{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_47386/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_47386","id":"gutenberg_47386","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47386","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - British","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- England -- Yorkshire","Yorkshire (England) -- Miscellanea"],"text":"+-------------------------------------------------+\n|Transcriber's note:                              |\n|                                                 |\n|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.  |\n|                                                 |\n+-------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\nYORKSHIRE ODDITIES\n\nINCIDENTS\n\nAND\n\nSTRANGE EVENTS\n\n\nBY\n\nS. BARING-GOULD, M.A.\n\nAUTHOR OF \"MEHALAH,\" \"ICELAND: ITS SCENES AND SAGAS,\"\n\"OLD COUNTRY LIFE,\" ETC.\n\n\"There be such a company of wilful gentlemen within Yorkshire as there\nbe not in all England besides.\"--_Abbot of York to Cromwell, 1556, Rolls\nHouse MS._\n\nFIFTH EDITION\n\nLondon\nMETHUEN AND CO.\n18 BURY STREET, W.C.\n1900\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nA residence of many years in Yorkshire, and an inveterate habit of\ncollecting all kinds of odd and out-of-the-way information concerning\nmen and matters, furnished me, when I left Yorkshire in 1872, with a\nlarge amount of material, collected in that county, relating to its\neccentric children.\n\nA friend, when he heard that I was collecting such material, exclaimed,\n\"What are you about? Every other Yorkshireman is a character!\" Such is\nthe case. No other county produces so much originality--and that\noriginality, when carried to excess, is eccentricity.\n\nI look back with the greatest pleasure to the kindness and hospitality I\nmet with in Yorkshire, where I spent some of the happiest years of my\nlife. I venture to offer this collection of memoirs of odd people, and\nnarrative of strange events, as a humble contribution to the annals of\nthe greatest, not perhaps only in extent, of our English counties, and a\nslight return for the pleasant welcome it afforded a migratory penman\nfrom the South.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.\n\n\nThis book was well received in Yorkshire and elsewhere when it first\nappeared, and as it preserved notices of strong characters, records of\nwhom were passing away, and some taken from Chap Books already become\nscarce, a new edition (the 4th) is issued thoroughly revised and only\nvery slightly curtailed.\n\nLEW TRENCHARD, _12th April, 1890_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                                             PAGE.\nTHE GHOST OF TRINITY CHURCH, YORK                1\n\nPETER PRIESTLY, THE WAKEFIELD PARISH CLERK      22\n\nPROPHET WROE                                    28\n\nBISHOP-DYKE POND                                59\n\nSNOWDEN DUNHILL, THE CONVICT                    65\n\nJAMES NAYLOR, THE QUAKER                        87\n\n\"OLD THREE LAPS\"                               102\n\nCHRISTOPHER PIVETT                             108\n\nDAVID TURTON, MUSICIAN AT HORBURY              109\n\nJOHN BARTENDALE, THE PIPER                     117\n\nBLIND JACK OF KNARESBOROUGH                    120\n\n\"PEG PENNYWORTH\"                               169\n\nPETER BARKER, THE BLIND JOINER                 173\n\nTHE WHITE HOUSE                                179\n\nJEMMY HIRST, AN ODDITY                         186\n\nTHE TRAGEDY OF BENINGBROUGH HALL               216\n\nA YORKSHIRE BUTCHER                            223\n\nTHE ONE-POUND NOTE                             236\n\nMR. WIKES OF LEASEHOLME                        256\n\nTHE REV. MR. CARTER, PARSON-PUBLICAN           259\n\nJOB SENIOR, THE HERMIT OF RUMBOLD'S MOOR       263\n\nNANCY NICHOLSON, THE TERMAGANT                 270\n\nTHE WOODEN BELL OF RIPON                       318\n\nOLD JOHN \"MEALY-FACE\"                          322\n\nTHE BOGGART OF HELLEN-POT                      326\n\nJONATHAN MARTIN, THE INCENDIARY OF YORK\nMINSTER                                        340\n\nBROTHER JUCUNDUS                               393\n\nMARY BATEMAN, WITCH AND MURDERESS              401\n\n\n\n\nYORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND INCIDENTS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GHOST OF TRINITY CHURCH, YORK.\n\n\nSome years ago I heard mention made of an apparition said to have been\nseen in Trinity Church, Micklegate, York, which at the moment excited my\ncuriosity. But as I heard no more about it, it passed out of my mind.\n\nIn 1869 I was invited to deliver a lecture at Middlesborough, when I met\na clergyman who introduced himself to me as an old acquaintance. We had\nnot met for some years, and then he had been a boy at school. About a\nweek after I left Middlesborough I received from him the following\nletter:--\n\n\nI.\n\n     \"_Easter Sunday Evening, 1869._\n\n     \"DEAR MR. BARING-GOULD.\n\n     \"I venture, from the slight acquaintance I am happy to have with\n     you personally, and the deeper one I have with your tastes from\n     external sources, to enclose for your perusal a narrative of a\n     perfectly true event, drawn up by myself some few years ago, at the\n     request of some friends who doubted the truth of the circumstances\n     therein related. If you have ever heard anything of it, and can\n     help me in explaining it, I shall be grateful, as it perplexes me,\n     as one always is teased when something which one cannot account for\n     has been brought to one's notice.\n\n     \"Mr. S---- is going in a few Sundays to preach at the very church\n     in York where this took place, and this bringing again before my\n     mind the spectacle I then saw, caused me to apply to my friends for\n     the account I gave them, and I now send it to you. I could, if you\n     are interested, supply some minor details, but better by word of\n     mouth, if ever we meet again. The only correction I should make is\n     this: You will find that I relate a sequence of events, and I am\n     not quite satisfied in my own mind that I have given the order of\n     the incidents exactly as they occurred, and it is possible that I\n     may have inverted them. At the time I was so startled that I was\n     more intent on observing the figures than noting what was the\n     succession in the scenes, if I may use the expression. Indeed, each\n     reappearance was a surprise; and when I tried to recall each\n     incident in the order in which it occurred, I found that though I\n     could recall the appearance distinctly before my mind's eye, yet I\n     could not swear to which scene preceded the other.\n\n     \"This was the only occasion of my visiting the church. I confess\n     the impression left on my nerves was not pleasant, and I do not\n     think I should like to risk the effect of a repetition of it.\n     Apologising for thus troubling you with my experiences,\n\n     \"I remain, yours very truly,\n\n     \"A. B.\n\n     \"P.S.--The Incumbent, Mr. W----, has left, and another, Mr. M----,\n     has now the living of Holy Trinity, Micklegate.\"\n\n\nThe following account, dated 1866, was enclosed in the letter:--\n\n\n     \"While staying in York at this time last year (1865), or perhaps a\n     little earlier, I first heard of the apparitions or ghosts supposed\n     to be seen in Trinity Church, Micklegate. I felt curious to see a\n     ghost, I confess, if such a thing is to be seen without the usual\n     concomitants of a dark night and a lone house. Accordingly I went\n     to the church for morning service on a blazing hot Sunday morning\n     in August last, with a girl about thirteen years old and her little\n     brother.\n\n     \"The east window of the church, I must explain, is of stained\n     glass, rather tawdry, and of no particular design, except that the\n     colouring is much richer in the centre than at the sides, and that\n     at the extreme edge there is one pane of unstained glass which runs\n     all round the window.\n\n     \"The peculiarity of the apparition is, that it is seen on the\n     window itself, rather less than half-way from the bottom (as I saw\n     it from the gallery), and has much the same effect as that of a\n     slide drawn through a magic lantern when seen on the exhibiting\n     sheet. The form seen--I am told invariably--is that of a figure\n     dressed in white walking across the window, and gives the idea of\n     some one passing in the churchyard in a surplice. I say a figure,\n     for the number is generally limited to one, and I was told that\n     only on Trinity Sunday did more than one appear, and that then\n     there were three.\n\n     \"But I can vouch for the larger number appearing on other\n     occasions, as on the day I was there, which was one of the Sundays\n     after Trinity, there were rarely fewer than three visible.\n\n     \"The figures began to move across the window long before the\n     commencement of the service, when in fact there was no one present\n     but ourselves. They did so again before the service began, as well\n     as during the 'Venite,' and subsequently as many as twenty or\n     thirty times, I should suppose, till the conclusion of the sermon.\n\n     \"Of the three figures two were evidently those of women, and the\n     third was a little child. The two women were very distinct in\n     appearance. One was tall and very graceful, and the other\n     middle-sized; we called the second one the nursemaid, from her\n     evident care of the child during the absence of the mother, which\n     relationship we attributed to the tall one, from the passionate\n     affection she exhibited towards the child, her caressing it, and\n     the wringing of her hands over it.\n\n     \"I may add that each figure is perfectly distinct from the others,\n     and after they had been seen once or twice are at once\n     recognisable.\n\n     \"The order of their proceedings, with slight variation, was this:\n     The mother came alone from the north side of the window, and having\n     gone about half-way across, stopped, turned round, and waved her\n     arm towards the quarter whence she had come. This signal was\n     answered by the entry of the nurse with the child. Both figures\n     then bent over the child, and seemed to bemoan its fate; but the\n     taller one was always the most endearing in her gestures. The\n     mother then moved towards the other side of the window taking the\n     child with her, leaving the nurse in the centre of the window, from\n     which she gradually retired towards the north corner, whence she\n     had come, waving her hand, as though making signs of farewell, as\n     she retreated.\n\n     \"After some little time she again appeared, bending forward, and\n     evidently anticipating the return of the other two, who never\n     failed to reappear from the south side of the window where they had\n     disappeared.\n\n     \"The same gestures of despair and distress were repeated, and then\n     all three retired together to the north side of the window.\n\n     \"Usually they appeared during the musical portions of the service,\n     and especially during one long eight-line hymn, when--for the only\n     occasion without the child--the two women rushed on (in stage\n     phrase), and remained during the whole hymn, making the most\n     frantic gestures of despair. Indeed, the louder the music in that\n     hymn, the more carried away with their grief did they seem to be.\n\n     \"Nothing could be more emphatic than the individuality of the\n     several figures; the manner of each had its own peculiarity. I do\n     not doubt that if the stained glass were removed, a much plainer\n     view would be obtained. I think so, because the nearer the centre\n     of the window, where the stained glass was thickest, there the less\n     distinct were the forms. It was like catching glimpses of them\n     through leaves. But nearer the edge of the window, where the\n     colours were less bright, they were _perfectly_ distinct; and still\n     more so on the pane of unstained glass at the edge. There they\n     seemed most clear, and gave one the impression of being real\n     persons, not shadows.\n\n     \"Indeed, by far the most remarkable and perplexing incident in the\n     whole spectacle was this, that on one occasion, when the mother and\n     child had taken their departure, the medium figure--the\n     nurse--waved her hands, and after walking slowly to the _very edge_\n     of the window, turned round _whilst on the pane of unstained\n     glass_, and waved her arm towards the other two with what one would\n     call a stage gesture, and then I most distinctly saw, and I\n     emphatically declare I did see the arm bare nearly to the shoulder,\n     with beautiful folds of white drapery hanging from it like a\n     picture on a Greek vase. Nothing could be plainer than the drag of\n     the robes on the ground after the figures as they retired at the\n     edge of the window where the clear glass was, previous to going\n     out. The impression produced was that one saw real persons in the\n     churchyard; for though the figures were seen on the window, yet\n     they gave one the impression of walking past the window outside,\n     and not moving upon the glass.\n\n     \"No one in the church seemed to be in the smallest degree attracted\n     or discomposed by all this, or, indeed, to observe it.\n\n     \"I talked a great deal on the subject with Miss C----, daughter of\n     the late Dr. C----, of York, and she told me that Mr. W----, the\n     Incumbent of Trinity Church, would give anything to get rid of it,\n     or discover the imposture, if imposture there be. She told me that\n     he and his family had watched day and night without being able to\n     find any clue to the mystery. Their house is in the churchyard and\n     opposite the east window, and therefore very favourably placed for\n     such an investigation. I am not inclined to think that the trees\n     outside the church at the east end can originate the appearance by\n     any optical illusions produced by waving branches. I could see\n     their leaves rustling in the air, and their movement was evidently\n     unconnected with the appearance and movement of the figures.\n\n     \"A. B.\"\n\n\nThis curious communication led to my making inquiries, and I speedily\nheard of several persons who had seen the \"ghosts\" at a later date.\nFriends to whom I applied have sent me the following letters, written\nindependently of one another. They naturally shrink from having their\nnames published, but I can testify to these accounts being perfectly\n_bona fide_:--\n\n\nII.\n\n     SOUTH PARADE, YORK, _March 22nd, 1871_.\n\n     \"DEAR MR. BARING-GOULD,\n\n     \"I promised to send you an account of the ghost at Holy Trinity,\n     Micklegate, and I now forward you the enclosed, written by a friend\n     on whose word you may perfectly rely.\n\n     \"I heard another account a few days ago from a lady who saw it on\n     Sunday, the 19th February last. She described the figure--for she\n     saw only one--as being dressed in a shining white garment, and says\n     that it crossed the east window twice, with a slightly 'skipping'\n     step. It appeared to be outside the church, as she saw it\n     distinctly through the stained glass.\n\n     \"I have never seen it myself, though I have been several times to\n     the church.\n\n     \"There are four lights in the east window, and the glass of the two\n     central lights is of a darker tint than that in the side ones.\n     There are, however, narrow panes of transparent glass in each of\n     the lights, so that a person passing across the window outside\n     could be distinctly seen by anyone sitting in the west gallery.\n\n     \"The sill of the east window is about five feet from the ground\n     outside, and about seven feet from the pavement inside; about ten\n     yards from the east wall separating the churchyard from a private\n     garden.\n\n     \"Yours very truly,\n\n     \"R. T.\"\n\n\nThis is the enclosure alluded to by my friend \"R. T.\":--\n\n\nIII.\n\n     \"Having heard from several people of the ghost at the Church of the\n     Holy Trinity, Micklegate, York, on Sunday, at the end of September,\n     1869, a friend and myself made up our minds to go and see if we\n     also could be favoured with a sight of this wonderful apparition.\n\n     \"Well, we went up into the gallery, the only place whence they say\n     it is to be seen. You may, perhaps, already know that the gallery\n     faces the east window, which is filled with modern stained glass.\n\n     \"I am afraid that our attention rambled somewhat from the service,\n     for we were looking out for the ghostly visitant. However, we\n     watched and watched, as we began to think, in vain, until at the\n     very end of the second lesson, when, just before the beginning of\n     the 'Jubilate Deo,' I saw a figure, I should say of a shortish\n     woman, with something white folded over her, covering even her head\n     and face, but still I could see what it was. The figure appeared to\n     walk very fast across the two middle lights of the east window,\n     from right to left (_i.e._, from south to north), and seemed to be\n     at some distance from the window.\n\n     \"The strange thing is, that I saw it clearly through the thick\n     painted glass.\n\n     \"The whole thing happened so suddenly, and really surprised me so\n     much, that for some time I could hardly get up from the seat or\n     find my place at the beginning of the chant. Just as it disappeared\n     my friend said, 'Did you see that?' To which, of course, I\n     answered, 'Yes; did you?' that was all we saw; and a lady who was\n     there at the same time, whom we knew, saw it also, exactly as we\n     did, only apparently not with the same distinctness.\n\n     \"Many persons have seen a great deal more. I believe that the\n     figure is generally seen to walk across the window in the reverse\n     way to that which my friend and I saw, and returns with a child,\n     some say with two.\n\n     \"We examined outside the window. It is a good deal above the\n     ground, about five feet, I should think, and at the side of it is a\n     very old gravestone, with no inscription on the headstone as far as\n     I could make out. I believe it is currently reported that the\n     apparition issues from that grave.\n\n     \"Some people thought that it might be a shadow caused in some\n     peculiar manner by the trees that grew outside; but it was not, for\n     the trees were cut down about three years ago, and the apparition\n     is still seen, as it has been, I have been told, for a century.\n\n     \"I have nothing to add, except that this is a true and\n     unexaggerated account of what I saw.\"\n\n\nIV.\n\n     YORK, _March 28th, 1874_.\n\n     \"SIR,\n\n     \"Owing to severe illness in my family, I was not able to reply to\n     your note earlier. I will now try and tell you what I have seen and\n     been told on the subject of the ghosts at Holy Trinity Church,\n     Micklegate.\n\n     \"A York lady, now dead, told me she remembered seeing it when a\n     child, and that she once read an account of it in an old History of\n     York: she thought the book must have been published in the\n     seventeenth century.