nwas conveyed thither, and placed upon a table in the garden, whither\nthe king went with a train of nobility to inspect the bust. As they\nwere viewing it, a hawk flew over their heads with a partridge in his\nclaws, which he had wounded to death. Some of the partridge's blood\nfell upon the neck of the bust, where it remained without being wiped\noff. This bust was placed over the door of the king's closet at\nWhitehall and continued there till the palace was destroyed by fire.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] D'Israeli's \"Curiosities of Literature.\"\n\n[26] See Harland and Wilkinson's \"Lancashire Folklore,\" 135-136.\n\n[27] \"Book of Days,\" I., 235.\n\n[28] This tradition is the basis of the drama called \"The Yorkshire\nTragedy,\" and was adopted by Ainsworth in his \"Romance of Rookwood.\"\n\n[29] 2nd Ser., p. 21.\n\n[30] A curious legend is related by Roger de Hoveden, which shows the\nantiquity of the Wakefield mills. \"In the year 1201, Eustace, Abbot of\nFlaye, came over into England, preaching the duty of extending the\nSabbath from three o'clock p.m. on Saturday to sunrising on Monday\nmorning, pleading the authority of an epistle written by Christ\nhimself, and found on the altar of St. Simon at Golgotha. The people of\nYorkshire treated the fanatic with contempt, and the miller of\nWakefield persisted in grinding his corn after the hour of cessation,\nfor which disobedience his corn was turned into blood, while the\nmill-wheel stood immovable against all the water of the Calder.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nCURIOUS SECRETS.\n\n    \"And now I will unclasp a secret book,\n    And to your quick-conceiving discontent\n    I'll read your matter deep and dangerous.\"\n               1. HENRY IV., Act 1., sc. 3.\n\n\n\"The Depository of the Secrets of all the World\" was the inscription\nover one of the brazen portals of Fakreddin's valley, reminding us of\nwhat Ossian said to Oscar, when he resigned to him the command of the\nmorrow's battle, \"Be thine the secret hill to-night,\" referring to the\nGaelic custom of the commander of an army retiring to a secret hill\nthe night before a battle to hold communion with the ghosts of\ndeparted heroes. But, as it has been often remarked of secrets--both\npolitical and social--they are only too frequently made to be\nrevealed, a truth illustrative of Ben Jonson's words in \"The Case is\nUnaltered \"--\n\n                      A secret in his mouth\n    Is like a wild bird put into a cage,\n    Whose door no sooner opens but 'tis out.\n\nIn family history, some of the strangest secrets have related to\nconcealment of birth, many a fraud having been devised to alter or\nperpetuate the line of issue. Early in the present century, a romantic\nstory which was the subject of conversation in the circles both of\nLondon and Paris, related to Lady Newborough, who had always\nconsidered herself the daughter of Lorenzo Chiappini, formerly gaoler\nof Modigliana, and subsequently constable at Florence, and of his wife\nVincenzia Diligenti. Possessed in her girlhood of fascinating\nappearance and charming manners, she came out as a ballet dancer at\nthe principal opera at Florence, and one night she so impressed Lord\nNewborough that, by means of a golden bribe, he had her transferred\nfrom the stage to his residence. His conduct towards her was tender\nand affectionate, and, in spite of the disparity of years, he\nafterwards married her, introducing her to the London world as Lady\nNewborough.\n\nSome time after her marriage, according to a memoir stated to be\nwritten by the fair claimant of the House of Orleans, and printed in\nParis before the Revolution of 1830 but immediately suppressed, when\nstaying at Sienna she received a posthumous letter from her supposed\nfather, which, from its extraordinary disclosures, threw her into\ncomplete bewilderment.[31] It ran as follows:\n\n  MY LADY,--I have at length reached the term of my days without\n  having revealed to anyone a secret which directly concerns me and\n  yourself. The secret is this:\n\n  On the day when you were born, of a person whom I cannot name and\n  who now is in the other world, a male child of mine was also\n  born. I was requested to make an exchange; and, considering the\n  state of my finances in those days, I accepted to the\n  often-repeated and advantageous proposals, and at that time I\n  adopted you as my daughter in the same manner as my son was\n  adopted by the other party.\n\n  I observe that heaven has repaired my faults by placing you in\n  better circumstances than your father, although his rank was\n  somewhat similar. This enables me to end my days with some\n  comfort.\n\n  Let this serve to extenuate my culpability towards you. I entreat\n  your pardon for my fault. I desire you, if you please, to keep\n  this transaction secret, in order that the world shall not have\n  any opportunity to speak of an affair which is now without\n  remedy.\n\n   This, my letter, you will not receive until after my death.\n\n          LORENZO CHIAPPINI.\n\nAfter receiving this letter, Lady Newborough sent for Ringrezzi, the\nconfessor of the late gaoler, and Fabroni, a confessor of the late\nCountess Borghi, and was told by the former that, in his opinion, she\nwas the daughter of the Grand Duke Leopold; but the latter disagreed,\nsaying, \"Myladi is the daughter of a French lord called Count\nJoinville, who had considerable property in Champagne; and I entertain\nno doubt that if your ladyship were to go to that province you would\nthere find valuable documents, which I have been told were there left\nin the hands of a respectable ecclesiastic.\"\n\nIt is further stated that two old sisters of the name of Bandini, who\nhad been born and educated in the house of the Borghis, and been\nduring all their life in the service of that family, informed Lady\nNewborough, and afterwards in the Ecclesiastical Court of Faenza, that\nin the year 1773 they followed their master and mistress to\nModigliana, where the latter usually had their summer residence in a\nchateau belonging to them; that, arriving there, they found a French\ncount, Louis Joinville, and his countess, established in the Pretorial\nPalace. They further affirmed that between the Borghis and this family\na very intimate intercourse was soon established and that they daily\ninterchanged visits.\n\nFurthermore, the foreign lord, it is said, was extremely familiar with\npersons of the lowest rank, and particularly with the gaoler,\nChiappini, who lived under the same roof. The wives of both were\npregnant; and it appeared that they expected their delivery much about\nthe same time. But the Count was tormented with a grievous anxiety;\nhis wife had as yet had no male offspring, and he much feared that\nthey would never be blessed with any. Having communicated his project\nto the Borghis, he at length made an overture to the gaoler, telling\nhim he apprehended the loss of a very great inheritance, which\nabsolutely depended on the birth of a son, and that he was disposed,\nin case the Countess gave birth to a daughter, to exchange her for a\nboy, and that for this exchange he would liberally recompense the\nfather. The man, highly pleased at finding his fortune thus\nunexpectedly made, immediately accepted the offer, and the bargain\nwas concluded.\n\nImmediately after the accouchment of the ladies, one of the Bandinis\nwent to the Pretorial Palace to see the new-born babies, when some\nwomen in the house told her that the exchange had already taken place;\nand Chappiani himself being present, confirmed their statement. But as\nthere were several persons in the secret--however solemnly secrecy had\nbeen promised--public rumour soon accused the barterers. The Count\nLouis, fearing the people's indignation, concealed himself in the\nConvent of St. Bernard, at Brisighella.\n\nThe lady, it is added, departed with her suppositious son; her own\ndaughter being baptized and called Maria Stella Petronilla, and\ndesignated as the daughter of Lorenzo Chappiani and Vincenzia\nDiligenti.\n\nHaving learnt so much, Lady Newborough being in Paris in the year\n1823, had recourse to a stratagem by which she expected to gain\nadditional information. Accordingly she inserted in the newspapers,\n\"that she had been desired by the Countess Pompeo Borghi to discover\nin France a Count Louis Joinville, who in the year 1773 was with his\nCountess at Modigliana, where the latter gave birth to a son on the\n16th April, and that if either of these persons were still alive, or\nthe child born at Modigliana, she was empowered to communicate to them\nsomething of the highest importance.\n\nSubsequently to this advertisement, she was waited upon by a Colonel\nJoinville, but he derived his title only from Louis XVIII. But before\nthe Colonel was out of the door, she had a call from the Abbe de\nSaint-Fare, whom she gave to understand that she was anxious to\ndiscover the identity of a birth connected with the sojourn with the\nlate Comte de Joinville. In the course of conversation, this Abbe is\nstated to have made most injudicious admissions, from which Lady\nNewborough gathered that he was the confidential agent of the Duke of\nOrleans, being currently said to be his illegitimate brother.\n\nLady Newborough was now convinced in her own mind that she was the\neldest child of the late Duke of Orleans, and hence was the first\nprincess of the blood of France, and the rightful heiress of immense\nwealth. But this discovery brought her no happiness, and subjected to\nher to much discomfort and misery. Her story--whether true or\nfalse--will in all probability remain a mystery to the end of time,\nbeing one of those political puzzles which must remain an open\nquestion.\n\nSecret intrigue, however, at one time or another, has devised the most\nsubtle plans for supplanting the rightful owner out of his\nbirthright--a second wife through jealously entering into some\nshameful compact to defraud her husband's child by his former wife of\nhis property in favour of her own. Such a secret conspiracy is\nconnected with Draycot, and, although it has been said to be one of\nthe most mysterious in the whole range of English legends, yet,\nsingular as the story may be, writes Sir Bernard Burke, \"no small\nportion of it is upon record as a thing not to be questioned; and it\nis not necessary to believe in supernatural agency to give all parties\ncredit for having faithfully narrated their impressions.\" The main\nfacts of this strange story are briefly told: Walter Long of Draycot\nhad two wives, the second being Catherine, daughter of Sir John\nThynne, of Longleat. On their arrival at Draycot after the honeymoon,\nthere were great rejoicings into which all entered save the heir of\nthe houses of Draycot and Wraxhall, who was silent and sad. Once\narrived in her new home, the mistress of Draycot lost no time in\nstudying the character of her step-son, for she had an object in view\nwhich made it necessary that she should completely understand his\ncharacter. Her design was, in short, that the young master of Draycot,\n\"the heir of all his father's property--the obstruction in the way of\nwhatever children there might be by the second marriage--must be\nruined, or at any rate so disgraced as to provoke his father to\ndisinherit him.\" Taking into her confidence her brother, Sir Egremont\nThynne, of Longleat, with his help she soon discovered that the\nyouthful heir of Draycot was fond of wine and dice, and that he had on\nmore than one occasion met with his father's displeasure for\nindulgence in such acts of dissipation. Having learnt, too, that the\nyoung man was kept on short supplies by his parsimonious father, and\nhad often complained that he was not allowed sufficient pocket-money\nfor the bare expenses of his daily life; the crafty step-mother seized\nthis opportunity for carrying out her treacherous and dishonourable\nconduct. Commiserating with the inexperienced youth in his want of\nmoney, and making him feel more than ever dissatisfied at his father's\nmeanness to him, she quickly enlisted him on her side, especially when\nshe gave him liberal supplies of money, and recommended him to enjoy\nhis life whilst it was in his power to do so.\n\nWith a full rather than an empty purse, the young squire was soon seen\nwith a cheerful party over the wine bottle, and, at another time, with\na gambling group gathered round the dice box. But this kind of thing\nsuited admirably his step-mother, for she took good care that such\nexcesses were brought under the notice of the lad's father, and\nmagnified into heinous crimes. From time to time this unprincipled\nwoman kept supplying the unsuspecting youth with money, and did all in\nher power to encourage him in his tastes for reckless living. Fresh\nstories of his son's dissipated conduct were continually being told to\nthe master of Draycot, until at last, \"influenced by the wiles of his\ncharming wife, on the other by deeper wiles of his brother-in-law, he\nagreed to make out a will disinheriting his son by his first wife, and\nsettling all his possessions on his second wife and her relations.\"\n\nHitherto, the secret entered into by brother and sister had been a\nperfect success, for not only was the son completely alienated from\nhis father, but the latter deemed it a sin to make any provision for\none who was given to drink and gambling. A draft will was drawn up by\nSir Egremont Thynne, and when approved of was ordered to be copied by\na clerk. But here comes the remarkable part of the tale. The work of\nengrossing demands a clear, bright light, and the slightest shadow\nintervening between the light and the parchment would be sure to\ninterrupt operations. Such an interruption the clerk was suddenly?\nsubjected to, when, \"on looking up he beheld a white hand--a lady's\ndelicate white hand--so placed between the light and the deed as to\nobscure the spot on which he was engaged. The unaccountable hand,\nhowever, was gone almost as soon as noticed.\" The clerk concluding\nthat this was some optical delusion, proceeded with his work, and had\ncome to the clause wherein the Master of Draycot disinherited his son,\nwhen again the same ghostly hand was thrust between the light and the\nparchment.\n\nTerrified at this unearthly intervention, the clerk awoke Sir Egremont\nfrom his midnight slumbers, and told him what had occurred, adding\nthat the spectre hand was no other than that of the first wife of the\nmaster of Draycot, who resented the cruel wrong done to her son. In\ndue time the deed was engrossed by another clerk, and duly signed and\nsealed.\n\nBut the \"white hand\" had not appeared in vain, for the clerk's curious\nadventure afterwards became the topic of general conversation, and the\ninjustice done to the disinherited heir of Draycot excited so much\nsympathetic indignation that \"the trustees of the late Lady Long\narrested the old knight's corpse at the church door, her nearest\nrelations commenced a suit against the intended heir, and the result\nwas a compromise between the parties, John Long taking possession of\nWroxhall, while his other half-brother was allowed to retain Draycot,\"\na settlement that, it is said, explains the division of the two\nestates, which we find at the present day. The secret between the\nbrother and sister was well kept, and whatever explanation may be\ngiven to the \"white hand,\" the story is as singular as any in the\nannals of domestic history.\n\nIt was the betrayal of a secret, on the other hand, on the part of a\nwoman that is traditionally said to have caused the sudden and tragic\ndeath of Richard, second Earl of Scarborough. This nobleman, it seems,\nwas in the confidence of the King, and had been entrusted by him with\nthe keeping of a most important secret. But, like most favourites, the\nEarl was surrounded by enemies who were ever on the alert to compass\nhis ruin, and, amidst other devices, they laid their plans to prevail\non the unsuspecting Earl to betray the confidence which the King had\nimplicitly reposed on him. Finding it, however, impossible by this\nmeans to make him guilty of a breach of trust towards the King, they\nhad recourse to another scheme which proved successful, and thereby\nirrevocably compromised him in the King's eyes.\n\nHaving discovered that the Earl was in love with a certain lady and\nwas in the habit of frequently visiting her, some of his enemies\ndiscovered where she lived, and, calling on her, promised an exceeding\nrich reward if she could draw the royal secret from her lover, and\ncommunicate it to them. Easily bought over by the offer of so rich a\nbribe, the treacherous woman, like Delilah of old, soon prevailed upon\nthe Earl to give her the desired information, and the secret was\nrevealed. As soon as the Earl's enemies were apprised of the same,\nthey lost no time in hurrying to the king, and submitting to him the\nproofs of his protege's imprudence. They gained their end, for the\nnext time the Earl came into the royal presence, the King said to him\nin a sad but firm voice, \"Lumley, you have lost a friend, and I a good\nservant.\" This was a bitter shock to the Earl, for he learnt now for\nthe first time that she in whom he had reposed his love and faith had\nbeen his worst enemy, and that, as far as his relations to the King\nwere concerned, he was disgraced as a man of honour in his estimation.\nWith his proud and haughty spirit, unable to bear the misery and\nchagrin of his fall and ruin, he had recourse to the suicide's escape\nfrom trouble--he shot himself.\n\nBut another secret, no less tragic and of a far more sensational\nnature, related to a certain Mr. Macfarlane. One Sunday, in the autumn\nof the year 1719, Sir John Swinton, of Swinton, in Berwickshire, left\nhis little daughter Margaret, who had been indisposed through a\nchildish ailment, at home when he went with the rest of his family to\nchurch, taking care to lock the outer door. After the lapse of an hour\nor so, the child had become dull through being alone, and she made her\nway into the parlour below stairs, where, on her arrival, she hastily\nbolted the door to keep out any ghost or bogie, stories relating to\nwhich had oftentimes excited her fears. But great was her terror when,\non looking round, she was confronted by a tall lady, gracefully\nattired, and possessed of remarkable handsome features. The poor child\nstood motionless with terror, afraid to go forwards or backwards. Her\nthrobbing heart, however, quickly recovered from its fright, as the\nmysterious lady, with a kind eye and sweet smile, addressed her by\nname, and taking her hand, spoke:\n\n\"Margaret, you may tell your mother what you have seen, but, for your\nlife, to no one else. If you do, much evil may come of it, some of\nwhich will fall on yourself. You are young, but you must promise to\nbe silent as the grave itself in this matter.\"\n\nFull of childish wonderment, Margaret, half in shyness and half in\nfear at being an agent in so strange a secret, turned her head towards\nthe window, but on turning round found the lady had disappeared,\nalthough the door remained bolted. Her curiosity was now more than\nbefore aroused, and she concluded that after all this lady must be one\nof those fairies she had often read of in books; and it was whilst\npondering on what she had seen that the family returned from church.\n\nSurprised at finding Margaret bolted in this parlour, Sir John learnt\nthat \"she had been frightened, she knew not why, at the solitude of\nher own room, and had bolted herself in the parlour.\" Although she was\nsoon laughed out of her childish fears, Lady Swinton was quick enough\nto perceive that Margaret had not communicated everything, and\ninsisted upon knowing the whole truth. The child made no objection, as\nshe had not been told to keep the secret from her mother. After\ndescribing all that happened, Lady Swinton kissed her daughter\ntenderly and said, \"Since you have kept the secret so well, you shall\nknow something more of this strange lady.\"\n\nThereupon Lady Swinton pushed aside one of the oaken panels in the\nparlour, which revealed a small room beyond, where sat the mysterious\nlady. \"And now, Margaret dear,\" said her mother, \"listen to me. This\nlady is persecuted by cruel men, who, if they find her, will certainly\ntake her life. She is my guest, she is now yours, and I am sure I need\nnot tell you the meanest peasant in all Scotland would shame to betray\nhis guest.\"\n\nMargaret promised to keep the secret, never evincing the slightest\ncuriosity to know who the lady was, and it is said she had reached her\ntwentieth year when one day the adventure of her childhood was\nexplained. It seems that the lady in question was a Mrs. Macfarlane,\ndaughter of Colonel Charles Straiton, a zealous Jacobite. When about\nnineteen years old she married John Macfarlane--law agent of Simon\nFraser, Lord Lovat--who was many years her senior. Soon after her\nmarriage Mrs. Macfarlane made the acquaintance of Captain John Cayley,\na commissioner of Customs, and on September 29th, 1716, he called on\nher at Edinburgh, when, for reasons only known to herself or him, she\nfired two shots at him with a pistol, one of which pierced his heart.\n\nAccording to Sir Bernard Burke, it was when she would not yield to\nCaptain Cayley's immoral overtures that the latter vowed to blacken\nher character, a threat which he so successfully carried out \"that not\none of her female acquaintances upon whom she called would admit her;\nnot one of all she met in the street would acknowledge her.\" Desperate\nat this villainy on his part, Mrs. Macfarlane, under pretence of\nagreeing to Captain Cayley's overtures, sent for him, when fully\nconfident that he was about to reap the fruit of his infamous daring\nhe obeyed her summons. But no sooner had he entered the room than she\nlocked the door, and, snatching up a brace of pistols, she exclaimed:\n\"Wretch, you have blasted the reputation of a woman who never did you\nthe slightest wrong. You have fixed an indelible stain upon the child\nat her bosom; and all this because, coward as you are, you thought\nthere was no one to take her part.\" At the same time, it is said, she\nfired two shots at him with a pistol, one of which pierced his heart.\nHer husband asserted, however, that she fired to save herself from\noutrage, an explanation which she affirmed was \"only too true.\" Her\nhusband also declared that his wife was desirous of sending for a\nmagistrate and of telling him the whole story, but that he advised her\nagainst it. But not appearing to stand her trial in the ensuing\nFebruary, she was outlawed, and obtained refuge in the mansion house\nof the Swinton family in the concealed apartment already\ndescribed.[32] According to Sir Walter Scott, she \"returned and lived\nand died in Edinbugh\"; but her life must have been comparatively\nshort, as her husband married again on October 6th, 1719.\n\nAkin to this dramatic episode may be mentioned one concerning Robert\nPerceval, the second son of the Right Hon. Sir John Perceval, when\nreading for the law in his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. The clock had\njust struck the hour of midnight, when, on looking up from his book,\nhe was astonished to see a figure standing between himself and the\ndoor, completely muffled up in a long cloak so as to defy recognition.\n\n\"Who are you?\" But the figure made no answer.\n\n\"What do you want?\" No reply.\n\nThe figure stood motionless. Thinking it made a low hollow laugh, the\nyoung student struck at the intruder with his sword, but the weapon\nmet with no resistance, and not a single drop of blood stained it.\n\nThis was amazing, and still no answer. Determined to solve the mystery\nof this strange being, he cast aside its cloak, when lo! \"he saw his\nown apparition, bloody and ghostly, whereat he was so astonished that\nhe immediately swooned away, but, recovering, he saw the spectre\ndepart.\"\n\nAt first this occurrence left the most unpleasant impressions on his\nmind, but as days passed by without anything happening, the warning,\nor whatever it was, faded gradually from his memory, and he lived as\nbefore, drinking and quarrelling, managing to embroil himself at play\nwith the celebrated Beau Fielding. The day at last came, however,\nwhen his equanimity was disturbed, for, as he was walking from his\nchambers in Lincoln's Inn to a favourite tavern in the Strand, he\nimagined that he was followed by an ungainly looking man. He tried to\navoid him, but the man followed on, and after a time, fully convinced\nthat he was dogged by this man, he demanded \"Who he was, and why he\nfollowed him?\"\n\n[Illustration: THE FIGURE STOOD MOTIONLESS.]\n\nBut the man replied, \"I am not following you; I'm following my own\nbusiness.\"\n\nBy no means satisfied, young Perceval crossed over to the opposite\nside of the street, but the man followed him step by step, and before\nmany minutes had elapsed he was joined by another man as\nungainly-looking as himself. Perceval, no longer doubting that he was\nfollowed, called upon the two men to retire at their peril, and\nalthough he succeeded in making them take to their heels after a sharp\nsword skirmish, he was himself wounded in the leg, and made his way to\nthe nearest tavern. This unpleasant encounter, reviving the memory of\nthe ghastly figure he had seen in his chambers, made him feel that he\nwas a doomed man, and he was not far wrong, for that night near the\nso-called May-pole in the Strand he was found dead--but how he died\nwas a secret never divulged.\n\nAnother equally strange incident connected with this mysterious crime\nhappened to a Mrs. Brown, \"perhaps from her holding some situation in\nthe family of his uncle, Sir Robert.\" On this fatal night, writes Sir\nBernard Burke, she dreamt that one Mrs. Shearman--the housekeeper--came\nto her and asked for a sheet.\n\nShe demanded, \"for what purpose,\" to which Mrs. Shearman replied,\n\"Poor Master Robert is killed, and it is to wind him in.\"\n\nCurious to say, in the morning Mrs. Shearman came at an early hour\ninto her room, and asked for a sheet. For what purpose? inquired Mrs\nBrown.\n\n\"Poor Mr. Robert is murdered,\" was the reply; \"he lies dead in the\nStrand watch-house, and it is to wind his body in.\"\n\nIn the year 1848, the Warwick magistrates investigated a most\nextraordinary and preposterous charge of murder against Lord Leigh,\nhis deceased mother, and persons employed by them, in the course of\nwhich inquiry one of the accusers professed to have been in possession\nof a secret connected with the matter for a number of years. The\naccusation seems to have originated from the attempt of certain\nparties to seize Stoneleigh Abbey on pretence that it rightfully\nbelonged to them, and not to Lord Leigh. In November, 1844, a mob took\npossession of the place for one George Leigh; several of the\nringleaders were tried for the offence, and not fewer than\ntwenty-eight were convicted. The account of this curious conspiracy,\nas given in the \"Annual Register,\" goes on to say that Richard Barnett\nmade the charge of murder: in 1814 he was employed under Lady Julia\nLeigh and her son at the Abbey, where a number of workmen were engaged\nin making alterations; four of these men were murdered by large stones\nhaving been allowed to fall on them, and their bodies were placed\nwithin an abutment of a bridge, and then inclosed with masonry.\nAnother man was shot by Hay, a keeper. In cross-examination, the\nwitness said he \"had kept silence on these atrocities for thirty\nyears, because he feared Lord Leigh, and because he did not expect to\nobtain anything by speaking. He first divulged the secret to those who\nwere trying to seize the estate; as this information he thought would\nhelp them to get it, for the murders were committed to keep out the\nproper owners.\"\n\nIn the course of the inquiry, John Wilcox was required to repeat\nevidence which he had given before a Master of Chancery; but, instead\nof doing so, the man confessed that he was not sober when he made the\ndeclaration. He further declared how some servants of the Leigh family\nhad burned pictures, and had been paid to keep \"the secrets of the\nhouse.\" The whole story, however, was a deliberate and wilful\nfabrication, the facts were contradicted and circumstantially refuted,\nand of course so worthless a charge was dismissed by the Bench.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[31] See \"Annual Register\" (1832), 152-5.\n\n[32] This incident suggested to Sir Walter Scott his description of the\nconcealment and discovery of the Countess of Derby in \"Peveril of the\nPeak.\" See \"Dictionary of National Biography,\" xxxv., 74.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE DEAD HAND.\n\n    Open, lock,\n    To the dead man's knock!\n    Fly, bolt, and bar, and band;\n      Nor move, nor swerve,\n      Joint, muscle, or nerve,\n    At the spell of the dead man's hand.\n               INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.\n\n\nOne of the most curious and widespread instances of deception and\ncredulity is the magic potency which has long been supposed to reside\nin the so-called \"Hand of Glory\"--the withered hand of a dead man.\nNumerous stories are told of its marvellous properties as a charm, and\non the Continent many a wonderful cure is said to have been wrought by\nits agency. Southey, it may be remembered, in his \"Thalaba, the\nDestroyer,\" has placed it in the hands of the enchanter, King Mohareb,\nwhen he would lull to sleep Zohak, the giant keeper of the Caves of\nBabylon. And the history of this wonder-working talisman, as used by\nMohareb, is thus graphically told:\n\n                            Thus he said,\n    And from his wallet drew a human hand,\n    Shrivelled and dry and black.\n    And fitting, as he spake,\n    A taper in his hold,\n    Pursued: \"A murderer on the stake had died.\n    I drove the vulture from his limbs and lopt\n    The hand that did the murder, and drew up\n    The tendon strings to close its grasp,\n    And in the sun and wind\n    Parched it, nine weeks exposed.\"\n\nFrom the many accounts given of this \"Dead Hand,\" we gather that it\nhas generally been considered necessary that the hand should be taken\nfrom a man who has been put to death for some crime. Then, when dried\nand prepared with certain weird unguents, it is ready for use. Sir\nWalter Scott, in the \"Antiquary\" has introduced this object of\nsuperstition, making the German adventurer, Dousterswivel, describe it\nto the assembled party among the ruins at St. Ruth's thus jocosely:\n\"De Hand of Glory is very well known in de countries where your worthy\nprogenitors did live; and it is a hand cut off from a dead man as he\nhas been hanged for murder, and dried very nice in de smoke of juniper\nwood; then you do take something of de fatsh of de bear, and of de\nbadger, and of de great eber (as you do call ye grand boar), and of de\nlittle sucking child as has not been christened (for dat is very\nessential), and you do make a candle, and put into de Hand of Glory at\nde proper hour and minute, with the proper ceremonials; and he who\nseeketh for treasures shall never find none at all.\"\n\nPossessed of these mystic qualities, such a hand could not fail to\nfind favour with those engaged in any kind of evil and enterprise;\nand, on account of its lulling to sleep all persons within the circle\nof its influence, was of course held invaluable by thieves and\nburglars. Thus the case is recorded of some thieves, who, a few years\nago, attempted to commit a robbery on a certain estate in the county\nMeath. To quote a contemporary account of the affair, it appears that\n\"they entered the house armed with a dead man's hand, with a lighted\ncandle in it, believing in the superstitious notion that a candle\nplaced in a dead man's hand will not be seen by any but by those by\nwhom it is used, and also that if a candle in a dead hand be\nintroduced into a house, it will prevent those who may be asleep from\nawaking. The inmates, however, were alarmed, and the robbers fled,\nleaving the hand behind them.\" Another story communicated by the Rev.\nS. Baring-Gould, tells how two thieves, having come to lodge in a\npublic-house, with a view to robbing it, asked permission to pass the\nnight by the fire, and obtained it. But when the house was quiet the\nservant girl, suspecting mischief, crept downstairs, and looked\nthrough the keyhole. She saw the men open a sack, and take out a dry\nwithered hand. They anointed the fingers with some unguents, and\nlighted them. Each finger flamed, but the thumb they could not\nlight--that was because one of the household was not asleep.\n\nThe girl hastened to her master, but found it impossible to arouse\nhim--she tried every other sleeper, but could not break the charmed\nsleep. At last stealing down into the kitchen, while the thieves were\nbusy over her master's strong-box, she secured the hand, blew out the\nflames, and at once the whole house was aroused.