\n\n     \"We now live in the parish of Holy Trinity, and attend the church\n     regularly. A part of my family sit in the gallery, therefore I will\n     tell you, in as matter-of-fact a manner as possible, what I myself\n     have seen, and leave one of my daughters, if she likes, to give you\n     her experiences.\n\n     \"I must state also that the ghost is seen more or less distinctly\n     as you happen to be seated in the centre or side of the gallery; as\n     a rule, the former is the best place.\n\n     \"As I have no faith in ghosts, I have been most wishful to have the\n     matter cleared up. At present I cannot account for the appearance\n     in any way.\n\n     \"I went many times to the gallery in hopes of seeing the\n     phenomenon, but was repeatedly disappointed. At last, one dull day,\n     hopeless for the purpose as I thought--rain was falling at the\n     time--I was startled by seeing something.\n\n     \"There are two east windows--one on the right, filled with common\n     green glass, the organ in front of it. From the outside of this\n     window I saw something move, and immediately a graceful figure of a\n     girl of eighteen or twenty years crossed the outside of the stained\n     east window with a light, free step. She was entirely covered with\n     a fine lace veil which, as she walked and met the air, showed the\n     outline of the head and figure; the features I could not\n     distinguish, but could see a shade through the veil where they\n     naturally would be.\n\n     \"The veil was of a pure white, flowing back as a train as she\n     walked. In two or three minutes the figure returned, the robe\n     flowing back in the same way, and disappeared behind the organ\n     window.\n\n     \"The figure appeared to me to be decidedly outside the window, and\n     at a greater distance than was possible for any one to be; in the\n     first place, because the east window is high up, and therefore\n     anyone walking past it, to be seen at all, must be at some little\n     distance from it; and, secondly, because there is a dead wall\n     within a few yards of the window.\n\n     \"The pure white of the robe quite obliterated the colours in the\n     window, but the lead work was distinct enough, and the figure\n     appeared behind it The distinct outline of the figure is most\n     striking.\n\n     \"The apparition always returns to the organ window. I have seen\n     this several times since the first. Owing to the dull day and the\n     darkness of the windows, the appearance on the first occasion was\n     the more remarkable. Two or three other figures also appear, but I\n     never thought them as distinct as the first, and I thought the\n     second and third might be reflections of the first. The two or\n     three often move quickly back and forwards with a dancing movement\n     somewhat like the reflection of the sun on a wall, but taking the\n     form of human figures. However, it was dull and raining when first\n     I saw the apparition, so that on that occasion there could have\n     been no reflection of sunlight.\n\n     \"These appearances are sometimes not seen for weeks and months;\n     then they appear once or twice on succeeding days or Sundays. No\n     one can be sure of seeing them if they go to the church for that\n     purpose. I do not believe the apparition takes place at one more\n     favoured time than another, though some people like to think so.\n     The present rector wished to abolish the 'ghosts,' and was advised\n     to cut down one or two trees. This was done; all thought that the\n     ghosts were banished. Ten months after there was a gay wedding; my\n     daughters went into the gallery to witness the ceremony, and lo!\n     the 'ghost or ghosts' were there also. They had not been seen for\n     nine or ten months. That was the first occasion since the cutting\n     down of the trees on which they reappeared.\n\n     \"The Sunday-school children who sit in the gallery see the form so\n     often as to be quite familiar with the sight, and call them 'the\n     mother, nurse, and child.'\n\n     \"The legend I have heard told of it is that a family, consisting of\n     a father, mother, and only child, lived here once upon a time. The\n     father died, and was buried at the east end of the church, under or\n     near the organ window. After a while the plague broke out in York\n     and carried off the child, and it was buried outside the city, as\n     those who died of plague were not allowed to be laid in the\n     churchyards for fear of communicating the infection.\n\n     \"The mother died afterwards, and was laid in her husband's grave,\n     and now, as in her lifetime, continues to visit the grave of her\n     child and bemoan the separation. The child is brought from its\n     grave in the plague-pit by the mother and nurse, and brought to\n     the grave of its father, and then it is taken back to where it lies\n     outside the walls.\"\n\n     \"L. S.\"\n\n\nV.\n\nThe following appeared in the \"Newcastle Daily Chronicle\" a couple of\nyears after the publication of my book, in 1874:--\n\n\n     \"SIR,--On Good Friday last I went to Holy Trinity Church, York, for\n     morning service, at 11 o'clock, and repaired with a friend to the\n     gallery, being anxious to see a certain apparition which is said to\n     haunt the place.\n\n     \"The gallery is situated at the extreme west end of the building,\n     and faces the east window, from which it is distant some 50 feet or\n     so. It is said that in the aisle and body of the church nothing is\n     ever seen. The gallery was full, but no one seemed to have come\n     there especially for the ghost, and though many of them afterwards\n     said they saw it, they were not in the least affected by the\n     apparition, treating it as a matter of course, to which they were\n     well accustomed.\n\n     \"I kept my eyes fixed upon the east window for nearly the whole of\n     the hour and a half during which the service lasted, but was not\n     favoured with a sight of the phenomenon; although others saw it\n     cross the window and return, and my friend, who knows it well,\n     called my attention to the fact, at the moment, yet I could not\n     perceive nothing. I therefore left the place as unbelieving as\n     ever, and supposed that either I was the victim of a hoax, or that\n     it required a great stretch of imagination to fancy that a passing\n     shadow was the desired object. However, not liking to discredit the\n     statements of many friends who were used to seeing it almost every\n     Sunday, I consented on Easter Day to go to the same place and pew.\n     The seat I occupied was not an advantageous one, a large brass\n     chandelier being between me and the lower panes of the window. In\n     the middle of the service my eyes, which had hardly once moved from\n     the left or north side of the window, were attracted by a bright\n     light formed like a female robed and hooded passing from north to\n     south with a rapid gliding motion outside the church apparently at\n     some distance. The window is Gothic, and I fancy, from 20 to 25\n     feet high, by 12 to 15 feet wide at the base. The panes through\n     which the ghost shines are about 5 feet high and about half-way\n     between the top and bottom. There are four divisions in the window,\n     all of stained glass, of no particular pattern, the outer on right\n     and left being of lighter colour than the two centre panes, and at\n     the edge of each runs a rim of plain transparent white glass, about\n     two inches wide, and adjoining the stone work. Through this rim,\n     especially, could be seen what looked like a form transparent, but\n     yet thick, (if such a term can be used) with light. It did not\n     resemble linen, for instance, but was far brighter, and would, no\n     doubt, have been dazzling to a near observer. The robe was long,\n     and trailed. The figure was of course not visible when it had\n     crossed the window and passed behind the wall. My friend whispered\n     to me that it would return, must return, and at the end of five\n     minutes or so, the same figure glided back from right to left,\n     having turned round while out of sight. About half an hour later it\n     again passed across from north to south, and having remained about\n     ten seconds only, returned with what I believe to have been the\n     figure of a young child, and stopped at the last pane but one,\n     where both vanished. I did not see the child again, but a few\n     seconds afterwards the woman reappeared, and completed the passage,\n     behind the last pane, very rapidly. Nothing more was seen during\n     the service, and no other opportunity presented itself to me for\n     making observations. During each time, the chandelier prevented me\n     from obtaining a complete view but there could be no doubt as to\n     the shape, a certain amount of indistinctness, however, being\n     caused by the stained glass. On the reappearance for the last time,\n     I saw the head, which was, I believe, that of the child, move up\n     and down distinctly, as if nodding. The figure shone with dazzling\n     brightness, and appeared to be at a considerable distance, say\n     thirty yards or so, though at the same time as distinct as\n     possible, considering the obstruction of coloured glass. Each time\n     the level upon which it glided was precisely the same, and\n     afterwards, on carrying a straight line from the spot in the\n     gallery where I sat, through the part of the glass where the feet\n     of the figure shone, and continuing that line (in my mind's eye,\n     with all the objects before me, except the ghost, whose position I\n     had taken good notice of), I found that it would traverse a thick\n     holly tree eight or nine feet high at about four feet from the\n     ground, and at two or three feet from the ground a low wall about\n     four feet high, and would reach the ground itself in the middle of\n     a gravel yard belonging to the back premises of the house, called\n     the vicarage, at a distance of twelve or fifteen yards from the\n     window. Any person walking between the window and the holly tree\n     would barely be seen at all, much less be seen in the place which\n     the apparition occupies; and any one on the further side of the\n     tree would be almost if not quite invisible on account of the holly\n     and other bushes and the dead wall. Any one about there at all can\n     easily be seen from the many houses on all sides.\n\n     \"If it were a shadow thrown upon the glass of the window it would,\n     of course, be seen by those who sit in the body of the church as\n     well as those in the gallery.\n\n     \"It cannot be a reflection on the principle of Pepper's Ghost,\n     which is produced by the figure actually being in a very strong\n     light and appearing reflected on glass in a darkish spot. The\n     lights both inside and outside of the church at York which might\n     be thought to produce the ghost, are precisely the reverse, and any\n     figure required to be reproduced by reflection on the east window\n     would have to be standing or walking in the centre of the aisle.\n\n     \"For the above facts I can vouch, and I have no reason to believe\n     that the following are either incorrect or exaggerated.\n\n     \"It is said to appear very frequently on Trinity Sunday, and to\n     bring two other figures on to the scene, another female, called the\n     nurse, and the child. It is often seen as distinctly on a dark,\n     rainy, or snowy day, as when the sun is shining. When I saw it the\n     sun was not bright.\n\n     \"The motion is even, not at all jerky. Sometimes it glides swiftly;\n     at other times slowly. It cannot be a mere accidental reflection,\n     from a door or window, for instance, for the figure faces different\n     ways, according to the direction in which it is going; and it is\n     not always alone, nor do the figures always act in concert.\n\n     \"One of my friends, with a companion, has watched outside on the\n     wall, where he had a full view of the whole place around, during\n     morning service. The ghost has been seen from the inside while\n     outside nothing was visible.\n\n     \"It is said to have haunted the church for 150, 200, and some\n     authorities say 300 years, and there are many pretty legends\n     connected with it.\n\n     \"One of the many traditions says that 300 years ago, during\n     religious disturbances, a party of soldiers came to sack the\n     convent attached to this church; that the abbess, a woman of great\n     virtue and courage, stopped them, as they were entering, declaring\n     that they should enter over her dead body only, and that, should\n     they succeed in their sacrilegious purpose, as they afterwards did,\n     her spirit would haunt the place until the true Church were\n     re-established, and a convent built on the same spot. Another story\n     relates that during the plague, some two hundred years ago, a\n     nurse and child died of the pestilence, and were necessarily buried\n     outside the city walls, while the unfortunate mother of the child,\n     at her death, was interred in Holy Trinity Churchyard. Here the\n     mother waits and receives the nurse and child, weeping and wringing\n     her hands before parting with them. The same scene is often enacted\n     several times during the same day, and even during the same\n     service.\n\n     \"Whatever may have been the circumstances under which the ghost (if\n     it is one, which it is hard to believe in these matter-of-fact\n     days) commenced its peculiar promenade, I would recommend those who\n     have the chance to go to Holy Trinity Church, York, and see for\n     themselves, though an audience of the apparition cannot always be\n     assured. A ghost in broad daylight does no harm, frightens no one,\n     and ought to interest everybody.--I am, &c.,\n\n     \"H. G. F. T.\"\n\n\nFinally the Rector of Holy Trinity, York, intervened; he wrote to the\n\"York Herald\":--\n\n\n     \"I think the time has come when it is perhaps necessary for me to\n     give a word of explanation in regard to this imaginary apparition.\n     The fact is simply this: Any one seated in the gallery of the\n     church which is at the west end, can see through the east window\n     any person, or persons, walking in the vicarage garden. The wall at\n     the east end of the church, below the east window, is too high to\n     allow anyone in the body of the church to see either the garden or\n     anyone in it. This fact explains at once the reason, how it is\n     absolutely necessary for anyone to be in the gallery in order to\n     see the 'ghost.' This is the real truth of the matter. What is seen\n     is not a 'ghost;' it is not a 'reflection,' but it is a living\n     being, or beings, walking in a garden. Of course the east window\n     being of stained glass and of a rather peculiar pattern, a distinct\n     form is not always visible. And I may say that this simple\n     explanation has been attested and verified over and over again both\n     by myself and others. One argument of proof is all, I think, that I\n     need give. The Vicarage House was at one time empty for about 12\n     months, during which time the 'ghost' was neither seen nor heard\n     of, and then it was let to a person with a large family; and on the\n     very first Sunday after the family took possession of the premises,\n     I was told by a simple-minded youth that the ghost had returned,\n     and five or six young ghosts with it. After what I have here\n     stated, I need hardly say that all the sensational matter in regard\n     to vivid lights, mother, nurse, and child, extraordinary displays\n     on Trinity Sunday, &c., &c., is as pure an invention as ever was\n     fabricated by a morbid imagination. And I will add that I sincerely\n     hope that the people of York will not take the advice of one of\n     your voluminous correspondents, and will not go to the church for\n     the mere purpose of seeing this purely imaginative ghost. I trust\n     that all who go will remember it is God's house, intended to be a\n     house of prayer, and not a place for gratifying an idle curiosity.\"\n\n\nThis letter called forth a sharp animadversion from another\ncorrespondent who signed himself \"Novocastrensis,\" to which H. G. F. T.\nreplied:--\"I have read Mr. Gould's accounts since I saw the 'ghost,' and\nfind that though they differ considerably in the details from my\ndescription, in the essential points they agree with and corroborate it.\nI should like to state here distinctly that the story was not adapted\nfor my 'own' or any other's 'purpose' from 'Yorkshire Oddities,' but is\nan unprejudiced, and to the best of my belief, an unexaggerated and true\naccount and description of what I myself saw. It is not my desire to\nraise a discussion, but the injustice implied in the letter is the\nexcuse I urge for thus trespassing upon your space.--I am, &c.\n\n\"H. G. F. T.\n\n\"Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 6th May, 1876.\"\n\n\nThis provoked another letter from a fresh correspondent:--\"SIR,--I was\nin York when the letters appeared in the _Chronicle_ and the _Journal_\nabout the ghost in Holy Trinity Church. A lady, a member of the\ncongregation, who has frequently seen the ghost, gave me the following\nsimple explanation. Opposite the window there is a cottage, in one of\nthe windows of which there is a swing pane of glass. The tenant of the\ncottage can cause the ghost to appear and disappear at pleasure by\nsimply opening and shutting it, thus causing reflected sunlight to fall\non the church window:--I am, &c.,\n\n\"J. L.\n\n\"May 9th, 1876.\"\n\n\nAnother correspondent rushed into print:--\"SIR,--though I am not one of\nthose who can boast of having seen the York ghost, yet even to me the\nexplanation published in today's _Journal_, in a letter signed 'J. L.,'\nseems utterly inadequate to explain the matter. The fact of a swing\nwindow opening and shutting might throw sunlight upon the church window,\nbut it is perfectly clear that in such a case the reflection would not\nbe confined perpetually to the same identical part of the window, the\nangles caused by the sun and the swing window being of course varied,\naccording to the time of day. It strikes me that by those means the\nfigures could not be reversed on their return as is always the case,\naccording to the story. Again, the apparition is often seen in dull\nweather, when no sunbeam could be reflected. If the light were actually\nturned on to the stained glass, the congregation seated in the body of\nthe church would be able to see it as well as those in the gallery, but\nthey do not. I should like to see the matter explained. Yet a reason\nsuch as 'J. L.' gives for it is altogether unsatisfactory, and may be\ntaken for what it is worth, which is not much, considering the evidence\nagainst him, and the fact that his information is only second-hand.--I\nam, &c.,\n\n\"R. H. H.\n\n\"Newcastle-on-Tyne.\"\n\n\nVI\n\n     \"M---- Rectory, York, \"_Aug. 11th, 1875_.\n\n     \"DEAR SIR,--Having had the pleasure of reading your interesting\n     book 'Yorkshire Oddities,' I recognised an old acquaintance in the\n     'Trinity Ghost.' Happening to have found out an apparent\n     explanation of the ghost, I thought you would be interested in\n     hearing what I know about it.\n\n     \"In 1869 I went to school at Mr. Metcalfe's, the present incumbent\n     of the church. For my first year I saw and heard nothing about the\n     ghost. We used to sit in two pews in the body of the church under\n     the gallery. In 1870 we changed to a pew in the front of the\n     gallery and the one behind it. Soon after we changed our seats,\n     some of us saw the ghost, and the next Sunday we looked for it, and\n     most of us saw it. The attempt was made known to find out what the\n     ghost was. In 1871 my curiosity being rather excited by the\n     frequent appearances of the ghost, I and a boy of the name of\n     Yewdall determined to find out what it was. The appearance of the\n     ghost was, as one of your informants describes it, that of a figure\n     in a surplice, and it always went across the window from left to\n     right, and returned from right to left. The east window is a\n     pattern window of a good deal of red and blue glass, and beyond the\n     window there is a small strip of churchyard and then a wall. Beyond\n     the wall is the yard of the old parsonage house. On the left hand\n     side of this yard is the parsonage which is rented to a few poor\n     families who used to take in lodgers. On the other side are the\n     offices.\n\n     [Illustration:\n\n     A East window\n     B Gallery\n     C Parsonage\n     D Wall\n     E Churchyard\n     F Ashpit, &c.\n     G yard formerly garden]\n\n     \"As we used to teach at the Sunday School which was held in a large\n     room jutting out from the parsonage towards the church, we often\n     noticed the women and children of the house going across the yard\n     to the ashpits; and it struck us that this might be the ghost. So\n     we went into the church directly the doors were opened and went up\n     into the gallery while another of us walked across the churchyard\n     in front of the east window. Curiously enough, at the same time we\n     saw him going across the window near the bottom, the ghost went\n     across higher up. This goes a good way to proving my supposition,\n     as is drawn in the following diagram.\n\n     [Illustration]\n\n     \"I have forgotten to state that the ghost was always seen best in\n     sunny weather, but it is also to be seen in cloudy weather as well\n     as bright sunshine. Usually one ghost appeared, but I have often\n     seen two, and a few times as many as eight children with the two\n     big ones. This was, I suppose, the husband and wife of one of the\n     families surrounded by the children. In 1862 (I believe the date is\n     correct) Mr. Saul was the Incumbent, but upon his death, on\n     vacation of the living, the parsonage house was uninhabited. During\n     this time I have been told that the church was delivered from the\n     ghost, but the very first Sunday the new rector came the ghosts\n     reappeared as before.--I remain, yours truly,\n\n     \"----.\"\n\n\nThe name I have not given, though the letter was signed.\n\n\n\n\nPETER PRIESTLY,\n\nTHE WAKEFIELD PARISH CLERK.\n\n\nIn the middle of last century there lived in Wakefield a certain Peter\nPriestly, who for many years was sexton of the parish church of All\nSaints. The then vicar was Michael Bacon, D.D., a tall, portly man, of a\ncommanding presence, who wore a large bushy wig, as was the wont of many\nold divines of that date. He was a man of rather a warm temperament, and\nwas apt at times, when matters did not flow quite according to his will,\nto grow a little irritable, and whilst in that condition his habit was\nfrequently to thrust his right hand in a testy, impetuous way under his\nwig. This habit destroyed the symmetry of that capital ornament, and\nmade it protrude considerably on the right side; and this protrusion\ngrew greater the longer the wig was worn.\n\nThe vicar's wigs were inherited and worn by the sexton, whose venerable\nand awe-inspiring appearance was much enhanced thereby. Mrs. Priestly in\nvain endeavoured to reduce the protuberance of hair on the right side,\nso as not to betray the origin of the wig. The horse-hair resumed its\nelasticity in spite of her efforts, and the congregation in the parish\nchurch were amused to see the stately Doctor in his reading-desk with a\ndeformed wig, and below him the scarcely less stately clerk in a wig the\ncounterpart of that of the Doctor. But what amused the wags not a little\nwas to observe the fact that when the Doctor's wig was perfectly\nsymmetrical, instantly the sexton's assumed the most exaggerated\ninequality in the sides. The secret, of course, was that the Doctor had\ndonned a new wig, and had given his old one to the clerk. But after a\nwhile the irascible vicar had succeeded in brushing out the tufts of his\nfalse head of hair on the right, and simultaneously the continued\nefforts of Mrs. Priestly had reduced the right-hand protuberance in the\nwig of her husband. Consequently, as one bush grew, the other shrank\ninto itself. But there were points--like the equinoxes--when both wigs\nwere alike.\n\nNow it fell out that Doctor Bacon had determined to present himself with\na new wig one Easter, and he had accordingly given Peter Priestly his\nold wig, which had arrived at its maximum of extension on the right-hand\nside.\n\nPeter had heard it said that on S. Mark's Eve the spirits of all those\nwho are to die during the year may be seen in the church. Half believing\nthis popular superstition and half in doubt about the truth of it, and\nthinking, moreover, that if it might be so, he should like to know\nwhether trade would be brisk for him during the rest of the year, he\ndecided that anyhow he would go to the church and see what would happen;\nand not wishing to spend his time idly, he determined to occupy himself\nwith lettering some grave-stones which he had not completed. The place\nin which he carried on this work was the base of the church tower, which\nwas shut off from the nave by a large boarded partition, against which\nstood the west gallery of the church. The opening from the tower into\nthe nave consisted of large folding-doors.\n\nNow, according to the story, on S. Mark's Eve a train of all those who\nare to die before the ensuing S. Mark's Eve come into the church through\none of the doors in their winding-sheets, each carrying a corpse-candle.\nA ghostly priest precedes the weird procession, and dolefully intones\nthe burial service.\n\nWhen Peter had finished his supper on that eventful evening, he said to\nhis wife: \"I think, lass, I'll go and do a bit o' my lettering; so gi'e\nme my lantern wi' a can'le in it. I happen shan't be so varry long; but\nI think I'll just go for a bit. Howsomever, if I should stop a middling\nwhile, ye needn't be flayed (frightened), for I want to finish them two\nstoanes.\"\n\nIt was not without some trepidation that Peter took up his place in the\ntower, and left the folding-doors ajar that he might look into the nave\nand see the awful train sweep in.\n\nPeter was not a nervous man, or at least he did not think himself so,\nand he began his work, whistling a psalm tune. He was engaged on a large\ngrave-stone on which he had already completed about half the\ninscription. It was standing raised upon tressels to the required\nheight; and at this he worked diligently for a long while, with his face\ntowards the east and the folding-doors, and every now and then he stole\nto the doors and peeped through into the nave. All was perfectly dark\nand silent. He returned to his work with lighter heart after each glance\ninto the great dark church. He had taken the candle out of his lantern,\nand had put it into an old rusty candlestick, which he kept there for\nthe purpose, in order that he might have a better light.\n\nThe church clock, with many premonitory groanings, had struck the hours\nof ten and eleven, and Peter still pursued his work. The eventful\nghostly hour was approaching when the graves reveal their secrets. As\nthis hour drew nigh Peter's courage began to fail. It flashed across his\nmind that perhaps the spectral procession would enter the church, not\nthrough the south porch, as he had at first conjectured, but through the\nwestern tower-door; in which case it would be upon him, envelop him,\nbefore he knew where he was.\n\nThis caused great agitation in Peter's breast, and made him turn his\nhead every now and then to see if anything were stirring. But all\nremained still; the only sound that broke the silence was the pulse of\ntime, the old clock throbbing above in the tower, and that sound seemed\nto grow more monotonous and weary.\n\nTwelve o'clock drew near, and Peter's heart began to beat quicker. \"I\narn't flayed,\" he said to himself, \"but I'm varry hot; t' work ha' made\nme so, I reckon. There's nowt to be flayed at, for there's nowt to be\nseen. I'll just wait while it strikes twelve, and then I'll go home.\"\n\nSo on he worked, but his hand was not as steady as usual, and he made a\nblunder in the letter he was cutting; and this annoyed him.\n\n\"I doan't know how it is,\" he said; \"I think I mun be getting ow'd, for\nmy hand rather shakes, and I can't see as weel as I used.\" He wiped his\nspectacles and snuffed the candle which stood at his right hand, and\ndrew it closer to him. At that moment the striking apparatus of the\nclock groaned and prepared for twelve. Peter looked round over his\nshoulder. The quarter began to strike, and then with a great whirr the\nfirst stroke of the ominous hour sounded--the second--the third. How\nslow they did strike--surely slower than usual. At each stroke he turned\nhis head and glanced behind him. Twice he started. Surely there was a\nlittle sharp sound for a moment, like an unearthly hiss. He raised\nhimself and looked about him. There was nothing.\n\nHe bent himself again over his work, and the clock had reached the\neleventh stroke. The twelfth followed. He turned sharply round, and on\nthe instant such a rush sounded close to his right ear--such a strange,\nsupernatural light glared suddenly through the tower--such a breath of\nhot air fanned his cheek--that he thought surely the ghostly train was\npassing. Over went the candle, and was extinguished. Down fell mallet\nand chisel. The old man stumbled out of the tower, rushed through the\nchurchyard, and ran home, never looking behind him till he reached his\ndoor.\n\nHis house stood at the north-east corner of the churchyard. Opening his\ndoor, he ran through the room, and, pale and breathless, sank into his\nold arm-chair by the side of the fire. For a moment or two his mouth\nopened and gasped inarticulate words. Then, extending his trembling\nhand, he said to his alarmed wife, \"Gi'e me my pipe, lass--gi'e me my\npipe.\"\n\n\"Why, Peter,\" said his loving spouse, \"whativer is t' matter wi' thee?\nThou looks right flayed.\"\n\n\"Gi'e me my pipe, lass--gi'e me my pipe,\" he gasped again.\n\nShe went to the clock-case and took the pipe down from a ledge at the\nside of it, where it always rested when not in use, and reached down the\ntobacco-box from the delf-case against the wall; and bringing them to\nthe old man, said, as she gained a closer view of him, \"Why, Peter,\nwhativer hast thou been doing? Thou'st burnt ommost half t' hair off t'\nright side o' thy wig!\"\n\n\"What?\" said Peter, with a sudden feeling of relief from his fright.\n\n\"Why, tak' thy wig off, and thou'll soon see,\" said the wife.\n\nDoing as he was bid, he sat studying the precious wig. The great bunch\nof hair ruffled out by the vicar's hand was consumed to the roots.\n\nPeter burst out laughing; the mystery was solved. But he made no more\nvisits to the church at midnight on S. Mark's Eve.\n\nPeter was remarkable for many witty sayings, but most of these have\nbeen forgotten.\n\nHe was lettering a grave-stone in the churchyard one day, when a\nphysician came by, who, looking at the inscription, which was partly\ncut, said, \"Why, Peter, you've spelt it wrong.\"\n\n\"Have I, Doctor?\" said he, sharply. \"Then how should it be?\"\n\nWhen he was told how to correct his blunder, he looked slyly into the\nphysician's face and said, \"Well, well, pass it over, Doctor--pass it\nover. I've covered up monny a blot o' yours.\"\n\nHe one day stood listening to a Methodist local preacher in the\nmarket-place. The preacher was attempting an oratorical effect, and\nexclaimed, \"My brethren, if every field in the world was thrown into one\nfield, what a great field that would be!\" \"Ah!\" said Peter, loud enough\nto be heard, \"if every jackass i' t' world was one jackass, what a big\njackass that 'ud be!\"\n\n\n\n\nPROPHET WROE.\n\n\nJohn Wroe was born at Bowling, in the parish of Bradford, Yorkshire, on\nSeptember 19th, 1782, and was baptised in the old parish church of\nBradford. He was put to school, but from want of capacity or of\napplication he made such poor progress that when he left it he read very\nimperfectly, and he never acquired a facility of reading.\n\nHe was brought up to follow his father's employment, which was that of\nworsted manufacturer, combined with farming and the proprietorship of a\ncoal-pit. In course of time his father gave him a share in his business,\nand articles of partnership were drawn up, but were never signed. John's\nnatural incapacity for application to business probably obliged his\nfather to place his brother Joseph in his room as partner, and John\nafterwards often complained of being hardly treated by his father and\nbrothers. It is evident, however, that this treatment he brought on\nhimself, and that his father acted with judgment in not entrusting the\nconduct of business into his hands.\n\nHis grandfather is said to have declared that \"the Lord would raise up a\nminister from among his offspring.\" To fulfil this prophecy Wroe placed\nhis youngest son Thomas in a school to be educated for the ministry in\nthe Church, but was prevented from applying to the Archbishop of York\nfor ordination for him, as the Vicar of Bradford and a friend dissuaded\nhim from doing so, on account of Thomas labouring from an impediment in\nhis speech.\n\nJohn's irritation against his brother Joseph brought him to the verge\nof committing a dreadful crime. He procured a pistol and lay in wait for\nhis brother, intending to shoot him, but his conscience reproached him,\nand he did not put his murderous purpose into execution.[1]\n\nJohn and his father in course of time came to an open rupture about some\nwool that had been bought by the latter, and John determined to set up\nfor himself. He applied for a farm in Tory Street, and the landlord\nwould have accepted him, but his father intercepted the letter, and took\nthe farm himself for three years. John, highly incensed, moved into the\nfarm-house, and maintained his position there during all that time. His\nfather wished to dispossess him, but not liking to summons his own son,\nhe thought it better to suffer him to remain there.\n\nOn his way one night to Adwalton he was attacked by two men, who robbed\nhim of eighteen pounds. The men were apprehended but not convicted, and\nJohn never recovered the money.\n\nHe took up wool-combing as a business, and engaged apprentices. One of\nhis apprentices, Benjamin Lockwood, involved him in losses, according to\nhis own account, and this led him to bankruptcy.\n\nI give the next passage from his memoirs as it stands. It is vaguely\nworded, and I do not profess to understand it. \"He was about five years\nan housekeeper previous to his marriage with the daughter of Benjamin\nAppleby, of Fasseley Mills, near Leeds.\"\n\nIn 1819 John Wroe was attacked by fever, and was pronounced in danger.\nDr. Field, who attended him, advised Mrs. Wroe to prevail on him to\nsettle his affairs. The thought of death so moved and alarmed Wroe that\nhe entreated that some Methodist preacher might be brought to visit and\npray with him; but they refused, although his wife sent to four of them.\nShe then asked him if she had better not send for his parish priest, or\nsome of the clergymen of the Church; but he declined, saying it was too\nlate, and he begged her to read to him some chapters from the Bible;\n\"and,\" said he, \"I will see what I can do for myself.\"\n\nHe gradually recovered his bodily health, but not his ease of mind, and\nfor some months he continued wandering about the fields with his Bible\nin his hand, sitting down under the hedges, and spelling out easy\npassages for himself; but still found no comfort.\n\nSoon after this he fell into epileptic fits, and saw visions. In these\ntrances he became completely rigid, his eyes remained closed--the\neyelids as fast together as if they had grown to one another, and his\ntongue stiff in his mouth. In this condition he remained sometimes\nseven, twelve, twenty-four, or even thirty-six hours. After one of his\nfits, his eyes remained closed for six days, but he recovered the use of\nhis tongue. The first of his trances came on in the morning of November\n12th, 1819, at two o'clock, before dawn, as he was rambling in the\nfields. He says: \"A woman came to me, and tossed me up and down in the\nfield. I endeavoured to lay hold of her, but could not; I therefore knew\nit was a spirit.\" Could this not have been his wife, impatient at him\nleaving his bed and rambling about so early?\n\nAfter this he was taken and put to bed. Whom by? Was it by this woman\nwho tossed him about? In bed he remained twelve hours.\n\nOn the 19th November, six days after his shaking, he had a fit, and lost\nhis sight and power of speech. On his returning to consciousness, he\nwrote on a black board, in rude letters and abject spelling, the\nrevelations he had been allowed to behold. It consisted of oxen running\ndown a lane, tossing their horns, which frightened him to tears. \"I\nthought that I walked about a mile among these beasts, until I returned\nto my former place, and there an angel met me, and he took me to a large\nplace, where I saw a great number of books, placed on their edges,\nhaving gilt letters. There also appeared large altars, full of letters,\nbut I could not read them. I begged that I might be enabled to read and\nunderstand what I had seen; and there appeared another, the letters of\nwhich were black print or old English, with the word Jeremiah on the top\nof it, and the letter L. I wrote on the wall with my fingers at the\ntime, as I lay in bed; the people who were present observing me,\nconcluded that I wished to write (I was dumb, for my tongue was fastened\nin my mouth as before); they gave me a piece of board and chalk, and I\nwrote Jeremiah, 50th chapter. I had never read this chapter, or heard it\nread, or seen it before, to my recollection; but when I came to myself,\nI could, without looking at it, repeat nearly every word in it.\"\n\nOn the 29th of November following he had another epileptic fit\naccompanied with visions; and on the 14th of December \"I was again\nstruck blind at about ten o'clock in the forenoon, and remained more\nlike a corpse than a living man for twenty-four hours, when I came to\nmyself by degrees, but continued blind for five days. After many things,\nthe angel said to me, 'Thou shalt be blind for six days, and on the\nseventh day thy father shall come to thee, and many people with him; he\nshall lay his right thumb on thy right eye, and his fourth finger on thy\nleft, as a token that he remembers his former sins and wickedness; and\nif not, it will be a witness against him at the Day of Judgment, and\nthou shalt receive thy sight.' During the six days that I was blind my\nwife at one time was reading a hymn for me; when she had read it I\ndesired her to read it again; but before she had done so I fainted, and\nsaw the elements separated, and there appeared before me a large open\nsquare; I saw our Saviour nailed on the cross and the tears trickling\ndown his face, and at that time I thought he was weeping for the wicked\npeople upon the earth. An angel then appeared holding a man by a single\nhair of his head, who had a very large sword in his hand, which he waved\nbackward and forward. I then saw a pair of large scales let down to the\nearth, and a great bundle, which was placed in one side of it, which I\nthought was the sins of the people, and then saw a great number of\nweights placed in the other; but the bundle was so much heavier that the\nweights bounced out, and the scales were drawn up into heaven. Then the\nman that was held by the hair of his head by the angel brandished his\nsword six or seven times, as formerly, and disappeared. I afterwards saw\nMoses and Aaron, accompanied by a great number of people, attended by\nangels, and I heard such delightful music as it would be impossible to\ndescribe. There was darkness over the place soon after, and I lost sight\nof all in a moment.