\n\nAmong other qualities which have been supposed to belong to a dead\nman's hand, are its medicinal virtues, in connection with which may be\nmentioned the famous \"dead hand,\" which was, in years past, kept at\nBryn Hall, Lancashire. There are several stories relating to this\ngruesome relic, one being that it was the hand of Father Arrowsmith, a\npriest, who, according to some accounts, is said to have been put to\ndeath for his religion in the time of William III. It is recorded that\nwhen about to suffer he desired his spiritual attendant to cut off his\nright hand, which should ever after have power to work miraculous\ncures on those who had faith to believe in its efficacy. This relic,\nwhich forms the subject of one of Roby's \"Traditions of Lancashire,\"\nwas preserved with great care in a white silk bag, and was resorted to\nby many diseased persons, who are reported to have derived wonderful\ncures from its application. Thus the case is related of a woman who,\nattacked with the smallpox, had this dead hand in bed with her every\nnight for six weeks, and of a poor lad living near Manchester who was\ntouched with it for the cure of scrofulous sores.\n\nIt has been denied, however, that Father Arrowsmith was hanged for\n\"witnessing a good confession,\" and Mr. Roby, in his \"Traditions of\nLancashire,\" says that, having been found guilty of a rape, in all\nprobability this story of his martyrdom, and of the miraculous\nattestation to the truth of the cause for which he suffered, were\ncontrived for the purpose of preventing the scandal that would have\ncome upon the Church through the delinquency of an unworthy member. It\nis further said that one of the family of the Kenyons attended as\nunder-sheriff at the execution, and that he refused the culprit some\ntrifling favour at the gallows, whereupon Arrowsmith denounced a curse\nupon him, to wit, that, whilst the family could boast of an heir, so\nlong they never should want a cripple--a prediction which was supposed\nby the credulous to have been literally fulfilled. But this story is\ndiscredited, the real facts of the case, no doubt, being that he was\nhanged \"under sanction of an atrocious law, for no other reason but\nbecause he had taken orders as a Roman Catholic priest, and had\nendeavoured to prevail upon others to be of his own faith.\" According\nto another version of the story, Edmund Arrowsmith was a native of\nHaydock, in the parish of Winwick. He entered the Roman Catholic\nCollege of Douay, where he was educated, afterwards being ordained\npriest. But in the year 1628 he was apprehended and brought to\nLancaster on the charge of being a priest contrary to the laws of the\nrealm, and was executed on 26th August, 1628, his last words being\n\"Bone Jesu.\"[33] As recently as the year 1736, a boy of twelve years,\nthe son of Caryl Hawarden, of Appleton-within-Widnes, county of\nLancaster, is stated to have been cured of what appeared to be a fatal\nmalady by the application of Father Arrowsmith's hand, which was\neffected in the following manner: The boy had been ill fifteen months,\nand was at length deprived of the use of his limbs, with loss of his\nmemory and impaired sight. In this condition, which the physicians had\ndeclared hopeless, it was suggested to his parents that, as wonderful\ncures had been effected by the hand of \"the martyred saint,\" it was\nadvisable to try its effects upon their afflicted child. The \"holy\nhand\" was accordingly procured from Bryn, packed in a box and wrapped\nin linen. Mrs. Hawarden, having explained to the invalid boy her hopes\nand intentions, applied the back part of the dead hand to his back,\nstroking it down each side the backbone and making the sign of the\nCross, which she accompanied with a fervent prayer that Jesus Christ\nwould aid it with His blessing. Having twice repeated this operation,\nthe patient, who had before been utterly helpless, rose from his seat\nand walked about the house, to the surprise of seven persons who had\nwitnessed the miracle. From that day the boy's pains left him, his\nmemory was restored, and his health became re-established. This mystic\nhand, it seems, was removed from Bryn Hall to Garswood, a seat of the\nGerard family, and subsequently to the priest's house at\nAshton-in-Makerfield. But many ludicrous tales are current in the\nneighbourhood, of pilgrims having been rather roughly handled by some\nof the servants, such as getting a good beating with a wooden hand, so\nthat the patients rapidly retraced their steps without having had the\napplication of the \"holy hand.\"\n\nIt is curious to find that such a ghastly relic as a dead hand should\nhave been preserved in many a country house, and used as a talisman,\nto which we find an amusing and laughable reference in the \"Ingoldsby\nLegends\":\n\n                       Open, lock,\n    To the dead man's knock!\n    Fly bolt, and bar, and band;\n        Nor move, nor swerve,\n        Joint, muscle, or nerve,\n    At the spell of the dead man's hand.\n    Sleep, all who sleep! Wake, all who wake!\n    But be as dead for the dead man's sake.\n\nThe story goes on to tell how, influenced by the mysterious spell of\nthe enchanted hand, neither lock, bolt, nor bar avails, neither\n\"stout oak panel, thick studded with nails\"; but, heavy and harsh, the\nhinges creak, though they had been oiled in the course of the week,\nand\n\n    The door opens wide as wide may be,\n        And there they stand,\n        That wondrous band,\n        Lit by the light of the glorious hand,\n    By one! by two! by three!\n\nAt Danesfield, Berkshire--so-called from an ancient horseshoe\nentrenchment of great extent near the house, supposed to be of Danish\norigin--is preserved a withered hand, which has long had the\nreputation of being that presented by Henry I. to Reading Abbey, and\nreverenced there as the hand of James the Apostle. It answers exactly\nto \"the incorrupt hand\" described by Hoveden, and was found among the\nruins of the abbey, where it is thought to have been secreted at the\ndissolution.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[33] Baines's \"Lancashire,\" iii., 638; Harland and Wilkinson's\n\"Lancashire Folklore,\" 158-163.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nDEVIL COMPACTS.\n\n MEPHISTOPHELES.--I will bind myself to your service here,\n and never sleep nor slumber at your call. When we meet\n on the other side, you shall do as much for me.\n               GOETHE'S \"_Faust_.\"\n\n\nThe well-known story of Faust reminds us of the many similar weird\ntales which have long held a prominent place in family traditions. But\nin the majority of cases the devil is cheated out of his bargain by\nsome spell against which his influence is powerless. According to the\npopular notion, compacts are frequently made with the devil, by which\nhe is bound to complete, for instance, a building--as a house, a\nchurch, a bridge, or the like--within a certain period; but, through\nsome artifice, by which the soul of the person for whom he is doing\nthe work is saved, the completion of the undertaking is prevented:\nThus the cock is made to crow, because, like all spirits that shun the\nlight of the sun, the devil loses his power at break of day. The idea\nof bartering the soul for temporary gain has not been confined to any\ncountry, but as an article of terrible superstition has been\nwidespread. Mr Lecky has pointed out how, in the fourteenth century,\n\"the bas-reliefs on cathedrals frequently represent men kneeling down\nbefore the devil, and devoting themselves to him as his servants.\" In\nour own country, such compacts were generally made at midnight in some\nlonely churchyard, or amid the ruins of some castle. But fortunately\nfor mankind, by resorting to spells and counterspells the binding\neffects of these \"devil-bonds\" as they have been termed were, in most\ncases, rendered ineffectual, the devil thereby losing the advantage.\n\nIt is noteworthy that the wisdom of the serpent is frequently\noutwitted by a crafty woman, or a cunning priest. A well-known\nLancashire tradition gives a humorous account of how the devil was on\none occasion deluded by the shrewdness of a clever woman. Barely three\nmiles from Clitheroe, on the high road to Gisburne, stood a public\nhouse with this title, \"The Dule upo' Dun,\" which means \"The Devil\nupon Dun\" (horse). The story runs that a poor tailor sold himself to\nSatan for seven years on his granting him certain wishes, after which\nterm, according to the contract, signed, as is customary, with the\nvictim's own blood, his soul was to become \"the devil's own.\" When the\nfatal day arrived, on the advice of his wife, he consulted \"the holy\nfather of Salley\" in his extremity. At last the hour came when the\nEvil One claimed his victim, who tremblingly contended that the\ncontract was won from him by fraud and dishonest pretences, and had\nnot been fulfilled. He even ventured to hint at his lack of power to\nbestow riches, or any great gift, on which Satan was goaded into\ngranting him another wish. \"Then,\" said the trembling tailor, \"I wish\nthou wert riding back again to thy quarters on yonder dun horse, and\nnever able to plague me again, or any other poor wretch whom thou has\ngotten into thy clutches!\"\n\nThe words were no sooner uttered than the devil, with a roar which was\nheard as far as Colne, went away rivetted to the back of this dun\nhorse, the tailor watching his departure almost beside himself for\njoy. He lived for many years in health and affluence, and, at his\ndeath, one of his relatives having bought the house where he resided,\nturned it into an inn, having for his sign, \"The Dule upo' Dun.\" On it\nwas depicted \"Old Hornie\" mounted on a scraggy dun horse, without\nsaddle or bridle, \"the terrified steed being off and away at full\ngallop from the door, while a small hilarious tailor with shears and\nmeasures,\" viewed his departure with anything but grief or\ndisapprobation.[34] The authors of \"Lancashire Legends,\" describing\nthis old house, inform us that it was \"one of those ancient gabled\nblack and white edifices, now fast disappearing under the march of\nimprovement. Many windows of little lozenge-shaped panes set in lead,\nmight be seen here in all the various stages of renovation and decay.\nOver the door, till lately, swung the old and quaint sign, attesting\nthe truth of the tradition.\"\n\nOccasionally similar bargains have been rendered ineffectual by\ncunning device. In the north wall of the church of Tremeirchion, North\nWales, has long been shown the tomb of a former vicar, who was also\ncelebrated as a necromancer, flourishing in the middle of the\nfourteenth century. It is reported that he proved himself more clever\nthan the Wicked One himself. A bargain was made between them that the\nvicar should practise the black art with impunity during his life, but\nthat the devil should possess his body after death, whether he were\nburied within or without the church. But the worthy vicar dexterously\ncheated his ally of his bargain by being buried within the church wall\nitself. A similar tradition is told of other localities, and amongst\nthem of Barn Hall, in the parish of Tolleshunt Knights, on the border\nof the Essex marshes. In the middle of a field is shown an enclosed\nuncultivated spot, where, the legend says, it was originally intended\nto erect the hall, had not the devil come by night and destroyed the\nwork of the day. This kind of thing went on for some time, when it was\narranged that a knight, attended by two dogs, should watch for the\nauthor of this mischief. He had not long to wait, for, in the quiet of\nthe night, the Prince of Darkness made his appearance, bent on his\nmischievous errand. A tussle ensued, in the course of which,\nsnatching up a beam from the building, he hurled it to the site of the\npresent hall, exclaiming:\n\n    \"Wheresoe'er this beam shall fall,\n    There shall stand Barn Hall.\"\n\nBut the devil, very angry at being thus foiled by the knight, vowed\nthat he would have him at his death, whether he was buried in the\nchurch or out of it. \"But this doom was averted by burying him in the\nwall--half in and half out of the church. At Brent Pelham Church,\nHerts, too, there is the tomb of one Piers Shonkes, and there is a\ntale current in the neighbourhood that the devil swore he would have\nhim, no matter whether buried within or without the church. So, as a\nmeans of escape, he was built up in the wall of the sacred edifice.\"\n\nAnother extraordinary story has long been told of Hermitage Castle,\none of the most famous of the Border Keeps in the days of its\nsplendour. It is not surprising, therefore, that for many years past\nit has had the reputation of being haunted, having been described\nas:--\n\n                              \"Haunted Hermitage,\n    Where long by spells mysterious bound,\n        They pace their round with lifeless smile,\n        And shake with restless foot the guilty pile,\n    Till sink the smouldering towers beneath the burdened ground.\"\n\nIt is popularly said that Lord Soulis, \"the evil hero of Hermitage,\"\nin an unguarded moment made a compact with the devil, who appeared to\nhim in the shape of a spirit wearing a red cap, which gained its hue\nfrom the blood of human victims in which it was steeped. Lord Soulis\nsold himself to the demon, and in return he was permitted to summon\nhis familiar, whenever he was desirous of doing so, by rapping thrice\non an iron chest, the condition being that he never looked in the\ndirection of the spirit. But one day, whether wittingly or not has\nnever been ascertained, he failed to comply with this stipulation, and\nhis doom was sealed. But even then the foul fiend kept the letter of\nthe compact. Lord Soulis was protected by an unholy charm against any\ninjury from rope or steel; hence cords could not bind him, and steel\ncould not slay him. But when at last he was delivered over to his\nenemies, it was found necessary to adopt the ingenious and effective\nexpedient of rolling him up in a sheet of lead, and boiling him to\ndeath, and so:\n\n    On a circle of stones they placed the pot,\n      On a circle of stones but barely nine;\n    They heated it red and fiery hot\n      And the burnished brass did glimmer and shine.\n    They rolled him up in a sheet of lead--\n      A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;\n    They plunged him into the cauldron red\n      And melted him, body, lead, bones and all.\n\nThis was the terrible end of the body of Lord Soulis, but his spirit\nis supposed to still linger on the scene. And once every seven years\nhe keeps tryst with Red Cap on the scene of his former devilries.\n\n    And still when seven years are o'er\n     Is heard the jarring sound\n    When hollow opes the charmed door\n     Of chamber underground.\n\nA tradition well-known in Yorkshire relates how on the Eagle's Crag,\notherwise nicknamed the \"Witches' Horseblock,\" the Lady of Bernshaw\nTower made that strange compact with the devil, whereby she not only\nbecame mistress of the country around, but the dreaded queen of the\nLancashire witches. It seems that this Lady Sybil was possessed of\nalmost unrivalled beauty, and scarcely a day passed without some fresh\nadmirer seeking her hand--an additional attraction being her great\nwealth. Her intellectual attainments, too, were commonly said to be\nfar beyond those of her sex, and oftentimes she would visit the\nEagle's Crag in order to study nature and admire the varied aspects of\nthe surrounding country.\n\n[Illustration: LADY SYBIL AT THE EAGLES' CRAG.]\n\nIt was on these occasions that Lady Sybil often felt a strong desire\nto possess supernatural powers; and, in an unwary moment, it is said\nthat she was induced to sell her soul to the devil, in order that she\nmight be able to take a part in the nightly revelries of the then\nfamous Lancashire witches. It is added that the bond was duly attested\nwith her blood, and that in consequence of this compact her utmost\nwishes were at all times granted. Hapton Tower was, at this time,\noccupied by a junior branch of the Towneley family, and, although Lord\nWilliam had long been a suitor for the hand of Lady Sybil, his\nproposals were constantly rejected. In his despair, he determined to\nconsult a famous Lancashire witch--one Mother Helston--who promised\nhim success on the ensuing All Hallows' Eve. When the day arrived, in\naccordance with her directions, he went out hunting, and on nearing\nEagle's Crag he started a milk-white doe, but, after scouring the\ncountry for miles--the hounds being well-nigh exhausted--he returned\nto the Crag. At this crisis, a strange hound joined them--the familiar\nof Mother Helston, which had been sent to capture Lady Sibyl, who had\nassumed the disguise of the white doe. The remainder of the curious\nfamily legend, as told by Mr. Harland, is briefly this: During the\nnight, Hapton Tower was shaken as by an earthquake, and in the morning\nthe captured doe appeared as the fair heiress of Bernshaw. Counter\nspells were adopted, her powers of witchcraft were suspended, and\nbefore many days had passed Lord William had the happiness to lead his\nnewly-wedded bride to his ancestral home. But within a year she had\nrenewed her diabolical practices, causing a serious breach between her\nhusband and herself. Happily a reconciliation was eventually effected,\nbut her bodily strength gave way, and her health rapidly declined.\nWhen it became evident that the hour of her death was drawing near,\nLord William obtained the services of the neighbouring clergy, and by\ntheir holy offices the devil's bond was cancelled. Soon afterwards,\nLady Sybil died in peace, but Bernshaw Tower was from that time\ndeserted. Popular tradition, however, still alleges that her grave was\ndug where the dark Eagle's Crag shoots out its cold, bare peak into\nthe sky, and on the eve of All Hallows, the hound and the milk-white\ndoe are supposed by the peasantry to meet on the Crag, pursued by a\nspectre huntsman in full chase. It is further added that the belated\npeasant crosses himself at the sound, remembering the sad fate of Lady\nSybil of Bernshaw Tower.\n\nIt is curious to find no less a person than Sir Francis Drake charged\nwith having been befriended by the devil; and the many marvellous\nstories current respecting him still linger among the Devonshire\npeasantry. By the aid of the devil, it is said, he was enabled to\ndestroy the Spanish Armada. And his connection with the old Abbey of\nBuckland is equally singular. An extensive building attached to the\nabbey, for instance, which was no doubt used as barns and stables\nafter the place had been deprived of its religious character, was\nreported to have been built by the devil in three nights. \"After the\nfirst night,\" writes Mr. Hunt,[35] \"the butler, astonished at the work\ndone, resolved to watch and see how it was performed. Consequently,\non the second night, he mounted into a large tree and hid himself\nbetween the forks of its five branches. At midnight, so the story\ngoes, the devil came, driving teams of oxen, and, as some of them were\nlazy, he plucked this tree from the ground and used it as a goad. The\npoor butler lost his senses and never recovered them.\" Although, as it\nhas been truly remarked, \"on the waters that wash the shores of the\ncounty of Devon were achieved many of those triumphs which make Sir\nFrancis Drake's life read more like a romance than a sober chronicle\nof facts;\" the extraordinary traditions told respecting him have\nlargely invested his life with the supernatural. But, whatever may\nhave been the nature of his dealings with the devil, we are told that\nhe has had to pay dearly for any earthly advantages he may have\nderived therefrom in his lifetime, \"being forced to drive at night a\nblack hearse, drawn by headless horses, and urged on by running devils\nand yelping headless dogs, along the road from Tavistock to Plymouth.\"\n\nAmong the many tales related, in which the demoniacal element holds a\nprominent place, there is one relating to the projected marriage of\nhis wife. It seems that Sir Francis was abroad, and his wife, not\nhearing from him for seven years, concluded he must be dead, and hence\nwas at liberty to enter for a second time the holy estate of\nmatrimony. Her choice was made and the nuptial day fixed; but Sir\nFrancis Drake was informed of all this by a spirit that attended him.\nAnd just as the wedding was about to be solemnised, he hastily charged\none of his big guns and discharged a ball. So true was the aim that\n\"the ball shot up right through the globe, dashed through the roof of\nthe church, and fell with a loud explosion between the lady and her\nintended bridegroom.\" The spectators and assembled guests were thrown\ninto the wildest confusion; but the bride declared it was an\nindication that Sir Francis Drake was still alive, and, as she refused\nto allow another golden circlet to be placed on her finger, the\nintended ceremony was, in the most abrupt and unexpected manner,\nended. The prettiest part of the tale remains to be told. Not long\nafterwards Sir Francis Drake returned, and, disguised as a beggar, he\nsolicited alms from his wife at her own door; when, unable to prevent\nsmiling in the midst of a feigned tale of abject poverty, she\nrecognised him, and a very joyful meeting took place.\n\nAnd even Buckland Abbey did not escape certain strange influences.\nSome years ago, a small box was found in a closet which had been long\nclosed, containing, it is supposed, family papers. It was arranged\nthat this box should be sent to the residence of the inheritor of the\nproperty. The carriage was at the abbey door, into which it was easily\nlifted. The owner having taken his seat, the coachman attempted to\nstart his horses, but in vain. They would not, they could not, move.\nMore horses were brought and then the heavy farm horses, and\neventually all the oxen. They were powerless to start the carriage. At\nlength a mysterious voice was heard declaring that the box could never\nbe moved from Buckland Abbey. Accordingly it was taken from the\ncarriage easily by one man, and a pair of horses galloped off with the\ncarriage.\n\nThe famous Jewish banker, Samuel Bernard, who died in the year 1789,\nleaving an enormous property, had, it is said, \"a favourite black cock\nwhich was regarded by many as uncanny, and as unpleasantly connected\nwith the amassing of his fortune.\" The bird died a day or two before\nhis master. It would seem that in bygone years black cocks were\nextensively used in magical incantations and in sacrifices to the\ndevil, and Burns, it may be remembered, in his \"Address to the Deil\"\nsays, \"Some cock or cat your rage must stop;\" and a well-known French\nrecipe for invoking the Evil One runs thus: \"Take a black cock under\nyour left arm, and go at midnight to where four cross roads meet. Then\ncry three times 'Poul Noir!' or else utter 'Robert' nine times, and\nthe devil will appear.\"\n\nAmong the romantic stories told of Kersal Hall, Lancashire, it is\nrelated how Eustace Dauntesey, one of its chiefs in days of old, wooed\na maiden fair with a handsome fortune; but she gave her heart to a\nrival suitor. The wedding day was fixed, but the prospect of her\nmarriage was a terrible trouble to Eustace, and threatened to mar the\nhappiness of his life. Having, however, in his youth perfected\nhimself in the black art, he drew a magic circle, at the witching hour\nof night, and summoned the Evil One to a consultation. The meeting\ncame off, at which the usual bargain was quickly struck, the soul of\nEustace being bartered for the coveted body of the beautiful young\nlady. The compact, it was arranged, should close at her death, but the\nEvil One was to remain meanwhile by the side of Dauntesey in the form\nof an elegant \"self,\" or genteel companion. In due course the eventful\nday arrived when Eustace stood before the altar. But the marriage\nceremony was no sooner over than, on leaving the sacred edifice, the\nelements were found to be the reverse of favourable to them. The\nflowers strewed before their feet stuck to their wet shoes, and\nsoaking rain cast a highly depressing influence on all the bridal\nsurroundings; and, on arriving at the festive hall where the marriage\nfeast was to be held, the ill-fortune of Eustace assumed another\nshape. Strange to say, his bride began to melt away before his very\neyes, and, thoroughly familiar as he was with the laws of magic, here\nwas a new phase of mystery which was completely beyond his\ncomprehension. In short, poor Eustace was the wretched victim of a\ncomplete swindle, for while, on the one hand, something is recorded\nabout \"a holy prayer, a sunny beam, and an angel train bearing the\nfair maiden slowly to a fleecy cloud, in whose bosom she became lost\nto earth,\" Dauntesey, on the other hand, awakened to consciousness by\na touch from his sinister companion, saw a huge yawning gulf at his\nfeet, and felt himself gradually sinking in a direction exactly the\nopposite of that taken by his bride, who, in the short space of an\nhour, was lost to him for ever.\n\nBut one of the most curious cases of this kind was that recorded in an\nold tractate[36] published in 1662, giving an account attested by \"six\nof the sufficientest men of the town,\" of what happened to a certain\nJohn Leech, a farmer living at Raveley. Being desirous of visiting\nWhittlesea fair, he went beforehand with a neighbour to an inn for the\npurpose of drinking \"his morninges draught.\" Whilst the two were\nenjoying their \"morninges draught,\" Mr. Leech began to be \"very\nmerry,\" and, seeing his friend was desirous of going, he exclaimed,\n\"Let the devil take him who goeth out of this house to-day.\" But in\nhis merriment he forgot his rash observation, and shortly afterwards,\ncalling for his horse, set out for the fair. He had not travelled far\non the road when he remembered what he had said, \"his conscience being\nsore troubled at that damnable oath which he had took.\" Not knowing\nwhat to do, he rode about, first one way and then another, until\ndarkness set in, and at about two o'clock in the night \"he espied two\ngrim creatures before him in the likeness of griffins.\" These were\nthe devil's messengers, who had been sent to take him at his word, and\ntake him they did, according to the testimony of the \"six\nsufficientist men of the town.\" They roughly handled him, took him up\nin the air, stripped him, and then dropped him, \"a sad spectacle, all\nbloody and goared,\" in a farmyard just outside the town of Doddington.\n\nHere he was discovered, lying upon some harrows, in the condition\ndescribed. He was picked up, and carried to a gentleman's house,\nwhere, being well cared for, he narrated the remarkable adventure\nwhich had befallen him. Before long, however, he \"grew into a frenzy\nso desperate that they were afraid to stay in his chamber,\" and the\ngentleman of the house, not knowing what to do, \"sent for the parson\nof the town.\" Prompted, it is supposed, by the Satanic influence which\nstill held him, Mr. Leech rushed at the minister, and attacked him\nwith so much fury that it was \"like to have cost him his life.\" But\nthe noise being heard below, the servants rushed up, rescued the\nparson, and tied Mr. Leech down in his bed, and left him. The next\nmorning, hearing nothing, they thought he was asleep, but on entering\nhis room \"he was discovered with his neck broke, his tongue out of his\nmouth, and his body as black as a shoe, all swelled, and every bone in\nhis body out of joint.\"[37]\n\nWe may conclude these extraordinary cases of \"devil-bonds\" with two\nfurther strange incidents, one an apparent record of a case of a\nsimilar kind, which was practised, amidst the frivolities and plotting\nof the French Court, by no less celebrated a lady than Catharine de\nMedicis. In the \"Secret History of France for the Last Century,\"[38]\nthis incredible story is given: \"In the first Civil War, when the\nPrince of Conde was, in all appearance, likely to prevail, and\nKatherine was thought to be very near the end of her much desired\nRegency, during the young king's minority, she was known to have been\nfor two days together retired to her closet, without admitting her\nmenial servants to her presence.\" Some few days after, having called\nfor Monsieur de Mesme, one of the Long Robe, and always firm to her\ninterest, she delivered him a steel box, fast locked, to whom she\nsaid, giving him the key: 'That in respect she knew not what might\ncome to her by fortune, amidst those intestine broils that then shook\nFrance, she had thought fit to enclose a thing of great value within\nthat box, which she consigned to his care, not to open it upon oath,\nbut by an express order under her own hand.' The queen dying without\never calling for the box, it continued many years unopened in the\nfamily of De Mesme, after both their deaths, till, at last, curiosity,\nor the suspicion of some treasure, from the heaviness of it, tempted\nMonsieur de Mesme's successor to break it open, which he did. Instead\nof any rich present from so great a queen, what horror must the\nlookers on have when they found a copper plate of the form and bigness\nof one of the ancient Roman Votive Shields, on which was engraved\nQueen Katherine de Medicis on her knees, in a praying posture,\noffering up to the devil sitting upon a throne, in one of the ugliest\nshapes they used to paint him, Charles the IXth, then reigning, the\nDuke of Anjou, afterwards Henry III., and the Duke of Alanson, her\nthree sons, with this motto in French, \"So be it, I but reign.\"\n\nAnd in the Court Rolls of the Manor of Hatfield, near the Isle of\nAxholme, Yorkshire, the following ridiculous story is given: \"Robert\nde Roderham appeared against John de Ithon, for that he had not kept\nthe agreement made between them, and therefore complains that on a\ncertain day and year, at Thorne, there was an agreement between the\naforesaid Robert and John, whereby the said John sold to the said\nRobert the Devil, bound in a certain bond, for threepence farthing,\nand thereupon, the said Robert delivered to the said John one farthing\nas earnest money, by which the property of the said devil, was vested\nin the person of the said Robert, to have livery of the said devil on\nthe fourth day next following, at which day the said Robert came to\nthe forenamed John and asked delivery of the said devil, according to\nthe agreement between them made. But the said John refused to deliver\nthe said devil, nor has he yet done it, &c., to the great damage of\nthe said Robert, to the amount of 60gs, and he has, therefore, brought\nhis suit.\n\n\"The said John came, and did not deny the said agreement; and because\nit appeared to the Court that such a suit ought not to subsist among\nChristians, the aforesaid parties are, therefore, adjourned to the\ninfernal regions, there to hear their judgment, and both parties were\namerced by William de Scargell, Seneschall.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[34] Harland and Wilkinson's \"Lancashire Legends,\" 15-16.\n\n[35] \"Romances of the West of England.\"\n\n[36] \"A Strange and True Relation of one Mr. John Leech,\" 1662.\n\n[37] \"Saunders' Legends and Traditions of Huntingdonshire,\" 1878, 1-3.\n\n[38] London, printed for A. Bell, 1714.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nFAMILY DEATH OMENS.\n\n    \"Say not 'tis vain! I tell thee, some\n      Are warned by a meteor's light,\n    Or a pale bird flitting calls them home,\n      Or a voice on the winds by night--\n    And they must go. And he too, he,\n    Woe for the fall of the glorious tree.\"\n               --MRS. HEMANS.\n\n\nA curious chapter in the history of many of our old county families is\nthat relating to certain forewarnings, which, from time immemorial,\nhave been supposed to indicate the approach of death. However\nincredible the existence of these may seem, their appearance is still\nintimately associated with certain houses, instances of which have\nbeen recorded from time to time. Thus Cuckfield Place, Sussex, is not\nonly interesting as a fine Elizabethan mansion, but as having\nsuggested to Ainsworth the \"Rookwood Hall\" of his striking romance.\n\"The supernatural occurrence,\" he says, \"forming the groundwork of one\nof the ballads which I have made the harbinger of doom to the house of\nRookwood, is ascribed, by popular superstition, to a family resident\nin Sussex, upon whose estate the fatal tree--a gigantic lime, with\nmighty arms and huge girth of trunk--is still carefully preserved.\" In\nthe avenue that winds towards the house the doom-tree still stands:--\n\n    \"And whether gale or calm prevail, or threatening cloud hath fled,\n      By hand of Fate, predestinate, a limb that tree will shed;\n    A verdant bough, untouched, I trow, by axe or tempest's breath,\n      To Rookwood's head, an omen dread of fast approaching death.