\"\n\nHe continued with his eyes shut for exactly six days, and on the seventh\nhis father came and placed his thumb on his right eye, and his fourth\nfinger on his left, whereupon John Wroe opened his eyes and then fainted\naway. As soon as he received his sight the people surrounding him asked\nif he really saw clearly. He found that with one eye he saw as\ndistinctly as before, but with the other only imperfectly, and this he\nattributed to some one having three days before endeavoured to force the\neyelids open.\n\nWroe tells us in his Autobiography that his father, placing his thumb\nand finger on his eyes in the manner indicated beforehand by the angel,\nfilled every one with astonishment; but from Joseph Wroe, his cousin,\nwe learn that the father did this according to the express orders of\nJohn.\n\nSamuel Muff, a spectator, says: \"During the twenty-four hours that John\nWroe was in his trance reports of the circumstance frequently reached my\nhouse, adding that he was likely to die. I accordingly went to see him,\nand he came to himself when I was in the house, but was entirely blind.\nOn hearing my voice, he communicated many things to me which I cannot at\npresent recollect; but I remember his having said that he was blind, but\nthat he would yet see. He wrote me a few lines in the course of his six\ndays' blindness, desiring that I would come and see him at the time his\neyes were opened, and which he asserted would be at the end of the six\ndays; the letter was sent to me by one of my neighbours, who declared he\nsaw him write it; and stone blind as he then was, it is the best piece\nof his writing I ever saw. I complied with his desire, and actually saw\nhis eyes open in the manner already related. After his father had placed\nhis thumb and finger on his eyes, he appeared to me for some time as if\nhe were dead. He afterwards came to himself, sat up in the chair, and\nhis eyes instantly opened. He and I were brought up within a quarter of\na mile of each other, and were schoolfellows, but the master who\ninstructed us never could teach him to spell or read, nor even to speak\nplainly.\"\n\nJoseph Wroe, John's cousin, says: \"The first time I met with John Wroe\nafter the commencement of his visions, which was in the street in\nBradford, I said, 'I have been informed that thou hast begun to preach.'\nHe replied, 'Well, I do not know much about preaching, but I have begun\ntalking, and people may call it what they please.' I said, in a\ncontemptuous manner, 'I have also been informed that thou hast been\nvisited with visions or trances; what hast thou seen?' He replied, 'I\nhave seen a great deal too much to relate here.' He appeared reserved,\nand would say no more. Some time after this a person came to my house,\nand inquired of me whether I had seen my cousin John, adding, 'People\nsay he is blind, and has been so for three or four days.' I went to see\nhim on the following Sunday, with many others. At his desire I led him\nto the door, and accompanied him to the house of a neighbour, named\nAbraham Holmes: it was this man who wrote his visions, and part of which\nwas done on that occasion. We delayed there until it was dark, and I led\nhim back to his house. When I was about to return home he laid hold of\nmy hand, and would not suffer me to proceed until I had promised him to\nreturn next day, as he asserted that he would then receive his sight. I\naccordingly attended the same day; several persons did the same, and one\nof them said to John, 'Art thou not afraid that thou wilt never see any\nmore?' He replied, 'No, I have not a doubt about it. I am as firm as a\nrock in the belief that my sight will be restored at the appointed\ntime.' A few minutes before the time he requested that some person would\nlead him to a private place, where he might have an opportunity for\nprayer. I accordingly led him into the parlour, and withdrew; he soon\nafter returned, and ordered a chair to be placed in the middle of the\nroom, so that every person present might observe what was to be done. He\nthen called his father, directing him to lay his thumb and finger on his\neyes, and he did so. John said, 'You have done enough; take away your\nhand.' He then stretched out his legs and feet, his head and arms fell\nback, and he fainted, and his countenance appeared like that of a person\nwho was dead. He remained so for about a minute, when his eyelids began\nto move, and suddenly opened: he came to himself and said, 'I can see.'\nI inquired of him, 'How wast thou before thy sight was restored?' He\nreplied, 'I got a glance of that glorious place, and at that instant my\nsight returned.'\"\n\nThe following night he prayed that he might be guided in the choice of a\nsect to which to belong. At about two in the morning he woke, and saw on\nthe tester of his bedstead a black board, on which appeared in gilt\nletters, \"A.A. Rabbi, Rabbi, Rabbi.\" He awoke his wife, and told her\nwhat he had seen. He thought at first that Rabbi was the name of a town,\nand that he was perhaps to go to that place and declare there what he\nhad seen; but afterwards concluded it was a sign that he was to go and\ntestify to the Jews. Afterwards he conceived himself to be commanded to\ntestify in England for three years, \"with his hat on his head,\" and at\nthe expiration of that time to join the Jews.\n\nAccordingly, in the same year, 1820, Wroe went to Liverpool by\nHuddersfield, to visit the Jews there. At Huddersfield he was well\nreceived by three Methodist preachers, who helped him on his way with\nmoney. On reaching Manchester he lodged in a house, and was asked by the\nperson who let him his lodging whether he knew John Wroe, as he\nunderstood that he came from Bradford. Wroe having answered in the\naffirmative, the man continued--\"What sort of a fellow is he?\" John\nreplied, \"Some give him a very indifferent character; but time proves\nall things.\" He was then asked if he were John Wroe, and when he said he\nwas, he was told that he should be heartily welcome to his lodging and\nvictuals gratuitously as long as he stayed there.\n\nThe accomplishment of some predictions made by Wroe tended greatly to\nincrease his fame and impress the ignorant and superstitious with belief\nin his supernatural mission. But it is as easy to account for the\naccomplishment of these prophecies as it is to vindicate the natural\norigin of his fits and visions. He predicted the speedy death of his\nwife's brother, and he sent his wife to her brother, Joseph Appleby, to\ninform him that before long he would be dead. Appleby was at the time\nill in bed: there is little doubt that the fright caused by receiving\nthis message killed him.\n\nIn the spring of 1821 the cousin of John Wroe, who employed him as a\nwool-comber, refused to engage him or have any more of his\nbadly-executed work, telling him he was more fit to be a preacher than a\nwool-comber. Thereupon John fell back in a fit against a bale of wool,\nand when he recovered called all to witness what he said--\"Take notice\nof that young man,\" said he, pointing to the son of his employer, who\nhad been foremost in his complaints and abuse; \"he will never more do\nany work; he will never again pay any man wages.\" The young man was\nimmediately taken ill and died. In this case the lad was no doubt killed\nby fright.\n\nOn the 14th of August, 1822, came the final summons to Wroe to go to the\nJews. As he was sitting in conversation with some dupes or believers he\nasserted that he heard thrice a voice which cried, \"Go to my people\nIsrael, and speak the words that I command thee.\" It continued speaking\nfor about a quarter of an hour, and was succeeded by beautiful music.\n\"He inquired of the aforenamed persons,\" we are told in his\nAutobiography, \"whether they heard anything? and when they answered in\nthe affirmative, and appeared alarmed, one of them said, 'The voice came\nfrom beneath the second bar of the fire-grate.' Wroe said, 'This voice\nis not come for my sake, but for yours.'\" One regrets to hear this, for\nhitherto Wroe seems to have been acting in sincere good faith, believing\nin his visions; but on this occasion there is apparent deception. His\nneglect had lost him his livelihood, and he was obliged to prey on those\ndeluded people who regarded him as a prophet, and to keep up the\ndelusion had recourse to artifice.\n\nHe was now convinced of the truth of the great revelation of Joanna\nSouthcott. Already, in August, 1820, he had had an interview with George\nTurner, the prophet of that sect, on his visiting Bradford, on which\nWroe had informed Turner that he (Wroe) was sent exclusively to the\npublic, and that Turner was sent exclusively to the elect of the\nSociety; and on this understanding Turner had consented to shake hands\nwith him.\n\nBut in 1822 the Society of Joanna Southcott was in a state of\nexpectancy, awaiting the advent of the promised Shiloh on the 14th of\nOctober in that year, and it seems to have entered into Wroe's head to\ntake advantage of this, and announce himself to the Society as a prophet\nin place of Turner, who, he had the shrewdness to see, would be\ndiscredited by the failure of the appearance of the Shiloh. He was\naccordingly visited with trances, in which he saw Joanna \"transfigured\nbefore him in the open firmament, in the day-time, with the Child in her\nleft arm.\"\n\nAccordingly, Wroe attended a meeting of the Society at Bradford on\nAugust 25th, 1822, and he announced: \"You are expecting Shiloh to appear\nand be amongst you on a certain day; but I tell you He will not; and\nmany of the believers will fall off, not merely one or two in a society,\nbut whole societies will fall away. Yet I do not doubt that the\nvisitation to George Turner is of God; and as a testimony of which, I\nwill give in my name among you.\"\n\nOn the following Sunday evening he had one of his epileptic fits in the\nmeeting, and lay as if dead. On recovering he announced that he had seen\nan angel, who had commissioned him to act as prophet. But only two\npersons at the meeting believed in him, and the whole of the Society at\nBradford never thoroughly accepted him. He then went to Almondbury,\nwhere was a meeting of the Southcottites, where also he met with\nindifferent success.\n\nOn Sunday evening he reappeared in Bradford, and adopted the following\nextraordinary expedient to impress the congregation:--Unknown to the\nmembers, he caused two men to stand, one on each side of the archway\nleading into the second room of the meeting-house--the house being\ndivided into three parallel apartments, which opened into each other by\nan archway in each partition, thus forming a sort of narthex, nave, and\nchancel. Each man held a sword, and the swords were united at the\npoints, so that the Friends, to enter, had to pass under the swords.\nWroe entered last of all. Then the men pointed their swords at his\nbreast saying, \"The sword of the Lord is against thee.\" Wroe instantly\nfell on his knees, and prayed aloud that if his mission were not Divine,\nthe swords might fall and smite him asunder.\n\nWroe then stood up and walked to the second archway, the men with the\nswords stepping backwards before him, still with their swords at his\nbreast. Thus he stood and preached on his mission to the congregation,\nwho were amazingly impressed at this solemn farce. When all was over, he\nbade those of the Bradford Society who believed in him to pass under the\nswords; and the great majority of the congregation did so. This\nnaturally created a schism in the body.\n\nLetters were written by the Committee of the Society at Bradford, by\nWroe's direction, to the Societies at Ashton-under-Line, Stockport,\nSheffield, and Colne, to inform them of what had taken place, and\nrequesting them to delegate two men from each congregation to come to\nBradford and examine the truth concerning the mission of Wroe. The\nSocieties at Stockport and Sheffield declined the invitation, but in the\nfollowing year nearly the whole of the body at Sheffield accepted the\nprophetic mission of Wroe, and some at Stockport believed.\n\nIt was time now for Wroe to begin his mission to the Jews. He had a\nlarge following, and was provided liberally with money by his dupes,\nwhich he was not, however, suffered to touch himself.\n\nAfter having visited Jews at Liverpool and London without success, on\nApril 27th he embarked in the brig _Doris_ at Liverpool for Gibraltar,\nin company of Robert Harling, of Thornhill, and reached there on the\n20th of May. But there Harling's heart failed, whether at the sight of\nthe \"abominable idolatries\" of the people, or because his faith was\nshaken in Wroe, does not transpire. On the day following their landing\nHarling returned to England in a vessel that was ready to sail; but\nJohn, having visited and converted the local Methodist preacher,\nremained with him two months. This preacher, Cooke, was greatly\nexercised in spirit on the arrival of the Prophet; but having prayed\nearnestly to the Lord, as he tells us, \"The Lord opened my eyes to see,\"\nand he became an enthusiastic believer.\n\nOn Saturday, the 31st, Wroe appeared in the synagogue of the Jews and\ndelivered his testimony. The Governor of Gibraltar declined to permit\nhim to preach in public; consequently Wroe departed, having been offered\na free passage to England. Before he did so he had been turned out of\nthe synagogue, and had invaded the Roman Catholic Churches, where he\ndeposited his prophecies on the altar in Spanish. This is one of them:--\n\n\n     \"I, Jesus from heaven, command thee, John Wroe, to warn the kingdom\n     of Spain that if they return not from their wicked ways of\n     worshipping images made with men's hands, and bowing before them, I\n     will draw my two-edged sword against them, and it shall turn every\n     way till I have destroyed them. But who is this that has caused\n     them to err? They have hearkened unto their priests instead of\n     hearkening unto me. Now, I will tell you what I will do unto your\n     priests: I will chase them as hounds chase a fox, until I utterly\n     destroy them, and the remnant that is left shall slay your king,\n     and they shall know that I have sent this unto them by my servant.\"\n\n\nHe began to address the Irish Roman Catholic soldiers on the Rock, but\nthe adjutant turned him out. In the two months he was at Gibraltar he\nhad succeeded in making many enemies. A woman threw a pitcher out of a\nwindow at his head, but fortunately missed him, and he was several times\nthreatened with a pistol. One day that he was creating disorder in the\ncathedral the priests took him by the shoulders, thrust him out, and\nlocked the doors behind him.\n\nWroe reached Liverpool on August 23rd, and then visited Ashton and\nBirmingham. On October 12th he again sailed for the Continent, and\nreaching Paris on the 16th, he began to preach his mission to the Jews\nin the Palais Royal.\n\nFrom Paris he and his companion, William Lees, went to Strasburg, where\nthey \"attended the meeting of the Jews in their synagogue. These Jews,\nnot understanding English, conducted them to the house of the Rabbi, who\nwas not at home. His daughter could speak some English, but not\nsufficient to admit of her understanding the whole of what John and\nWilliam wished to communicate. The Jews therefore requested to have the\npurport of the message given to them in writing, which was accordingly\ndone. They behaved very well. On the following day, Sunday, John was so\nill that he was confined to the house, and sent William to the Hebrews\nto receive their answer to his letter. William found a man who could\nspeak English. He said 'he had read the letter to the Rabbi, who was\nvery angry, and said he had power to imprison them for two years, but\nhad pity on them, thinking they were deranged.'\"\n\nAfter visiting Vienna, they proceeded to Trieste. One would like to know\nwhat they thought of that glorious road over the Sommering Pass, and\ndown the valleys of the Murz and the Save, by Laibach and the weird\nashen-grey dolomite peaks of the Terglou and Dobratz; but no allusion to\nthe scenery escapes these dull travellers, except that they \"durst not\nproceed by night, through the apprehension of robbers, the road being\nover the mountains.\"\n\nAt Trieste they visited the Jews and a Roman Catholic priest, who\ntreated them with good-natured contempt; and they went on to Venice,\nwhere they again testified to the Jews. At Verona they left a letter\naddressed to the Roman Catholic priests, on the altars. At Vicenza their\nletter to the priests was returned to them unanswered. At _table d'h\u00f4te_\nat the inn, where about forty gentlemen of different nations were\npresent, \"the spirit of the Lord rested on John, and he stood up and\naddressed them, and gave them two letters. _They appeared much\nastonished._\"\n\nFrom Milan they made their way to Paris, distributing tracts and\nprophecies among the Jews and Catholics, and strewing them on the altars\nof the churches. Having deposited one of these prophecies, not couched\nin the most sanguine and complimentary terms, addressed to the French\npriest, upon the high altar at Amiens, they nearly got into trouble.\nThey were arrested at Calais, and their baggage overhauled by the\npolice, who had received orders from the Minister of the Interior to\nsearch them for papers against the Government. But the police-officer,\nhaving looked through their budget of tracts, observed, contemptuously,\nthat \"they were all on religious subjects,\" and let them depart.\n\nJohn then took all that remained of his tracts and denunciations of woe\nagainst the idolators, in Italian and French, and tore them into small\npieces, which he scattered about the streets of Calais, saying \"he was\ncommanded to do so as a testimony against them.\" On the 17th December\nthey embarked on the French mail, a sailing packet, and had a very rough\npassage. It blew so hard that they could not reach Dover, but stood off\nDeal beach, and a boat conveyed the mail and the passengers ashore. They\nhad to pay fifteen shillings each to the watermen, exclusive of their\nfare in the packet. They were well drenched with salt water, but John\ncheered on William by assuring him that before they reached home he\nwould see the young woman who was to become his wife.\n\nOn reaching London, Wroe visited some of the Believers, and prepared the\nway for a future visit, when he would meet George Turner face to face.\nHe assembled the Friends at Gravesend and Chatham, and prophesied before\nthem, and William Lees at the former place saw the enchanting Cordelia\nChenne, whom he afterwards married, thus fulfilling the prediction of\nWroe in the billy-boat. The following year was an eventful one.\n\nIn January he received a communication \"from the Spirit\" that he was to\nspend forty days in a dark hole, and eat nothing but butter and honey,\nand drink milk. On the 29th he was publicly baptised in the river Aire,\nabove Apperley Bridge, by John Brunton, of Bradford, in the presence of\nsome thirty thousand spectators.\n\n\"Both sides of the river were lined with persons of various ages and\ndenominations. The Spirit had given John a sign--that on his entering\nthe water the sun should shine; for during the two preceding days the\nweather was extremely cold, with severe frost accompanied with snow. The\nSunday forenoon on which the ceremony was to take place continued very\nwet till noon, and when Wroe arrived at the brink of the river, the sun\nwas still veiled. He walked down the river, intending to delay till the\nclouds broke; but the people, thinking that he was afraid of the cold\nwater, roared at him, 'he dussn't go in! He's runnin' away!' They were\nall disposed to view the fun, and they endeavoured to stop Wroe's\nfurther progress. Some friends followed him, urging him not to\ndisappoint the crowd, and he found that he had better put a bold face on\nit, and go in. The sun just then shone forth with a degree of warmth\nmost unusual at that season of the year. The musicians and singers began\nto play and sing, and he descended into the water. But when preparing to\ndo so, a cry was raised by the multitude, 'Drown him!' The same words\nwere uttered by some young men who had placed themselves on the branches\nof a tree adjacent to the river. John commanded them, in the name of the\nLord, to come down. One of them, named Hudson, who was formerly John's\napprentice, cursed him. Immediately that part of the bank on which the\ntree grew gave way, and all were precipitated into the river. None of\nthem were drowned, but some had five or six miles to travel home in\ntheir wet clothes; and Hudson, who had cursed John, died within a few\ndays after. When John came out of the water the musicians and singers\nagain performed.\"\n\nThe mob then set on Wroe with sticks, pelted him with mud, and he and\nhis band of Believers were obliged to beat a precipitate retreat.\n\nOn April 17th, in the same year, he was _publicly circumcised_. This\nfunction was introduced and announced by the band of singers of\nAshton-under-Line marching in procession through the village, playing\nand singing the whole way. In the evening the highly unedifying\nperformance was performed in the meeting-house of the Friends, \"in the\npresence of the congregation.\"\n\nOn August 30th he was again baptised in the river Medlock, near Park\nBridge, and on coming out of the river he stood with one foot in the\nwater, the other on the land, raised his hands to heaven, and swore that\nthere should be no more time--in imitation of the angel described in\nRevelation (x., 5, 6).\n\nHe seems now to have enjoined circumcision on all male adherents, and\nreports circulated that several children had died in consequence. \"But,\"\nsays the Autobiography, \"these reports, with one exception, were\nentirely false.\" The child who died was the son of Robert Grimshaw, of\nHurst Brook, near Ashton. The poor child died six days after the\noperation. An inquest was held by the coroner, and a verdict of\nmanslaughter was returned against Henry Lees, the operator. He was,\nhowever, acquitted at the Assizes, as the medical evidence was not\nconclusive that the wound occasioned by circumcision had caused the\nchild's death.\n\nOn the 11th September Wroe received a call to wander in the fields for\nfourteen days, and live on nuts, wheat, blackberries, hips, herbs, and\nwater. But these, as may well be believed, did not satisfy his hunger.\nAt the end of this time, which he spent in wandering to Huddersfield and\nOakenshaw, he told his wife \"he had a command from God that she should\ndestroy all pictures, portraits, or likenesses of anything he had\ncreated or caused to grow, whether of iron, stone, wood, cloth, or\npaper, and everything of a black colour that could be found within the\nhouse.\" Which command she, like a dutiful but foolish wife, obeyed.\n\nHe then proceeded to Bradford, and on Sunday the 26th addressed a large\ncongregation which crowded into the chapel to hear him. It ended in a\nriot. \"John left the room, accompanied by Elizabeth Elsworth and Mary\nBrear, with whom he walked about two hundred yards, when one of the\nfemales received a blow and was pushed aside. John was also forced along\nfor some distance. However, they reached the New Inn, where there were\ntwo horses in readiness for John and his friend. Many of the people were\nabout to enter, but were prevented by the landlord. Some persons already\nin the house said the two females were 'John's women,' and that he was\npicking poor people's pockets. The horses being got ready, the people in\nthe house rushed out, crying to their persecuting companions, 'Now,\nlads, he's going!' on which they closed the yard gate. John, however,\nescaped by another passage. Having succeeded in getting on the road\nleading to Great Horton, a cry was raised, 'Kill him! kill him!' He was\nthen pursued by the mob, amounting to thousands, some crying out,\n'That's the devil who says he's been living on hips and haws, wheat and\nnuts, for fourteen days!' He was surrounded, and prevented from\nproceeding. By being preceded by Joseph Brear, he soon after succeeded\nin clearing his way, and proceeding a little further. But he was\nstopped, the mob pulling his horse and tearing his clothes. Joseph again\nsucceeded in clearing the way a little, but was presently knocked off\nhis horse by a stone; when remounted, they proceeded a short distance.\nJohn then turned and said something to the people. John and his horse\nwere then pulled down and struck; the bridle and girth were broken in\npieces. He at length succeeded in getting on the causeway, and resumed\nhis journey on foot; stones and other missiles were showered against him\nin all directions. Some of his companions entertained fears that he\nnever would reach Horton with life.\"\n\nThe bursting of a storm of rain fortunately dispersed the mob, and the\nProphet escaped. \"On arriving at Moses Elsworth's nearly his whole body\nwas black; he had also one of his eyes much discoloured, and received a\ncut on his face from a stone.\" On the following day he obtained\nwarrants against nineteen of the mob, who appeared before the\nmagistrate, were bound over to keep the peace for twelve months, and had\nto pay all expenses.\n\nProphet Wroe now deemed it expedient to visit London. Accordingly he had\na revelation in August, 1825: \"Go thou to Tozer, and stand before him,\nand prophesy, with thy rod in thy hand, and say, 'Thus saith the Lord,\nthe Lord thy God has showed thee many things; and for this end wast thou\nborn. The seal thou hast received thou shalt be able to retain; but thy\nbody shall go to the dust, and thou shalt put on incorruption at the\nfirst resurrection.... Thou shalt be a witness for Joanna, and thou\nshalt come with her, and at that day thou shalt be great unto the ends\nof the earth.\"\n\nOn the 28th August, John Wroe, with his faithful ally, William Lees,\nvisited the chapel of Mr. Lindsay, a prophet of the congregation of\nJoanna Southcott in London. Lindsay received them cordially, and\nannounced to his congregation that \"Brother Wroe\" was to have full\nliberty to use the chapel morning and afternoon.\n\nNow Tozer was the right-hand man of Lindsay--his faithful witness, who\nwrote down the oracles that dropped from his lips. He was, in fact, to\nLindsay what William Lees was to John Wroe. It was to this Tozer that\nWroe bore the message given above, which was a speech wrapped up in the\nmost flattering and complimentary language, but a snub for all that. Mr.\nTozer was wont to designate himself, \"The man clothed in linen, with the\nwriter's inkhorn,\" and believed himself, or endeavoured to induce others\nto believe, that he was the person spoken of by the Prophet Ezekiel\n(ix., 2); and when Mr. Lees appeared on the scene with a white surplice\non and an ink-bottle at his left side it was a distinct throwing down of\nthe gauntlet, and was likely to lead to unpleasant results. Foreseeing\nwhich, Wroe wrestled in prayer before the congregation that \"Satan might\nbe rebuked within _them_ walls that day.\" Then Wroe stood up and said\nwith a loud voice, \"Thus saith the Lord, There are in this place those\nwhose places shall be taken by others who have mocked and despised them.\nNone shall enter but such as are circumcised or married.\" Lindsay turned\nred, trembled, and knocked over his inkstand. Tozer got up and said,\n\"Friends, what must be my feelings at this time? This day of the month,\nthis day of the week, eleven years ago, I addressed 1500 people in this\ncity, and since that time the visitation has been trodden under foot.\nEleven days were spoken of by the Woman--take them to mean years--(see\nthe book, and find it). God grant that this may be the beginning of the\nGathering.\" The people answered \"Amen.\" It is evident he was overawed by\nWroe and Lee in his white surplice and ink-pot.\n\nIn the afternoon Wroe was again at the chapel, and again hinted that\nthere was now a new outpouring upon himself, and that the old prophets\nwere to yield to him. \"Thus saith the Lord, Many in this place that are\nfirst shall be last.\" Tozer and Lindsay looked uneasy. \"If you will sign\nfor Satan's destruction, let a man be deputed to Ashton on the 17th of\nnext month. Many dreams have been interpreted there; let the same be\nsent to those who profess to be visited, and see who will get an answer\nin truth.\"\n\nLindsay walked backward and forward, in and out of the room, whilst John\nWroe spoke, but said nothing. At the conclusion of Wroe's speech,\nLindsay, who was greatly agitated, said, \"I have received an order from\nabove to go and see the Living Skeleton now exhibiting in Pall Mall, at\nthree o'clock to-morrow, and John, with others, must go with me. And\nlet so-and-so take his clarionette and play a tune before the skeleton,\nbut for what purpose I know not.\"\n\nJohn Wroe answered--\"If the Lord hath commanded me to go, I will go; if\nnot, I cannot go.\"\n\nThis Living Skeleton was Claude Ambroise Seurat, born in 1797, who was\nexhibited in London in 1825. His flesh had wasted completely away, and\nwhen he had attained his full height he presented the extraordinary\nspectacle of a skeleton covered with skin, alive and able to move and\nconverse. A portion of Mr. Hones' description of him must be quoted\nhere:--\"He seemed another 'Lazarus come forth,' without his\ngrave-clothes, and for a moment I was too consternated to observe more\nthan his general appearance. My eye then first caught the arm as the\nmost remarkable limb; from the shoulder to the elbow it is like an ivory\nGerman flute, somewhat deepened in colour by age; it is not larger, and\nthe skin is of that hue, and not having a trace of muscle, it is as\nperfect a cylinder as a writing-rule. Amazed by the wasted limbs, I was\nstill more amazed by the extraordinary depression of the chest. Its\nindentation is similar to that which an over-careful mother makes in the\npillowed surface of an infant's bed for its repose. Nature has here\ninverted her own order, and turned the convex inwards, while nobler\norgans, obedient to her will, maintain life by the gentle exercise of\ntheir wonted functions in a lower region. If the integument of the\nbowels can be called flesh, it is the only flesh on the body; for it\nseems to have wholly shrunk from the limbs, and where the muscles that\nhave not wholly disappeared remain, they are also shrunk.\"\n\nThat this emaciated object, whose appearance in London created a\nsensation, should have been supposed by superstitious people, eagerly\nlooking out for portents and realisations of wild prophecies, to be\nsent into the world with some peculiar significance, is not to be\nwondered at.\n\nLindsay seems to have resolved to put Wroe's apostleship to the proof by\na visit to the extraordinary phenomenon, then exhibiting in the Chinese\nPavilion, in Pall Mall. The Living Skeleton was to have decided between\nthem, and confounded him who was the false prophet and impostor.\n\nBut Wroe would not go through this ordeal: he slunk away, conscious,\nperhaps, that he was an impostor, and with superstitious fear of the\nWalking Skeleton. He escaped to Greenwich, where he pretended to be ill.\n\nLindsay, finding Wroe was not at the exhibition, pursued him to\nGreenwich, and an angry meeting ensued.\n\nNext Sunday, Wroe again invaded the chapel of Lindsay, who began to\nprophesy against him, saying, \"I say, in the name of the Lord, you shall\nshave!\" Then John Wroe took the prophetic rod, and thrusting it towards\nLindsay, thundered forth, \"Dost thou come to defy Israel? The Lord\nrebuke thee, Satan!\"\n\nLindsay was silent, but presently tried to create a diversion by setting\nWroe and his follower Lees at variance, for he pointed to the latter and\nsaid, \"Thus saith the Lord, This man shall shave, and shall prophesy\nagainst his master.\" \"When will he shave off his beard?\" asked Wroe\nindignantly. \"When thine is plucked up by the roots,\" answered Lindsay.\nThe scene was becoming undignified. The prophets seemed to be aware of\nit, and that it was necessary to patch the matter up; so Lindsay said,\n\"You see the spirits seem to differ a little; it is we who do not\nunderstand how they work and move.\"\n\nBy degrees Wroe succeeded in obtaining recognition as the Prophet from\nthe majority of Joanna Southcott's congregations. The faithful men wore\nlong beards, \"the city mark,\" as it was called, and white linen\nvestments at the religious meetings in their tabernacles.\n\nGeorge Turner had succeeded Joanna Southcott; he was succeeded by\nWilliam Shaw, and then Wroe received general acknowledgment. He\nannounced that his mission would last forty years, and that at the\nexpiration of this period Shiloh would come.\n\nAs soon as he was acknowledged as Prophet, he had a power in his hands\nwhich he did not fail to exercise. In 1830 he announced that he had\nreceived orders from heaven that seven virgins should be delivered to\nhim to comfort and cherish him, and three of his believers at once gave\nup to him their daughters. With these poor girls and some married women\nWroe wandered from place to place. They were with him in Kent, in\nDevonshire, in Lancashire, and Yorkshire--wherever Wroe pretended that\nhe was called. The matter became scandalous, and the confidence of\nseveral of the members of the community was shaken. The girls were\nquestioned, and made shocking disclosures. Two of the Society, named\nMasterman and Walker, rose in the congregation at Ashton, on February\n27th, 1831, and charged him with profligacy. Wroe could not stand\nagainst the storm; he escaped through a trap-door in the orchestra,\namidst cat-calls, jeers, and howls. He remained secreted in Ashton a few\ndays, and then left the place for ever.\n\nThe confidence of his faithful disciple Lees was somewhat dashed shortly\nbefore this by an exposure of the Prophet at Manchester. Lees had a\nfriend at Manchester with whom he did business. Wroe used to spend much\nof his time in Lees' house. The Prophet announced to Lees that he was\ncalled by the Spirit on a mission, but that he had no money. Lees called\na covenant meeting, and the sum of eighty pounds was raised, and placed\nat the disposal of the Prophet, who departed with it. Now it happened\nthat Lees' friend did business at a certain public-house in Manchester,\nand having noticed Wroe there, and being shortly after at Ashton, he\nasked Lees where the Prophet was. Lees told him that he had gone on a\nmission. His friend laughed, and said, \"Come with me and you shall see\nhim.\"\n\nWith difficulty he persuaded Lees to get into a cab with him and drive\nto Manchester to the public-house. The two men went in, opened the door\ninto a back parlour, and found the Prophet sitting by the fire, in his\nlow-crowned brown hat and long coat, between two low women, drinking hot\nwhiskey and water with them. The landlord informed them that Wroe had\nbeen there several days. Lees went home, burned his white robe,\ndestroyed all his books and tracts belonging to the Society, shaved off\nhis beard, and next Sunday was in the parish church, which he had been\nin the habit of attending before he fell under the influence of Wroe.\n\nBut his humiliation did not end here. His daughter gave promise of\nbecoming a mother by Wroe. In vain did the Prophet assure him that the\nchild that would be born was the promised Shiloh. It turned out to be a\ngirl. Lees put Wroe out of his doors.\n\nIt was soon after this that the Prophet was met by Masterman and Walker,\nand the scandal of the virgins was exposed.\n\nLees, hearing that Wroe was coming to Ashton, exasperated at the\ndishonour of his daughter and the dupe that had been made of himself,\nstationed himself behind a chimney and fired a gun at Wroe. The ball\nwhizzed past his hat, and fortunately did him no injury. But the rumour\nof these scandals and the death of a child named Wood whom he had\ncircumcised, caused a riot at Bradford when he visited it shortly after.\nThe mob broke into the tabernacle, tore up the benches, smashed the\nwindows, and would have maltreated Wroe if they could have caught him;\nbut the wary Prophet made his escape in time.\n\nOne day in July he had a vocation to go on a mission. He was then living\nat Pudsey. His followers raised a handsome sum to defray his expenses,\nand he departed. After he had gone, it was observed that his wife passed\na certain public-house in the neighbourhood every day. This was unusual,\nand it was agreed to watch her. After John Wroe had been gone fourteen\ndays, she was followed at a distance. She went down a lane to a\ncorn-field and made a signal, whereupon Wroe was observed to creep out\nof the standing corn. His wife opened her basket and produced a dish of\nnew potatoes and a mutton-chop, and a four-ounce bottle of wine. The\nProphet drew a horse-rug from out the corn, and prepared to seat himself\non it and enjoy his dinner, when the spies rushed upon him, carried him\nin triumph into Pudsey, set him on a donkey, rode him through the town,\nthen tied a rope round his body, threw him into a horse-pond, pulled him\nout, and threw him in again and again; till the women, seeing him nearly\nexhausted, interfered and begged that he might be spared.\n\nWhen he was living at Bowling he had a trance which lasted ten or twelve\ndays. He lay apparently insensible on a stump bedstead, and people came\nfrom far and wide to see him. At the foot of the bed was a basket in\nwhich the visitors deposited silver and copper; and all who came were\nexpected to give a trifle. There was a fixed hour at which the cottage\ndoor was opened and closed, and when it was closed the key was turned in\nthe lock, and no one was admitted on any excuse.\n\nIt unfortunately happened that one night Mrs. Wroe went out for some\npurpose or other, and left the door unfastened behind her, intending to\nreturn in a minute. A man named Holt and his son lived close by. As\nthey saw Mrs. Wroe go out, they and a neighbour who was with them\nthought the opportunity was not to be neglected, and opened the door of\nWroe's house and peeped cautiously in. To their surprise John was\nsitting very comfortably in the ingle-nook, eating beef-steak, pickled\ncabbage, and oat-cake.[2] Next day he was laid on his bed as usual in a\ntrance, and so he continued for three or more days. One of the visitors\nwished to thrust a needle under Wroe's nail, to prove if he were\nperfectly sensible, but his wife would not permit it.