\"\n\n\"Cuckfield Place,\" adds Ainsworth, \"to which this singular piece of\ntimber is attached, is the real Rookwood Hall, for I have not drawn\nupon imagination, but upon memory, in describing the seat and domains\nof that fated family.\" A similar tradition is associated with the\nEdgewell Oak, which is said to indicate the coming death of an inmate\nof Castle Dalhousie by the fall of one of its branches; and Camden in\nhis \"Magna Britannia,\" alluding to the antiquity of the Brereton\nfamily, relates this peculiar fact which is reported to have been\nrepeated many times: \"This wonderful thing respecting them is commonly\nbelieved, and I have heard it myself affirmed by many, that for some\ndays before the death of the heir of the family the trunk of a tree\nhas always been seen floating in the lake adjoining their mansion;\" a\npopular superstition to which Mrs. Hemans refers in the lines which\nhead the present chapter. A further instance of a similar kind is\ngiven by Sir Bernard Burke, who informs us that opposite the\ndining-room at Gordon Castle is a large and massive willow tree, the\nhistory of which is somewhat singular. Duke Alexander, when four years\nold, planted this willow in a tub filled with earth. The tub floated\nabout in a marshy-piece of land, till the shrub, expanding, burst its\ncerements, and struck root in the earth below; here it grew and\nprospered till it attained its present goodly size. It is said the\nDuke regarded the tree with a sort of fatherly and even superstitious\nregard, half-believing there was some mysterious affinity between its\nfortune and his own. If an accident happened to the one by storm or\nlightning, some misfortune was not long in befalling the other.\n\nIt has been noted, also, that the same thing is related of the brave\nbut unfortunate Admiral Kempenfeldt, who went down in the Royal George\noff Portsmouth. During his proprietary of Lady Place, he and his\nbrother planted two thorn trees. But one day, on coming home, the\nbrother noted that the tree planted by the Admiral had completely\nwithered away. Astonished at this unexpected sight, he felt some\napprehensions as to Admiral Kempenfeldt's safety, and exclaimed with\nsome emotion, \"I feel sure that this is an omen that my brother is\ndead.\" By a striking coincidence, his worst fears were realised, for\non that evening came the terrible news of the loss of the Royal\nGeorge.\n\nWhenever any member of the family of Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, in the\ncounty of Dumfries was about to die--either by accident or disease--a\nswan that was never seen but on such occasions, was sure to make its\nappearance upon the lake which surrounded Closeburn Castle, coming no\none knew whence, and passing away as mysteriously when the predicted\ndeath had taken place, in connection with which the following singular\nlegend has been handed down: In days gone by, the lake of Closeburn\nCastle was the favourite resort during the summer season of a pair of\nswans, their arrival always being welcome to the family at the castle\nfrom a long established belief that they were ominous of good fortune\nto the Kirkpatricks. \"No matter,\" it is said, \"what mischance might\nhave before impended, it was sure to cease at their coming, and so\nsuddenly, as well as constantly, that it required no very ardent\nsuperstition to connect the two events into cause and effect.\"\n\nBut a century and a half had passed away, when it happened that the\nyoung heir of Closeburn Castle--a lad of not quite thirteen years of\nage--in one of his visits to Edinburgh attended at the theatre a\nperformance of \"The Merchant of Venice,\" in the course of which he was\nsurprised to hear Portia say of Bassanio that he should\n\n        \"Make a swan-like end,\n    Fading in music.\"\n\nOften wondering whether swans really sang before dying he determined,\nat the first opportunity, to test the truth of these words for\nhimself. On his return home, he was one day walking by the lake when\nthe swans came sailing majestically towards him, and at once reminded\nof Portia's remark. Without a moment's thought, he lodged in the\nbreast of the foremost one a bolt from his crossbow, killing it\ninstantly. Frightened at what he had done, he made up his mind it\nshould not be known; and, as the water drifted the dead body of the\nbird towards the shore, he buried it deep in the ground.\n\nNo small surprise, however, was occasioned in the neighbourhood, when,\nfor several years, no swans made their annual appearance, the idea at\nlast being that they must have died in their native home, wherever\nthat might chance to be. The yearly visit of the swans of Closeburn\nhad become a thing of the past, when one day much excitement was\ncaused by the return of a single swan, and much more so when a deep\nblood-red stain was observed upon its breast. As might be expected,\nthis unlooked-for occurrence occasioned grave suspicions even amongst\nthose who had no great faith in omens; and that such fears were not\ngroundless was soon abundantly clear, for in less than a week the lord\nof Closeburn Castle died suddenly. Thereupon the swan vanished, and\nwas seen no more for some years, when it again appeared to announce\nthe loss of one of the house by shipwreck.\n\nThe last recorded appearance of the bird was at the third nuptials of\nSir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the first baronet of that name. On the\nwedding-day, his son Roger was walking by the lake, when, on a sudden,\nas if it had emerged from the waters, the swan appeared with the\nbleeding breast. Roger had heard of this mysterious swan, and,\nalthough his father's wedding bells were ringing merrily, he himself\nreturned to the castle a sorrowful man, for he felt convinced that\nsome evil was hanging over him. Despite his father's jest at what he\nconsidered groundless superstition on his part, the young man could\nnot shake off his fears, replying to his father, \"Perhaps before long\nyou also may be sorrowful.\" On the night of that very day the son\ndied, and here ends the strange story of the swans of Closeburn.[39]\n\nSimilarly, whenever two owls are seen perched on the family mansion of\nthe noble family of Arundel of Wardour, it has long been regarded as a\ncertain indication that one of its members before very long will be\nsummoned out of the world; and the appearance of a white-breasted bird\nwas the death-warning of the Oxenham family, particulars relating to\nthe tragic origin of which are to be found in a local ballad, which\ncommences thus[40]:\n\n    Where lofty hills in grandeur meet,\n      And Taw meandering flows,\n    There is a sylvan, calm retreat,\n      Where erst a mansion rose.\n\n    There dwelt Sir James of Oxenham,\n      A brave and generous lord;\n    Benighted travellers never came\n      Unwelcome to his board.\n\n    In early life his wife had died;\n      A son he ne'er had known;\n    And Margaret, his age's pride,\n      Was heir to him alone.\n\nIn course of time, Margaret became affianced to a young knight, and\ntheir wedding-day was fixed. On the evening preceding it, her father,\nin accordance with custom, gave a banquet to his friends, in order\nthat they might congratulate him on the approaching happy union. He\nstood up to thank them for their kind wishes, and in alluding to the\nyoung knight--in a few hours time to be his daughter's husband--he\njestingly called him his son:--\n\n    But while the dear unpractised word\n      Still lingered on his tongue,\n    He saw a silvery breasted bird\n      Fly o'er the festive throng.\n\n    Swift as the lightning's flashes fleet,\n      And lose their brilliant light,\n    Sir James sank back upon his seat\n      Pale and entranced with fright.\n\nWith some difficulty he managed to conceal the cause of his\nembarrassment, but on the following day the priest had scarcely begun\nthe marriage service,\n\n    When Margaret with terrific screams\n      Made all with horror start.\n    Good heavens! her blood in torrents streams,\n      A dagger in her heart.\n\nThe deed had been done by a discarded lover, who, by the aid of a\nclever disguise, had managed to station himself just behind her:--\n\n    \"Now marry me, proud maid,\" he cried,\n      \"Thy blood with mine shall wed\";\n    He dashed the dagger in his side,\n      And at her feet fell dead.\n\nAnd this pathetic ballad concludes by telling us how\n\n    Poor Margaret, too, grows cold with death,\n      And round her hovering flies\n    The phantom bird for her last breath,\n      To bear it to the skies.\n\nEqually strange is the omen with which the ancient baronet's family of\nClifton, of Clifton Hall, in Nottinghamshire, is forewarned when death\nis about to visit one of its members. It appears that in this case the\nomen takes the shape of a sturgeon, which is seen forcing itself up\nthe river Trent, on whose bank the mansion of the Clifton family is\nsituated. And, it may be remembered, how in the park of Chartley, near\nLichfield, there has long been preserved the breed of the indigenous\nStaffordshire cow, of white sand colour, with black ears, muzzle, and\ntips at the hoofs. In the year of the battle of Burton Bridge a black\ncalf was born; and the downfall of the great house of Ferrers\nhappening at the same period, gave rise to the tradition, which to\nthis day has been current in the neighbourhood, that the birth of a\nparti-coloured calf from the wild breed in Chartley Park is a sure\nomen of death within the same year to a member of the family.\n\nBy a noticeable coincidence, a calf of this description has been born\nwhenever a death has happened in the family of late years. The decease\nof the Earl and his Countess, of his son Lord Tamworth, of his\ndaughter Mrs. William Joliffe, as well as the deaths of the son and\nheir of the eighth Earl and his daughter Lady Frances Shirley, were\neach preceded by the ominous birth of a calf. In the spring of the\nyear 1835, an animal perfectly black, was calved by one of this\nmysterious tribe in the park of Chartley, and it was soon followed by\nthe death of the Countess.[41] The park of Chartley, where this weird\nannouncement of one of the family's death has oftentimes caused so\nmuch alarm, is a wild romantic spot, and was in days of old attached\nto the Royal Forest of Needwood and the Honour of Tutbury--of the\nwhole of which the ancient family of Ferrers were the puissant lords.\nTheir immense possessions, now forming part of the Duchy of Lancaster,\nwere forfeited by the attainder of Earl Ferrers after his defeat at\nBurton Bridge, where he led the rebellious Barons against Henry III.\nThe Chartley estate, being settled in dower, was alone reserved, and\nhas been handed down to its present possessor. Of Chartley Castle\nitself--which appears to have been in ruins for many years--many\ninteresting historical facts are recorded. Thus it is said Queen\nElizabeth visited her favourite, the Earl of Essex, here in August,\n1575, and was entertained by him in a half-timbered house which\nformerly stood near the Castle, but was long since destroyed by fire.\nIt is questionable whether Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in this\nhouse, or in a portion of the old Castle. Certain, however, it is that\nthe unfortunate queen was brought to Chartley from Tutbury on\nChristmas day, 1585. The exact date at which she left Chartley is\nuncertain, but it appears she was removed thence under a plea of\ntaking the air without the bounds of the Castle. She was then\nconducted by daily stages from the house of one gentleman to another,\nunder pretence of doing her honour, without her having the slightest\nidea of her destination, until she found herself on the 20th of\nSeptember, within the fatal walls of Fotheringhay Castle.\n\nCortachy Castle, the seat of the Earl of Airlie, has for many years\npast been famous for its mysterious drummer, for whenever the sound of\nhis drum is heard it is regarded as the sure indication of the\napproaching death of a member of the Ogilvie family. There is a tragic\norigin given to this curious phenomenon, the story generally told\nbeing to the effect that either the drummer, or some officer whose\nemissary he was, had excited the jealousy of a former Lord Airlie, and\nthat he was in consequence of this occurrence put to death by being\nthrust into his own drum, and flung from the window of the tower, in\nwhich is situated the chamber where his music is apparently chiefly\nheard. It is also said that the drummer threatened to haunt the family\nif his life were taken, a promise which he has not forgotten to\nfulfil.\n\nThen there is the well-known tradition that prior to the death of any\nof the lords of Roslin, Roslin Chapel appears to be on fire, a weird\noccurrence which forms the subject of Harold's song in the \"Lay of the\nLast Ministrel.\"\n\n    O'er Roslin all that dreary night\n      A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;\n    'Twas broader than the watch-fire light\n      And redder than the bright moonbeam.\n\n    It glared on Roslin's castled rock,\n      It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;\n    'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,\n      And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.\n\n    Seem'd all on fire that Chapel proud,\n      Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie;\n    Each Baron, for a sable shroud,\n      Sheathed in his iron panoply.\n\n    Seem'd all on fire, within, around,\n      Deep sacristy and altar's pale\n    Shone every pillar, foliage-bound,\n      And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.\n\n    Blazed battlement and pinnet high,\n      Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair;\n    So still they blaze when Fate is nigh\n      The lordly line of Hugh St. Clair.\n\nBut, although the last \"Roslin,\" as he was called, died in the year\n1778, and the estates passed into the possession of the Erskines,\nEarls of Rosslyn, the old tradition has not been extinguished.\nSomething of the same kind is described as having happened to the old\nCornish family of the Vingoes on their estate of Treville, for\n\"through all time a peculiar token has marked the coming death of one\nof the family. Above the deep caverns in the Treville Cliff rises a\ncarn. On this chains of fire were seen ascending and descending, and\noftentimes were accompanied by loud and frightful noises. But it is\nreported that these tokens have not taken place since the last male of\nthe family came to a violent end. According to Mr. Hunt,[42]\n\"tradition tells us this estate was given to an old family who came\nwith the Conqueror to this country. This ancestor is said to have been\nthe Duke of Normandy's wine taster, and to have belonged to the\nancient Counts of Treville, hence the name of the estate. For many\ngenerations the family has been declining, and the race is now\nnearly, if not quite, extinct.\n\nIn some cases, families have been apprised of an approaching death by\nsome strange spectre, either male or female, a remarkable instance of\nwhich occurs in the MS. memoirs of Lady Fanshaw, and is to this\neffect: \"Her husband, Sir Richard, and she, chanced, during their\nabode in Ireland, to visit a friend, who resided in his ancient\nbaronial castle surrounded with a moat. At midnight she was awakened\nby a ghastly and supernatural scream, and, looking out of bed, beheld\nby the moonlight a female face and part of the form hovering at the\nwindow. The face was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but\npale; and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and dishevelled. This\napparition continued to exhibit itself for some time, and then\nvanished with two shrieks, similar to that which had at first excited\nLady Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, with infinite terror, she\ncommunicated to her host what had happened, and found him prepared not\nonly to credit, but to account for, what had happened.\n\n\"A near relation of mine,\" said he, \"expired last night in the castle.\nBefore such an event happens in this family and castle, the female\nspectre whom you have seen is always visible. She is believed to be\nthe spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom one of my ancestors\ndegraded himself by marrying, and whom afterwards, to expiate the\ndishonour done his family, he caused to be drowned in the castle\nmoat.\"\n\nThis, of course, was no other than the Banshee, which in times past\nhas been the source of so much terror in Ireland. Amongst the\ninnumerable stories told of its appearance may be mentioned one\nrelated by Mrs. Lefanu, the niece of Sheridan, in the memoirs of her\ngrandmother, Mrs. Frances Sheridan. From this account we gather that\nMiss Elizabeth Sheridan was a firm believer in the Banshee, and firmly\nmaintained that the one attached to the Sheridan family was distinctly\nheard lamenting beneath the windows of the family residence before the\nnews arrived from France of Mrs. Frances Sheridan's death at Blois.\nShe adds that a niece of Miss Sheridan's made her very angry by\nobserving that as Mrs. Frances Sheridan was by birth a Chamberlaine, a\nfamily of English extraction, she had no right to the guardianship of\nan Irish fairy, and that therefore the Banshee must have made a\nmistake.\n\nLikewise, many a Scotch family has its death-warning, a notable one\nbeing the Bodach Glass, which Sir Walter Scott has introduced in his\n\"Waverley\" as the messenger of bad-tidings to the MacIvors, the truth\nof which, it is said, has been traditionally proved by the experience\nof no less than three hundred years. It is thus described by Fergus to\nWaverley: \"'You must know that when my ancestor, Ian nan Chaistel,\nwanted Northumberland, there was appointed with him in the expedition\na sort of southland chief, or captain of a band of Lowlanders, called\nHalbert Hall. In their return through the Cheviots they quarrelled\nabout the division of the great booty they had acquired, and came from\nwords to blows. The Lowlanders were cut off to a man, and their chief\nfell the last, covered with wounds, by the sword of my ancestor. Since\nthat day his spirit has crossed the Vich Ian Vohr of the day when any\ngreat disaster was impending.'\" Fergus then gives to Waverley a\ngraphic and detailed account of the appearance of the Bodach: \"'Last\nnight I felt so feverish that I left my quarters and walked out, in\nhopes the keen frosty air would brace my nerves. I crossed a small\nfoot bridge, and kept walking backwards and forwards, when I observed,\nwith surprise, by the clear moonlight, a tall figure in a grey plaid,\nwhich, move at what pace I would, kept regularly about four yards\nbefore me.'\n\n\"'You saw a Cumberland peasant in his ordinary dress, probably.'\n\n\"'No; I thought so at first, and was astonished at the man's audacity\nin daring to dog me. I called to him, but received no answer. I felt\nan anxious troubling at my heart, and to ascertain what I dreaded, I\nstood still, and turned myself on the same spot successively to the\nfour points of the compass. By heaven, Edward, turn where I would, the\nfigure was instantly before my eyes at precisely the same distance. I\nwas then convinced it was the Bodach Glass. My hair bristled, and my\nknees shook. I manned myself, however, and determined to return to my\nquarters. My ghastly visitor glided before me until he reached the\nfootbridge, there he stopped, and turned full round. I must either\nwade the river or pass him as close as I am to you. A desperate\ncourage, founded on the belief that my death was near, made me resolve\nto make my way in despite of him. I made the sign of the cross, drew\nmy sword, and uttered, 'In the name of God, evil spirit, give place!'\n\n\"'Vich Ian Vohr,' it said, in a voice that made my very blood curdle;\n'beware of to-morrow.'\n\n\"'It seemed at that moment not half a yard from my sword's point; but\nthe words were no sooner spoken than it was gone, and nothing appeared\nfurther to obstruct my passage.'\"\n\nAn ancestor of the family of McClean, of Lochburg, was commonly\nreported, before the death of any of his race, to gallop along the\nsea-beach, announcing the event by dismal cries, and lamentations, and\nSir Walter Scott, in his \"Peveril of the Peak,\" tells us that the\nStanley family are forewarned of the approach of death by a female\nspirit, \"weeping and bemoaning herself before the death of any person\nof distinction belonging to the family.\"\n\nThese family death-omens are of a most varied description, having\nassumed particular forms in different localities. Corby Castle,\nCumberland, was famed for its \"Radiant Boy,\" a luminous apparition\nwhich occasionally made its appearance, the tradition in the family\nbeing that the person who happened to see it would rise to the summit\nof power, and after reaching that position would die a violent death.\nAs an instance of this strange belief, it is related how Lord\nCastlereagh in early life saw this spectre; as is well-known, he\nafterwards became head of the government, but finally perished by his\nown hand. Then there was the dreaded spectre of the Goblin Friar\nassociated with Newstead Abbey:\n\n                          A monk, arrayed\n    In cowl and beads, and dusky garb, appeared,\n      Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade,\n    With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard--\n\nThis apparition was generally supposed to forebode evil to the member\nof the family to whom it appeared, and its movements have thus been\npoetically described by Lord Byron, who, it may be added, maintained\nthat he beheld this uncanny spectre before his ill-starred union with\nMiss Millbanke:\n\n    By the marriage bed of their lords, 'tis said,\n      He flits on the bridal eve;\n    And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death\n      He comes--but not to grieve.\n\n    When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn,\n      And when aught is to befall\n    That ancient line, in the pale moonshine\n      He walks from hall to hall.\n\n    His form you may trace, but not his face,\n      'Tis shadowed by his cowl;\n    But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,\n      And they seem of a parted soul.\n\nAn ancient Roman Catholic family in Yorkshire, of the name of\nMiddleton, is said to be apprised of the death of anyone of its\nmembers by the appearance of a Benedictine nun, and Berry Pomeroy\nCastle, Devonshire, was supposed to be haunted by the daughter of a\nformer baron, who bore a child to her own father, and afterwards\nstrangled the fruit of their incestuous intercourse. But, after death,\nit seems this wretched woman could not rest, and whenever death was\nabout to visit the castle she was generally seen sadly wending her way\nto the scene of her earthly crimes. According to another tradition,\nthere is a circular tower, called \"Margaret's Tower,\" rising above\nsome broken steps that lead into a dismal vault, and the tale still\nruns that, on certain evenings in the year, the spirit of the Ladye\nMargaret, a young daughter of the house of Pomeroy, appears clad in\nwhite on these steps, and, beckoning to the passers-by, lures them to\ndestruction into the dungeon ruin beneath them.\n\nAnd, indeed, it would seem to have been a not infrequent occurrence\nfor family ghosts to warn the living when death was at hand--a piece\nof superstition which has always held a prominent place in our\nhousehold traditions, reminding us of kindred stories on the\nContinent, where the so-called White Lady has long been an object of\ndread.\n\nThere has, too, long been a strange notion that when storms, heavy\nrains, or other elemental strife, take place at the death of a great\nman, the spirit of the storm will not be appeased till the moment of\nburial. This belief seems to have gained great strength on the\noccasion of the Duke of Wellington's funeral, when, after some weeks\nof heavy rain, and some of the highest floods ever known, the skies\nbegan to clear, and both rain and flood abated. It was a common\nobservation in the week before the duke's interment, \"Oh, the rain\nwon't give o'er till the Duke is buried!\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[39] \"Family Romance\"--Sir Bernard Burke--1853, ii., 200-210.\n\n[40] In 1641 there was published a tract, with a frontispiece, entitled\n\"A True Relation of an Apparition, in the Likeness of a Bird with a\nwhite breast, that appeared hovering over the Death-bed of some of the\nchildren of Mr. James Oxenham, &c.\"\n\n[41] This tradition has been wrought into a romantic story, entitled\n\"Chartley, or the Fatalist.\"\n\n[42] \"Popular Romances of West of England.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nWEIRD POSSESSIONS.\n\n    \"But not a word o' it; 'tis fairies' treasure,\n    Which, but revealed, brings on the blabber's ruin.\"\n               MASSINGER'S \"_Fatal Dowry_.\"\n\n\nFrom the earliest days a strange fatality has been supposed to cling\nto certain things--a phase of superstition which probably finds as\nmany believers nowadays as when Homer wrote of the fatal necklace of\nEriphyle that wrought mischief to all who had been in possession of\nit. In numerous cases, it is difficult to account for the prejudice\nthus displayed, although occasionally it is based on some traditionary\nstory. But whatever the origin of the luck, or ill-luck, attaching to\nsundry family possessions, such heirlooms have been preserved with a\nkind of superstitious care, handed down from generation to generation.\n\nOne of the most remarkable curiosities connected with family\nsuperstitions is what is commonly known as \"The Coalstoun Pear,\" the\nstrange antecedent history of which is thus given in a work entitled,\n\"The Picture of Scotland\": \"Within sight of the House of Lethington,\nin Haddingtonshire, stands the mansions of Coalstoun, the seat of the\nancient family of Coalstoun, whose estate passed by a series of heirs\nof line into the possession of the Countess of Dalhousie. This place\nis chiefly worthy of attention here, on account of a strange heirloom,\nwith which the welfare of the family was formerly supposed to be\nconnected.\n\n\"One of the Barons of Coalstoun, about three hundred years ago,\nmarried Jean Hay, daughter of John, third Lord Yester, with whom he\nobtained a dowry, not consisting of such base materials as houses or\nland, but neither more nor less than a pear. 'Sure such a pear was\nnever seen,' however, as this of Coalstoun, which a remote ancestor of\nthe young lady, famed for his necromantic power, was supposed to have\ninvested with some enchantment that rendered it perfectly invaluable.\nLord Yester, in giving away his daughter, informed his son-in-law\nthat, good as the lass might be, her dowry was much better, because,\nwhile she could only have value in her own generation, the pear, so\nlong as it was continued in his family, would be attended with\nunfailing prosperity, and thus might cause the family to flourish to\nthe end of time. Accordingly, the pear was preserved as a sacred\npalladium, both by the laird who first obtained it, and by all his\ndescendants; till one of their ladies, taking a longing for the\nforbidden fruit while pregnant, inflicted upon it a deadly bite: in\nconsequence of which, it is said, several of the best farms on the\nestate very speedily came to the market.\"\n\nThe pear, tradition goes on to tell us, became stone hard immediately\nafter the lady had bit it, and in this condition it remains till this\nday, with the marks of Lady Broun's teeth indelibly imprinted on it.\nWhether it be really thus fortified against all further attacks of the\nkind or not, it is certain that it is now disposed in some secure part\nof the house--or as we have been informed in a chest, the key of which\nis kept secure by the Earl of Dalhousie--so as to be out of all danger\nwhatsoever. The \"Coalstowne pear,\" it is added, without regard to the\nsuperstition attached to it, must be considered a very great curiosity\nin its way, \"having, in all probability, existed five hundred years--a\ngreater age than, perhaps, has ever been reached by any other such\nproduction of nature.\"\n\nAnother strange heirloom--an antique crystal goblet--is said to have\nbeen for a long time in the possession of Colonel Wilks, the\nproprietor of the estate of Ballafletcher, four or five miles from\nDouglas, Isle of Man. It is described as larger than a common\nbell-shaped tumbler, \"uncommonly light and chaste in appearance, and\nornamented with floral scrolls, having between the designs on two\nsides, upright columellae of five pillars,\" and according to an old\ntradition, it is reported to have been taken by Magnus, the Norwegian\nKing of Man, from St. Olave's shrine. Although it is by no means\nclear on what ground this statement rests, there can be no doubt but\nthat the goblet is very old. After belonging for at least a hundred\nyears to the Fletcher family--the owners of Ballafletcher--it was sold\nwith the effects of the last of the family, in 1778, and was bought by\nRobert Caesar, Esq., who gave it to his niece for safe keeping. The\ntradition goes that it had been given to the first of the Fletcher\nfamily more than two centuries ago, with this special injunction, that\n\"as long as he preserved it, peace and plenty would follow; but woe to\nhim who broke it, as he would surely be haunted by the 'Ihiannan Shee'\nor 'peaceful spirit' of Ballafletcher.\" It was kept in a recess,\nwhence it was never removed, except at Christmas and Eastertide, when\nit was \"filled with wine, and quaffed off at a breath by the head of\nthe house only, as a libation to the spirit for her protection.\"\n\nThen there is the well-known English tradition relating to Eden Hall,\nwhere an old painted drinking-glass is preserved, the property of Sir\nGeorge Musgrave of Edenhall, in Cumberland, in the possession of whose\nfamily it has been for many generations. The tradition is that a\nbutler going to draw water from a well in the garden, called St.\nCuthbert's well, came upon a company of fairies at their revels, and\nsnatched it from them. They did all they could to recover their\nravished property, but failing, disappeared after pronouncing the\nfollowing prophecy:\n\n    If this glass do break or fall\n    Farewell the luck of Edenhall.\n\nSo long, therefore, runs the legendary tale, as this drinking glass is\npreserved, the \"luck of Edenhall\" will continue to exist, but should\never the day occur when any mishap befalls it, this heirloom will\ninstantly become an unlucky possession in the family. The most recent\naccount of this cup appeared in _The Scarborough Gazette_ in the year\n1880, in which it was described as \"a glass stoup, a drinking vessel,\nabout six inches in height, having a circular base, perfectly flat,\ntwo inches in diameter, gradually expanding upwards till it ends in a\nmouth four inches across. The general hue is a warm green, resembling\nthe tone known by artists as brown pink. Upon the transparent glass is\ntraced a geometric pattern in white and blue enamel, somewhat raised,\naided by gold and a little crimson.\" The earliest mention of this\ncurious relic seems to have been made by Francis Douce, who was at\nEdenhall in the year 1785, and wrote some verses upon it, but there\ndoes not seem to be any authentic family history attaching to it.\n\nThere is a room at Muncaster Castle which has long gone by the name of\nHenry the Sixth's room, from the circumstance of his having been\nconcealed in it at the time he was flying from his enemies in the\nyear 1461, when Sir John Pennington, the then possessor of Muncaster,\ngave him a secret reception. When the time for the king's departure\narrived, before he proceeded on his journey, he addressed Sir John\nPennington with many kind and courteous acknowledgments for his loyal\nreception, regretting, at the same time, that he had nothing of more\nvalue to present him with, as a testimony of his goodwill, than the\ncup out of which he crossed himself. He then gave it into the hands of\nSir John, accompanying the present with these words: \"The family shall\nprosper so long as they preserve it unbroken.\" Hence it is called the\n\"Luck of Muncaster.\" \"The benediction attached to its security,\" says\nRoby, in his \"Traditions of Lancashire,\" \"being then uppermost in the\nrecollection of the family, it was considered essential to the\nprosperity of the house at the time of the usurpation, that the Luck\nof Muncaster should be deposited in a safe place; it was consequently\nburied till the cessation of hostilities had rendered all further care\nand concealment unnecessary.\" But, unfortunately, the person\ncommissioned to disinter the precious relic, let the box fall in which\nit was locked up, which so alarmed the then existing members of the\nfamily, that they could not muster courage enough to satisfy their\napprehensions. The box, therefore, according to the traditionary story\npreserved in the family, remained unopened for more than forty years;\nat the expiration of which period, a Pennington, more courageous than\nhis predecessors, unlocked the casket, and, much to the delight of\nall, proclaimed the Luck of Muncaster to be uninjured. It was an\nauspicious moment, for the doubts as to the cup's safety were now\ndispelled, and the promise held good:\n\n    It shall bless thy bed, it shall bless thy board,\n      They shall prosper by this token,\n    In Muncaster Castle good luck shall be,\n      Till the charmed cup is broken.\n\nSome things, again, have gained a strange notoriety through the force\nof circumstances. A curious story is told, for instance, of a certain\niron chest in Ireland, the facts relating to which are these: In the\nyear 1654, Mr. John Bourne, chief trustee of the estate of John\nMallet, of Enmore, fell sick at his house at Durley, when his life was\npronounced by a physician to be in imminent danger. Within twenty-four\nhours, while the doctor and Mrs. Carlisle--a relative of Mr.\nBourne--were sitting by his bedside, the doctor opened the curtains at\nthe bed-foot to give him air, when suddenly a great iron chest by the\nwindow, with three locks--in which chest were all the writings and\ntitle deeds of Mr. Mallet's estate--began to open lock by lock. The\nlid of the iron chest then lifted itself up, and stood wide open. It\nis added that Mr. Bourne, who had not spoken for twenty-four hours,\nraised himself up in the bed, and looking at the chest, cried out,\n\"You say true, you say true; you are in the right; I will be with you\nby and bye.\" He then lay down apparently in an exhausted condition,\nand spoke no more. The chest lid fell again, and locked itself lock by\nlock, and within an hour afterwards Mr. Bourne expired.\n\nThere is a story current of Lord Lovat that when he was born a number\nof swords that hung up in the hall of the house leaped, of themselves,\nout of the scabbard. This circumstance often formed the topic of\nconversation, and, among his clan, was looked upon as an unfortunate\nomen. By a curious coincidence, Lord Lovat was not only the last\nperson beheaded on Tower Hill, but was the last person beheaded in\nthis country--April 9, 1747--an event which Walpole has thus described\nin one of his letters, telling us that he died extremely well, without\npassion, affectation, buffoonery, or timidity. He professed himself a\nJansenist, made no speech, but sat down a little while in a chair on\nthe scaffold and talked to the people about him.\n\nAnd Aubrey, relating a similar anecdote of a picture, tells us how Sir\nWalter Long's widow did make a solemn promise to him on his death-bed\nthat she would not marry after his decease; but this she did not keep,\nfor \"not long after, one Sir----Fox, a very beautiful young gentleman,\ndid win her love, so that, notwithstanding her promise aforesaid, she\nmarried him. They were at South Wrathall, where the picture of Sir\nWalter hung over the parlour door,\" and, on entering this room on\ntheir return from church, the string of the picture broke, \"and the\npicture, which was painted on wood, fell on the lady's shoulder and\ncracked in the fall. This made her ladyship reflect on her promise,\nand drew some tears from her eyes.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nROMANCE OF DISGUISE.\n\n    PISANIO to IMOGEN:\n      You must forget to be a woman; change\n      Command into obedience: fear and niceness--\n      The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,\n      Woman its pretty self, into a waggish courage:\n      Ready in gibes, quick answered, saucy, and\n      As quarrelsome as the weasel; nay, you must\n      Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek\n      Exposing it--but, Oh! the harder heart!\n      Alack! no remedy! to the greedy touch\n      Of common-kissing Titan, and forget\n      Your laboursome and dainty trims.\n               \"_Cymbeline_,\" ACT III., SC. 4.\n\n\nThat a woman, under any circumstances, should dismiss her proper\napparel, it has been remarked, \"may well appear to us as something\nlike a phenomenon.\" Yet instances are far from uncommon, the motive\nbeing originated in a variety of circumstances. A young lady, it may\nbe, falls in love, and, to gain her end, assumes male attire so that\nshe may escape detection, as in the case of a girl, who, giving her\naffections to a sailor, and not being able to follow him in her\nnatural and recognised character, put on jacket and trousers, and\nbecame, to all appearance, a brother of his mess. In other cases, a\npure masculinity of character \"seems to lead women to take on the\nguise of men. Apparently feeling themselves misplaced in, and\nmisrepresented by, the female dress, they take up with that of men\nsimply that they may be allowed to employ themselves in those manly\navocations for which their taste and nature are fitted.\" In\nCaulfield's \"Portraits of Remarkable Persons,\" we find a portrait of\nAnne Mills, styled the female sailor, who is represented as standing\non what appears to be the end of a pier and holding in one hand a\nhuman head, while the other bears a sword, the instrument doubtless\nwith which the decapitation was effected. In the year 1740, she was\nserving on board the _Maidstone_, a frigate, and in an action between\nthat vessel and the enemy, she exhibited such desperate and daring\nvalour as to be particularly noticed by the whole crew. But her\nmotives for assuming the male habit do not seem to have\ntranspired.[43]\n\nA far more exciting career was that of Mary Anne Talbot, the youngest\nof sixteen illegitimate children, whom her mother bore to one of the\nheads of the noble house of Talbot. She was born on February 2nd,\n1778, and educated under the eye of a married sister, at whose death\nshe was committed to the care of a gentleman named Sucker, \"who\ntreated her with great severity, and who appears to have taken\nadvantage of her friendless situation in order to transfer her, for\nthe vilest of purposes, to the hands of a Captain Bowen, whom he\ndirected her to look upon as her future guardian.\" Although barely\nfourteen years old, Captain Bowen made her his mistress; and, on being\nordered to join his regiment at St. Domingo, he compelled the girl to\ngo with him in the disguise of a footboy and under the name of John\nTaylor. But Captain Bowen had scarcely reached St. Domingo when he was\nremanded with his regiment to Europe to join the Duke of York's\nFlanders Expedition. And this time she was made to enrol herself as a\ndrummer in the corps.\n\nShe was in several skirmishes, being wounded once by a ball which\nstruck one of her ribs, and another time by a sabre stroke on the\nside. At Valenciennes, however, Captain Bowen was killed; and, finding\namong his effects several letters relating to herself, which proved\nthat she had been cruelly defrauded of money left to her, she resolved\nto leave the regiment, and to return, if possible, to England.\nAccordingly she set out attired as a sailor boy, and eventually hired\nherself to the Commander of a French lugger, which turned out to be a\nprivateer. But when the vessel fell in with some of Lord Howe's\nvessels in the Channel, she refused to fight against her countrymen,\n\"notwithstanding all the blows and menaces the French captain could\nuse.\" The privateer was taken, and our heroine was carried before Lord\nHowe, to whom she told candidly all that had happened to her--keeping\nher sex a secret.\n\nMary Anne Talbot, or John Taylor, was next placed on board the\n_Brunswick_, where she witnessed Lord Howe's great victory of the 1st\nJune, and was actively engaged in it. But she was seriously wounded,\n\"her left leg being struck a little above the knee by a musket-ball,\nand broken, and severely smashed lower down by a grape shot.\" On\nreaching England she was conveyed to Haslar Hospital, where she\nremained four months, no suspicion having ever been entertained of her\nbeing a woman. But she was no sooner out of the hospital than,\nretaining her disguise, she entered a small man-of-war--the\n_Vesuvius_, which was captured by two French ships, when she was sent\nto the prisons of Dunkirk. Here she was incarcerated for eighteen\nmonths, but, having been discovered planning an escape with a young\nmidshipman, she was confined in a pitch-dark dungeon for eleven weeks,\non a diet of bread and water. An exchange of prisoners set her at\nliberty, and, hearing accidentally an American merchant captain\ninquiring in the streets of Dunkirk for a lad to go to New York as\nship's steward she offered her services, and was accepted.\nAccordingly, in August, 1796, she sailed with Captain Field, and, on\narriving at Rhode Island, she resided with the Captain's family.\n\nBut here another kind of adventure was to befall her--for a niece of\nCaptain Field's fell deeply in love with her, even going so far as to\npropose marriage. On leaving Rhode Island, the young lady had such\nalarming fits that, after sailing two miles, Mary Anne Talbot was\ncalled back by a boat, and compelled to promise a speedy return to the\nenamoured young lady. On reaching England, she was one day on shore\nwith some of her comrades when she was seized by a press-gang, and\nfinding there was no other way of getting off than by revealing her\nsex, she did so, her story creating a great sensation. From this time\nshe never went to sea again, and soon afterwards lived in service with\na bookseller, Mr. Kirby, who wrote her memoir.[44]\n\nAnd the late Colonel Fred Burnaby has recorded the history of a\nsingular case, the facts of which came under his notice when he was\nwith Don Carlos during the Carlist rising of the year 1874: \"A\ndiscovery was made a few days ago that a woman was serving in the\nRoyalists' ranks, dressed in a soldier's uniform. She was found out in\nthe following manner. The priest of the village to where she belonged\nhappening to pass through a town where the regiment was quartered, and\nchancing to see her, was struck by the likeness she bore to one of his\nparishioners.\n\n\"You must be Andalicia Bravo,\" he remarked.\n\n\"No, I am her brother,\" was the reply.\n\nThe Cure's suspicions were aroused, and at his suggestion, an inquiry\nwas made, when it was discovered that the youthful soldier had no\nright to the masculine vestments she wore. Don Carlos, who was told of\nthe affair, desired that she should be sent as a nurse to the hospital\nof Durango, and, when he visited the establishment, presented the fair\nAmazon with a military cross of merit. The poor girl was delighted\nwith the decoration, and besought the \"King\" to allow her to return to\nthe regiment, as she said she was more accustomed to inflicting wounds\nthan to healing them. In fact, she so implored to be permitted to\nserve once more as a soldier, that at last, Don Carlos, to extricate\nhimself from the difficulty, said, \"No, I cannot allow you to join a\nregiment of men; but when I form a battalion of women, I promise, upon\nmy honour, that you shall be named the Colonel.\"\n\n\"It will never happen,\" said the girl, and she burst into tears as the\nKing left the hospital.\n\nAt Haddon Hall may still be seen \"Dorothy Vernon's Door,\" whence the\nheiress of Haddon stole out one moonlight night to join her lover. The\nstory generally told is that, while her elder sister, the affianced\nbride of Sir Thomas Stanley, second son of the Earl of Derby, was made\nmuch of in her recognised attachment, Dorothy, on the other hand, was\nnot only kept in the background, but every obstacle was thrown in her\nway against a connection she had formed with John Manners, son of the\nEarl of Rutland. But \"something of the wild bird,\" it is said, \"was\nnoticed in Dorothy, and she was closely watched, kept almost a\nprisoner, and could only beat her wings against the bars that confined\nher.\" This kind of surveillance went on for some time, but did not\ncheck the young lady's infatuation for her lover, and it was not long\nbefore the young couple contrived to see one another. Disguised as a\nwoodman, John Manners lurked of a day in the woods round Haddon for\nseveral weeks, obtaining now and then a stolen glance, a hurried word,\nor a pressure of the hand from the fair Dorothy.\n\nAt length, however, an opportunity arrived which enabled Dorothy to\ncarry out the plan which had been suggested to her by John Manners. It\nso happened that a grand ball was given at Haddon Hall, to celebrate\nthe approaching marriage of the elder daughter, and, whilst a throng\nof guests filled the ball-room, where the stringed minstrels played\nold dances in the Minstrels' Gallery, and the horns blew low, everyone\nbeing too busy with his own interests and pleasures to attend to those\nof another, the young Miss Dorothy stole away unobserved from the\nball-room, \"passed out of the door, which is now one of the most\ninteresting parts of this historic pile of buildings, and crossed\nthe terrace to where, at the \"ladies' steps,\" she could dimly discern\nfigures hiding in the shadow of the trees. Another moment, and she was\nin her lover's arms. Horses were waiting, and Dorothy was soon riding\naway with her lover through the moonlight, and was married on the\nfollowing morning. This story, which has been gracefully told by Eliza\nMeteyard under the title of \"The Love Steps of Dorothy Vernon,\" has\nalways been regarded as one of the most romantic and pleasant episodes\nin the history of Haddon Hall. Through Dorothy's marriage, the estate\nof Haddon passed from the family of Vernon to that of Manners, and a\nbranch of the house of Rutland was transferred to the county of\nDerby.\"\n\n[Illustration: DOROTHY VERNON AND THE WOODMAN.]\n\nBut love has always been an inducement, in one form or another for\ndisguise, and a romantic story is told of Sir John Bolle, of Thorpe\nHall, in Lincolnshire, who distinguished himself at Cadiz, in the year\n1596. Among the prisoners taken at this memorable seige, was \"a fair\ncaptive of great beauty, high rank, and immense wealth,\" and who was\nthe peculiar charge of Sir John Bolle. She soon became deeply\nenamoured of her gallant captor, and \"in his courteous company was all\nher joy,\" her infatuation being so great that she entreated him to\nallow her to accompany him to England disguised as his page. But Sir\nJohn had a wife at home, and replied--to quote the version of the\nstory given in Dr. Percy's \"Relics of Ancient English Poetry\":--\n\n      \"Courteous lady, leave this fancy,\n         Here comes all that breeds the strife;\n       I in England have already\n         A sweet woman to my wife.\n    I will not falsify my vow for gold or gain,\n    Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain.\"\n\nThereupon the fair lady determined to retire to a convent, admiring\nthe gallant soldier all the more for his faithful devotion to his\nwife.\n\n      \"O happy is that woman\n         That enjoys so true a friend!\n       Many happy days God send her!\n         Of my suit I make an end,\n    On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,\n    Which did from love and true affection first commence.\n\n      \"I will spend my days in prayer,\n         Love and all her laws defy;\n       In a nunnery will I shroud me,\n         Far from any company.\n    But ere my prayers have an end be sure of this,\n    To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.\"\n\nBut, before forsaking the world, she transmitted to her unconscious\nrival in England her jewels and valuable knicknacks, including her own\nportrait drawn in green--a circumstance which obtained for the\noriginal the designation of the \"Green Lady,\" and Thorpe Hall has long\nbeen said to be haunted by the lady in green, who has been in the\nhabit of appearing beneath a particular tree close to the mansion.\n\nA story, which has been gracefully told in one of Moore's Irish\nMelodies, relates to Henry Cecil, Earl of Exeter, who early in life\nfell in love with the rich heiress of the Vernons of Hanbury. A\nmarriage was eventually arranged, but this union proved a complete\nfailure, and terminated in a divorce. Thereupon young Cecil,\ndistrustful of the conventionalities of society, and to prevent any\none of the fair sex marrying him on account of his position, resolved\n\"on laying aside the artificial attractions of his rank, and seeking\nsome country maiden who would wed him from disinterested motives of\naffection.\"\n\nAccordingly he took up his abode at a small inn in a retired\nShropshire village, but even here his movements created suspicion,\n\"some maintaining that he was connected with smugglers or gamesters,\nwhile all agreed that dishonesty or fraud was the cause of the mystery\nof the 'London gentleman's' proceedings.\" Annoyed at the rude\nmolestations to which he was daily, more or less, exposed, he quitted\nthe inn and removed to a farm-house in the neighbourhood, where he\nremained for two years, in the course of which time he purchased some\nland, and commenced building himself a house:\n\nBut the landlord of the cottage where he lived had a beautiful\ndaughter of about seventeen years, to whom young Cecil became so\ndeeply attached that, in spite of her humble birth, and simple\neducation, he resolved to make her his wife, taking an early\nopportunity of informing her parents of his resolve. The matter came\nas a surprise to the farmer and his wife, and all the more so because\nthey had always regarded Mr. Cecil as far too grand a person to\nentertain such an idea.\n\n\"Marry our daughter?\" exclaimed the good wife, in amazement. \"What, to\na fine gentleman! No, indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes, marry her,\" added the husband, \"he shall marry her, for she\nlikes him. Has he not house and land, too, and plenty of money to keep\nher?\"\n\nSo the rustic beauty was married, and it was not long afterwards that\nher husband found it necessary to repair to town on account of the\nEarl of Exeter's death. Setting out, as the young bride thought, on a\npleasure trip, they stopped in the course of their journey at several\nnoblemen's seats, where, to her astonishment, Cecil was welcomed in\nthe most friendly manner. At last they reached Burleigh, in\nNorthamptonshire--the home of the Cecils. And on driving up to the\nhouse, Cecil unconcernedly asked his wife, \"whether she would like to\nbe at home there?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" she excitedly exclaimed; \"it is, indeed, a lovely spot,\nexceeding all I have seen, and making me almost envy its possessor.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the young earl, \"it is yours.\"\n\nThe whole affair seemed like a fairy tale to the bewildered girl, and\nwho, but herself, could describe the feelings she experienced at the\nacclamations of joy and welcome which awaited her in her magnificent\nhome. But it was no dream, and as soon as the young earl had arranged\nhis affairs, he returned to Shropshire, threw off his disguise, and\nrevealed his rank to his wife's parents, assigning to them the house\nhe had built, with a settlement of L700 per annum.\n\n\"But,\" writes Sir Bernard Burke, \"if report speak truly, the narrative\nmust have a melancholy end. Her ladyship, unaccustomed to the exalted\nsphere in which she moved, chilled by its formalities, and depressed\nin her own esteem, survived only a few years her extraordinary\nelevation, and sank into an early grave,\" although Moore has given a\nbrighter picture of this sad close to a pretty romance.\n\n    You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,\n      How meekly she blessed her humble lot,\n    When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,\n      And love was the light of their lowly cot.\n    Together they toiled through wind and rain\n      Till William at length in sadness said,\n    \"We must seek our fortunes on other plains\";\n      Then sighing she left her lowly shed.\n\n    They roam'd a long and weary way,\n      Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease,\n    When now, at close of one stormy day\n      They see a proud castle among the trees.\n    \"To night,\" said the youth, \"we'll shelter there;\n      The wind blows cold, the hour is late\";\n    So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,\n      And the porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate.\n\n    \"Now welcome, Lady!\" exclaimed the youth;\n      \"This castle is thine, and these dark woods all.\"\n    She believed him wild, but his words were truth,\n      For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall!\n    And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves\n      What William the stranger woo'd and wed;\n    And the light of bliss in those lordly groves\n      Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed.\n\nBut one of the most extraordinary instances of disguise was that of\nthe Chevalier d'Eon, who was born in the year 1728, and was an\nexcellent scholar, soldier, and political intriguer. In the service of\nLouis XV., he went to Russia in female attire, obtained employment as\nthe female reader to the Czarina Elizabeth, under which disguise he\ncarried on political and semi-political negotiations with wonderful\nsuccess. In the year 1762, he appeared in England as Secretary of the\nEmbassy to the Duke of Nivernois, and when Louis XVI. granted him a\npension and he went over to Versailles to return thanks for the\nfavour, Marie Antoinette is said to have insisted on his assuming\nwomen's attire. Accordingly, to gratify this foolish whim, D'Eon is\nreported to have one day swept into the royal presence attired like a\nduchess, which character he supported to the great delight of the\nroyal spectators.\n\nIn the year 1794, he returned to this country, and, being here after\nthe Revolution was accomplished, his name was placed in the fatal list\nof _emigres_, and he was deprived of his pension. The English\nGovernment, however, gave him an allowance of L200 a year; and in his\nold days he turned his fencing capabilities to account, for he\noccasionally appeared in matches with the Chevalier de St. George, and\npermanently reassumed female attire.\n\nThis eccentric character was the subject of much speculation in his\nlifetime, and, curious to say, in the year 1771, it was proved to the\nsatisfaction of a jury, on a trial before Lord Chief Justice\nMansfield, that the Chevalier was of the female sex. The case in\nquestion arose from a wager between Hayes, a surgeon, and Jacques, an\nunderwriter, the latter having bound himself, on receiving a premium,\nto pay the former a certain sum whenever the fact was established that\nD'Eon was a woman. One of the witnesses was Morande, an infamous\nFrenchman, who gave such testimony that no human being could doubt the\nfact of D'Eon being of the female sex, and two French medical men gave\nequally conclusive evidence. The result of this absurd trial was that\nthe jury returned a verdict for the plaintiff, with L702 damages.[45]\nBut all doubt was cleared away when D'Eon died, in the year 1810, for,\nan examination of the body being made, it was publicly declared that\nthe Chevalier was an old man. Walpole collected some facts about this\nremarkable man, and writes: \"The Due de Choiseul believed it was a\nwoman. After the death of Louis XV., D'Eon had leave to go to France,\non which the young Comte de Guerchy went to M. de Vergennes,\nSecretary of State, and gave him notice that the moment D'Eon landed\nat Calais he, Guerchy, would cut his throat, or D'Eon should his; on\nwhich Vergennes told the Count that D'Eon was certainly a woman. Louis\nXV. corresponded with D'Eon, and when the Duc de Choiseul had sent a\nvessel, which lay six months in the Thames, to trepan and bring off\nD'Eon, the king wrote a letter with his own hand to give him warning\nof the vessel.\"\n\nLike the Chevalier D'Eon, a certain individual named Russell, a native\nof Streatham, adopted the guise and habits of the opposite sex, and so\nskilfully did he keep up the deception that it was not known till\nafter his death. It appears from Streatham Register that he was buried\non April 14, 1772, the subjoined memorandum being affixed to the\nentry: \"This person was always known under the guise or habit of a\nwoman, and answered to the name of Elizabeth, as registered in this\nparish, November 21, 1669, but on death proved to be a man. It also\nappears from the registers of Streatham Parish, that his father, John\nRussell, had three daughters, and two sons--William, born in 1668, and\nThomas in 1672; and there is very little doubt that the above person,\nwho was also commonly known as Betsy the Doctress, was one of these\nsons.\"\n\nIt is said that when he assumed the garb of the softer sex he also\ntook the name of his sister Elizabeth, who, very likely, either died\nin infancy, or settled at a distance; but, under this name, he\napplied, about two years before his death, for a certificate of his\nbaptism. Early in life, he associated with the gypsies, and became the\ncompanion of the famous Bampfylde Moore Carew. Later on in life he\nresided at Chipstead, in Kent, and there catered for the miscellaneous\nwants of the villagers. He also visited most parts of the continent as\na stroller and a vagabond, and sometimes in the company of a man who\npassed for his husband, he moved about from one place to another,\nchanging his \"maiden\" name to that of his companion, at whose death he\npassed as his widow, being generally known by the familiar name of Bet\nPage.\n\nAccording to Lysons, in the course of his wanderings he attached\nhimself to itinerant quacks, learned their remedies, practised their\ncalling, his knowledge, coupled with his great experience, gaining for\nhim the reputation of being \"a most infallible doctress.\" He also went\nin for astrology, and made a considerable sum of money, but was so\nextravagant that when he died his worldly goods were not valued at\nhalf-a-sovereign. About a year before his death he returned to his\nnative parish, his great age bringing him into much notoriety; but his\ndeath was very sudden, and great was the surprise on all sides when it\nbecame known that he was a man. In life this strange character was a\ngeneral favourite, and Mr. Thrale was wont to have him in his kitchen\nat Streatham Park, while Dr. Johnson, who considered him a shrewd\nperson, held long conversations with him. To prevent the discovery of\nhis sex he used to wear a cloth tied under his chin, and a large pair\nof nippers, found in his pocket after death, are supposed to have been\nthe instruments with which he was in the habit of removing the\ntell-tale hairs from his face.[46]\n\nIn some instances, as in times of political intrigue and commotion,\ndisguise has been resorted to as a means of escape and concealment of\npersonal identity, one of the most romantic and remarkable cases on\nrecord being that of Lord Clifford, popularly known as the \"shepherd\nlad.\" It appears that Lady Clifford, apprehensive lest the life of her\nson, seven years of age, might be sacrificed in vengeance for the\nblood of the youthful Earl of Rutland, whom Lord Clifford had murdered\nin cold blood at the termination of the battle of Sandal, placed him\nin the keeping of a shepherd who had married one of her inferior\nservants--an attendant on the boy's nurse. His name and parentage laid\naside, the young boy was brought up among the moors and hills as one\nof the shepherd's own children. On reaching the age of fourteen, a\nrumour somehow spread to the Court that the son of \"the black-faced\nClifford,\" as his father had been called, was living in concealment in\nYorkshire. His mother, naturally alarmed, had the boy immediately\nremoved to the vicinity of the village of Threlkeld, amidst the\nCumberland hills, where she had sometimes the opportunity of seeing\nhim.\n\nBut, strange to say it is doubtful whether Lady Clifford made known\nher relationship to him, or whether, indeed, the \"shepherd lord\" had\nany distinct idea of his lofty lineage. It is generally supposed,\nhowever, that there was a complete separation between mother and\nchild--a tradition which was accepted by Wordsworth, with whom the\nstory of the shepherd boy was an especial favourite. In his \"Song at\nthe Feast of Brougham Castle,\" the poet thus prettily describes the\nshepherd boy's curious career:--\n\n    \"Now who is he that bounds with joy\n    On Carroch's side, a shepherd boy?\n    No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass,\n    Light as the wind along the grass.\n    Can this be he who hither came\n    In secret, like a smothered flame?\n    O'er whom such thankful tears were shed\n    For shelter, and a poor man's bread!\n    God loves the child; and God hath willed\n    That those dear words should be fulfilled,\n    The lady's words, when forced away,\n    The last she to her babe did say,\n    'My own, my own, thy fellow guest\n    I may not be; but rest thee, rest,\n    For lowly shepherd's life is best.'\"\n\nMany items of traditionary lore still linger about the Cumberland\nhills respecting the young lord who grew up \"as hardy as the heath on\nwhich he vegetated, and as ignorant as the rude herds which bounded\nover it.\" But the following description of young Clifford in his\ndisguise, and of his employment, as given by Wordsworth, probably\ngives the most reliable traditionary account respecting him that\nprevailed in the district where he spent his lonely youth:--\n\n    \"His garb is humble, ne'er was seen\n    Such garb with such a noble mien;\n    Among the shepherd grooms no mate\n    Hath he, a child of strength and state!\n    Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee,\n    And a cheerful company,\n    That learned of him submissive ways;\n    And comforted his private days.\n    To his side the fallow deer\n    Came, and rested without fear;\n    The eagle, lord of land and sea,\n    Stooped down to pay him fealty;\n    And both the undying fish that swim,\n    Through Bowscale-Tarn did wait on him,\n    The pair were servants to his eye\n    In their immortality;\n    They moved about in open sight,\n    To and fro, for his delight.\n    He knew the rocks which angels haunt\n    On the mountains visitant,\n    He hath kenned them taking wing;\n    And the caves where fairies sing\n    He hath entered; and been told\n    By voices how men lived of old.\"\n\nBut one of the first acts of Henry VII., on his accession to the\nthrone was to restore young Clifford to his birthright, and to all the\npossessions that his distinguished sire had won. There are few\nauthentic facts, however, recorded concerning him; for it seems that\nas soon as he had emerged from the hiding-place where he had been\nbrought up in ignorance of his rank, finding himself more illiterate\nthan was usual, even in an illiterate age, he retired to a tower,\nwhich he built in a beautiful and sequestered forest, where, under the\ndirection of the monks of Bolton Abbey, he gave himself up to the\nforbidden studies of alchemy and astrology. His descendant Anne\nClifford, Countess of Pembroke, describes him as \"a plain man, who\nlived for the most part a country life, and came seldom either to\nCourt or London, excepting when called to Parliament, on which\noccasion he behaved himself like a wise and good English nobleman.\" He\nwas twice married, and was succeeded by his son, called Wild Henry\nClifford, from the irregularities of his youth.\n\nAnd we may cite the case of Matthew Hale, who, on one occasion was\ninstrumental to justice being done through himself appearing in\ndisguise, and supporting the wronged party. It is related that the\nyounger of two brothers had endeavoured to deprive the elder of an\nestate of L500 a year by suborning witnesses to declare that he died\nin a foreign land. But appearing in Court in the guise of a miller,\nSir Matthew Hale was chosen the twelfth juryman to sit on this cause.\nAs soon as the clerk of the juryman had sworn in the juryman, a short\ndexterous fellow came into their apartment, and slipped ten gold\npieces into the hands of eleven of the jury, giving the miller only\nfive, while the judge was generally supposed to be bribed with a large\nsum.\n\nAt the conclusion of the case, the judge summed up the evidence in\nfavour of the younger brother, and the jury were about to give their\nverdict, when the supposed miller stood up, and addressed the court.\nTo the surprise of all present, he spoke with energetic and manly\neloquence, \"unravelled the sophistry to the very bottom, proved the\nfact of bribery, shewed the elder brother's title to the estate from\nthe contradictory evidence of the witnesses,\" and in short, he gained\na complete victory in favour of truth and justice.