\n\nAnother of his devices for raising money was not more honest. He\nannounced that the Lord had declared to him that every member of the\nSociety of the house of Israel was to wear a gold ring of the value of\n\u00a31 3s. 6d., which was to be procured from the Prophet, and it was to be\na sign and a seal to them that they were the elect. This was in 1856,\nand all the members were supplied with gold rings by 1857. At this time\nthe number of the members was thought to be about 6000, of whom 700 were\nin Ireland.\n\nUnfortunately for the credit of the Prophet, towards the end of 1856 one\nof the members, who had not wholly lost his common-sense, thought it\nadvisable to have his gold ring tested with nitric acid, and the\nstartling discovery was made that the rings were not of gold at all, not\nworth a florin each. Wroe threw the blame on the goldsmith who had\nprovided him with them, and ordered that no more should be issued.\n\nAbout 1854 John Wroe said he had a command from the Lord to build a\nmansion. The treasury of the \"House of Israel\" was empty; so the pillars\nof the Church met, and on consultation agreed to let Wroe have the\nFlying Roll money. This was a fund to which, after the death of Joanna\nSouthcott, all sealed members paid according to their income or ability.\nIt was a sacred fund retained by the Society for the purpose of\npublishing the Eternal Gospel and sending it to all parts of the world,\nproclaiming the millennium, the outpouring of the Spirit, and the Great\nDesolation. This eternal Gospel was to be published forty years after\nthe death of Joanna.[3] The sum amounted to a large amount--over two\nthousand pounds.\n\nWroe bought a piece of land on a height near Wakefield, and on this\nbegan to build. The house, said Wroe, was to be dedicated to the Lord,\nand was to belong to the members of the \"House of Israel\" gathered out\nof all nations. No architect was to be employed. It was to be built as\nthe Spirit directed.\n\nSubscription-books were issued to all the sanctuaries. Every member's\ncontribution was to be entered separately, and no man was to know what\nhis neighbour gave. The poorest workman was to contribute not less than\n10 per cent, of his earnings.[4] All extra gifts were to be sent to John\nWroe at Wrenthorpe, near Wakefield, and those who did not wish to pay to\nthe local treasurers might send their subscriptions direct to the\nProphet.\n\nDuring 1855 and 1856 post-office orders poured in from all parts, and\nit was said in Wakefield at the time that Wroe had more orders cashed\nthan all the tradesmen of the town put together.\n\nThe female members of the Society were to furnish the mansion. They were\nnot to tell their husbands how much they gave; and many put down their\nnames for sums which they really could not pay, and had to sell goods\nand borrow cash to keep up their payments to the end of 1856.[5]\n\nThe land was bought of Mr. William Ramsden, farmer, of Wrenthorpe, and\nwas conveyed by Mr. Haigh, solicitor, of Horbury, to John Wroe, and not\nto the Society. A farm of upwards of a hundred acres was bought in\naddition, and was conveyed to himself.\n\nThe rumour of this produced some uneasiness among the members, and\ntwenty of them waited on the Prophet to question him about the\nconveyance. He spoke them fair, assured them that the mansion and land\nwould go to the Society, and in their presence drew up a will wherein he\ndevised the whole estate to the Society. Messrs. Snell, Currey, Gill,\nand Farren, leading members and pillars of the Church, witnessed it, and\ndeparted in satisfaction to their homes. A fortnight after, Wroe sent\nfor a solicitor of Wakefield, and privately drew up a new will,\ncancelling the old one, and in this latter will he devised the mansion\nand ninety-eight acres of land to his grandson, James Wroe; and to his\ndaughters, Susanna and Sarah, property producing about \u00a350 per annum to\neach; and to his only son Joseph property of the value of \u00a360 per annum.\n\nThe mansion was designed somewhat in the style of Melbourne Town Hall.\nIt cost upwards of \u00a32000, but need not have cost half as much. When Wroe\nsaw how the money poured in, he had the north-east wing taken\ncompletely down, and enlarged the building. Much of the work was done\ntwo or three times over. The glazier (Mr. Slater) had a contract to do\nall the glazing, and as soon as his contract was finished, Wroe\ncontracted with Mr. Slater to take every square of glass out again, and\nput good plate-glass into the windows instead.\n\nWroe found he could not get on without an architect, and therefore\nemployed Mr. Thorpe, of Wakefield, and worried him out of all endurance.\nWroe visited Australia in 1850, 1854, 1859, and 1862. He was in America\nin 1840, 1848, 1853, and 1859. His wife died May 16th, 1853, aged\nseventy-four years, a fortnight after he left for America. He is said to\nhave treated her badly. On his travels he assumed different names;\nsometimes he called himself Johanan Asrael, sometimes Yokkow or\nYockaman.\n\nHe obtained the name of \"Pudding Wroe\" among the urchins of Wakefield\nand Bradford; the origin of this was as follows:--After one of his long\ntrances, he began to walk about, and was asked by acquaintances\nconcerning his health and appetite, and \"What could he eat or fancy?\"\nHis invariable answer was, \"Nowt but pudding.\"\n\nThe boys used to shout after him--\"Pudding Wroe,\" or \"Nowt but pudding,\"\nand this highly incensed the Prophet. One day, after he had had this cry\nringing in his ears, he came home, and, standing in the door, saw the\ntable laid for dinner, and his wife and children ready in their places.\n\"What is for dinner to-day?\" asked Wroe.\n\n\"Nowt but pudding!\" shouted the incautious children. Wroe flew into a\npassion, and said to his wife, \"I'll tell thee what, lass, I wi'nt have\nyon stuff called pudding ony more.\"\n\n\"Why, lad!\" said Mrs. Wroe, \"what are t' bairns to call it, then?\"\n\n\"They mun call it _soft meat_,\" answered John.\n\nWroe purchased a handsome mule with a long flowing tail, and a basket\ncarriage. The harness was of the best kind, with silver buckles, &c. One\nday when Wroe drove to Sandal, and left his mule and carriage outside\nthe house where he had business, some evil-disposed persons shaved the\nmule's tail. Wroe raved and threatened, but could not find the guilty\nparties. He never went near Sandal afterwards.\n\nThe following is Wroe's receipt for curing a cold:--Put two gallons of\nboiling water in a large bottle, and place a funnel on the neck; put\nyour face in the mouth of the funnel, and throw a blanket over your\nhead; thus you inhale the steam, and are thrown into a perspiration.\n\nWroe would put a pillow in the oven, lay his head on it, and let the\noven be heated as hot as he could bear it, to drive away a head cold.\n\nIn his last voyage to Australia, in 1862, he fell upon the deck of the\nship when it was rolling, and dislocated his shoulder. The doctor set\nit, but it soon fell out of place again, and never was right after.\n\nOn the day of his death, which occurred at Fitzroy, in Australia, he had\nbeen out walking as usual, and seemed in his wonted health. On his\nreturn from a walk he seated himself in his chair, and suddenly fell\nforward on the floor, and was taken up a corpse. He had been collecting\nmoney in Australia; and directly it was rumoured that Wroe was dead, all\nthe members in Melbourne demanded back their money, and threatened to\nroughly handle Benjamin Eddow, Wroe's companion and secretary, unless he\nrestored the subscriptions. He was obliged to surrender some of the\ncash, and to conceal himself. He got away the following day, and\nremained hidden in a blacksmith's shop till he could find a ship on\nwhich to get back to England. He brought with him between six and seven\nhundred pounds. The Melbourne Society complained that Wroe had not kept\nfaith with them, for he had promised them he would never die!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] This he mentions in his tract, \"A Vision of an Angel,\" Bradford,\nInkersley, 1820.\n\n[2] My informant, who knew Wroe well, says: \"J. Holt, the young man who\nsaw this, told it me. He is now living at Bradford.\"\n\n[3] Is it more than a coincidence that the Southcottites should\nreproduce the forms and terminology of a heresy of the fourteenth\ncentury? The Abbot Joachim was the prophet then, and his \"Eternal\nGospel\" proclaimed precisely the same doctrines as the \"Eternal Gospel\"\nof Joanna. This heresy invaded the ranks of the Franciscans, and\nproduced a tremendous schism, which ended in the prescription of the\nFraticelli. For an account of the Abbot Joachim and the Eternal Gospel\nsee Hahn, \"Ketzer Geschichte,\" ii. and iii.; and Dean Milman's \"Latin\nChristianity.\"\n\n[4] The members were obliged to keep books of their earnings, and\nexhibit them, to prove that they paid 10 per cent. to Wroe.\n\n[5] This information comes from some of those who were thus victimised.\nSome members turned total abstainers, others vegetarians, to economise\nmoney in order to pay their subscriptions.\n\n\n\n\nBISHOP-DYKE POND.[6]\n\n\nOn the Monday following Palm Sunday, being the 14th of April, 1690,\nWilliam Barwick, a man living in Cawood, a village a few miles south of\nYork, on the Ouse, below its junction with the Wharfe, took his wife a\nstroll along a pleasant lane leading to Bishop Wood, then an extensive\ntract of forest trees, and even now one of the wildest and most\npicturesque spots in the neighbourhood of Selby.\n\nMary Barwick was expecting her confinement at no great distance of time.\nWilliam made her walk before him; they crossed the little bridge over\nBishop's Dyke, and entered a close or field where was a pond. It was\nsurrounded by thick rushes, and the willows were covered with their\nsilken tufts, unrifled by the children for \"palms\" on the preceding day.\n\nWilliam Barwick looked round. No one was in sight. He seized his wife,\nthrew her into the pond, and did not let go his hold till she was\ndrowned. When he was quite satisfied that life was extinct, he drew the\nbody out of the water, and concealed it among the rushes which lay\nbetween the water and the quickwood hedge. He then returned home.\n\nAt dusk he revisited the spot, and taking a hay-spade from a rick that\nstood in the field, he made a hole by the side of the pond, and there\nburied the poor woman in her clothes. What was the motive which actuated\nWilliam Barwick does not transpire.\n\nNext day Barwick visited his brother-in-law at Rufforth, three miles\neast from York, a man named Thomas Lofthouse, who had married the sister\nof poor Mary Barwick, and told him that his wife Mary had gone to his\nuncle, Richard Harrison, in Selby, where she was likely to remain for\nsome time.\n\nLofthouse gave no thought to this announcement. Whether he supposed that\nBarwick was in difficulties, and it was likely to prove advantageous to\nhis wife that she should be confined in Selby instead of at home, where\nshe could have more comforts; or whether he thought there had been a\nquarrel, and the announcement of Barwick intimated a separation, I do\nnot know. At all events, the statement of Barwick caused no surprise to\nhis brother-in-law, nor did it arouse any suspicion of foul play in his\nmind.\n\nExactly a week after that visit, on Tuesday in Easter week, about\nhalf-past twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Thomas Lofthouse, having\noccasion to water a quickset hedge not far from his house, brought water\nfor the purpose in a pail. As he was going for the second pailful, he\nsuddenly observed a woman, in shape like his sister-in-law, going before\nhim towards the pond. He was startled, but hardly thought at the moment\nthat he saw a ghost. The figure glided before him, and seated itself on\na rising green bank right over against the pond; he walked before her as\nhe went to the pond, and as he returned with the pail full of water he\nlooked sideways to see if the figure were still there. He saw the\nface--it was that of Mary Barwick, but deadly pale; the lips bloodless,\nthe teeth showing, and the eyes fixed on something white, which he\nthought was a bag at the time, but afterwards supposed to be a baby,\nwhich she seemed to be dandling. As soon as he had emptied the pail, he\nwent into his yard, and stood still to see if the figure were still in\nthe same spot; but by this time it had vanished.\n\nLofthouse said nothing about what he had seen till evening. He was\nsaying family prayers that night before retiring to rest, when, in\npraying for their friends and relations, he came to the name of his\nsister-in-law. He faltered, trembled, his voice broke down, and he could\nscarcely conclude his devotions.\n\nWhen he went to bed he told his wife everything, and the poor woman was\ndreadfully alarmed. She implored her husband next day to go to Selby and\nsee Richard Harrison, at whose house Barwick had said his wife was\nstaying. He promised to do so, and on the morning early saddled his\nhorse and rode to Selby. His nearest road was by York, Cawood, and\nWiston; but he had no mind to meet William Barwick, and he therefore\ntook the high road from York by Escrick, Riccal, and Barlby.\n\nOn reaching Selby he soon ascertained that poor Mary Barwick had never\nbeen there. On his return he went to the Lord Mayor of York; and having\nobtained a warrant, got Barwick apprehended and brought before the\nMayor. The wretched man then acknowledged what he had done, and his\nconfession was written down and signed in the presence of the Lord\nMayor. To this were annexed the depositions of Lofthouse, and Barwick\nwas consigned to York Castle.\n\nThese depositions are of sufficient interest to be here given\nverbatim:--\n\n\n     \"The Information of Thomas Lofthouse, of Rufforth, taken upon oath,\n     the twenty-fourth day of April, 1690; who sayeth and deposeth,--\n\n     \"That one William Barwick, who lately married this informant's\n     wife's sister, came to this informant's house about the 14th\n     instant, and told this informant he had carried his wife to one\n     Richard Harrison's house in Selby, who was uncle to him, and would\n     take care of her; and this informant, hearing nothing of the said\n     Barwick's wife, his said sister-in-law, imagined he had done her\n     some mischief, did yesterday go to the said Harrison's house in\n     Selby, where he said he had carried her to; and the said Harrison\n     told this informant he knew nothing of the said Barwick or his\n     wife; and this informant doth verily believe the said Barwick to\n     have murdered her.\n\n     \"THOMAS LOFTHOUSE.\n\n     \"Jurat die et anno super dicto coram me.\n\n     \"S. DAWSON, Mayor.\"\n\n\n     \"The examination of the said William Barwick, taken the day and\n     year abovesaid, who sayeth and confesseth,--\n\n     \"That he, this examinant, on Monday was seventh night, about two\n     o'clock in the afternoon, this examinant was walking in a close\n     betwixt Cawood and Wiston; and he farther sayeth that he threw his\n     said wife into the pond, where she was drowned; and the day\n     following, towards evening, got a hay-spade at a hay-stake in the\n     said close, and made a grave beside the said pond, and buried her.\n\n     \"WILLIAM BARWICK.\n\n     \"Exam. capt. die et anno super dict. coram me.\n\n     \"S. DAWSON, Mayor.\"\n\n\n     \"The examination of William Barwick, taken the twenty-fifth day of\n     April, 1690, who sayeth and confesseth,--\n\n     \"That he carried his wife over a certain wain-bridge, called\n     Bishop-Dyke Bridge, betwixt Cawood and Sherborne, and within a lane\n     about one hundred yards from the said bridge, and on the left hand\n     of the said bridge, he and his wife went over a stile, on the\n     left-hand side of a certain gate entering into a certain close, on\n     the left hand of the said lane; and in a pond in the said close,\n     adjoining to a quickwood hedge, did drown his wife, and upon the\n     bank of the said pond did bury her; and further, that he was within\n     sight of Cawood Castle, on the left hand; and that there was but\n     one hedge betwixt the said close where he drowned his said wife and\n     the Bishop-slates belonging to the said castle.\n\n     \"WILLIAM BARWICK.\n\n     \"Exam. capt. die et anno super dict. coram me.\n\n     \"S. DAWSON, Mayor.\"\n\n\nWilliam Barwick was tried and convicted before Sir John Powell, Knight,\nat the Summer Assizes held in York on the 18th of September, 1690.\n\n\n     \"On Tuesday, September the seventeenth, 1690, at York Assizes,\n     Thomas Lofthouse, of Rufforth, within three miles of York city,\n     sayeth,--\n\n     \"That on Easter Tuesday last, about half an hour after twelve of\n     the clock in the daytime, he was watering quickwood, and as he was\n     going for the second pail there appeared, walking before him, an\n     apparition in the shape of a woman. Soon after, she sat down over\n     against the pond, on a green hill; he walked by her as he went to\n     the pond, and as he came with the pail of water from the pond,\n     looking sideways to see if she sat in the same place, which he saw\n     she did; and had on her lap something like a white bag, a-dandling\n     of it (as he thought), which he did not observe before. After he\n     had emptied his pail of water, he stood in his yard to see if he\n     could see her again, but could not. He says her apparel was brown\n     cloathes, waistcoat and petticoat, a white hood, such as his wife's\n     sister usually wore, and her face looked extream pale, her teeth in\n     sight, no gums appearing, her visage being like his wife's sister,\n     and wife to William Barwick.\n\n     (Signed)\n\n     \"THOMAS LOFTHOUSE.\"\n\n\nWhen Barwick ascended the gallows to be hung, he told the hangman that\nhe hoped the rope was strong enough, as if it should break with his\nweight he would fall to the ground and become a cripple for life. His\napprehensions, however, were soon quieted, for the hangman assured him\nhe might venture upon it with perfect confidence.\n\nAfter he was dead the body was hung in chains by the pond where the\nmurder had been committed.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[6] J. Aubery, in his \"Miscellanies upon Various Subjects,\" 1696, gives\nthe particulars of this curious story.\n\n\n\n\nSNOWDEN DUNHILL,\n\nTHE CONVICT.\n\n\nThe following life of a thief and housebreaker, written by himself, is\ncurious and sad.[7] The talent it exhibits, and the real feeling which\npeeps out here and there, show that the man, had he been better brought\nup, and subjected in early youth to religious influences, might have\nbecome something very superior to the ordinary agricultural labourer.\nThe man cannot have been difficient in his secular education. His style\nis singularly good for one in his class, but of moral education he had\nnone. The only religion he knew of was that of his wife, Sally Dunhill,\na fanatic, who combined hysterical piety with gross dishonesty:--\n\n\"I was born at a small village on the Wolds in the East Riding of\nYorkshire. The earliest circumstance of which I have any remembrance is\nthat of following bare-headed and on foot, a waggon containing furniture\nbelonging to a farmer who was removing to the village of Spaldington,\nnear Howden. Of my parents I have but an indistinct remembrance, for I\nnever returned to them, but continued to reside in the village of my\nadoption, and principally in the house of the family I had accompanied.