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[43] See \"Annual Register,\" 1813, 1835, and 1842, for similar cases.\n\n[44] See Notes and Queries, 6th Series, X., _passim_, for \"Women on\nboard ships in action\"; and \"Chambers's Pocket Miscellany,\" \"Disguised\nFemales, 1853.\"\n\n[45] See \"Dictionary of National Biography,\" xiv., 485.\n\n[46] Arnold's \"History of Streatham,\" 1866, 164-166. An extraordinary\ncase of concealment of sex is recorded in the \"Annual Register,\" under\nJan. 23, 1833. An inquiry was instituted by order of the Home Secretary\nrelative to the death of \"a person who had been known for years by the\nname of Eliza Edwards,\" but who turned out to be a man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nEXTRAORDINARY DISAPPEARANCES.\n\n                            \"O Annie,\n    It is beyond all hope, against all chance,\n    That he who left you ten long years ago\n    Should still be living; well, then--let me speak;\n    I grieve to see you poor and wanting help:\n    I cannot help you as I wish to do\n    Unless--they say that women are so quick--\n    Perhaps you know what I would have you know--\n    wish you for my wife.\"\n               ENOCH ARDEN.\n\n\nA glance at the agony columns of our daily newspapers, or the notice\nboards of police stations, it has been remarked, shows how many\nindividuals disappear from home, from their business haunts, and from\nthe circle of their acquaintances, and leave not the slightest trace\nof their whereabouts. In only too many instances, no satisfactory\nexplanation has ever been forthcoming to account for a disappearance\nof this nature, and in the vast majority of cases no evidence has been\ndiscovered to prove the death of such persons. It is well known that\n\"in France, before the Revolution, the vanishing of men almost before\nthe eyes of their friends was so common that it scarcely excited any\nsurprise at all. The only inquiry was, had he a beautiful wife or\ndaughter, for in that case the explanation was easy; some one who had\ninfluence with the Government had designs upon the lady, and made\ninterest to have her natural guardian put out of the way while those\ndesigns were being fulfilled.\" But, accountable as the disappearance\nof an individual was at such an unquiet time in French history, such a\nsolution of the difficulty cannot be made to apply to our own country.\nLike other social problems, which no amount of intellectual ingenuity\nhas been able to unravel, the reason why, at intervals, persons are\nmissed and never found must always be regarded as an open question.\n\nThus a marriage is recorded which took place in Lincolnshire, about\nthe year 1750. In this instance, the wedding party adjourned after the\nmarriage ceremony to the bridegroom's residence, and dispersed, some\nto ramble in the garden and others to rest in the house till the\ndinner hour. But the bridegroom was suddenly summoned away by a\ndomestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him, and\nhenceforward he was never seen again. All kinds of inquiries were made\nbut to no purpose, and terrible as the dismay was of the poor bride at\nthis inexplicable disappearance of the bridegroom, no trace could be\nfound of him. A similar tradition hangs about an old deserted Welsh\nHall, standing in a wood near Festiniog. In a similar manner, the\nbridegroom was asked to give audience to a stranger on his wedding\nday, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that moment. The\nbride, however, seems to have survived the shock, exceeding her three\nscore years and ten, although, it is said, during all those years,\nwhile there was light of sun or moon to lighten the earth, she sat\nwatching--watching at one particular window which commanded a view of\nthe approach to the house. In short, her whole faculties, her whole\nmental powers, became completely absorbed in that weary process of\nwatching, and long before she died she was childish, and only\nconscious of one wish--to sit in that long high window, and watch the\nroad, along which he might come. Family romance records, from time to\ntime, many such stories, and it was not so very long ago that a bridal\nparty were thrown into much consternation by the non-arrival of the\nbridegroom. Everything was in readiness, the clergy and the choir,\nalready vested, stood in the robing room, crimson carpets were laid\ndown from the door to the carriages; some of the guests were at the\nchurch and others at the bride's house, when an alarm was raised by\nthe best man that the bridegroom could nowhere be found. The\nbride-expectant burst into a flood of tears at this cruel\ndisappointment, especially when the ominous news reached the church\nthat the bridegroom's wedding suit had been found in the room, laid\nout ready to wear, but that there was not the slightest clue as to his\nwhereabouts. It only remained for the bridal party to return home, and\nfor the dejected and disconsolate bride to lay aside her veil and\norange-blossoms.\n\nSometimes, on the other hand, it is the bride who disappears at this\ncrisis. Not many years back, an ex-lieutenant in the Royal Navy\napplied to a London magistrate, as he wanted to find his newly married\nwife. The applicant affirmed that the lady he had wedded was an\nactress, and that they were married at the registry office at Croydon.\nThe magistrate asked if there had been any wedding breakfast. The\napplicant said \"No\"; they had partaken of a little luncheon and that\nwas all. Mysterious and inexplicable as was this disappearance of a\nwife so shortly after marriage, it was suggested by the magistrate\nwhether there were any rivals, but the applicant promptly replied,\n\"No, certainly not, and that made the matter all the more\nincomprehensible.\" Of course, the magistrate could not recover the\nmissing bride; but, remarking that the application was a very singular\none, he recommended the applicant to consult the police on the matter,\nwho replied that \"he would do so, as he was really afraid that some\nmischief had happened to her,\" utterly disregarding the proposition of\nthe magistrate as to whether the lady could not possibly have changed\nher mind, remarking that such a thing had occasionally happened.\n\nIn the life of Dr. Raffles, an amusing story is quoted, which is\nsomewhat to the point: \"On our way from Wem to Hawkstone, we passed a\nhouse, of which the following occurrence was told: 'A young lady, the\ndaughter of the owner of the house, was addressed by a man who, though\nagreeable to her, was disliked by her father. Of course, he would not\nconsent to their union, and she determined to disappear and elope. The\nnight was fixed, the hour came, he placed the ladder to the window,\nand in a few minutes she was in his arms. They mounted a double horse,\nand were soon at some distance from the house. After awhile the lady\nbroke silence by saying, 'Well, you see what a proof I have given you\nof my affection; I hope you will make me a good husband!'\n\n\"He was a surly fellow, and gruffly answered, 'Perhaps I may, and\nperhaps not.'\n\n\"She made him no reply, but, after a few minutes' silence, she\nsuddenly exclaimed, 'O, what shall we do? I have left my money behind\nme in my room!'\n\n\"'Then,' said he, 'we must go and fetch it.' They were soon again at\nthe house, the ladder was again placed, the lady remounted, while the\nill-natured lover waited below. But she delayed to come, and so he\ngently called, 'Are you coming?' when she looked out of the window\nand said, 'Perhaps I may, and perhaps not,' then shut down the window,\nand left him to return upon the double horse alone.\"\n\nBut, if traditionary lore is to be believed, the sudden disappearance\nof the bride on her wedding day has had, in more than one instance, a\nvery romantic and tragic origin. There is the well-known story which\ntells how Lord Lovel married a young lady, a baron's daughter, who, on\nthe wedding night, proposed that the guests should play at\n\"hide-and-seek.\" Accordingly, the bride hid herself in an old oak\nchest, but the lid falling down, shut her in, for it went with a\nspring lock. Lord Lovel and the rest of the company sought her that\nnight and many days in succession, but nowhere could she be found. Her\nstrange disappearance for many years remained an unsolved mystery, but\nsome time afterwards the fatal chest was sold, which, on being opened,\nwas found to contain the skeleton of the long-lost bride. This popular\nstory was made the subject of a song, entitled \"The Mistletoe Bough,\"\nby Thomas Haynes Bayley, who died in 1839; and Marwell Old Hall, near\nWinchester, once the residence of the Seymours, and afterwards of the\nDacre family, has a similar tradition attached to it. Indeed, the very\nchest has been preserved in the hall of Upham Rectory, having been\nremoved from Marwell some forty years ago. The great house at\nMalsanger, near Basingstoke, has a story of a like nature connected\nwith it, reminding us of that of Tony Forster in Kenilworth, and of\nRogers's Ginevra:\n\n    \"There then had she found a grave!\n    Within that chest had she concealed herself,\n    Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy,\n    When a spring lock that lay in ambush there,\n    Fastened her down for ever.\"\n\nThis story is found in many places, and the chest in which the poor\nbride was found is shown at Bramshill, in Hampshire, the residence of\nSir John Cope. But only too frequently the young lady disappears from\nsome preconcerted arrangement; a striking instance being that of\nAgnes, daughter of James Ferguson, the mechanist. While walking down\nthe Strand with her father, she slipt her hand out of his whilst he\nwas absorbed in thought, and he never saw her from that day, nor was\nanything known of the girl's fate till many years after Ferguson's\ndeath. At the time, the story of her extraordinary disappearance was\nmatter of public comment, and all kinds of extravagant theories were\nstarted to account for it. The young lady, however, was gone, and\ndespite the most patient search, and the most persistent inquiries, no\ntidings could be gained as to her whereabouts. In course of years the\nmystery was cleared up, and revealed a pitiable case of sin and shame.\nIt appears that a nobleman to whom she had become known at her\nfather's lectures took her, in the first instance, to Italy, and\nafterwards deserted her. In her distress, being ashamed to return\nhome, she resolved to try the stage as a means of livelihood, and\napplied to Garrick, who gave her a trial on the boards, but the\nattempt proved a failure. She then turned her hand to authorship, but\nwith no better success. Although reduced to the most abject poverty,\nshe would not make herself known to her relatives, and in complete\ndespair, and overwhelmed with a sense of her disgrace, in her last\nextremity she threw herself on the streets, and died in miserable\nbeggary and wretchedness in Round Court, off the Strand. It was on her\ndeath-bed that she disclosed to the surgeon who attended her the\nmelancholy and tragic story of her wasted life. But from the\nlocalities in which she had habitually moved, she must have many a\ntime passed her relatives in the streets, though withheld by shame\nfrom making herself known, when they imagined her to be in some\ndistant country, or in the grave.\n\nThe strange disappearance of Lady Cathcart, on the other hand, whose\nfourth husband was Hugh Maguire, an officer in the Hungarian service,\nis an extraordinary instance of a wife being, for a long term of\nyears, imprisoned by her own husband without any chance of escape. It\nseems that, soon after her last marriage, she discovered that her\nhusband had only made her his wife with the object of possessing\nhimself of her property, and, alarmed at the idea of losing\neverything, she plaited some of her jewels in her hair and others in\nher petticoat. But she little anticipated what was in store for her,\nalthough she had already become suspicious of her husband's intentions\ntowards her. His plans, however, were soon executed; for one morning,\nunder the pretence of taking her for a drive, he carried her away\naltogether: and when she suggested, after they had been driving some\ntime, that they would be late for dinner, he coolly replied, \"We do\nnot dine to-day at Tewing, but at Chester, whither we are journeying.\"\n\nSome alarm was naturally caused, writes Sir Bernard Burke, \"by her\nsudden disappearance, and an attorney was sent in pursuit with a writ\nof _habeas corpus_ or _ne exeat regno_, who found the travellers at\nChester, on their way to Ireland, and demanded a sight of Lady\nCathcart. Colonel Maguire at once consented, but, knowing that the\nattorney had never seen his wife, he persuaded a woman to personate\nher.\n\nThe attorney, in due time, was introduced to the supposed Lady\nCathcart, and was asked if she accompanied Colonel Maguire to Ireland\nof her own free will. \"Perfectly so,\" said the woman. Whereupon the\nattorney set out again for London, and the Colonel resumed his journey\nwith Lady Cathcart to Ireland, where, on his arrival at his own house\nat Tempo, in Fermanagh, his wife was imprisoned for many years.\"\nDuring this period the Colonel was visited by the neighbouring gentry,\n\"and it was his regular custom at dinner to send his compliments to\nLady Cathcart, informing her that the company had the honour to drink\nher ladyship's health, and begging to know whether there was anything\nat table that she would like to eat? But the answer was always the\nsame, \"Lady Cathcart's compliments, and she has everything she wants.\"\nFortunately for Lady Cathcart, Colonel Maguire died in the year 1764,\nwhen her ladyship was released, after having been locked up for twenty\nyears, possessing, at the time of her deliverance, scarcely clothes to\nher back. She lost no time in hastening back to England, and found her\nhouse at Tewing in possession of a Mr. Joseph Steele, against whom she\nbrought an act of ejectment, and, attending the assize in person,\ngained her case. Although she had been so cruelly treated by Colonel\nMaguire, his conduct does not seem to have injured her health, for she\ndid not die till the year 1789, when she was in her ninety-eighth\nyear. And, when eighty years of age, it is recorded that she took part\nin the gaieties of the Welwyn Assembly, and danced with the spirit of\na girl. It may be added that although she survived Colonel Maguire\ntwenty years, she was not tempted, after his treatment, to carry out\nthe resolution which she had inscribed as a poesy on her wedding ring.\n\n    If I survive\n    I will have five.[47]\n\nAnother disappearance and supposed imprisonment which created\nconsiderable sensation in the last century was that of Elizabeth\nCanning. On New Year's Day, 1753, she visited an uncle and aunt who\nlived at Saltpetre Bank, near Well Close Square, who saw her part of the\nway home as far as Houndsditch. But as no tidings were afterwards heard\nof her, she was advertised for, rumours having gone abroad, that she had\nbeen heard to shriek out of a hackney coach in Bishopsgate-street.\nPrayers, too, were offered up for her in churches and meeting-houses,\nbut all inquiries were in vain, and it was not until the 29th of the\nmonth that the missing girl returned in a wretched condition, ill,\nhalf-starved, and half-clad. Her story was that after leaving her uncle\nand aunt on the 1st of January, she had been attacked by two men in\ngreat coats, who robbed, partially stripped her, and dragged her away to\na house in the Hertfordshire road, where an old woman cut off her stays,\nand shut her up in a room in which she had been imprisoned ever since,\nsubsisting on bread and water, and a mince pie that her assailants had\noverlooked in her pocket, and ultimately, she said, she had escaped\nthrough the window, tearing her ear in doing so.\n\nHer story created much sympathy for her, and steps were immediately\ntaken to punish those who had abducted her in this outrageous manner.\nThe girl, who was in a very weak condition, was taken to the house\nshe had specified, one \"Mother\" Wells, who kept an establishment of\ndoubtful reputation at Enfield Wash, and on being asked to identify\nthe woman who had cut off her stays, and locked her up in the room\nreferred to, pointed out one Mary Squires, an old gipsy of surpassing\nugliness. Accordingly, Squires and Wells were committed for trial for\nassault and felony; the result of the trial being that Squires was\ncondemned to death, and Wells to be burned in the hand, a sentence\nwhich was executed forthwith, much to the delight of the excited crowd\nin the Old Bailey Sessions-house.\n\nBut the Lord Mayor, Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who had presided at the trial\n_ex-officio_, was not satisfied with the verdict, and caused further\nand searching inquiries to be made. The verdict, on the weight of\nfresh evidence obtained, was upset, and Squires was granted a free\npardon. On 29th April, 1754, Elizabeth Canning was summoned again to\nthe Old Bailey, but this time to take her trial for wilful and corrupt\nperjury. The trial lasted eight days, and, being found guilty, she was\ntransported in August, \"at the request of her friends, to New\nEngland.\" According to the \"Annual Register,\" she returned to this\ncountry at the expiration of her sentence to receive a legacy of L500,\nleft to her three years before by an old lady of Newington Green;\nwhereas, later accounts affirm that she never came back, but died 22nd\nJuly, 1773, at Weathersfield, in Connecticut, it being further stated\nthat she married abroad a Quaker of the name of Treat, \"and for some\ntime followed the occupation of a schoolmistress.\"\n\nThe mystery of her life--her disappearance from Jan. 1st to the 29th\nof that month, and what transpired in that interval--is a secret that\nhas never been to this day divulged. Indeed, as it has been observed,\n\"notwithstanding the many strange circumstances of her story, none is\nso strange as that it should not be discovered in so many years where\nshe had concealed herself during the time she had invariably declared\nshe was at the house of Mother Wells.\"[48]\n\nAnother curious disappearance is recorded by Sir John Coleridge,\nforming a strange story of romance. It seems there lived in Cornwall,\na highly respectable family, named Robinson, consisting of two\nsons--William and Nicholas--and two daughters. The property was\nsettled on the two sons and their male issue, and in case of death on\nthe two daughters. Nicholas was placed with an eminent attorney of St.\nAusten as his clerk, with a prospect of being one day admitted into\npartnership. But his legal studies were somewhat interrupted by his\nfalling in love with a milliner's apprentice; the result being that he\nwas sent to London to qualify himself as an attorney. But he had no\nsooner been admitted an attorney of the Queen's Bench and Common\nPleas than he disappeared, and thenceforward he was never seen by any\nmember of his family or former friends, all search for him proving\nfruitless.\n\nIn course of time the father died, and William, the elder son,\nsucceeded to the property, dying unmarried in May, 1802. As nothing\nwas heard of Nicholas, the two sisters became entitled to the\nproperty, of which they held possession for twenty years, no claim\nbeing made to disturb their possession of it.\n\nBut in the year 1783, a young man, whose looks and manners were above\nhis means and situation, had made his appearance as a stranger at\nLiverpool, going by the name of Nathaniel Richardson--the same\ninitials as Nicholas Robinson. He bought a cab and horse, and plied\nfor hire in the streets of Liverpool--and being \"a civil, sober, and\nprudent man,\" he soon became prosperous, and drove a coach between\nLondon and Liverpool. He married, had children, and gradually acquired\nconsiderable wealth. Having gone to Wales, however, in the year 1802,\nto purchase some horses, he was accidentally drowned in the Mersey.\nMany years after his death, it was rumoured in 1821 that this\nNathaniel Richardson was no other than Nicholas Robinson, and his\neldest son claimed the property, which was then inherited by the two\ndaughters. An action was accordingly tried in Cornwall to recover the\nproperty. The strange part of the proceedings was that nearly forty\nyears had elapsed since anyone had seen Nicholas Robinson; but, says\nSir John Coleridge, \"It was made out conclusively, in a most\nremarkable way, and by a variety of small circumstances, all pointing\nto one conclusion, that Nathaniel Richardson was the identical\nNicholas Robinson\". The Cornish and Liverpool witnesses agreed in the\ndescription of his person, his height, the colour of his hair, his\ngeneral appearance, and, more particularly, it was mentioned that he\nhad a peculiar habit of biting his nails, and that he had a great\nfondness for horses.\n\nIn addition to other circumstances, there was this remarkable\none--that Nathaniel's widow married again and that the furniture and\neffects were taken to the second husband's house. Among the articles,\nwas an old trunk, which she had never seen opened; but, on its\ncontents being examined one day, among other letters and papers, were\nfound the two certificates of Nicholas Robinson's admission as\nAttorney to the Courts of Queen's Bench and Common Pleas--and, on the\ntrial, the old master of Nicholas Robinson, alias Nathaniel\nRichardson, swore to his handwriting, and so the property was\ndiscovered.\n\nIt has been often remarked that London is about the only place in all\nEurope where a man, if so desirous, can disappear and live for years\nunknown in some secure retreat. About the year 1706, a certain Mr.\nHowe, after he had been married some seven or eight years, rose early\none morning, and informed his wife that he was obliged to go to the\nTower on special business, and at about noon the same day he sent a\nnote to his wife informing her that business summoned him to Holland,\nwhere he would probably have to remain three weeks or a month. But\nfrom that day he was absent from his home for seventeen years, during\nwhich time his wife neither heard from him, nor of him.\n\nHis strange and unaccountable disappearance at the time naturally\ncreated comment, but no trace could be found of his whereabouts, or as\nto whether he had met with foul treatment. And yet the most curious\npart of the story remains to be told. On leaving his house in Jermyn\nStreet, Piccadilly, Mr. Howe went no further than to a small street in\nWestminster, where he took a room, for which he paid five or six\nshillings a week, and changing his name, and disguising himself by\nwearing a black wig--for he was a fair man--he remained in this\nlocality during the whole time of his absence. At the time he\ndisappeared from his home, Mr. Howe had had two children by his wife,\nbut these both died a few years afterwards. But, being left without\nthe necessary means of subsistence, Mrs. Howe, after waiting two or\nthree years in the hope of her husband's return, was forced to apply\nfor an Act of Parliament to procure an adequate settlement of his\nestate, and a provision for herself out of it during his absence, as\nit was uncertain whether he was alive or dead. This act Mr. Howe\nsuffered to be passed, and read the progress of it in a little\ncoffee-house which he frequented.\n\nAfter the death of her children, Mrs. Howe removed from her house in\nJermyn Street to a smaller one in Brewer Street, near Golden Square.\nJust over against her lived one Salt, a corn chandler, with whom Mr.\nHowe became acquainted, usually dining with him once or twice a week.\nThe room where they sat overlooked Mrs. Howe's dining room, and Salt,\nbelieving Howe to be a bachelor, oftentimes recommended her to him as\na suitable wife. And, curious to add, during the last seven years of\nhis mysterious absence, Mr. Howe attended every Sunday service at St.\nJames's Church, Piccadilly, and sat in Mr. Salt's seat, where he had a\ngood view of his wife, although he could not be easily seen by her.\n\nAt last, however, Mr. Howe made up his mind to return home, and the\nevening before he took this step, sent her an anonymous note\nrequesting her to meet him the following day in Birdcage Walk, St.\nJames's Square. At the time this billet arrived, Mrs. Howe was\nentertaining some friends and relatives at supper--one of her guests\nbeing a Dr. Rose, who had married her sister.\n\nAfter reading the note, Mrs. Howe tossed it to Dr. Rose, laughingly\nremarking, \"You see, brother, old as I am, I have got a gallant.\"\n\nBut Dr. Rose recognised the handwriting as that of Mr. Howe, which so\nupset Mrs. Howe that she fainted away. It was eventually arranged that\nDr. Rose and his wife, with the other guests who were then at supper,\nshould accompany Mrs. Howe the following evening to the appointed\nspot. They had not long to wait before Mr. Howe appeared, who, after\nembracing his wife, walked home with her in the most matter-of-fact\nmanner, the two living together in the most happy and harmonious\nmanner till death divided them.\n\nThe reason of this mysterious disappearance, Mr. Howe would never\nexplain, but Dr. Rose often maintained that he believed his brother\nwould never have returned to his wife had not the money which he took\nwith him--supposed to have been from one to two thousand pounds--been\nall spent. \"Anyhow,\" he used to add, \"Mr. Howe must have been a good\neconomist, and frugal in his manner of living, otherwise the money\nwould scarce have held out.\"\n\nA romance associated with Haigh Hall, in Lancashire, tells how Sir\nWilliam Bradshaigh, stimulated by his love of travel and military\nardour, set out for the Holy land. Ten years elapsed, and, as no\ntidings reached his wife of his whereabouts, it was generally supposed\nthat he had perished in some religious crusade. Taking it for granted,\ntherefore, that he was dead, his wife Mabel did not abandon herself\nto a life of solitary widowhood, but accepted an offer of marriage\nfrom a Welsh knight. But, not very long afterwards, Sir William\nBradshaigh returned from his prolonged sojourn in the Holy land, and,\ndisguised as a palmer, he visited his own castle, where he took his\nplace amongst the recipients of Lady Mabel's bounty.\n\nAs soon, however, as Lady Mabel caught sight of the palmer, she was\nstruck by the strong resemblance he bore to her first husband; and\nthis impression was quickly followed by bewilderment when the\nmysterious stranger handed to her a ring which he affirmed had been\ngiven him by Sir William, in his dying moments, to bear to his wife at\nHaigh Hall.\n\nIn a moment Lady Mabel's thoughts travelled back into the distant\npast, and she burst into tears as the ring brought back the dear\nmemories of bygone days. It was in vain she tried to stifle her\nfeelings, and, as her second husband--the Welsh Knight--looked on and\nsaw how distressed she was, \"he grew,\" says the old record, \"exceeding\nwroth,\" and, in a fit of jealous passion, struck Lady Mabel.\n\nThis ungallant act was the climax of the painful scene, for there and\nthen Sir William threw aside his disguise, and hastened to revenge the\nunchivalrous conduct of the Welsh knight. Completely confounded at\nthis unexpected turn of events, and fearing violence from Sir\nWilliam, the Welsh knight rode off at full speed, without waiting for\nany explanation of the matter. But he was overtaken very speedily and\nslain by his opponent, an offence for which Sir William was outlawed\nfor a year and a day; while Mabel, his wife, \"was enjoined by her\nconfessor to do penance by going once every week, barefoot and bare\nlegged, to a cross near Wigan, popularly known as Mab's Cross.[49]\n\nIn Wigan Parish Church, two figures of whitewashed stone preserve the\nmemory of Sir William Bradshaigh and his Lady Mabel, he in an antique\ncoat of mail, cross-legged, with his sword, partly drawn from the\nscabbard, by his left side, and she in a long robe, veiled, her hands\nelevated and conjoined in the attitude of fervent prayer. Sir Walter\nScott informs us that from this romance he adopted his idea of \"The\nBetrothed,\" \"from the edition preserved in the mansion of Haigh Hall,\nof old the mansion house of the family of Bradshaigh, now possessed by\ntheir descendants on the female side, the Earls of Balcarres.\"[50]\n\n[Illustration: LADY MABEL AND THE PALMER.]\n\nScottish tradition ascribes to the Clan of Tweedie a descent of a\nsimilar romantic nature. A baron, somewhat elderly, had wedded a buxom\nyoung wife, but some months after their union he left her to ply the\ndistaff among the mountains of the county of Peebles, near the sources\nof the Tweed. After being absent seven or eight years--no uncommon\nspace for a pilgrimage to Palestine--he returned, and found, to quote\nthe account given by Sir Walter Scott, \"his family had not been lonely\nin his absence, the lady having been cheered by the arrival of a\nstranger who hung on her skirts and called her mammy, and was just\nsuch as the baron would have longed to call his son, but that he could\nby no means make his age correspond with his own departure for\nPalestine. He applied, therefore, to his wife for the solution of the\ndilemma, who, after many floods of tears, informed her husband that,\nwalking one day along the banks of the river, a human form arose from\na deep eddy, termed Tweed-pool, who deigned to inform her that he was\nthe tutelar genius of the stream, and he became the father of the\nsturdy fellow whose appearance had so much surprised her husband.\"\nAfter listening to this strange adventure, \"the husband believed, or\nseemed to believe, the tale, and remained contented with the child\nwith whom his wife and the Tweed had generously presented him. The\nonly circumstance which preserved the memory of the incident was that\nthe youth retained the name of Tweed or Tweedie.\" Having bred up the\nyoung Tweed as his heir while he lived, the baron left him in that\ncapacity when he died, \"and the son of the river-god founded the\nfamily of Drummelzier and others, from whom have flowed, in the phrase\nof the Ettrick shepherd, 'many a brave fellow, and many a bauld\nfeat.'\"\n\nIt may be added that, in some instances, the science of the medical\njurist has aided in elucidating the history of disappearances, through\nidentifying the discovered remains with the presumed missing subjects.\nSome years ago, the examination of a skeleton found deeply imbedded in\nthe sand of the sea-coast at a certain Scotch watering-place showed\nthat the person when living must have walked with a very peculiar and\ncharacteristic gait, in consequence of some deposits of a rheumatic\nkind which affected the lower part of the spine. The mention of this\ncircumstance caused a search to be made through some old records of\nthe town, and resulted in the discovery of a mysterious disappearance,\nwhich, at the time, had been duly noted--the subject being a person\nwhose mode of walking had made him an object of attention, and whose\nfate, but for the observant eye of the anatomist, must have remained\nwholly unknown. Similarly, it has been pointed out how skeletons found\nin mines, in disused wells, in quarries, in the walls of ruins, and\nvarious other localities \"imply so many social mysteries which\nprobably occasioned in their day a wide-spread excitement, or at least\nagitated profoundly some small circle of relatives or friends.\"\nAccording to the \"Annual Register\" (1845, p. 195), while some men were\nbeing employed in taking the soil from the bottom of the river in\nfront of some mills a human skeleton was accidentally found. At a\ncoroner's inquest, it transpired that about nine years before a Jew\nwhose name was said to be Abrams, visited Taverham in the course of\nhis business, sold some small articles for which he gave credit to the\npurchasers, and left the neighbourhood on his way to Drayton, the next\nvillage, with a sum of L90 in his possession. But at Drayton he\ndisappeared, and never returned to Taverham to claim the amount due to\nhim.\n\nSearch was made for the missing man, but to no purpose, and after the\nexcitement in the neighbourhood had abated, the matter was soon\nforgotten. But some time afterwards a man named Page was apprehended\nfor sheep stealing, tried, and sentenced to be transported for life.\nDuring his imprisonment, he told divers stories of robberies and\ncrimes, most of which turned out to be false. But, amongst other\nthings, he wrote a letter promising that if he were released from gaol\nand brought to Cossey, \"he would show them that, from under the willow\ntree, which would make every hair in their heads rise up.\" The man was\nnot released, but the river was drawn, and some sheep's skins and\nsheep's heads were found, which were considered to be the objects\nalluded to by Page. The search, however, was still pursued, and from\nunder the willow tree the skeleton was fished up, evidently having\nbeen fastened down. It was generally supposed that these were the\nbones of the long lost Jew, who, no doubt, had been murdered for the\nmoney on his person--a crime of which Page was aware, if he were not\nan accomplice.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[47] See \"Romantic Records of the Aristocracy,\" 1850, I., 83-87.\n\n[48] See \"Dict. of Nat. Biog.,\" VIII., 418-420; Caulfield's \"Remarkable\nPersons,\" and Gent. Mag., 1753 and 1754.\n\n[49] Sir B. Burke's \"Vicissitudes of Families,\" first series, 270-273.\nHarland's \"Lancashire Legends,\" 45-47. Roby's \"Traditions of\nLancashire.\"\n\n[50] The tale of the noble Moringer is, in some respects, almost\nidentical with this tradition. It exists in a collection of German\npopular songs, and is supposed to be extracted from a manuscript\n\"Chronicle of Nicholas Thomann, Chaplain to St. Leonard in\nWeissenhorn,\" and dated 1533.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nHONOURED HEARTS.\n\n    \"I will ye charge, after that I depart\n    To holy grave, and thair bury my heart,\n    Let it remaine ever bothe tyme and hour,\n    To ye last day I see my Saviour.\"\n               --Old ballad quoted in Sir Walter Scott's notes\n                 to \"Marmion.\"\n\n\nA curious and remarkable custom which prevailed more or less down to\nthe present century was that of heart burial. In connection with this\nstrange practice numerous romantic stories are told, the supreme\nregard for the heart as the source of the affections, having caused it\nto be bequeathed by a relative or friend, in times past, as the most\ntender and valuable legacy. In many cases, too, the heart, being more\neasy to transport, was removed from some distant land to the home of\nthe deceased, and hence it found a resting place, apart from the body,\nin a locality endeared by past associations.\n\nWestminster Abbey, it may be remembered, contains the hearts of many\nillustrious personages. The heart of Queen Elizabeth was buried there,\nand it is related how a prying Westminster boy one day, discovering\nthe depositories of the hearts of Elizabeth and her sister, Queen\nMary, subsequently boasted how he had grasped in his hand those once\nhaughty hearts. Prince Henry of Wales, son of James I., who died at\nthe early age of eighteen, was interred in Westminster Abbey, his\nheart being enclosed in lead and placed upon his breast, and among\nfurther royal personages whose hearts were buried in a similar manner\nmay be mentioned Charles II., William and Mary, George, Prince of\nDenmark, and Queen Anne.\n\nThe heart of Edward, Lord Bruce, was enclosed in a silver case, and\ndeposited in the abbey church of Culross, near the family seat. In the\nyear 1808, this sad relic was discovered by Sir Robert Preston, the\nlid of the silver case bearing on the exterior the name of the\nunfortunate duellist; and, after drawings had been taken of it, the\nwhole was carefully replaced in the vault; and in St. Nicholas's\nChapel, Westminster, was enshrined the heart of Esme Stuart, Duke of\nRichmond, where a monument to his memory is still to be seen with this\nfact inscribed upon it.\n\nMany interesting instances of heart burial are to be found in our\nparish churches. In the church of Horndon-on-the-Hill, Essex, which\nwas once the seat of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a nameless black marble\nmonument is pointed out as that of Anne Boleyn. According to a popular\ntradition long current in the neighbourhood, this is said to have\ncontained the head, or heart. \"It is within a narrow seat,\" writes\nMiss Strickland, \"and may have contained her head, or her heart, for\nit is too short to contain a body. The oldest people in the\nneighbourhood all declare that they have heard the tradition in their\nyouth from a previous generation of aged persons, who all affirm it to\nbe Anne Boleyn's monument.\" But, it would seem, there has always been\na mysterious uncertainty about Anne Boleyn's burial place, and a\ncorrespondent of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ (October, 1815), speaks of\n\"the headless remains of the departed queen, as deposited in the arrow\nchest and buried in the Tower Chapel before the high altar. Where that\nstood, the most sagacious antiquary, after a lapse of more than 300\nyears, cannot now determine; nor is the circumstance, though related\nby eminent writers, clearly ascertained. In a cellar, the body of a\nperson of short stature, without a head, not many years since, was\nfound, and supposed to be the reliques of poor Anne, but soon after it\nwas reinterred in the same place and covered with earth.\"[51]\n\nBy her testament, Eleanor, Duchess of Buckingham, wife of Edward, Duke\nof Buckingham, who was beheaded on May 17th, 1521, appointed her heart\nto be buried in the church of the Grey Friars, within the City of\nLondon; and in the Sackville Vault, in Withyam Church, Sussex, is a\ncuriously shaped leaden box in the form of a heart, on a brass plate\nattached to which is this inscription: \"The heart of Isabella,\nCountess of Northampton, died on October 14th, 1661.\" A leaden drum\ndeposited in a vault in the church of Brington is generally supposed\nto contain the head of Henry Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, who received\nhis death wound at the battle of Newbury; and at Wells Cathedral, in a\nbox of copper, a heart was accidentally discovered, supposed to be\nthat of one of the bishops; and in the family vault of the\nHungerfords, at Farley Castle, a heart was one day found in a glazed\nearthenware pot, covered with white leather. The widow of John Baliol,\nfather of Bruce's rival, showed her affection for her dead lord in a\nstrange way, for she embalmed his heart, placed it in an ivory casket,\nand during her twenty years of widowhood she never sat down to meals\nwithout this silent reminder of happier days. On her death, she left\ninstructions for her husband's heart to be laid on her bosom, and from\nthat day \"New Abbey\" was known as Sweet Heart Abbey, and \"never,\" it\nis said, \"did abbey walls shelter a sweeter, truer heart than that of\nthe lady of Barnard Castle.\"\n\nAmong the many instances of heart-bequests may be noticed that of\nEdward I., who on his death-bed expressed a wish to his son that his\nheart might be sent to Palestine, inasmuch as after his accession he\nhad promised to return to Jerusalem, and aid the crusade which was\nthen in a depressed condition. But, unfortunately, owing to his wars\nwith Scotland, he failed to fulfil his engagement, and at his death he\nprovided two thousand pounds of silver for an expedition to convey his\nheart thither, \"trusting that God would accept this fulfilment of his\nvow, and grant his blessing on the undertaking\"; at the same time\nimprecating \"eternal damnation on any who should expend the money for\nany other purpose.\" But his injunction was not performed.\n\nRobert Bruce, king of Scotland, the avowed foe of Edward I., also gave\ndirections to his trusted friend, Sir James Douglas, that his heart\nshould be buried in the Holy Land, because he had left unfulfilled a\nvow to assist in the Crusade, but his wish was frustrated owing to the\nfollowing tragic occurrence. After the king's death, his heart was\ntaken from his body, and, enclosed in a silver case, was worn by Sir\nJames Douglas suspended to his neck, who set out for the Holy Land. On\nreaching Spain, he found the King of Castile engaged in war with the\nMoors, and thinking any contest with Saracens consistent with his\nvows, he joined the Spaniards against the Moors. But being overpowered\nby the enemy's horsemen, in desperation he took the heart from his\nneck, and threw it before him, shouting aloud, \"Pass on as thou wert\nwont, I will follow or die.\" He was almost immediately struck down,\nand under his body was found the heart of Bruce, which was intrusted\nto the charge of Sir Simon Locard of Lee, who conveyed it back to\nScotland, and interred it beneath the high altar in Melrose Abbey, in\nconnection with which Mrs. Hemans wrote some spirited lines:--\n\n    Heart! thou didst press forward still\n    When the trumpet's note rang shrill,\n    Where the knightly swords were crossing\n    And the plumes like sea-foam tossing.\n    Leader of the charging spear,\n    Fiery heart--and liest thou here?\n    May this narrow spot inurn\n    Aught that so could heat and burn?\n\nThe heart of Richard, the Lion-hearted, has had a somewhat eventful\nhistory. It seems that this monarch bequeathed his heart to Rouen, as\na lasting recognition of the constancy of his Norman subjects. The\nhonour was gratefully acknowledged, and in course of time a beautiful\nshrine was erected to his memory in the cathedral. But this costly\nstructure did not escape being destroyed in the year 1738 with other\nPlantagenet memorials. A hundred years afterwards the mutilated effigy\nof Richard was discovered under the cathedral pavement, and near it\nthe leaden casket that had inclosed his heart, which was replaced.\nBefore long it was taken up again, and removed to the Museum of\nAntiquities, where it remained until the year 1869, when it found a\nmore fitting resting-place in the choir of the cathedral.\n\nJames II. bequeathed his heart to be buried in the Church of the\nConvent Dames de St. Marie, at Chaillot, whence it was afterwards\nremoved to the chapel of the English Benedictines in the Faubourg St.\nJacques. And the heart of Mary Beatrice, his wife, was also bequeathed\nto the Monastery of Chaillot, in perpetuity, \"to be placed in the\ntribune beside those of her late husband, King James, and the\nPrincess, their daughter.\" Dr. Richard Rawlinson, the well known\nantiquary bequeathed his heart to St. John's College, Oxford; and\nEdward, Lord Windsor, of Bradenham, Bucks, who died at Spa in the year\n1754, directed that his body should be buried in the \"Cathedral church\nof the noble city of Liege, with a convenient tomb to his memory, but\nhis heart to be enclosed in lead and sent to England, there to be\nburied in the chapel of Bradenham, under his father's tomb, in token\nof a true Englishman.\"\n\nPaul Whitehead, who died in the year 1774, left his heart to his\nfriend Lord le Despencer, to be deposited in his mausoleum at West\nWycombe. Lord le Despencer accepted the bequest, and on the 16th May,\n1775, the heart, after being wrapped in lead and placed in a marble\nurn, was carried with much ceremony to its resting place. Preceding\nthe bier bearing the urn, \"a grenadier marched in full uniform, nine\ngrenadiers two deep, the odd one last; two German flute players, two\nsurpliced choristers with notes pinned to their backs, two more flute\nplayers, eleven singing men in surplices, two French horn players, two\nbassoon players, six fifers, and four drummers with muffled drums.\nLord le Despencer, as chief mourner, followed the bier, in his uniform\nas Colonel of the Bucks Militia, and was succeeded by nine officers of\nthe same corps, two fifers, two drummers, and twenty soldiers with\ntheir firelocks reversed. The Dead March in \"Saul\" was played, the\nchurch bell tolled, and cannons were discharged every three and a half\nminutes.\" On arriving at the mausoleum, another hour was spent by the\nprocession in going round and round it, singing funeral dirges, after\nwhich the urn containing the heart was carried inside, and placed upon\na pedestal bearing the name of Paul Whitehead, and these lines:\n\n    Unhallowed hands, this urn forbear;\n      No gems, no Orient spoil,\n    Lie here concealed; but what's more rare,\n      A heart that knew no guile.\n\nBut in the year 1829 some unhallowed hand stole the urn, and the\nwhereabouts of Whitehead's heart remains a mystery to the present day.\nIn recent times an interesting case of heart burial was that of Lord\nByron, whose heart was enclosed in a silver urn and placed at Newstead\nAbbey in the family vault; and another was that of the poet, Shelley,\nwhose body, according to Italian custom after drowning, was burnt to\nashes. But the heart would not consume, and so was deposited in the\nEnglish burying ground at Rome.\n\nIt is worthy, too, of note that heart burial prevailed to a very large\nextent on the Continent. To mention a few cases, the heart of Philip,\nKing of Navarre, was buried in the Jacobin's Church, Paris, and that\nof Philip, King of France, at the convent of the Carthusians at\nBourgfontaines, in Valois. The heart of Henri II., King of France, was\nenshrined in an urn of gilt bronze in the Celestins, Paris; that of\nHenri III., according to Camden, was enclosed in a small tomb, and\nHenri IV.'s heart was buried in the College of the Jesuits at La\nFleche. Heart burial, again, was practised at the deaths of Louis IX.,\nXII., XIII., and XIV., and in the last instance was the occasion of an\nimposing ceremony. \"The heart of this great monarch,\" writes Miss\nHartshorne, \"was carried to the Convent of the Jesuits. A procession\nwas arranged by the Cardinal de Rohan, and, surrounded by flaming\ntorches and escorted by a company of the Royal Guards, the heart\narrived at the convent, where it was received by the rector, who\npronounced over it an eloquent and striking discourse.\"\n\nThe heart of Marie de Medicis, who built the magnificent palace of the\nLuxembourg, was interred at the Church of the Jesuits, in Paris; and\nthat of Maria Theresa, wife of Louis XIV., was deposited in a silver\ncase in the monastery of Val de Grace. The body of Gustavus Adolphus,\nthe illustrious monarch who fell in the field of Lutzen, was embalmed,\nand his heart received sepulchre at Stockholm; and, as is well known,\nthe heart of Cardinal Mazarin was, by his own desire, sent to the\nChurch of the Theatins. And Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV.,\ndirected in her will that her body should be buried at St. Denis near\nto her husband, \"of glorious memory,\" but her heart she bequeathed to\nVal de Grace; and she also decreed that it should be drawn out through\nher side without making any further opening than was absolutely\nnecessary. Instances such as these show the prevalence of the custom\nof heart burial in bygone times, a further proof of which may be\ngathered from the innumerable effigies or brasses in which a heart\nholds a prominent place.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[51] See Timbs' \"Abbeys, Castles, and Ancient Halls of England,\" i., p.\n300; and \"Enshrined Hearts of Warriors and Illustrious People,\" by\nEmily Sophia Hartshorne, 1861.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nROMANCE OF WEALTH.\n\n        The unsunn'd heaps\n    Of miser's treasure.\n               MILTON.\n\n\nStories of lost or unclaimed property have always possessed a\nfascinating charm, but, unfortunately, the links for proving the\nrightful ownership break off generally at the point where its history\nseems on the verge of being unravelled. At the same time, however\nromantic and improbable some of the announcements relating to such\ntreasure-hoards may seem, there is no doubt that many a poor family,\nat the present day, would be possessed of great wealth if it could\nonly gain a clue to the whereabouts of money rightfully its own.\n\nThe legal identification, too, of such property when discovered has\nfrequently precluded its successfully being claimed by those really\nentitled to enjoy it, and few persons are aware of the enormous amount\nof unclaimed money--amounting to some millions--which lies dormant,\nalthough continually made public in the \"agony columns\" of the _Times_\nand other daily newspapers. It should be also remembered that wealth\nof this kind is carefully preserved in all kinds of places; bankers'\ncellars, for instance, containing some of the most curious unclaimed\ndeposits, many of them being of rare intrinsic value, whilst others\nare of great romantic interest.\n\nThus, not many years ago, there was accidentally discovered in the\nvaults of the Bank of England a large chest of some considerable age,\nwhich, on being removed from its resting place, almost fell to pieces.\nOn the contents of this old chest being examined, some massive plate\nof the time of Charles II. was brought to light, of very beautiful and\nchaste workmanship. Nor was this all, for much to the surprise of the\nexplorers, a bundle of love letters, written during the period of the\nRestoration, was found carefully packed away with the plate. On search\nbeing made by the directors of the bank in their books, the surviving\nheir of the original depositor was ascertained, to whom the plate and\npacket of love letters were handed over.\n\nMany similar cases might be quoted, for in most of our bank cellars\nare hoarded away family treasures, which for some inexplicable reason\nhave never been claimed. Some, again, of our old jewellers' shops have\nhad strange deposits in their cellars, the history and whereabouts of\ntheir owners having baffled the most searching and minute inquiries.\nAs an illustration, may be given an instance which occurred some years\nback in connection with a jeweller's shop near Soho. It seems that an\nold lady lodged for a few weeks over the said shop, and, on leaving\nfor the Continent, left behind her, for safety's sake, several boxes\nof plate to be taken care of until further notice. But years passed by\nand no tidings of the lady reached the jeweller, although from time to\ntime the most careful inquiries were instituted. At last, however, it\ntranspired that she had died somewhat suddenly, but, as no record was\nfound amongst her papers relating to the boxes of plate, a lengthened\nlitigation arose as to the rightful claimant of the property.\n\nOccasionally, through domestic differences, homes are broken up and\nthe members dispersed, some perhaps going abroad. In many cases, such\npersons it may be are not only lost sight of for years, but are never\nheard of again, and hence, when they become entitled to money, large\nsums are frequently spent in advertising for their whereabouts, and\noftentimes with no satisfactory results. Indeed, advertisements for\nmissing relatives are, it is said, yearly on the increase, and\nconsiderable sums of money cannot be touched owing to the uncertainty\nas to whether persons of this description are alive or dead. An\ninteresting instance occurred in the year 1882, when Sir James Hannen\nhad the following case brought before him: \"Counsel applied on behalf\nof Augustus Alexander de Niceville for letters of administration to\nthe property of his father, supposed to be dead, as he had not been\nheard of since the year 1831, and who, if alive, would be 105 years\nold. In early life he held a commission in the French army, but in the\nyear 1826 he came to this country and settled in Devonshire. On the\nbreaking out of the French Revolution he returned with his wife to\nFrance, but his wife came back to England, and corresponded with her\nhusband till the year 1831, when she ceased to hear from him. In spite\nof every means employed for tracing his whereabouts, nothing was ever\nheard of him, his wife dying in the year 1875. Affidavits in support\nof these facts having been read, the application was granted.\"\n\nThen there are the well-known unclaimed funds in Chancery, concerning\nwhich so much interest attaches. It may not be generally known what a\nmine of wealth these dormant funds constitute, amounting to many\nmillions; indeed, the Royal Courts of Justice have been mainly built\nwith the surplus interest of this money, and occasionally large sums\nfrom this fund have been borrowed to enable the Chancellor of the\nExchequer to carry through his financial operations. By an Act passed\nin the year 1865, facilities are afforded to apply L1,000,000 from\nfunds standing in the books of the Bank of England to an account thus\ndesignated: \"Account of securities purchased with surplus interest\narising from securities carried to the account of moneys placed out\nfor the benefit and better security of the suitors of the Court of\nChancery.\" Not so very long ago the subject was discussed in\nParliament, when it was urged that, as the Government were trustees of\nthese funds, something should be done, as far as possible, by\npublicity, to adopt measures whereby the true owners might become\nclaimants if they had but the knowledge of their rights.\n\nAnother reason for money remaining unclaimed for a number of years, is\nthrough missing wills. Hence many a family forfeits its claim to\ncertain property on account of the testator's last wishes not being\nforthcoming. Thackeray makes one of his plots hang in a most ingenious\nway upon a missing will, which is discovered eventually in the\nsword-box of a family coach, and various curious instances are on\nrecord of wills having been discovered years after the testator's\ndeath in the most out-of-the-way and unlikely hiding places. In some\ncases, also, through a particular clause in a will being peculiarly or\ndoubtfully worded, heirs have been deprived of what was really due to\nthem, a goodly part of the property having been squandered and wasted\nin prolonged legal expenses.\n\nThen, again, it is universally acknowledged that there is an immense\nquantity of money, and other valuables, concealed in the earth. In\nolden days, the householder was the guardian of his own money, and so\nhad to conceal it as his ingenuity could devise. Accordingly large\nsums of money were frequently buried underground, and in excavating\nold houses, treasures of various kinds are oftentimes found underneath\nthe floors. The custom of making the earth a stronghold, and confiding\nto its safe-keeping deposits of money, prevailed until a comparatively\nrecent period, and was only natural, when it is remembered how, in\nconsequence of civil commotions, many a home was likely to be robbed\nof its most valuable belongings. Hence every precaution was taken, a\ncircumstance which accounts for the cunning secretal of rich and\ncostly relics in old buildings. According to an entry given by Pepys\nin his \"Diary,\" a large amount was supposed to be buried in his day,\nand he gives an amusing account of the hiding of his own money by his\nwife and father when the Dutch fleet was supposed to be in the Medway.\nTimes of trouble, therefore, will account for many of the treasures\nwhich were so carefully secreted in olden times. Many years ago, as\nthe foundations of some old houses in Exeter were being removed, a\nlarge collection of silver coins was discovered--the money found\ndating from the time of Henry VIII. to Charles I., or the\nCommonwealth--and it has been suggested that the disturbed state of\naffairs in the middle of the 17th century led to this mode of securing\ntreasure.\n\nThis will account in some measure for the traditions of the existence\nof large sums of hidden money associated with some of our old family\nmansions. An amusing story is related by Thomas of Walsingham, which\ndates as far back as the 14th century. A certain Saracen physician\ncame to Earl Warren to ask permission to kill a dragon which had its\nden at Bromfield, near Ludlow, and committed great ravages in the\nearl's lands. The dragon was overcome; but it transpired that a large\ntreasure lay hid in its den. Thereupon some men of Herefordshire went\nby night to dig for the gold, and had just succeeded in reaching it\nwhen the retainers of the Earl of Warren, having learnt what was going\non, captured them and took possession of the hoard for the earl. A\nlegend of this kind was long connected with Hulme Hall, formerly a\nseat of a branch of the Prestwich family. It seems that during the\ncivil wars its then owner, Sir Thomas Prestwich, was very much\nimpoverished by fines and sequestrations, so that he was forced to\nsell the mansion and estate to Sir Oswald Mosley. On more than one\noccasion his mother had induced him to advance large sums of money to\nCharles I. and his adherents, under the assurance that she had hidden\ntreasures which would amply repay him. This hoard was generally\nsupposed to have been hidden, either in the hall itself, or in the\ngrounds adjoining, and it was said to be protected by spells and\nincantations, known only to the lady dowager herself. Time passed on,\nand the old lady became every day more infirm, and at last she was\nstruck down with apoplexy before she could either practise the\nrequisite incantations, or inform her son where the treasure was\nsecreted. After her burial, diligent search was made, but to no\neffect; and Sir Thomas Prestwich went down to the grave in comparative\npoverty. Since that period fortune-tellers and astrologers have tried\ntheir powers to discover the whereabouts of this hidden hoard, and,\nalthough they have been unsuccessful, it is still believed that one\nday their labours will be rewarded, and that the demons who guard the\nmoney will be forced to give up their charge. Some years ago the hall\nand estate were sold to the Duke of Bridgewater, and, the site having\nbeen required for other purposes, the hall was pulled down, but no\nmoney was discovered.\n\nIn Ireland, there are few old ruins in and about which excavations\nhave not been made in the expectation of discovering hidden wealth,\nand in some instances the consequence of this belief has been the\ndestruction of the building, which has been actually undermined. About\nthree miles south of Cork, near the village of Douglas, is a hill\ncalled Castle Treasure, where a \"cross of gold\" was supposed to be\nconcealed; and the discovery, some years ago, of a rudely-formed clay\nurn and two or three brazen implements attracted for some time crowds\nto the spot.\n\nBut such stories are not confined to any special locality, and there\nis, in most parts of England, a popular belief that vast treasures are\nhidden beneath the old ruins of many houses, and that supernatural\nobstacles always prevent their being discovered. Indeed, Scotland has\nnumerous legends of this kind, some of which, as Mr. Chambers has\npointed out, have been incorporated into its popular rhymes. Thus, on\na certain farm in the parish of Lesmahagow, from time immemorial there\nexisted a tradition that underneath a very large stone was secreted a\nvast treasure in the shape of a kettleful, a bootful, and a bull-hide\nfull \"of gold, all of which have been designated 'Katie Neevie's\nhoord,'\" having given rise to the following adage:\n\n    Between Dillerhill and Crossford\n    There lies Katie Neevie's hoord.\n\nAnd at Fardell, anciently the seat of Sir Walter Raleigh's family, in\nthe courtyard formerly stood an inscribed bilingual stone of the Roman\nBritish period; the stone is now in the British Museum. The tradition\ncurrent in the neighbourhood makes the inscription refer to a treasure\nburied by Sir Walter Raleigh, and hence the local rhyme:\n\n    Between this stone and Fardell Hall\n    Lies as much money as the devil can haul.\n\nA curious incident happened in Ireland about the commencement of the\nlast century. The Bishop of Derry being at dinner, there came in an\nold Irish harper, and sang an ancient song to his harp. The Bishop,\nnot being acquainted with Irish, was at a loss to understand the\nmeaning of the song, but on inquiry he ascertained the substance of it\nto be this--that in a certain spot a man of gigantic stature lay\nburied, and that over his breast and back were plates of pure gold,\nand on his fingers rings of gold so large that an ordinary man might\ncreep through them. The spot was so exactly described that two persons\nactually went in quest of the garden treasure. After they had dug for\nsome time, they discovered two thin pieces of gold, circular, and more\nthan two inches in diameter. But when they renewed their excavations\non the following morning they found nothing more. The song of the\nharper has been identified as \"Moiva Borb,\" and the lines which\nsuggested the remarkable discovery have been translated thus:\n\n    In earth, beside the loud cascade,\n    The son of Sora's king we laid;\n    And on each finger placed a ring\n    Of gold, by mandate of our king.\n\nThe loud cascade was the well-known waterfall at Ballyshannon, known\nas \"The Salmon Leap\" now.\n\n[Illustration: THERE CAME IN AN OLD IRISH HARPER AND SANG AN\nANCIENT SONG TO HIS HARP.]\n\nIt was also a common occurrence for a miser to hide away his hoards\nunderground, and before he had an opportunity of making known their\nwhereabouts he died, without his heirs being put in the necessary\npossession of the information regarding that part of the earth wherein\nhe had kept secreted his wealth. At different times, in old houses\nhave been discovered misers' hoards, and which, but for some accident,\nwould have remained buried in their forgotten resting-place. This\nwill frequently account for money being found in the most eccentric\nnooks, an illustration of which happened a few years ago in Paris,\nwhen a miser died, leaving behind him, as was supposed, money to the\nvalue of sixty pounds. After some months had passed by, the claimant\nto the property made his appearance, and, on the miser's apartments\nbeing thoroughly searched, no small astonishment was caused by the\ndiscovery of the large sum of thirty-two thousand pounds. It may be\nnoted that in former years our forefathers were extremely fond of\nhiding away their money for safety, making use of the chimney, or the\nwainscot or skirting-board. There it frequently remained; and such\ndepositories of the family wealth were occasionally, from death and\nother causes, completely forgotten. In one of Hogarth's well-known\npictures, the young spendthrift, who has just come into his\ninheritance, is being measured by a fashionable tailor, when, from\nbehind the panels which the builders are ripping down, is seen falling\na perfect shower of golden money.\n\nThere can be no doubt that there is many an old house in this country\nwhich, if thoroughly ransacked, would be found to contain treasures of\nthe most valuable and costly kind. Some years ago, for example, a\ncollection of pictures was discovered at Merton College, Oxford,\nhidden away between the ceiling and the roof; and missing deeds have\nfrom time to time been discovered located in all sorts of mysterious\nnooks. In a set of rooms in Magdalen College, too, which had been\noriginally occupied by one of the Fellows, and had subsequently been\nabandoned and devoted to lumber, was unearthed a strong wooden box,\ncontaining, together with some valuable articles of silver plate, a\nbeautiful loving-cup, with a cover of pure gold. When, also, the\nVicarage house of Ormesby, in Yorkshire, required reparation, some\nstonework had to be removed in order to carry out the necessary\nalterations, in the course of which a small box was found, measuring\nabout a foot square, which had been embedded in the wall. The box,\nwhen opened, was full of angels, angelets, and nobles. Some of the\nmoney was of the reign of Edward IV., some of Henry VI., and some,\ntoo, of the reigns of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It has been suggested\nthat when Henry VIII. dissolved the lesser monasteries, the monks of\nGuisboro' Priory, which was only about six miles off, fearing the\nworst, fled with their treasures, and, with the craft and cunning\npeculiar to their order, buried a portion of them in the walls of the\nparsonage house of Ormesby.[52]\n\nTo quote another case, Dunsford, in his \"Memories of Tiverton\" (1790),\np. 285, speaking of the village of Chettiscombe, says that in the\nmiddle of the 16th century, in the north part of this village was \"a\nchapel entire, dedicated to St. Mary. The walls and roof are still\nwhole, and served some years past for a dwelling-house, but is now\nuninhabited.\" It appears that not only was there some superstition\nattaching to this building, which accounted for its untenanted\ncondition, but certain money was supposed to be hidden away, to\ndiscover which every attempt had hitherto been in vain. \"It was\ntherefore proposed,\" says the author, \"that some person should lodge\nin the chapel for a night to obtain preternatural information\nrespecting it. Two persons at length complied with the request to do\nso, and, aided by strong beer, approached about nine o'clock the\nhallowed walls. They trembled exceedingly at the sudden appearance of\na white owl that flew from a broken window with the message that\nconsiderable wealth lay in certain fields, that if they would\ndiligently dig there, they would undoubtedly find it.\" They quickly\nattended to this piece of information, and employed a body of workmen\nwho, before long, succeeded in bringing to light the missing money.