\n\n\"Spaldington is a secluded and purely agricultural village. My earliest\nrecollections are connected with the old hall at that place, a fine\nbuilding, erected in the time of Queen Elizabeth. This house, with its\npeaked roof ornamented with large round stones, its moats, its rookery,\nand the reputation of being haunted by a fairy, is yet strongly\nimpressed upon my memory. But the old seat of the De la Hayes, the\nVescis, and the Vavasours totters to its fall.\n\n\"I well remember the tradition which prevailed in the village, that one\nof the De Vescis was a competitor for the crown of Scotland, he having\nmarried a daughter of the King of that country. The burthen of an old\nsong, which is supposed to relate to some eventful battle in which De\nVesci bore a conspicuous part, still clings to my memory, and now, with\na world between me and the spot, I often catch myself humming the\nchorus--\n\n\n     \"'And the drums they did beat, and the trumpets did sound,\n     And the cannons did roar fit to tear up the ground;\n     For its oh! brave, gallant, and brave,\n     For the honour of England's crown.'\"\n\n\nSnowden Dunhill's youth was spent much as that of other rural bumpkins;\nhe wrestled, played football, and was passionately fond of\ncock-fighting.\n\nOne day, when only six years old, he saved the life of a little\ncompanion with whom he was playing by the side of the moat round the Old\nHall at Spaldington. The child fell into the water, sank, and rose for\nthe last time, when little Snowden, with great pluck, jumped in after\nhis playmate, and caught him by the dress. The two children struggled in\nthe water, and the drowning boy nearly dragged little Snowden under. But\nSnowden maintained his hold, and succeeded in dragging his comrade to\nthe bank.\n\nAt fourteen or fifteen Snowden Dunhill, being a strong lad, was taken\ninto a small farmhouse to work for his food and clothes.\n\nHis master died shortly after, but his widow carried on the farm. She\nwas very poor, the farm was small, and the widow took her meals with the\nfarm servants in the kitchen.\n\nDunhill was given no pocket-money, and, as he kept fighting-cocks and\nliked occasionally to go to the public-house to have a game of balls, he\nwas driven to obtain money by theft.\n\n\"During this time I practised a variety of petty thefts without being\nsuspected. I took apples, eggs, or anything I could lay my hands on, and\nthe corn which ought to have been given to the horses found its way to\nmy game cocks, of which I had several. These acts, which are generally\npractised by farmers' servants, were confirmed into a habit before I had\nbegun to think them wrong. The education of this class is so utterly\nneglected, and their morals so little attended to, that I have long been\nsatisfied that the honesty of the rural districts is very much inferior\nto that of the towns.\n\n\"My next step in life--the most important one to all--was marriage, and\nmine assuredly deepened the darkest shades of my character. It was not a\nconnection of the heart, but one almost of fear, for the woman to whom I\npaid my addresses was the being who ruled me from the first moment of\nour acquaintance. Had it been my fortune to have met with an honest and\nindustrious woman, my destiny might have been different. But if, as the\nproverb says, 'Marriages are made in heaven,' it does not become me to\ncomplain.\n\n\"We lived a short time in the village of Spaldington, but one farmer\nmissed his corn, the wife of another her poultry, a third her apples,\nand a fourth her bees; when the bees were missed I fancy they thought\nnothing could escape us. They were easily moved and carried into our\ncottage, but the buzzing, the stinging, and the bother of the business,\ndetermined me never again to attempt a similar undertaking. The proverb\nof running your head into a swarm of bees has ever since appeared to me\nthe most forcible in the English language.\n\n\"We were then put into a house in the lanes of Spaldington, in the road\nbetween Howden and Market-Weighton, apart from any other residence, and\nin the very best situation that could have been chosen if the farmers\nhad wished us to continue our system of plunder. I had never been\naccustomed to work, and I had now very little wish to learn. The new\nconnexions which I speedily formed put me in the way of obtaining a\nbetter though more precarious subsistence.\n\n\"I continued to live in the cottage above alluded to, and my family\nincreasing rapidly, rendered it necessary to extend my operations. The\nfarmers in the neighbourhood were at first the greatest sufferers, and\nthere was scarcely a barn or granary within several miles which I had\nnot the means of entering when I chose. Either from discarded servants,\nor from labourers who were daily about the farm-houses, I got all the\ninformation I wanted.\n\n\"At this time I was master of two good horses, and I had a numerous\nconnexion among servants and labourers. But what I found most useful was\na secret understanding with two or three millers, by whose means I got\nrid of all the corn which I stole. Millers are generally reputed to be\ngreat rogues, but in their dealings with me I found them quite the\ncontrary. The most dishonest persons with whom I had dealings were the\nattorneys, and they stripped me of the fruits of my toil with most\nsurprising expedition and facility. This, however, will be seen in the\nsequel.\n\n\"About this time I was concerned in a robbery at Bubwith, by which I\nobtained a considerable sum of money. After our arrangements were made,\na comrade entered the house through a back window, by taking an iron\nbar out of the frame, the wood being quite rotten from age and damp. In\nscrambling in he kicked from the shelf a large earthenware vessel, and\nimmediately after he himself tumbled head foremost into the pantry, a\ndepth of six or seven feet. The uproar occasioned by his fall caused us\nto take to our heels and make to our horses, which were at no great\ndistance, in a large field behind the house. We laid down and listened\nfor a considerable time, and hearing nothing, we approached the house\nagain by degrees, and eventually got up to the very window. A low\nwhistle from me was instantly answered, which at once told us all went\nwell. We found the back door open for us, and our comrade, no way\nalarmed, busy rummaging some drawers, and putting into a sack everything\nhe took a fancy to.\n\n\"As I had formerly lived in the service of a near relation of the old\nlady to whom the house belonged (I had forgotten to say it was a widow\nlady's house we took the liberty with), I found no difficulty in laying\nmy hands upon the tinder-box, candles, and everything else. It was an\nexceedingly stormy night, or I think we must have been heard, for we\ncarried a chest of drawers out of the house and actually beat them to\npieces, not being able to open them. I knew that she had a considerable\nsum of money, and I hoped we had found it, but it turned out to be a box\nof farthings; and I was afterwards exceedingly provoked on learning that\nwe had missed three hundred guineas in gold which the old lady had in\nher lodging room. I also learned that she had a presentiment that she\nwould be robbed, and made an observation to that effect the day\nbefore--one of those curious anticipating feelings for which I know not\nhow to account, but which have in several instances happened to myself\nwhen coming events, as it were, cast their shadows before.\n\n\"But to return to our adventure. After helping ourselves to such things\nas we thought of most value, and such as could be most easily conveyed\naway on our horses, and drinking the good old lady's health in some\nexcellent homemade wine, we mounted our horses, with four sacks filled\nwith many things of value. We took a route so as to avoid the toll-bars\nand public roads, and reached my house just as the sun was beginning to\nchase away the darkness which had proved so propitious to us. Having\ninstantly buried all the things, my companions departed, and all was\nsoon ready for the reception of any of those enemies of my profession,\nthe constables, should they pay us a visit. However, none came, and\nthough I was generally supposed to be the person who did the deed, no\nsteps were taken to make it out against me. This is one of the very few\nexploits of the kind I was ever engaged in, and as to highway robberies,\nI never dreamed of committing one.\n\n\"I had now accumulated a considerable sum of money, which I lent out on\nnote to several farmers in the neighbourhood, most of whom, from fear or\nother considerations, were glad to be on good terms with me. Such\noccurrences as the following frequently happened:--'Well, Snowden, how\ndo you do?' would Farmer ---- say, meeting me in the street towards dusk\non a market-day. 'Are you going home to-night?' 'Aye, my lad,' was my\ngeneral reply. 'I wanted to see you,' retorted the farmer; 'I have just\nreceived fifty pounds for some oats; I wish you would take care of it\nfor me, and I will ask you for it again some day when I meet you.' I\ntook charge of the money, and was ever most punctual in returning it. I\ncould not help laughing, however, at the odd mixture of feelings that\nmust have dictated such a choice of a banker. I dare say some of these\nvery farmers have since met with bankers not quite so punctual in their\npayments as I was in mine.\n\n\"I was once busily employed in coursing a hare when I was pounced upon\nby a Mr. ----. He came suddenly upon me, with so many violent\ndenunciations that I was for a time really in a fright. However, I\neventually recovered my recollection, and had the good sense to leave\nhim without giving way to any abusive language in reply. I secretly,\nhowever, resolved to have my revenge, and that in a way at once in\naccordance with my profession and my own interest. I ordered two or\nthree of the persons I could place the most reliance in to be ready to\naccompany me with their horses to Foggathorpe, the village in which I\nthink the gentleman resided. I had long had a key of his granary, in\nwhich I knew he had recently stored a quantity of wheat of the finest\nquality, and for which the soil of that village is much famed.\n\n\"We had already been up to the granary once with our horses, having\ntaken them loaded away, and secreted several sacks of wheat in a wood a\nlittle from the turnpike road, and about three miles from the house. We\nhad filled our sacks a second time, and got them upon the horses, having\npreviously placed everything in the granary as we found it, or as nearly\nso as we could. I had just thrown my legs over my horse, then standing\nnear the steps of the granary, I being the last of the party, when I\nheard the gentleman's voice, which I at once knew, for neither his early\nhabit of rising nor the tone of his voice were unknown to me. It was\nquite dark, and I proceeded with great care on the way towards the high\nroad till I reached a gate about seventy or eighty yards from his house.\nBy some mismanagement on my part, I had no sooner passed through the\ngate than I fell back into its place with considerable noise. I again\nheard his voice, but I made the best of my way with my load, and I felt\nno little relief when I found myself in the Market-Weighton turnpike\nroad. Though I had no very great opinion of the gentleman's courage, I\nfelt quite sure he would have used every endeavour to make out the\ncharge against me had his suspicions of what had taken place been once\nroused. As to his following me alone at that moment I had not the most\ndistant fear, for I knew well the care he always took of himself.\nHowever, the whole affair passed over. I never heard that he missed what\nwe took away, and the reason probably was, that he at that very time had\na large stock of wheat on hand for the purpose of speculation, as I\nafterwards learned. I remember this wheat was of such singularly good\nquality that I sold it for the great sum of one guinea and ninepence the\nbushel, a price I scarcely ever remember to have equalled.\n\n\"The next thing that occurs to me worthy of remark, and which I had good\ncause to remember, nearly terminated fatally for myself. I expected a\ngood booty from the information I had previously received. This was an\nattack upon the property of two bachelors who resided in the same house,\nin a village about a mile and a half from Howden. The house was very\nnear the river Ouse, and we had prepared a boat to carry the gains of\nthe night down the river as far as Swinefleet, this being considered,\nfor many reasons, the readiest mode of moving it from the premises, and\nI had some friends in that place in whom I placed the greatest\nconfidence. Between one and two o'clock we arrived at the house, and\nwere preparing all things in readiness for the business in hand. I was\ncrossing from the bank of the river over a garden, and so on to the back\nof the premises. In my way I came to a piece of dead fence, over which I\nwas passing, and which gave a crackling sound under my tread. At that\nmoment I heard a dog bark, and instantly after a shot was fired from the\nupper part of the eastern end of the house. I had my face at the time\nrather turned away from the place whence the shot proceeded, and I\nreceived the whole of the contents in my back and shoulders. I instantly\nfell; and I well remember that I thought all was over with me, as I lay\nfor some time with my head in the ditch and my feet upon the dead thorns\nover which I had just passed, and to which I attributed my mishap; for\nthe night was so dark I could not be seen, and the shot must have been\ndirected by the noise I made in getting over the fence. As I lay there I\ncould distinctly hear a whispering from a small door in the end of the\nhouse, and I greatly feared lest the inmates should sally forth and take\nme in my defenceless state. With my head laid upon the ground, the\nsensation produced upon me by the striking of two o'clock by the church\nof Howden, I well remember. All was now calm, quiet, and dark; and I\nactually felt the earth vibrate under my ear as the hollow bell threw\nover the land its sullen sound. I have understood, since I came here,\nthat the savages in America always resort to this mode of listening for\nthe approach of a friend or an enemy. But to return to myself again.\n\n\"I at length contrived with great difficulty to get upon my feet; and,\nwith still greater exertion and much loss of blood, I reached the boat,\nwhere I found my men in great consternation and alarm. One of them\npushed the boat adrift, and the tide soon carried it away with the\nwaters. They then supported me at a slow pace to Howden, where I arrived\nalmost in a state of insensibility, from the combined effects of pain\nand loss of blood. By my desire they took me to the house of a medical\nman of my acquaintance, and knocked at his door. He soon came down, and\nwithout asking a single question, stripped me; and during the night he\nextracted no fewer than thirty-eight large shot corns from my back and\nshoulders.\n\n\"I cannot even now recall the agony I suffered without a shudder; and my\ngeneral health and strength never recovered from the shock I received.\nI remained secluded for a considerable time, but thanks to the attentive\ncare of my wife, and my own sober habits, for I never was an habitual\ndrunkard, I speedily was able to get out again. In all my night\nexcursions after this adventure I employed the greatest circumspection.\n\n\"My inward disposition was accurately betokened by my countenance and\noutward appearance. I was tall and large-limbed, but neither clumsily\nnor powerfully made, I speak now of forty years of age; for sufferings,\nmental and bodily, have entirely changed my face and figure. My hair was\nlight, my eyes a bluish grey, my countenance round and somewhat florid.\nIn my looks I always fancied that I resembled two men of no little\ncelebrity--I mean Sir Walter Scott and William Cobbett, who certainly\nbear a considerable resemblance to each other. But this may be my\nvanity, for the best of us are not free from it.\n\n\"In my manners I was boisterous, and in tone familiar with all, and\noverbearing with most. However, my general appearance promised anything\nbut cruelty and dishonesty; and, thank God, no one can charge me with\nthe former, whatever may be said of the latter.\n\n\"I must, however, plead guilty to one or two acts of apparent cruelty,\ntowards my horses, but which rather rose from the necessity of\nself-preservation than from any other cause. It has often happened to\nme, for the purpose of reaching a given place by a certain hour of the\nnight, to be compelled to strain my horse to the full extent of his\nspeed. I knew so well the general opinion entertained towards me, that I\nfelt I must find the greatest difficulty in clearing myself from\nanything like a reasonable suspicion of crime.\n\n\"I distinctly remember once having upon me a considerable sum of money,\nand I was riding at full speed upon a narrow strip of green sward by the\nroad side, which was nearly covered by the extended branches of the\ntrees. The moon was shining beautifully through them, and in\ncontemplating her I felt a soothing calmness spread over my soul, which\nI cannot well account for or explain the cause of. My musings were\nsuddenly cut short by a deep-drawn sigh from my horse, then a slight\nshudder, and the next moment he was dead under me. I cried like a child.\nI raised his head, but all in vain, no trace of life remained.\n\n\"By the moon's rays, which at that instant shot through an opening in a\ndark Scots fir immediately over his head, I saw the film of death\nrapidly spread over his eyes, and felt his limbs stiffen under my grasp.\nI had to travel several miles on foot, pretty well loaded, and through a\nvery lonely and suspicious-looking part of the country. However, I\nreached the house of one of my friends towards morning, to his no small\nastonishment, he thinking me fifty miles distant in a different\ndirection.\n\n\"My horse was soon recognised; and had any robbery been perpetrated\nwithin a reasonable distance of the place where he fell, of course it\nmust have been done by me. The common question of the whole\nneighbourhood was, 'What had I been doing?' However, this never\ntranspired. I ever afterwards tied a piece of raw beef round the bit of\nmy bridle when about to make hard use of my horse, and I always thought\nthat it afforded him considerable help. I need not observe that this was\ndone in imitation of poor Dick Turpin, whose history is infinitely\nbetter known than mine can ever pretend to be.\n\n\"On the night of the 25th of October, 1812, I felt a presentiment that\nsomething sinister was about to happen to me. Few men have passed\nthrough life, particularly those of an excitable temperament, who have\nnot felt some boding of this kind. I was seated in my chair by the fire,\ntaking my accustomed pipe--an indulgence I never omitted the last thing\nat night--when this sudden impression came over me. My wife observed\nthat something was the matter, and questioned me on the subject.\nHowever, as I knew she would only laugh at me, I did not tell her the\ncause.\n\n\"In the middle of the forenoon, whilst I was listening to my daughter\nRose, who was my favourite, she suddenly looked up and said, in a\nhurried tone, 'Father, there are several men coming to the house.' It\ninstantly occurred to me that something had happened during the past\nnight, and that my forebodings would not prove vain. However, as my\nwhole family knew that I had not stirred out during the night, I had\nlittle fear; and this circumstance even led me to suppose that it might\nbe some mistake.