\n\nA similar tradition was associated with Bransil Castle, a stronghold\nof great antiquity, situated in a romantic position about two miles\nfrom the Herefordshire Beacon. The story goes that the ghost of Lord\nBeauchamp, who died in Italy, could never rest until his bones were\ndelivered to the right heir of Bransil Castle. Accordingly, they were\nsent from Italy enclosed in a small box, and were for a considerable\ntime in the possession of Mr. Sheldon, of Abberton. The tradition\nfurther states that the old Castle of Bransil was moated round, and in\nthat moat a black crow, presumed to be an infernal spirit, sat to\nguard a chest of money, till discovered by the rightful owner. The\nchest could never be moved without the mover being in possession of\nthe bones of Lord Beauchamp.\n\nSuch stories of hidden wealth being watched over by phantom beings are\nnot uncommon, and remind us of those anecdotes of treasures concealed\nat the bottom of wells, guarded over by the \"white ladies.\" In\nShropshire, there is an old buried well of this kind, at the bottom of\nwhich a large hoard has long been supposed to lie hidden, or as a\nlocal rhyme expresses it:\n\n    Near the brook of Bell\n    There is a well\n    Which is richer than any man can tell.\n\nIn the South of Scotland it is the popular belief that vast treasures\nhave for many a year past been concealed beneath the ruins of\nHermitage Castle; but, as they are supposed to be in the keeping of\nthe Evil One, they are considered beyond redemption. At different\ntimes various efforts have been made to dig for them, yet \"somehow the\nelements always on such occasions contrived to produce an immense\nstorm of thunder and lightning, and deterred the adventurers from\nproceeding, otherwise, of course the money would long ago have been\nfound.\" And to give another of these strange family legends, may be\nquoted one told of Stokesay Castle, Shropshire. It seems that many\nyears ago all the country in the neighbourhood of Stokesay belonged to\ntwo giants, who lived the one upon View Edge, and the other at Norton\nCamp. The story commonly current is that \"they kept all their money\nlocked up in a big oak chest in the vaults under Stokesay Castle, and\nwhen either of them wanted any of it he just took the key and got\nsome. But one day one of them wanted the key, and the other had got\nit, so he shouted to him to throw it over as they had been in the\nhabit of doing, and he went to throw it, but somehow he made a mistake\nand threw too short, and dropped the key into the moat down by the\nCastle, where it has remained ever since. And the chest of treasure\nstands in the vaults still, but no one can approach it, for there is a\nbig raven always sitting on the top of it, and he won't allow anybody\nto try and break it open, so no one will ever be able to get the\ngiants' treasure until the key is found, and many say it never will be\nfound, let folks try as much as they please.\"[53]\n\nAmongst further reasons for the hiding away of money, may be noticed\neccentricity of character, or mental delusion, a singular instance of\nwhich occurred some years ago. It appears that whilst some workmen\nwere grubbing up certain tree at Tufnell Park, near Highgate, they\ncame upon two jars, containing nearly four hundred pounds in gold.\nThis they divided, and shortly afterwards, when the lord of the manor\nclaimed the whole as treasure trove, the real owner suddenly made his\nappearance. In the course of inquiry, it transpired that he was a\nbrassfounder, living at Clerkenwell, and having been about nine months\nbefore under a temporary delusion, he one night secreted the jars in a\nfield at Tufnell Park. On proving the truth of his statement, the\nmoney was refunded to him.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[52] \"Journal of the Archaeological Association,\" 1859, Vol. xv., p.\n104.\n\n[53] \"Shropshire Folklore\" (Miss Jackson), 7, 8.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nLUCKY ACCIDENTS.\n\n    \"As the unthought-on accident is guilty\n    Of what we wildly do, so we profess\n    Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\n    Of every wind that blows.\"\n               \"Winter's Tale,\" Act iv., Sc. 3.\n\n\nPascal, one day, remarked that if Cleopatra's nose had been shorter\nthe whole face of the world would probably have been changed. The same\nidea may be applied to the unforeseen advantages produced by\naccidents, some of which have occasionally had not a little to do with\ndetermining the future position in life of many eminent men. Prevented\nfrom pursuing the sphere in this world they had intended, compulsory\nleisure compelled them to adopt some hobby as a recreation, in which,\nunconsciously, their real genius lay.\n\nThus David Allan, popularly known as the \"Scottish Hogarth,\" owed his\nfame and success in life to an accident. When a boy, having burnt his\nfoot, he amused the monotony of his leisure hours by drawing on the\nfloor with a piece of chalk--a mode of passing his time which soon\nobtained an extraordinary fascination for him. On returning to school,\nhe drew a caricature of his schoolmaster punishing a pupil, which\ncaused him to be summarily expelled. But, despite this punishment, his\nsuccess as an artist was decided, the caricature being considered so\nclever that he was sent to Glasgow to study art, where he was\napprenticed in 1755 to Robert Foulis, a famous painter, who with his\nbrother Andrew had secretly established an academy of arts in that\ncity. Their kindness to him he was afterwards able to return when\ntheir fortunes were reversed.\n\nIf Sir Walter Scott had not sprained his foot in running round the\nroom when a child, the world would probably have had none of those\nworks which have made his name immortal. When his son intimated a\ndesire to enter the army, Sir Walter Scott wrote to Southey, \"I have\nno title to combat a choice which would have been my own, had not my\nlameness prevented.\" In the same way, the effects of a fall when about\na year old rendered Talleyrand lame for life, and being, on this\naccount, unfit for a military career, he was obliged to renounce his\nbirthright in favour of his second brother. But what seemed an\nobstacle to his future success was the very reverse, for, turning his\nattention to politics and books, he eventually became one of the\nleading diplomatists of his day. Again, Josiah Wedgwood was seized in\nhis boyhood with an attack of smallpox, which was followed by a\ndisease in the right knee, some years afterwards necessitating the\namputation of the affected limb. But, as Mr. Gladstone, in his address\non Wedgwood's life and work delivered at Burslem, Oct. 26th, 1863,\nremarked, the disease from which he suffered was, no doubt, the cause\nof his subsequent greatness, for \"it prevented him from growing up to\nbe the active, vigorous English workman, but it put upon him\nconsidering whether, as he could not be that, he might not be\nsomething else, and something greater. It drove him to meditate upon\nthe laws and secrets of his art.\"\n\nFlamsteed was an astronomer by accident. Being removed from school on\naccount of his health, it appears that a cold caught in the summer of\n1660 while bathing, which produced a rheumatic affection of the\njoints, accompanied by other ailments. He became unable to walk to\nschool, and he finally left in May, 1662. His self-training now began,\nand Sacroborco's \"De Sphaera\" was lent to him, with the perusal of\nwhich he was so pleased that he forthwith commenced a course of\nastronomic studies. Accordingly, he constructed a rude quadrant and\ncalculated a table of the sun's altitudes, pursuing his studies, as he\nsaid himself, \"under the discouragement of friends, the want of\nhealth, and all other instructors, except his better genius.\"[54]\n\nAlluding to accidents as sometimes developing greatness, Mr. Smiles\nremarks that Pope's satire was in a measure the outcome of his\ndeformity; and Lord Byron's club foot, he adds, \"had probably not a\nlittle to do with determining his destiny as a poet. Had not his mind\nbeen embittered, and made morbid by his deformity, he might never have\nwritten a line. But his misshapen foot stimulated his mind, roused his\nardour, threw him upon his own resources, and we know with what\nresult.\"\n\nAgain, in numerous other ways, it has been remarked, accidents have\ntaken a lucky turn, and, if not being the road to fortune, have had\nequally important results. The story is told of a young officer in the\narmy of General Wolfe who was supposed to be dying of an abscess in\nthe lungs. He was absent from his regiment on sick leave, but resolved\nto join it when a battle was expected, \"for,\" said he, \"since I am\ngiven over I had better be doing my duty, and my life's being\nshortened a few days matters not.\" He received a shot which pierced\nthe abscess and made an opening for the discharge, the result being\nthat he recovered and lived to eighty years of age.\n\nBrunel, the celebrated engineer, had a curious accident, which might\nhave forfeited his life. While one day playing with his children and\nastonishing them by passing a half sovereign through his mouth out at\nhis ear, he unfortunately swallowed the coin, which dropped into his\nwindpipe. Brunel regarded the mischief caused by the accident as\npurely mechanical; a foreign body had got into his breathing\napparatus, and must be removed, if at all, by some mechanical\nexpedient. But he was equal to the emergency, and had an apparatus\nconstructed which had the effect of relieving him of the coin. In\nafter days he used to tell how, when his body was inverted, and he\nheard the gold piece strike against his upper front teeth, was,\nperhaps, the most exquisite moment in his whole life, the half\nsovereign having been in his windpipe for not less than six weeks.\n\nIn the year 1784, William Pitt almost fell the victim to the folly of\na festive meeting, for he was nearly accidentally shot as a\nhighwayman. Returning late at night on horseback from Wimbledon to\nAddiscombe, together with Lord Thurlow, he found the turnpike gate\nbetween Tooting and Streatham thrown open. Both passed through it,\nregardless of the threats of the turnpike man, who, taking the two for\nhighwaymen, discharged the contents of his blunderbuss at their backs;\nbut, happily, no injury was done, and Pitt had the good fortune to\nescape from what might have been a very serious, if not fatal,\naccident. Foote, too, met with a bad accident on horseback, which, at\nthe time, seemed a lasting obstacle to his career as an actor. Whilst\nriding with the Duke of York and some other noblemen, he was thrown\nfrom his horse and his leg broken, so that an amputation became\nnecessary. In consequence of this accident, the Duke of York obtained\nfor him the patent of the Haymarket Theatre for his life; but he\ncontinued to perform his former characters with no less agility and\nspirit than he had done before to the most crowded houses. Similarly,\non one occasion--a very important one--Charles James Matthews was\nnearly prevented making his first appearance on the stage through\nbeing thrown from his horse, but, to quote his own words, \"the\nexcitement of the evening dominated all other feelings, and I walked\nfor the time as well as ever.\"\n\nSome men, again, have owed their success to the accidents of others. A\nnotable instance was that of Baron Ward, the well-known minister of\nthe Duke of Parma. After working some time as a stable-boy in Howden,\nhe went to London, where he had the good luck to come to the Duke of\nParma's assistance after a fall from his horse in Rotten Row. The Duke\ntook him back to Lucca as his groom, and ere long Ward made the ducal\nstud the envy of Italy. He soon rose to a higher position, and became\nthe minister and confidential friend of the Duke of Parma, with whom\nhe escaped in the year 1848 to Dresden, and for whom he succeeded in\nrecovering Parma and Placenza. Indeed, Lord Palmerston once remarked,\n\"Baron Ward was one of the most remarkable men I ever met with.\"\n\nIt was through witnessing an accident that Sir Astley Cooper made up\nhis final decision to take up surgery as his profession. A young man,\nhaving been run over by a cart, was in danger of dying from loss of\nblood, when young Cooper lost no time in tying his handkerchief about\nthe wounded limb so as to stop the hemorrhage. It was this incident\nwhich assured him of his taste for surgery. In the same way, the story\nis quoted of the eminent French surgeon, Ambrose Pare. It is stated\nthat he was acting as stable-boy to an abbe at Laval when a surgical\noperation was about to be performed on one of the brethren of the\nmonastery. On being called in to assist, Ambrose Pare not only proved\nso useful, but was so fascinated with the operation that he made up\nhis mind to devote his life to the study and practice of surgery.\nInstances of this kind might be enumerated, being of frequent\noccurrence in biographical literature, and showing to what unforeseen\ncircumstances men have occasionally owed their greatness.\n\nA romance which, had it lacked corroborative evidence, would have\nseemed highly improbable, is told of the two Countesses of Kellie. In\nthe latter half of the last century, Mr Gordon, the proprietor of\nArdoch Castle--situated upon a high rock, overlooking the sea--was one\nevening aroused by the firing of a gun evidently from a vessel in\ndistress near the shore. Hastening down to the beach, with the\nservants of the Castle, it was evident that the distressed vessel had\ngone down, as the floating spars but too clearly indicated. After\nlooking out in vain for some time, in the hope of recovering some of\nthe passengers--either dead or alive--he found a sort of crib, which\nhad been washed ashore, containing a live infant. The little creature\nproved to be a female child, but beyond the fact that its wrappings\npointed to its being the offspring of persons in no mean condition,\nthere was no trace as to who these were.\n\nThe little foundling was brought up with Mr. Gordon's own daughters,\nand when she had attained to womanhood, by an inexplicable\ncoincidence, a storm similar to that just mentioned occurred. An\nalarm-gun was fired, and this time Mr. Gordon had the satisfaction of\nreceiving a shipwrecked party, whom he at once made his guests at the\nCastle. Amongst them was one gentleman passenger, who after a\ncomfortable night spent in the Castle, was surprised at breakfast by\nthe entrance of a troop of blooming girls, the daughters of his host,\nas he understood, but one of whom specially attracted his attention.\n\n\"Is this young lady your daughter, too?\" he inquired of Mr. Gordon.\n\n\"No,\" replied his host, \"but she is as dear to me as if she were.\"\n\nHe then related her history, to which the stranger listened with eager\ninterest, and at its close he not a little surprised Mr. Gordon by\nremarking that he \"had reason to believe that the young lady was his\nown niece.\" He then gave a detailed account of his sister's return\nfrom India, corresponding to the time of the shipwreck, and added,\n\"she is now an orphan, but if I am not mistaken in my supposition, she\nis entitled to a handsome provision which her father bequeathed to her\nin the hope of her yet being found.\"\n\nBefore many days had elapsed, sufficient evidence was forthcoming to\nprove that by this strange, but lucky, accident of the shipwreck, the\nlong lost niece was found. The young heiress keenly felt leaving the\nold castle, but to soften the wrench it was arranged that one of the\nMisses Gordon should accompany her to Gottenburg, where her uncle had\nlong been settled as a merchant.\n\nThe sequel of this romance, as it is pointed out in the \"Book of\nDays,\"[55] is equally astonishing. It seems that among the Scotch\nmerchants settled in the Swedish port, was Mr. Thomas Erskine--a\nyounger son of a younger brother of Sir William Erskine, of Cambo, in\nFife--an offshoot of the family of the Earl of Kellie--to whom Miss\nAnne Gordon was married in the year 1771. A younger brother, named\nMethven, ten years later married Joanna, a sister of Miss Gordon. It\nwas never contemplated that these two brothers would ever come near to\nthe peerage of their family--there being at one time seventeen persons\nbetween them and the family titles; but in the year 1797 the baronet\nof Cambo became Earl of Kellie, and two years later the title came to\nthe husband of Anne Gordon. In short, \"these two daughters of Mr.\nGordon, of Ardoch, became in succession Countesses of Kellie in\nconsequence of the incident of the shipwrecked foundling, whom their\nfather's humanity had rescued from the waves.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[54] See \"Dictionary of National Biography,\" xix., 242.\n\n[55] \"The Two Countesses of Kellie,\" ii. 41, 42.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nFATAL PASSION.\n\n    What dreadful havoc in the human breast\n    The passions make, when, unconfined and mad,\n    They burst, unguided by the mental eye,\n    The light of reason, which, in various ways,\n    Points them to good, or turns them back from ill!\n               THOMSON.\n\n\nThe annals of some of our old and respected families have occasionally\nbeen sadly stained \"by hideous exhibitions of cruelty and lust,\" in\ncertain instances the result of an unscrupulous disregard of moral\nduty and of a vindictive fierceness in avenging injury. It has been\noftentimes remarked that few tragedies which the brain of the novelist\nhas depicted have surpassed in their unnatural and horrible details\nthose enacted in real life, for\n\n    When headstrong passion gets the reins of reason,\n    The force of Nature, like too strong a gale,\n    For want of ballast, oversets the vessel.\n\nLove, indeed, which has been proverbially said to lead to as much evil\nas any impulse that agitates the human bosom, must be held responsible\nfor only too many of those crimes which from time to time outrage\nsociety, for, as the authors of \"Guesses at Truth\" have remarked,\n\"jealousy is said to be the offspring of love, yet, unless the parent\nmake haste to strangle the child, the child will not rest till it has\npoisoned the parent.\" Thus, a tragedy which made the Castle of\nCorstorphine the scene of a terrible crime and scandal in the year\n1679, may be said to have originated in an unhallowed passion.\n\nGeorge, first Lord Forrester, having no male issue, made an\narrangement whereby his son-in-law, James Baillie, was to succeed him\nas second Lord Forrester and proprietor of the estate of Corstorphine.\nJust four years after this compact was made, Lord Forrester died, and\nJames Baillie, a young man of twenty-five, succeeded to the title and\nproperty. But this arrangement did not meet with the approval of Lord\nForrester's daughters, who regarded it as a manifest injustice that\nthe honours of their ancient family should devolve on an alien--a\nfeeling of dissatisfaction which was more particularly nourished by\nthe third daughter, Lady Hamilton, whose husband was far from wealthy.\n\nIt so happened that Lady Hamilton had a daughter, Christian, who was\nnoted for her rare beauty and high spirit. But, unfortunately, she was\na girl of strong passion, which, added to her self-will, caused her,\nwhen she had barely arrived at a marriageable age, to engage herself\nto one James Nimmo, the son of an Edinburgh merchant. Before many\nweeks had elapsed, the young couple were married, and the handsome\nyoung wife was settled in her new home in Edinburgh. Time wore on, the\nnovelty of marriage died away, and as Mrs. Nimmo dwelt on her\nmercantile surroundings, she recognised more and more what an\nill-assorted match she had made, and in her excitable mind, \"she\ncursed the bond which connected her with a man whose social position\nshe despised, and whose occupations she scorned.\" The report, however,\nof her uncommon beauty, could not fail to reach the ears of young Lord\nForrester, who on the score of relationship was often attracted to\nMrs. Nimmo's house. At first he was received with coldness, but, by\nflattering and appealing to her vanity, he gradually \"accomplished the\nruin of this unhappy young woman,\" and made her the victim of his\nlicentious and unprincipled designs.\n\nBut no long time had elapsed when this shameful intrigue became the\nsubject of common talk, and public indignation took the side of the\ninjured woman, when Lord Forrester, after getting tired of her, \"was\nso cruel and base as to speak of her openly in the most opprobrious\nmanner,\" even alluding to her criminal connection with him. In so\ndoing, however, he had not taken into consideration the violent\ncharacter of the woman he had wronged, nor thought he of her jealousy,\nwounded pride, and despair. In his haste, also, to rid himself of the\nwoman who no longer fascinated him, he paid no heed to the passion\nthat was lurking in her inflamed bosom, nor counted on her _spretae\ninjuria formae_.\n\nOn the other hand, whilst he was forgetting the past in his orgies,\nMrs. Nimmo--whose love for him was turned to the bitterest hate--was\nhourly reproaching him, and at last the fatal moment arrived when she\nfelt bound to proceed to Corstorphine Castle, and confront her\nevil-doer. At the time, Lord Forrester was drinking at the village\ntavern, and, when the infuriated woman demanded to see him, he was\nflushed with claret, and himself in no amiable mood. The altercation,\nnaturally, \"soon became violent, bitter reproaches were uttered on the\none side, and contemptuous sneers on the other.\" Goaded to frenzy, the\nunhappy woman stabbed her paramour to the heart, killing him\ninstantly.\n\nWhen taken before the sheriff of Edinburgh, she confessed her crime,\nand, although she told the court in the most pathetic manner how\nbasely she had been wronged by one who should have supported rather\nthan ruined her, sentence of death was passed upon her. She managed,\nwrites Sir Bernard Burke,[56] to postpone the execution of her\nsentence by declaring that she was with child by her seducer, and\nduring her imprisonment succeeded in escaping in the disguise of a\nyoung man. But she was captured, and on the 12th November, 1679, paid\nthe penalty of her rash act, appearing at her execution attired in\ndeep mourning, covered with a large veil.\n\nRadcliffe to this day possesses the tradition of a terrible tragedy of\nwhich there are several versions. It appears that one Sir William de\nRadclyffe had a very beautiful daughter whose mother died in giving\nher birth. After a time he married again, and the step-mother,\nactuated by feeling of jealousy, conceived a violent hatred to the\ngirl, which ere long prompted her to be guilty of the most insane\ncruelty. One day, runs the story, when Sir William was out hunting,\nshe sent the unsuspecting girl into the kitchen with a message to the\ncook that he was to dress the white doe. But the cook professing\nignorance of the particular white doe he was to dress, asserted, to\nthe young lady's intense horror, that he had received orders to kill\nher, which there and then he did, afterwards making her into a pie.\n\nOn Sir William's return from hunting, he made inquiries for his\ndaughter, but his wife informed him that she had taken the opportunity\nin his absence of going into a nunnery. Suspicious, however, of the\ntruth of her story--for her jealous hatred of his daughter had not\nescaped his notice--he flew into a passion, and demanded in the most\nperemptory manner where his daughter was, whereupon the scullion boy\ndenounced the step-mother, and warned Sir William against eating the\npie.\n\nThe whole truth was soon revealed, and the diabolic wickedness of Lady\nWilliam did not pass unpunished, for she was burnt, and the cook was\ncondemned to stand in boiling lead. A ballad in the Pepys' collection,\nentitled, \"The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-mother's Cruelty,\"\nrecords this horrible barbarity; and in a Lancashire ballad, called\n\"Fair Ellen of Radcliffe\", it is thus graphically told:--\n\n    She straighte into the kitchen went,\n      Her message for to tell;\n    And then she spied the master cook,\n      Who did with malice swell.\n\n    \"Nowe, master cooke, it must be soe,\n      Do that which I thee tell;\n    You needs must dress the milk-white doe,\n      You which do knowe full well.\"\n\n    Then straight his cruel, bloody hands,\n      He on the ladye laid,\n    Who, quivering and ghastly, stands\n      While thus to her he sayd:\n\n    \"Thou art the doe that I must dress;\n      See here! behold, my knife!\n    For it is pointed, presentli\n      To rid thee of thy life.\"\n\n    O then, cryed out the scullion boye,\n      As loud as loud might be,\n    \"O save her life, good master cook,\n      And make your pyes of me.\"\n\nThe tradition adds that Sir William was not unmindful of the scullion\nboy's heroic conduct, for he made him heir to his possessions.\n\nAnother cruel case of woman's jealousy, which, happily, was not so\ndisastrous in its result as the former, relates to Maria, daughter of\nthe Hon. Alexander Mackenzie, second son of Kenneth, Earl of Seaforth,\nwho was Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline. Report goes that between\nthis young lady, who was one of the greatest beauties about the Court,\nand a Mr. Price, an admired man about town, there subsisted a strong\nattachment. Unfortunately for Miss Mackenzie, Mr. Price was an\nespecial favourite of the celebrated Countess of Deloraine, who, to\nget rid of her rival in beauty, poisoned her.\n\nBut this crime was discovered in time, antidotes were administered\nwith success, and the girl's life was saved; although her lovely\ncomplexion is said to have been ruined, ever after continuing of a\nlemon tint. Queen Caroline, desirous of shielding the Countess of\nDeloraine from the consequences of her act, persuaded \"the poisoned\nbeauty\" to appear, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, at a\nsupper, given either by the Countess of Deloraine or where she was to\nbe present. Accordingly, on the night arranged, some excitement was\ncaused by the arrival of Miss Mackenzie, for as she entered the room,\nsomeone exclaimed, \"How entirely changed!\"\n\nBut Mr. Price, who was seated by Lady Deloraine remarked, \"In my eyes\nshe is more beautiful than ever,\" and it only remains to add that they\nwere married next morning.\n\nLike jealousy, thwarted love has often been cause of the most\nunnatural crimes, and a tragic story is told of the untimely death of\nMr Blandy, of Henley, in Oxfordshire, who, by practice as an attorney,\nhad accumulated a large fortune. He had an only child, Mary, who was\nregarded as an heiress, and consequently had suitors many. On one\noccasion, it happened that William Cranstoun, brother of Lord\nCranstoun, being upon a recruiting party in Oxfordshire, and hearing\nof Miss Blandy's \"great expectations,\" found an opportunity of\nintroducing himself to the family.\n\nThe Captain's attentions, however, to Miss Blandy met with the strong\ndisapproval of her father, for he had ascertained that this suitor for\nhis daughter's hand had been privately married in Scotland. But\nagainst this objection Captain Cranstoun replied that he hoped to get\nthis marriage speedily set aside by a decree of the Supreme Court of\nSession. And when the Court refused to annul the marriage, Mr. Blandy\nabsolutely refused to allow his daughter to have any further\ncommunications with so dishonourable a man; a resolution to which he\nremained inexorable.\n\nIntrigue between the two was the result, for it seems that Miss\nBlandy's affection for this profligate man--almost double her age--was\nviolent. As might be expected, Captain Cranstoun not only worked upon\nher feelings, but imposed on her credulity. He sent her from Scotland\na pretended love powder, which he enjoined her to administer to her\nfather, in order to gain his affection and procure his consent. This\ninjunction she did not carry out, on account of a frightful dream, in\nwhich she saw her father fall from a precipice into the ocean.\nThereupon the Captain wrote a second time, and told her in words\nsomewhat enigmatical, but easily understood by her, his design.\n\nHorrible to relate, the wicked girl was so elated with the idea of\nremoving her father, that she was heard to exclaim before the\nservants, \"who would not send an old fellow to hell for thirty\nthousand pounds?\"\n\nThe fatal die was cast. The deadly powder was mixed and given to him\nin a cup of tea, after drinking which he soon began to swell\nenormously.\n\n\"What have you given me, Mary?\" asked the unhappy dying man. \"You have\nmurdered me; of this I was warned, but, alas! I thought it was a false\nalarm. O, fly; take care of the Captain!\"\n\nThus Mr. Blandy died of poison, but his daughter was captured whilst\nattempting to escape, and was conveyed to Oxford Castle, where she was\nimprisoned till the assizes, when she was tried for parricide, was\nfound guilty, and executed. Captain Cranstoun managed to effect his\nescape, and went abroad, where he died soon afterwards in a deplorable\nstate of mind, brought about by remorse for the evil and misery he had\ncaused.\n\nAlmost equally tragic was the fatal passion of Sir William Kyte,\nforming another strange domestic drama in real life. Possessed of\nconsiderable fortune, and of ancient family, Sir William was deemed a\nvery desirable match, and when he offered his hand to a young lady of\nnoble rank, and of great beauty, he was at once accepted. The marriage\nfor the first few years turned out happily, but the crisis came when\nSir William was nominated, at a contested election, to represent the\nborough of Warwick, in which county lay the bulk of his estate. After\nthe election was over, Lady Kyte, by way of recompensing a zealous\npartisan of her husband, took an innkeeper's daughter, Molly Jones,\nfor her maid; \"a tall, genteel girl, with a fine complexion, and\nseemingly very modest and innocent.\" But before many months had\nelapsed, Sir William was attracted by the girl, and, eventually,\nbecame so infatuated by her charms, that, casting aside all restraints\nof shame or fear, he agreed to a separation between his wife and\nhimself. Accordingly, Sir William left Lady Kyte, with the two younger\nchildren, in possession of the mansion-house in Warwickshire, and\nretired with his mistress and his two eldest sons to a farmhouse on\nthe Cotswold hills. Charmed with the situation, he was soon tempted to\nbuild a handsome house here, to which were added two large\nside-fronts, for no better reason than that Molly Jones, one day,\nhappened to say, \"What is a Kite without wings.\" But the expense of\ncompleting this establishment, amounting to at least L10,000, soon\ninvolved Sir William in financial difficulties, which caused him to\ndrown his worries in drink.\n\nAt this juncture, Molly Jones, forgetting her own past, was\ninjudicious enough to engage a fresh coloured country girl--who was\nscarcely twenty--as dairymaid, for whom Sir William quickly conceived\nan amorous regard. Actuated by jealousy or disgust, Molly Jones\nthreatened to leave Sir William, a resolution which she soon carried\nout, retiring to Cambden, a neighbouring market town, where she was\nreduced to keep a small sewing school as a means of livelihood.\nAlthough left to carry on his intrigue undisturbed, Sir William soon\nbecame a victim to gloomy reflections, feeling at times that he had\nnot only cruelly wronged a good wife, but had been deserted by the\nvery woman for whose sake he had brought this trouble and disgrace\nupon his family. Tormented by these conflicting passions, he\noccasionally worked himself up into such a state of frenzy that even\nhis new favourite was terrified, and had run away. It was when almost\nmaddened with the thought of his evil past that he formed that fatal\nresolve which was a hideous ending to \"the dreadful consequence of a\nlicentious passion not checked in its infancy.\" One October evening,\nas a housemaid was on the stairs, suddenly \"the lobby was all in a\ncloud of smoke.\" She gave the alarm, and on the door being forced\nopen whence the smoke proceeded, it was discovered that Sir William\nhad set fire to a large heap of fine linen, piled up in the middle of\nthe room. From an adjoining room, where Sir William had made his\nescape, the flames burst out with such fury that all were glad to make\ntheir escape out of the house, the greater part of which was in a few\nhours burnt to the ground--no other remains of its master being found\nnext morning but the hip-bone, and bones of the back.\n\nA case which, at the time, created considerable sensation was the\nmurder of Thynne of Longleat by a jealous antagonist. The eleventh\nDuke of Northumberland left an only daughter, whose career, it has\nbeen said, \"might match that of the most erratic or adventurous of her\nrace.\" Before she was sixteen years old, she had been twice a widow,\nand three times a wife. At the age of thirteen, she was married to the\nonly son of the Duke of Newcastle, a lad of her own age, who died in a\nfew months. Her second husband was Thynne of Longleat, \"Tom of Ten\nThousand,\" but the tie was abruptly severed by the bullet of an\nassassin, set on by the notorious Count Konigsmark, who had been a\nsuitor for her hand, and was desirous of another chance. After his\ndeath, the young widow, who was surrounded by a host of admirers,\nmarried the Duke of Somerset, and she seems to have made him a fitting\nmate, for when his second wife, a Finch, tapped him familiarly on the\nshoulder, or, according to another version, seated herself on his\nknee, he exclaimed indignantly:\n\n\"My first wife was a Percy, and she never thought of taking such a\nliberty.\"\n\nIt may be added that one of the most remarkable incidents in this\ncelebrated beauty's life was when by dint of tears and supplications\nshe prevented Queen Anne from making Swift a bishop, out of revenge\nfor the \"Windsor prophecy,\" in which she was ridiculed for the redness\nof her hair, and upbraided as having been privy to the brutal murder\nof her second husband. \"It was doubted,\" says Scott, \"which imputation\nshe accounted the more cruel insult, especially since the first charge\nwas undoubted, and the second arose only from the malice of the poet.\"\n\nAnother tragedy of a similar kind was the murder of William Mountford,\nthe player. Captain Richard Hill had conceived a violent passion for\nMrs. Bracegirdle, the beautiful actress, and is said to have offered\nher his hand, and to have been refused. At last his passion became\nungovernable, and he determined to carry her off by force. To carry\nout his purpose, he induced his friend Lord Mohun to assist him in the\nattempt. According to one account, \"he dodged the fair actress for a\nwhole day at the theatre, stationed a coach near the Horseshoe Tavern,\nin Drury Lane, to carry her off in, and hired six soldiers to force\nher into it. As the beautiful actress came down Drury Lane, at ten\no'clock at night, accompanied by her mother and brother, and escorted\nby her friend Mr. Page, one of the soldiers seized her in his arms,\nand endeavoured to force her into the coach. But the lady's scream\nattracted a crowd, and Captain Hill, finding his endeavours\nineffectual, bid the soldiers let her go. Disappointed in their\nobject, Lord Mohun and Captain Hill vowed vengeance; and Mrs.\nBracegirdle on reaching home sent her servant to Mr. Mountford's house\nto take care of himself, warning him against Lord Mohun and Captain\nHill, \"who she feared, had no good intention toward him, and did wait\nfor him in the street.\" It appears that Mountford had already heard of\nthe attempt to carry off Mrs. Bracegirdle, and hearing that Lord Mohun\nand Captain Hill were in the street, did not shrink from approaching\nthem.\"\n\nThe account says that he addressed Lord Mohun, and told him how sorry\nhe was to find him in the company of such a pitiful fellow as Captain\nHill, whereupon, it is said, \"the captain came forth and said he would\njustify himself, and went towards the middle of the street, and Mr.\nMountford followed him and drew.\" The end of the quarrel was that\nMountford fell with a terrible wound, of which he died on the\nfollowing day, declaring in his last moments that Captain Hill ran him\nthrough the body before he could draw his sword. Captain Hill, it\nseems, owed Mountford a deadly grudge, having attributed his rejection\nby Mrs. Bracegirdle to her love for him--an unlikely passion, it is\nthought, as Mountford was a married man, with a good-looking wife of\nhis own, afterwards Mrs. Verbruggen, and a celebrated actress.\n\nOulton House, Suffolk, long known as the \"Haunted House,\" acquired its\nill-omened name from a tragic occurrence traditionally said to have\nhappened many years ago, and the peasantry in the neighbourhood affirm\nthat at midnight a wild huntsman, with his hounds, accompanied by a\nlady carrying a poisoned cup, is occasionally seen. The story is that,\nin the reign of George II., a squire, returning unexpectedly home from\nthe chase, discovered his wife with an officer, one of his guests, in\ntoo familiar a friendship. High words followed, and the indignant\nhusband, provoked by the cool manner in which the officer treated the\nmatter, struck him, whereupon the guilty lover drew his sword and\ndrove it through the squire's heart, the faithless wife and her\nparamour afterwards making their escape.\n\nSome years afterwards, runs the tale, the Squire's daughter, who had\nbeen left behind in the hasty departure, having grown to womanhood,\nwas affianced to a youthful farmer of the neighbourhood. But on their\nbridal eve, as they were sitting together talking over the new life\nthey were about to enter, \"a carriage, black and sombre as a hearse,\nwith closely drawn curtains, and attended by servants clad in sable\nliveries, drew up to the door.\" The young girl was seized by masked\nmen, carried off in the carriage to her unnatural mother, while her\nbetrothed was stabbed as he vainly endeavoured to rescue her. A grave\nis pointed out in the cemetery at Namur, as that in which was laid the\nbody of the unhappy girl, poisoned, it is alleged, by her unscrupulous\nand wicked mother. It is not surprising, we are told, that the\nlocality was supposed to be haunted by the wretched woman--both as\nwife and mother equally criminal.\n\nFamily romance, once more, has many a dark page recording how\ndespairing love has ended in self-destruction. At the beginning of the\npresent century, a sad catastrophe befell the Shuckburghs of\nShuckburgh Hall. It appears the Bedfordshire Militia were stationed\nnear Upper Shuckburgh, and the officers were in the habit of visiting\nthe Hall, whose hospitable owner, Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh, received\nthem with every mark of cordiality. His daughter, then about twenty\nyears of age, was a young lady of no ordinary attractions, and her\nfascinations soon produced their natural effect on one of the\nofficers, Lieutenant Sharp, who became deeply attached to her. But as\nsoon as Sir Stewkley became aware of this love affair, he gave it his\ndecided disapproval. Lieutenant Sharp was forbidden the house, and\nMiss Shuckburgh resolved to smother her love in deference to her\nfather's wishes. It was accordingly decided between the young people\nthat their intimacy should cease, and that the letters which had\npassed between them should be returned. An arrangement was, therefore,\nmade that the lady should leave the packet for Lieutenant Sharp in the\nsummer-house in the garden on a specified evening, and that on the\nfollowing morning she should find the packet intended for her in the\nsame place. The sad engagement was kept, and having left her packet in\nthe evening, Miss Shuckburgh set out on the following morning to find\nher own. A servant, it is said, who saw her in the garden, was curious\nto know what could have brought her out at so early an hour. He\nfollowed her unobserved, and on drawing near to the summer-house, \"he\nheard the voices of the lieutenant and of the lady in earnest dispute.\nThe officer was loud and impassioned, the lady firm but unconsenting.\nImmediately was heard the report of a pistol, and the fall of a\nbody--another report and fall. Guessing the tragic truth, the servant\nraised an alarm, and the two lovers were found lying dead in their own\nblood.\" It is generally supposed that this terrible act of\nself-destruction was the result of mutual agreement--the outcome of\npassion and despair.\n\n\"Since that hour,\" writes Howitt, \"every object, about the place which\ncould suggest to the memory this fatal event, has been changed or\nremoved. The summer-house has been razed to the ground; the\ndisposition of the garden itself altered; but,\" he adds, \"such tragic\npassages in human life become part and parcel of the scene where they\noccur--they become the topic of the winter fireside. They last while\npassions and affections, youth and beauty last. They fix themselves\ninto the soil, and the very rock on which it lies, and though the\nhouse was razed from the spot, and its park and pleasaunces turned\ninto ploughed fields, it would still be said for ages: Here stood\nShuckburgh Hall, and here fell the young and lovely Miss Shuckburgh by\nthe hand of her despairing lover.\"\n\nAnd to conclude with a romance in brief, some forty or fifty years\nago, in the far north of England a girl was on the eve of being\nmarried. Her wedding dress was ordered, the guests were bidden. But,\nit is said that at the eleventh hour, in a fit of passion and paltry\njealousy, she resented some fancied want of devotion in her lover.\n\nHe was single-minded, loyal, and altogether of finer stuff than\nherself; but she was a wretched slave to such old stock phrases as\ndelicacy, family pride, and the like, and so he was allowed to go, for\nshe came of people who looked upon unforgiveness as a virtue.\n\nAccordingly the discarded lover exchanged into a regiment under orders\nfor Afghanistan. At the time, our troops were engaged there in hot\nfighting. The lad fell, and hidden on his breast was found a locket\nwhich his sweetheart had once given him. It came back to her through a\nbrother officer, who had known something of his sad story, with a\nstain on it--a stain of his blood. When that painful relic silently\ntold her of the devotion which she had so unjustly and basely wronged,\nthere came, in the familiar lines:\n\n    A mist and a weeping rain,\n    And life was never the same again.\n\nThat stain marked every day of a lonely life throughout forty years or\nmore.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[56] \"Vicissitudes of Families,\" 1863, III. Ser., 202-203.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n\"Abbey Vows,\" The, 56-58.\n\nAbingdon, John, Secret Room built by, at Hendlip Hall, 91-93.\n\nAbrams, Disappearance of a Jew named, 251, 252.\n\nAccidents, Lucky, 279-288.\n\nAdolphus, Gustavus, Burial of, 262.\n\nAinsworth and Cuckfield Place, 180, 181.\n\nAlexander III., Banquet of, 73-75.\n\nAlfred, Prince, Death of, 79, 80.\n\nAllan David, the Painter, 279, 280.\n\nAnne of Austria, Heart of, 262.\n\nAnne of Burton Agnes Hall, Skull of, 40-43.\n\nAntoinette, M., and the Chevalier D'Eon, 220.\n\nArmscott Manor, Secret Room at, 95, 96.\n\nArrowsmith, Father, Hand of, 158-160.\n\nArundell, Sir John, 12, 13.\n\nAubrey's \"Miscellanies,\" 132, 133.\n\n\"Awd Nance\" of Burton Agnes Hall, 40-43.\n\n\nBaillie, James, 290-292.\n\nBaker, Sir Richard, 110-112.\n\nBaker, Sir Richard, and the Murder of Edward II., 89.\n\nBaliol, John, The Heart of, 256.\n\nBallafletcher, Estate of, 201, 202.\n\nBallyshannon, Waterfall at, 272.\n\nBandini, The Sisters, 137-140.\n\nBank of England, Discovery in the Vaults of the, 264.\n\nBanquets, Strange, 69-87.\n\nBanshee, The, 193.\n\nBarcroft Hall; the Idiot's Curse, 9, 10.\n\nBaring-Gould, Rev. S., Story by, 156, 157.\n\nBarn Hall, Tradition of, 165, 166.\n\nBarritt, Thomas, and the Wardley Hall Skull, 39, 40.\n\nBaydoyle Bank's Tragedy, The, 115.\n\n\"Bearded Watt,\" The, 68.\n\nBeauchamp, Lord, Ghost of, 275, 276.\n\nBelgrade, Bombardment of, Vow made by the Servians at, 68.\n\nBenedick, Vow of, 51.\n\nBerkeley Castle, Walpole and, 88, 89.\n\nBernard, Samuel, \"Address to the Deil,\" 173.\n\nBernshaw Tower, Lady Sybil of, 168-170.\n\nBerry Pomeroy Castle, Spectre at, 197.\n\nBetsy, the Doctress (Russell), 222-224.\n\nBettiscombe, Screaming Skull at, 29-32.\n\nBisham Abbey, Spirit of Lady Russell at, 122, 123.\n\nBistmorton Court, Secret Room at, 97.\n\nBlackwell, Murder at, 114, 115\n\nBlandy, Miss, 296, 297.\n\nBlandy, Mr., of Henley, Poisoning of, 296, 297\n\nBlenkinsopp Castle, Romantic Story of, 60-62.\n\nBlood Stains, Indelible, 114-134.\n\n\"Bloody Baker,\" 110-112.\n\n\"Bloody Chamber,\" The, 118, 119\n\n\"Bloody Footstep,\" Legend of the, 115-117.\n\nBodach Glass, The, 193-195.\n\nBoleyn, Anne, Monument to, 254, 255.\n\nBolle, Sir John, Story of, 215, 216.\n\nBoscobel House, Secret Chambers at, 97.\n\nBourne, Mr. John, 205, 206.\n\nBracegirdle, Mrs., the Actress, 301-303.\n\nBradshaigh, Sir William, 246-248.\n\nBramshill, A Chest at, 235.\n\nBransie Castle, Tradition associated with, 275, 276.\n\nBrent Pelham Church, 166.\n\nBrereton Family, The, 181.\n\nBromfield, Story of a Dragon at, 268, 269.\n\nBromley, Sir Henry, 92.\n\nBroughton Castle, Room at, 90, 91.\n\nBrown, Mrs., and the Death of Robert Perceval, 151, 152.\n\nBrowne, Sir Anthony, and Cowdray Castle, 19-21.\n\nBruce, Robert, The Heart of, 257-258.\n\nBrunel, the Engineer, 282, 283.\n\nBryn Hall, \"Dead Hand\" at, 157-160.\n\nBuckland Abbey, Sir F. Drake and, 170-173.\n\n\"Buckland Shag,\" Spectre of the, 124-126.\n\nBulgaden Hall, Tale of, 71-73.\n\nBurdett, Mr. Sedley, 20.\n\nBurke, Sir Bernard, and Bulgaden Hall, 73;\n  and Sir Robert Scott of Thirlestane, 78;\n  and Capt. Cayley, 148;\n  and Cecil, Earl of Exeter, 219;\n  and Draycot, 141;\n  and Gordon Castle, 182;\n  and Mrs. Nimmo, 292.\n\nBurnaby, Col. Fred., Incident of the Carlist Rising, 212, 213\n\nBurton Agnes Hall, \"Awd Nance\" of, 40-43.\n\nByron, Lord, and Skull at Newstead Abbey, 44, 45;\n  Club Foot of, 282;\n  and the Spectre of Newstead Abbey, 196;\n  The Heart of, at Newstead Abbey, 260.\n\nCalverley Hall, Blood Stains at, 120, 121.\n\nCalverley, Walter, 120, 121.\n\nCambuskenneth Abbey, Destruction of, 15.\n\nCanning, Elizabeth, Disappearance of, 239-241.\n\nCarbery, Baron, Tale of, 71-73.\n\nCarew, B.M., A Companion of Russell, 223.\n\nCarlist Rising in 1874, Incident of the, 212, 213.\n\nCaroline, Queen, and the Countess of Deloraine, 295.\n\nCarr, Earl of Somerset, 18, 19.\n\nCastle Dalhousie, Death Omen, 181.\n\nCastle Treasure, near Cork, 270.\n\nCastlereagh, Lord, and the \"Radiant Boy\" Spectre, 196.\n\nCathcart, Lady, Strange Disappearance of, 236-238.\n\nCayley, Capt. John and Mrs. Macfarlane, 148, 149.\n\nCecil, Earl of Exeter, 217-220.\n\nChancery, Unclaimed Funds in, 266, 267.\n\nCharles I., Bernini's Bust of, 133, 134.\n\nCharles II., at the Trent Manor House, 96;\n  at Boscobel House, 97.\n\nChartley, Park at, 187-189.\n\nChattan, Clan of, 6-9.\n\nChettiscombe, Village of, 274, 275.\n\nChiappini, L., Daughter of, 136-140.\n\nChilton Cantels, Skull in a Farmhouse in, 34.\n\n\"Claimant,\" The, 23.\n\nClayton Old Hall, The \"Bloody Chamber\" at, 118.\n\nClifford, Lord, the \"Shepherd Lad,\" 224-227.\n\nClifford, Wild Henry, 227.\n\nClifton, Family of, Death Omen of, 187.\n\nCloseburn Castle, Lake at, 183-185.\n\n\"Coalstoun Pear,\" The, 199-201.\n\nColeridge, Sir John, Strange Romance recorded by, 241-243.\n\nCompacts with the Devil, 162-179.\n\nCondover Hall, Blood Stain at, 118.\n\nCongreve and Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, 86.\n\nCook, Kraster, Myles Phillipson and, 35-37.\n\nCooper, Sir Astley, 285.\n\nCope, Sir John, 235.\n\nCorbet, Legend of the House of, 75, 76.\n\nCorby Castle, \"Radiant Boy\" Spectre of, 196.\n\nCornish Belief _re_ St. Denis' Blood, 127.\n\nCorstophine, Castle of, Tragedy at, 290-293.\n\nCortachy Castle, 189, 190.\n\nCothele, Blood Stains at, 119.\n\n\"Couleur Isabelle\" Dresses, Origin of, 46, 47.\n\nCowdenknowes, Curse of the House of, 25.\n\nCowdray Castle, 19, 20.\n\nCows at Chartley Park, 187-189\n\nCranbrook, Sir R. Baker at, 110-112.\n\nCranstoun, Capt., 296, 297.\n\nCrawford, Earl of, 99.\n\n\"Crawls,\" The, Estate named, 22.\n\nCreslow Manor House, Mysterious Room at, 105, 106.\n\nCrichton Chancellor, Banquet given by, 80, 81.\n\nCuckfield Place, 180, 181.\n\nCullen, Viscount, Marriage Feast of, 69-71.\n\nCunliffes, The, of Billington, 105\n\nCurious Secrets, 135-153.\n\nCurses: M'Alister Family, 2-5;\n  The Curse of Moy, 6-9;\n  Idiot's Curse, 9, 10;\n  Quaker's Curse, 10-12;\n  A Shepherd's Curse on Sir J. Arundell, 12, 13;\n  Curse on the Family of Mar, 14-17;\n  On Sherborne Castle, 17-19;\n  On Cowdray Castle, 19, 20;\n  The Curse of Furvie, 23;\n  Of Ettrick Hall, 24, 25;\n  On the Earl of Home, 25;\n  Of Edmund, King of the East Angles, 26;\n  On Capt. Molloy, 26, 27;\n  The Midwife's Curse, 27, 28.\n\nDalrymple, Janet, 52-56.\n\nDalzell, Gen., 85, 86.\n\nDanby Hall, Secret Room at, 98.\n\nDanesfield, Withered Hand at, 161.\n\nDarrells, The, of Littlecote House, 106-108.\n\nDauntesey, Eustace, Story of, 173-176.\n\nDead Hand, The, 154-161.\n\nDeath Omens, 180-191.\n\nDeloraine, Countess of, 295.\n\nD'Eon, Chevalier, in Woman's Attire, 220-222.\n\nDerwentwater, Lord, Execution of, 130, 131.\n\nDespencer, Lord le, 259, 260.\n\nDevil Compacts, 162-179.\n\n\"Devil upon Dun\" Public House, Story of the, 163, 164.\n\n\"Dickie,\" Skull called, at Tunstead, 33, 34.\n\nDickens, Chas., Original of Miss Havisham, 50, 51.\n\nDilston Groves, Ghost of the, 131\n\nDisappearances, Extraordinary, 229-252.\n\nDisguise, Romance of, 208-228.\n\nDobells, Seat of the, 97.\n\nDoggett, Wm., Suicide of, 121.\n\nDon Carlos, Col. Fred. Burnaby and, 212, 213.\n\nDoughty, Sir Edward, 23;\n  Vow made by, 64.\n\nDouglas, Sir James, and the Heart of Robert Bruce, 257, 258.\n\nDouglas, Earl of, at Sir A. Livingstone's Banquet, 80, 81.\n\nDownes, Roger, of Wardley Hall, 37-40.\n\nDragon at Bromfield, Story of, 268, 269.\n\nDrake, Sir Francis, Befriended by the Devil, 170-173.\n\nDraycot, Walter Long of, 141-144.\n\nDrinking Glass in possession of Sir George Musgrave, 202, 203.\n\nDrummer, Mysterious, at Cortachy Castle, 189, 190.\n\nDuckett, Justice, 11-12.\n\nDunbar, David, and Jane Dalrymple, 53-56.\n\nDundas, Laird named, Lord Hopetoun and, 84, 85.\n\n\nEagle's Crag, Lady Sybil and the, 168-170.\n\n\"Earl Beardie,\" 99.\n\nEastbury House, Blood Stains at, 121.\n\nEasterton Ghost, The, 123, 124.\n\nEast Lavington, Mysterious Crime at, 123, 124.\n\nEccentric Vows, 46-68.\n\nEden Hall, Tradition relating to, 202, 203.\n\nEdgewell Oak, Tradition, 181.\n\nEdgeworth, Col., 67.\n\nEdinburgh, Mysterious Crime at; Sir Walter Scott and, 108-110.\n\nEdmund, King of the East Angles, 25, 26.\n\nEdward, Lord Bruce, Heart of, 254\n\nEdward, Lord Windsor, The Body of, 259.\n\nEdward the Confessor and Earl Godwin, 79, 80.\n\nEdward I., The Heart of, 256, 257.\n\nEdward II., The Murder of, 88, 89.\n\nEleanor, Duchess of Buckingham, 255.\n\nEllesmere, Countess of, and the Wardley Hall Skull, 40.\n\nElizabeth, Queen, and Sir Henry Lee, 47, 48.\n\nErskine, Mr. Thomas, 287.\n\nErskine of Mar, The, 16.\n\nEttrick Hall, Curse of, 24, 25.\n\nEvans, Right Hon. George, Tale of, 71-73.\n\nEvelyn's \"Diary,\" and Ham House, Weybridge, 95.\n\nExeter, Coins found in, 268.\n\nExtraordinary Disappearances, 229-252.\n\n\nFamily Death Omens, 180-198.\n\nFanshaw, Lady, Strange Spectre of, 192.\n\nFardell, Stone at, 271.\n\nFatal Curses, 1-28.\n\nFatal Passion, 289-307.\n\nFerguson, Agnes, Disappearance of, 235, 236.\n\n\"Field of Forty Footsteps,\" Tale of the, 128, 129.\n\nFielding, Beau, and Robert Perceval, 150, 151.\n\nFlamsteed, the Astronomer, 281.\n\nFoote, Accident to, 283.\n\nForrester, First Lord, 290, 291.\n\nFoulis, Mr. Robert, 280.\n\nFox, George, at Armscott Manor, 96.\n\nFreke, Sir Ralph, Daughter of, 71-73.\n\nFurness Abbey, Romance of, 56-58.\n\nFurvie, Curse of, 23.\n\n\nGaleazzo of Mantua, Ball given by, 49.\n\nGarnet, Father, 91, 93.\n\nGarnett, Dr. Richard, and Skull at Bottiscombe, 30-32.\n\nGarrick, David, and Agnes Ferguson, 235, 236.\n\nGarswood, \"Dead Hand\" at, 160.\n\nGascoyne, Sir Crisp, 240.\n\nGladstone, Mr., Address on Wedgwood's Life, 281.\n\nGlamis Castle, Tradition relating to, 98-103.\n\nGoblet in possession of Colonel Wilks, 201, 202.\n\nGodwin, Earl, Edward the Confessor and, 79, 80.\n\nGoldbridge, 26.\n\nGoodere, Sir John, Murder of, 82, 83.\n\nGordon, Mr., of Ardoch Castle, Daughters of, 285-288.\n\nGordon Castle, Tree at, 182.\n\nGrayrigg Hall, 11, 12.\n\nGrey, Dr. Z., and Bust of Charles I., 133, 134.\n\nGuisboro' Priory, The Monks of, 274.\n\nGunpowder Conspirators, The, at Hendlip Hall, 92, 93.\n\nGunwalloe Parish Church, Tradition relating to, 64, 65.\n\n\nHaddon Hall, \"Dorothy Vernon's Door\" at, 213-215.\n\nHaigh Hall, Romance associated with, 246-248.\n\nHale, Sir Matthew, in Disguise, 227, 228.\n\nHam House, Weybridge, Secret Rooms at, 95.\n\nHand, The Dead, 154-161.\n\nHannen, Sir James, and the case of de Niceville, 265\n\nHapton Tower, 168, 169.\n\nHarper, Story of an old Irish, 271, 272.\n\nHarpham Hall, 41, 42.\n\nHarrington, Sir John, 18.\n\nHastings Priory, Skulls from, 32.\n\nHavisham, Miss, The original of, 50, 51.\n\nHawthorne, Nathaniel, and the Legend of \"The Bloody Footsteps,\" 115, 116.\n\nHeart Burial on the Continent, 260.\n\nHearts, Honoured, 253-262.\n\nHelston, Mother, a Lancashire witch, 169.\n\nHendlip Hall, Secret Room at, 91-93.\n\nHerbert, Sir Richard, at the Battle of Edgcot Field, 5, 6.\n\nHermitage Castle, Story of, 166;\n  Treasures Hidden in, 270, 271, 276.\n\nHidden Money and Treasure, Traditions _re_, 268-278.\n\nHill, Captain R., 301-303.\n\nHoby, Sir Thomas, 123.\n\nHolland House, Room at, 120.\n\nHolyrood Palace, Blood Stains on floor of, 117.\n\nHome of Cowdenknowes, Family of, 25.\n\nHonoured Hearts, 253-262.\n\nHopetoun, Earl, and Laird named Dundas, 84, 85.\n\nHorndon-on-the-Hill Church, 254, 255.\n\nHowe, Mr., Strange Disappearance of, 244-246.\n\nHowe, Lord, and \"John Taylor,\" 211.\n\nHowgill, Francis, a Noted Quaker, 10-12.\n\nHoxne, Tradition at, 26.\n\nHulme Hall, Legend connected with, 269, 270.\n\nHume's \"History of the House of Douglas,\" 81.\n\nHungerford, Vault of the, 256.\n\n\nIdiot's Curse, The, 9, 10.\n\nIndelible Blood Stains, 114-134.\n\nIndre, M'Alister, Curse of, 2-5.\n\nIngatestone Hall, Strange Room at, 94.\n\n\"Ingoldsby Legends,\" Dead Hand mentioned in, 160, 161.\n\nIron Chest in Ireland, Story of an, 205, 206.\n\nIsabella, Countess of Northampton, 256.\n\nIsabella Eugenia, of the Netherlands, 46, 47.\n\nIsabella, Queen, 49.\n\nIthon, John de, Story of, 178, 179.\n\n\nJames II., The Heart of, 259.\n\nJerratt, Lady, Ghost Story of, 119, 120.\n\nJoan, Queen of Naples, 49.\n\nJohnson, Dr., Conversations with a Man in Woman's attire, 224.\n\nJoinville, Count Louis, 138-140.\n\nJones, Molly, Sir Wm. Kyte and, 298-300.\n\n\n\"Katie Neevie's Hoard,\" 271.\n\nKellie, The two Countesses of, 285-288.\n\nKempenfeldt, Admiral, 182.\n\nKersal Hall, Romantic Story of, 173-176.\n\nKilburn Priory, Legend connected with, 126, 127.\n\nKirdford, Piece of Ground at, 128.\n\nKirkpatrick of Closeburn, Family of, 183-185.\n\nKnevett, Lord, Murder of, 118.\n\nKonigsmark, Count, 300.\n\nKyte, Sir Wm., and Molly Jones, 298-300.\n\n\nLally, John, A Piper, 77, 78.\n\nLecky, Mr., and Devil Compacts in the Fourteenth Century, 163.\n\nLee, Sir Henry, Queen Elizabeth and, 47, 48.\n\nLeech, John, Strange Story of, 175, 176.\n\nLefanu, Mrs., Story of \"The Banshee,\" 193.\n\nLegend of the Robber's Grave, 129, 130.\n\nLeigh, Lord, Charge of Murder against, 152, 153.\n\nLincoln Cathedral, Blood Stains at, 118, 119.\n\nLincolnshire, Strange Disappearance at a Marriage in 1750, 230.\n\nLindsays, The, 101.\n\nLittlecote House, Mysterious Crime at, 106-108.\n\nLivingstone, Sir A., Banquet given by, 80, 81.\n\nLong, Walter, of Draycot, 141-144.\n\nLong, Sir Walter, Story of his Widow, 206, 207.\n\nLouis XIV., Burial of Heart of, 261.\n\nLovat, Lord, Story of, 206.\n\nLovel, Lord, Disappearance of his Bride, 234.\n\nLovell, Lord, The Mysterious Death of, 89, 90.\n\n\"Luck of Muncaster,\" The, 203-205.\n\nLucky Accidents, 279-288.\n\nLynton Castle, Tradition relating to, 62-64.\n\n\nMab's Cross, near Wigan, 248.\n\nM'Alister Family, Curse of the, 2-5.\n\nMcClean, Family of, 195.\n\nMacfarlane, Mrs., Secret relating to, 146-149.\n\nMackenzie, Maria, 295.\n\nMacleod, Dr. Norman, Anecdote told by, 66, 67.\n\nMagdalene College, Oxford, Cup found at, 274.\n\nMaguire, Col., and Lady Cathcart, 236-238.\n\nMalsanger, House at, 234, 235.\n\nManners, John, and Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall, 214, 215.\n\nManor House at Darlington, 119.\n\nMansfield, Lord Chief Justice, and the Chevalier D'Eon, 221.\n\nMar, The Earl of, 14-17.\n\nMarket Parsonage, Mysterious crime at, 123, 124.\n\nMarlborough, Duchess of, and Congreve, 86.\n\nMarsh, George, the martyr, 116.\n\nMarwell Old Hall, Traditions _re_, 234.\n\nMary Queen of Scots at Chartley Park, 189.\n\nMatthews, C.J., the actor, 284.\n\nMazarin, Cardinal, Heart of, 262.\n\nMedicis, Marie de, Heart of, 261.\n\nMedicis, Queen Catherine de, Story of, 177, 178.\n\nMerton College, Oxford, Pictures discovered at, 273.\n\nMertoun, Stephen de, Murder committed by, 126, 127.\n\nMiddleton Family in Yorkshire, 197.\n\nMidwife's Curse, The, 27, 28.\n\nMillbanke, Miss, Lord Byron and, 196, 197.\n\nMills, Anne, the female sailor, 209.\n\nMisers' Hoards, 272, 273.\n\nMissing Wills, 267.\n\n\"Mistletoe Bough,\" The (song), 234.\n\nModena, The Duke of, 85, 86.\n\nMohun, Lord, 301, 302.\n\n\"Moiva Borb\" (song), 272.\n\nMolloy, Captain, of H.M.S. \"Caesar,\" 26, 27.\n\nMontagues, The, and Sherborne Castle, 18;\n  and Cowdray Castle, 19.\n\nMontgomery Church Walls, Tale of, 129, 130.\n\nMorley, Sir Oswald, 269.\n\nMountford, Wm., Murder of, 301-303.\n\nMoy, The Curse of, 6-9.\n\nMuncaster Castle, Room at, 203-205.\n\nMusgrave, Sir George, 202, 203.\n\nMysterious Rooms, 88-113.\n\n\nNewborough, Lady, Romantic Story relating to, 136-140.\n\nNetherall, Secret Room at, 98.\n\nNewstead Abbey, Skull at, 44, 45;\n  Spectre of, 196;\n  Lord Byron's Heart at, 260.\n\nNiceville A.A. de, 265, 266.\n\nNimmo, Mrs., 290-293.\n\nNortham Tower, Spectre at, 119.\n\nNorthumberland, Duke of, The Eleventh Daughter of the, 300, 301.\n\nNugent, Lord, \"Memorials of Hampden,\" 90, 91.\n\n\nOgilvies, The, 101.\n\nOmens, Family Death, 180-198.\n\nOrmesby, Treasure found at the Vicarage House of, 274.\n\nOsbaldeston Hall, Tradition relating to, 83, 84.\n\nOulton House, Tragedy at, 303.\n\nOverbury, Sir Thomas, Murder of, 19.\n\nOwls, The Family of Arundel of Wardour and, 185.\n\nOxenham Family, Death Warning of the, 185-187.\n\n\nPage, Murderer of a Jew named Abrams, 251, 252.\n\nPare, Ambrose, the Surgeon, 285.\n\nParma, Duke of, and Baron Ward, 284.\n\nPassion, Fatal, 289-307.\n\nPayne, Col. Stephen, Curse on, 27, 28.\n\nPear, The Coalstoun, 199-201.\n\nPembroke, Earl of, at the Battle of Edgcot Fields, 5, 6.\n\nPennington, Sir John, 204.\n\nPerceval, Robert, Strange Death of, 150-152.\n\nPhillipson, Myles, 35-37.\n\nPitt, Wm., Accident to, 283.\n\nPlaish Hall, Legendary Tale connected with, 132.\n\nPoe, Edgar A., \"Masque of the Red Death,\" 73-75.\n\nPolitical Vows, 68.\n\nPope's Satire, 282.\n\nPossessions, Weird, 199-207.\n\nPoyntz, Mr. Stephen, 21.\n\nPrestwich, Sir Thomas, 269, 270.\n\nPrice, Mr., 295.\n\nProphecy relating to Cowdray Castle, 19, 20.\n\nPudsey, Bishop, 119.\n\n\nQuaker's Curse, The, 10-12.\n\n\nRadcliffe, Tragedy at, 293, 294.\n\nRadclyffe, Sir Wm. de, 293, 294.\n\n\"Radiant Boy\" of Corby Castle, 196.\n\nRaffles, Dr., Amusing Story in the Life of, 233, 234.\n\nRaleigh, Sir Walter, and Sherborne Castle, 18, 19;\n  Seat at Fardell, 271.\n\nRawlinson, Dr. R., The Heart of, 259.\n\nRichard I., The Heart of, 258.\n\nRizzio, Murder of, 117.\n\nRobinson, Nicholas, Disappearance of, 241-243.\n\nRoby's \"Traditions of Lancashire:\" The \"Dead Hand\" at Bryn Hall, 157, 158;\n  and the \"Luck of Muncaster,\" 204, 205.\n\nRoderham, Robert de, Story of, 178, 179.\n\nRomance of Wealth, 263-278.\n\n\"Rookwood Hall,\" Ainsworth's, 180, 181.\n\nRooms, Mysterious, 88-113.\n\nRoslin, the Lords of, Traditions regarding, 190, 191.\n\n_Royal George_, Sinking of the, 182.\n\nRushen Castle, Secret Room at, 103-105.\n\nRushton, The Duke's Room at, 70.\n\nRussell, of Streatham, in Women's attire, 222-224.\n\nRussell, Lady, of Bisham Abbey, 122, 123.\n\nRutherford, Lord, and Janet Dalrymple, 52-56.\n\n\nSt. Antony, Church of, in Cornwall, Tradition Relating to, 64.\n\nSt. Denis' Blood, Belief relating to, 127.\n\nSt. Foix, Account of Ceremonial after the Death of a King\n of France, 86, 87.\n\nSt. Louis, Queen of, Vow by the, 65.\n\nSt. Michael's Mount, Sir J. Arundell and, 13.\n\nSamlesbury Hall, Vow Relating to, 58-60.\n\nScarborough, Second Earl of, Death of, 144-146.\n\nScotland, Legends _re_ Hidden Treasures in, 270, 271, 276.\n\nScott, Sir Robert, of Thirlestane, Second wife of, 77, 78.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, Vow by an Ancestor of, Accident to, 68, 280;\n  and the Mysterious Crime at Littlecote House, 108;\n  at Edinburgh, 108-110;\n  and the Murder of Rizzio, 117;\n  and the Clan of Tweedie, 249.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"Antiquary,\" 155.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"Peveril of the Peak,\" 149, 195.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"Tales of a Grandfather,\" 117.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"The Betrothed,\" 248.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"The Bride of Lammermoor,\" 55, 56.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, and \"The Curse of Moy,\" 6-9.\n\nScott, Sir Walter, \"Waverley,\" The Bodach Glass in, 193-195.\n\n\"Scottish Hogarth,\" The, 279, 280.\n\nScreaming Skulls, 29-45.\n\nSecrets, Curious, 135-153.\n\nSedgley, Vow made by a Parishioner of, 66, 67.\n\nServian Patriots, The, 68.\n\nSharp, Lieut., 304-306.\n\nShelley, The Poet, Heart of, 260, 261.\n\n\"Shepherd Lad,\" Lord Clifford as the, 224-227.\n\nSherborne Castle, Curse of, 17-19.\n\nSheriff-Muir, Battle of, 5, 15.\n\nShonkes, Piers, Tomb of, 166.\n\nShropshire, Buried Well in, 276.\n\nShuckburgh Hall, Tragedy at, 304-306.\n\nSikes, Wirt, Anecdote of a Skull, 43, 44.\n\nSimpson, Christopher, Murder of, 115.\n\nSkull, The Screaming, 29-45.\n\nSkull House, near Turton Tower, Bolton, 34, 35.\n\nSmithell's Hall, 115, 116.\n\nSoulis, Lord, Compact with the Devil, 166-168.\n\nSouthey, Anecdote recorded by, 96.\n\nSouthey and \"The Brothers' Steps,\" 128, 129.\n\nSouthey's \"Thalaba, the Destroyer,\" 154, 155.\n\nSouthworth, Sir John, Daughter of, 58-60.\n\nSpectre, Lady Fanshaw's strange, 192.\n\nSpectre of the \"Buckland Shag,\" 124-126.\n\nStair, Lord, Daughter of the first, 52-56.\n\nStamer, Col., Daughter of, 71-73\n\nStoke d'Abernon, Monument in the Church of, 56.\n\nStokesay Castle, Treasure at, 277.\n\nStoneleigh Abbey, 152, 153.\n\nStrathmore, Lord, of Glamis Castle, 98-103.\n\nStreet Place, Old House called, 97.\n\nSwans of Closeburn, The, 184, 185.\n\n\"Sweet Heart Abbey,\" 256.\n\nSwinton, Sir John, 146-149.\n\nSybil, Lady, and the Eagle's Crag, 168-170.\n\n\nTalbot, Mary Anne as \"John Taylor,\" sailor, 209-212.\n\nTalleyrand, Accident to, 280.\n\n\"Taylor, John,\" _alias_ Mary Anne Talbot, 209-212.\n\nThirlestone, Lady, 77-78.\n\nThomas the Rhymer, 75.\n\nThorpe Hall, The \"Green Lady\" of, 215, 216.\n\nThrale, Mr., of Streatham Park, 223, 224.\n\nThynne, Sir Egremont, 141-144.\n\nThynne of Longleat, Murder of, 300.\n\nTichborne, Sir Henry, 21.\n\nTichborne, Lady Mabelle, 21-23.\n\nTichborne Trial, The Great, 21-23, 64.\n\n\"Tiger Earl,\" The, 99.\n\nTimberbottom, Skull at Farmhouse called, 34, 35.\n\nTowneley, Charles, 10.\n\nTreasures concealed in the Earth, 267, 268.\n\nTremeirchon Church, 165.\n\nTrentham, Elizabeth, Viscount Cullen and, 69-71.\n\nTrent, Manor House at, Strange Chamber in, 96, 97.\n\nTufnell Park, Find of Gold at, 278.\n\nTunstead, Skull at, 33, 34.\n\nTweedie, The Clan of, 249, 250.\n\n\nVardon, Douce, a Midwife, 28.\n\nVavasour, Mrs. A., and Sir Henry Lee, 48.\n\nVenice, Statue at, 65, 66.\n\nVernons of Hanbury, Cecil, Earl of Exeter, and one of the, 217-220.\n\nVienna, The Church of St. Charles, 65.\n\nVincent, Family of, at Stoke d'Abernon, 56.\n\nVoltaire, Vow in one of his Romances, 51, 52.\n\nVows, Eccentric, 46-68.\n\n\nWakefield Mills, The, 130.\n\nWalpole and Berkeley Castle, 88, 89.\n\nWard, Baron, 284.\n\nWardley Hall, Skull at, 37-40.\n\nWealth, Romance of, 263-278.\n\nWedgwood, Josiah, 280, 281.\n\nWeird Possessions, 199-207.\n\nWellington, Duke of, Strange belief on the occasion of his funeral, 198.\n\nWells, \"Mother,\" 240, 241.\n\nWesley, John, and the game of whist, 67, 68.\n\nWestminster Abbey, Hearts of Illustrious Personages at, 253.\n\nWhitehead, Paul, The Heart of, 259, 260.\n\nWidow's Curse, The, 2-5.\n\nWilkinson, Tate, 67, 68.\n\nWilks, Col., Heirloom in possession of, 201, 202.\n\nWills, Missing, 267.\n\nWitches' Horseblock, The, 168-170.\n\nWordsworth's \"Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle,\" 225-227.\n\nWye Coller Hall, Room at, 105.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTypos corrected in text:\n\nPage 53: 'Jane' corrected to 'Janet'.\nPage 143: 'suddedly' corrected to 'suddenly'.\nPage 190: 'fulful' corrected to 'fulfil'.\nPage 219: 'accompany-' corrected to 'accompanying'.\nPage 269: 'various others localities' corrected to 'various other\nlocalities'.\nPage 279: 'playes' corrected to 'players'.\nPage 281: 'De Sphoera' corrected to 'De Sphaera' [On the basis of\ninformation found here: www.hps.cam.ac.uk/starry/sacrobosco.html].\nPage 294: 'call' corrected to 'called'.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *","title":"Strange Pages from Family Papers","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":76584}