\n\n\"By this time the party had arrived at the door of the cottage, and one\nof them gave me to understand that he had a justice's search-warrant,\nand that I was their prisoner. I submitted at once to be taken into\ncustody, and I was immediately secured. Some of the party then began to\nrummage every drawer and corner of the house, amidst the very voluble\nabuse of my wife. They, however, found nothing they came to search for,\nwhich, as I soon learned, was some wheat stolen during the last night\nfrom a neighbouring farmer.\n\n\"On this information I felt considerable relief, conscious of my\ninnocence; but my wife became perfectly outrageous when the constable\nrefused to take her word that I had never stirred over my threshold\nsince six o'clock of the preceding evening. She, poor woman, swore she\nwould take the law of them threatened writs, indictments, justices, and\nI know not what; and I verily believed she would have inflicted summary\nvengeance on the head of the constable with the poker, so furious had\nshe become, from a consciousness that the accusation was without\nfoundation.\n\n\"However, in spite of all her threats and rage, I was speedily conveyed\nbefore the justice who granted the warrant, and on the oath of a person,\nwho swore that he was going along a road near my house and towards the\nfarm-house in question, about two o'clock in the morning, that he saw a\nhorse and two men returning from it, and that he was quite sure I was\none of them, my commitment was made out for the House of Correction at\nBeverley.\n\n\"All this took so short a time that I scarcely attempted to defend\nmyself; and indeed I scarcely even know now how I could effectually have\ndone so. For I could only bring the members of my own family to prove\nthat I had not been out of my cottage, and of course they would not have\nbeen believed against the positive evidence of the witness who swore to\nmy person, though he was, according to his own statement, fifty yards\ndistant from me--in addition to this, at two o'clock in the morning.\"\n\nThe prosecutor of Snowden Dunhill was Mr. Barnard Clarkson, of Holme, at\nthat time a partner in the Howden Bank.\n\nThe consciousness that her husband was ignorant of the robbery imputed\nto him caused Sally Dunhill to regard him as a martyr. Her Ranting\nenthusiasm was excited, and she wrote a long letter to the prosecutor,\ndenouncing him, in Biblical terms, as one who \"compassed about\" the\nrighteous man \"with words of hatred, and fought against him without a\ncause\"; and announced to him that she had given herself up to prayer\nagainst him (Clarkson), and invoked the malediction of heaven upon his\nhead--\"Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generations following\nlet their name be blotted out.\" And she concluded this strange epistle\nwith the words of the Psalmist: \"Let them curse, but bless thou: when\nthey arise, let them be ashamed; but let thy servant rejoice. Let mine\nenemies be clothed with shame, and let them cover themselves with their\nown confusion as with a mantle. I will greatly praise the Lord with my\nmouth; yea, I will praise him among the multitude, for he shall stand at\nthe right hand of the poor, to save him from those that condemn his\nsoul.\"\n\nSnowden Dunhill continues in his Autobiography:--\n\n\"I now, for the first time, became an inmate of a prison, an event I had\nalways held in the greatest horror. As it was well known that I had\nplenty of money, I had very soon the proffered and apparently\ndisinterested assistance of an attorney. My situation was maturely\nconsidered, and it was soon determined that a writ of habeas corpus\nshould be put in, for the purpose of taking my trial at the approaching\nAssizes at York, in preference to Beverley.\n\n\"I was in consequence taken up to London in custody, after the writ was\nobtained, and my trial was appointed to take place at York, principally\non this ground, as urged by counsel, that my character was so notorious\nin the East Riding of Yorkshire that no unprejudiced jury could there be\nimpannelled. The reader may be sure that all this was done at no slight\nexpense; but perhaps he will not believe me when I assure him that by\nthe time my counsel had received his fee for the approaching defence I\nhad scarcely a shilling left in the world.\n\n\"The March Assizes of 1813 at length arrived, when I gave myself up to\nthe gaoler of the Castle, and I was soon placed in the dock. My eyes\nwere cast on the ground, and I for a time felt stupefied. However, I at\nlast raised them to the objects before me, and the first that caught\nthem was the judge himself, then the counsel, and then the immense crowd\nof spectators who had assembled to hear my trial. I soon was calm enough\nto discover in the gallery the faces of many persons I knew, and I\nendeavoured to put on a forced courage by nodding familiarly at them,\nand by appearing to be utterly careless of what was going forward.\n\n\"The indictment was read over to me, and I was called upon to hold up my\nhand and plead guilty or not guilty; though I uttered the latter with a\nloud voice, it was with a full conviction that my doom was sealed. I\nfelt--and I suppose all persons similarly circumstanced feel the\nsame--that not only the assembled people, but that the whole world had\ncombined to destroy me.\n\n\"The facts above narrated were stated shortly to the jury. The witness\nswore to my person, and accounted for his being there at that hour,\nnaturally enough, by stating that he had been to visit his sweetheart.\nThe farmer swore to having missed the corn on the night in question.\nThough my counsel tried to confound the first witness by fierce looks\nand bullying questions, and by dwelling upon the impossibility of his\nbeing able to swear to a person at the distance of fifty yards and at\ntwo in the morning, yet he stuck to his oath immovably. I was asked what\nI wished to say, and all that I could state was that I was innocent;\nthat I was in bed at the time, and that all the family knew this to be\nthe fact. My wife was anxious to speak for me, but my counsel insisted\nupon her holding her tongue, which she at last consented to do on his\nassuring her that she would do my case more harm than good. The jury\nwithout the slightest hesitation found me guilty, and the judge at once\nsentenced me to seven years' transportation.\n\n\"I was immediately conveyed back to my cell, and a few days afterwards I\nwas forwarded to the hulks. In this miserable banishment I passed six\nyears, embittered by the most dreadful account of my family, every\nmember of it, even in the remotest degree, having transgressed the laws\nof his country, and was then undergoing for his offences the punishment\nawarded to him. Could hope under any form have presented herself to me,\nI felt that I might yet be a reclaimed man, but I could not catch the\nmost distant glimpse of her. My years passed on in the midst of misery\nthe most distressing, till they at last came to an end. I obtained my\ndischarge or pardon a short time before the expiration of my full term,\nfor I had been guilty of no violence, or insolence, or excess, since my\narrival.\n\n\"I left this abode of vice and misery without a friend on the face of\nthe earth, and unconscious where to find even a momentary place of\nrefuge. There are many unfortunate individuals who, had they a house or\nemployment to fly to after having undergone their periods of punishment,\nwould be glad to betake themselves to habits of honesty and industry.\nBut, unluckily for them, they are turned out without a refuge to resort\nto, and necessity, and not inclination, drives them to the commission of\nfresh crimes.\n\n\"As to myself, I returned to Spaldington, but the change which my\nworldly prospects and circumstances had undergone was in the extreme\noverwhelming. Some of these misfortunes I well knew, but to others I was\nan entire stranger, and I cannot at this day lay blame to anyone but\nmyself for them. My evil example pointed out the way of lawless\ndepredation to my children, in characters so legible that they could not\nfail to read and study them.\n\n\"The farmers of the village had thought it right to clear my cottage of\nevery one connected with me in name, relationship, or blood.\n\n\"I felt at a great loss where to fix, or to what object to turn myself\nfor a livelihood and bare subsistence. As to my children and\nconnections, they were scattered in every direction, and for the most\npart undergoing the punishment due to their crimes.\n\n\"My daughter, my favourite daughter, Rose, had been committed, and\nsentenced to confinement in York Castle. During her imprisonment she\nwas delivered of a bastard-child; what its fate may be, heaven alone can\ntell! She was visited in the Castle by a gentleman from Howden, for the\npurpose of proffering her some assistance in her necessitous situation.\nThis I have understood she indignantly refused. Holding up her new-born\nbabe to his gaze, she said, 'See! he has hands to help himself, and if\never there was a true-born rogue, here he is!' Thus, like Hannibal\ntowards Rome, was this poor child devoted from its earliest infancy to\nwar against all the settled institutions of society.\n\n\"After her release from York the reader will readily imagine from this\nanecdote of her, that she would speedily fall into another scrape. This\nsoon happened. She was committed to Wakefield House of Correction, again\ntried and found guilty, and I have never since heard of her. She had\ncohabited with two different men, both of whom passed as her husband.\nTheir names were M'Dowel and Connor, and they both have been\ntransported.\n\n\"My daughter, Sarah Dunhill, after having been confined in York Castle,\nwas tried at the East Riding Sessions at Beverley, and imprisoned one\nyear. She was subsequently tried at the Borough Sessions at Beverley for\npicking the pocket of a gentleman named Scholfield, and stealing from\nhim a considerable sum of money.\n\n\"During her trial she made a moving appeal to the barristers present,\nstating that she had always found them her best friends; that their\ningenuity had often assisted her in the hour of need, and she yet\nreposed faith in their kindness, and proudly left her honesty and honour\nin their keeping. The Recorder, startled into momentary confusion at the\nnature of this appeal, speedily recovered his dignity, and inflicted on\nher the doom of the law. She was at this time residing at Hull, and had\ncome over to Beverley fair that morning for the purpose of depredation.\nFor this offence she was transported for seven years. She had three\nhusbands, named James Stanhope, William Rhodes, and James Crossland, all\nof whom were severally transported, one after the other.\n\n\"My son, William Dunhill, was transported at the York Assizes for the\nterm of fourteen years. He, poor fellow, died immediately on his arrival\nin New South Wales. He was the most promising of my family, and with\ndifferent examples before him, and good advice, would probably have\nproved an ornament to society.\n\n\"Robert Taylor, son of my wife by a former husband, and who lived under\nthe same roof with us for several years, was also transported.\n\n\"I think I omitted to state that my wife at the time I married her was a\nwidow, and her name was Taylor. Her husband was shot in attempting to\ncommit a robbery shortly before I married her, a circumstance which was\nnot known to me, and which she never mentioned.\n\n\"As to my wife, she was also transported, after having contrived\ninnumerable depredations, and been the cause of those fatal events which\nbefel herself, myself, and the rest of the family.\n\n\"A robbery committed at Howden was readily traced home to the inmates of\nour house; suspicion fell at once upon them, and the furniture, watches,\ncoins, and many other stolen articles were found on my premises. But as\nthis and many other things happened during my absence, and as I never\nagain saw several members of my family, I am the less particular in\nnarrating them, from my great anxiety that nothing should appear in this\nhistory of myself for which I cannot vouch the truth.\"\n\nSnowden returned to Spaldington, found his family dispersed, his cottage\noccupied by other tenants, and no one in the village disposed to receive\nhim with open arms. The farmers naturally viewed his return with alarm,\nand he found none in the neighbourhood disposed to give him work, had he\ncared to take it. But steady work was distasteful to him. Had he sought\nit in other parts of Yorkshire he might readily have found it. Instead\nof this he loafed about, sulky and angry with society. By degrees he\nformed new connections, in Hull and Lincolnshire, and resumed his former\ndishonest practices in concert with them.\n\n\"I had heard much of the easy lives led by the convicts in New South\nWales; and, moreover, some members of my family were already there, and\nI felt impelled to make an endeavour to join them.\n\n\"I had not long to wait for the gratification of this wish, for I was\nsoon traced to the commission of a paltry crime. I was apprehended,\ntried, and convicted; my character did the rest, and readily procured\nfor me that banishment from England on which I had set my heart. My\ntrial took place at a district Quarter sessions in the north of\nLincolnshire, in the gaol of which I was only detained a few days when,\nwith several others, I was transmitted, pinioned and loaded with irons,\nto London, there to await a ship to convey me to Botany Bay.\n\n\"It was a cold, bleak morning when I was put upon the coach in the\ncourt-yard of the prison, before daylight, with the rain and sleet\nfalling in abundance. The coach remained half-an-hour or more in the\nyard of the prison till all was in readiness, when the gates were thrown\nopen and we commenced our inauspicious journey. I cannot at all describe\nthe feelings of loneliness and of heartrending distress which came over\nme at this moment, in which I felt that I was rushing from certain\nmisery to something that might be even still worse, and yet in my\ndespair I felt a clinging to existence. I have never met with--nay, I\nhave never heard of--a bad man who could look death unflinchingly in\nthe face. On ascending the first rise of the ground in our journey\ntowards London a breeze from the north suddenly sprung up, which\nscattered the loaded clouds, and the sun burst forth in all its glory.\nThere appeared before me, as if a veil had been taken off the earth by\nmagic power, a wide-spread picture. The Humber, glorying in its Scythian\nname, rolling to the ocean its mass of waters; and in the distance the\nwinding Trent and Ouse, stealing onward like two wily serpents; and I\ncould just discover the broad expanse where they became united.\n\n\"The beautiful Lincolnshire hills on my left, and the still more\nbeautiful hills, dales, and woods of my own native Yorkshire to the\nnorth, lent their charms to form a landscape I never saw equalled, and\nin casting my last lingering gaze upon it I felt that the inanimate\nbeauties of creation must now to me for ever be a blank. I strained my\neyes to catch as much of it as I could, feeling the prospect, as it\nwere, a part of myself, and necessary to my very existence, for there it\nhad commenced, and little at one time did I think at how great a\ndistance I was doomed to end it.\n\n\"Arrived at Botany Bay, I was soon disposed of, and commenced in good\nearnest the life of a slave. Hard-worked, half-starved, ill-fed, and\nworse clothed, such is the fate of the hapless convict.\"\n\nWhilst in confinement, Snowden Dunhill wrote his Autobiography, and much\nwished to send it to his native village that it might be printed there\nfor circulation. But it was some time before an opportunity presented\nitself.\n\nOne October day, 1830, as he was wheeling earth and stones near the pier\nof Sydney, in the harbour of Port Jackson, he rested for a moment to\nlook at the beautiful bay before him, and compare it with one of the\nlake-like reaches of the Humber, when he was roused from his musings by\na tap on the shoulder, and the salutation of \"Well, Snowden, how are\nyou?\"\n\nHe touched his cap, and looked up. Before him stood a sailor, who\ngrasped his hand and shook it warmly. The sailor was the little boy\nwhose life he had saved in the moat of Spaldington Old Hall so many\nyears before.\n\nThe sailor gave him some money, and told him he was about to return to\nHull. Dunhill at once produced his little Autobiography, and entreated\nhim to take it back to Yorkshire, and get it printed there. The sailor\nreadily promised to do this, and to his fulfilment of the promise we owe\nthe existence of the curious little memoir presented to the reader.\n\nIn August, 1833, Snowden Dunhill was seen by another Howden man, who was\nat Hobart Town, Van Dieman's Land. His account of Dunhill is that he was\n\"a tall, stout man, bent and stooping with suffering and privation more\nthan from natural infirmity, but with the step and assurance of his old\nself.\"\n\nThe Howden man would not have known Dunhill had not the convict heard\nhis name mentioned, and introduced himself to him: \"Ye're one of ----'s\nsons i' Howden?\" in the broadest East Riding Yorkshire. Then, when the\nstranger answered that he was, Dunhill's eyes filled with tears, and he\nbegan to sob.\n\n\"In external appearance he was not very much altered. The boisterous and\noverbearing manners of former years yet remained, unsoftened and\nunrepressed by the sufferings he had undergone. An habitual stoop had\nbent down his person, and somewhat taken away from the portly and\nblustering gait of early life. The small, grey, quick, and piercing eye\nstill retained its cunning and prying character. His dress was much the\nsame as he wore in England.\"\n\nDunhill had received his ticket of freedom at Sydney two or three years\nbefore this, and had then removed to Van Dieman's Land, where his wife\nand daughter were settled.\n\nThere is a strange irony in facts. Sally Dunhill, who had been unable to\nrear one of her own children in morality and honesty, so impressed on\nthe people of Hobart Town that she was a saintly woman by her vociferous\nprayers and familiarity with Holy Scripture, that she was employed in\nteaching at a day-school, and was entrusted with the education of\nchildren in those paths she had never trodden herself. The residue of\nher time was spent in making penny pies, which Snowden hawked about the\ntown.\n\nSnowden Dunhill gradually sank into habitual drunkenness, and was\nsuspected of reverting to his old tricks of petty larceny. When he died\nis not known.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[7] \"The Life of Snowden Dunhill, written by Himself.\" Howden, 1833.\n\n\n\n\nJAMES NAYLOR,\n\nTHE QUAKER.[8]\n\n\nJames Naylor was born at East Ardsley, near Wakefield, in 1616. He was\nthe son of a small farmer, whose house was near the old church. He\nreceived a passable education in reading, writing, and arithmetic. In\n1628, when he was aged twenty-two, he married, and settled in Wakefield\nparish. He was a diligent reader of the Scriptures, and zealous as an\nIndependent. He spent about three years at Wakefield, and then joined\nthe Parliamentary army as a private in 1641. He rose to become\nquartermaster of his regiment under Major-General Lambert, but in 1649,\non account of ill-health, he was obliged to leave the army and return to\nWakefield. The pulpits of the Established Church were now in the hands\nof Independent ministers, and that of Horbury, near Wakefield, was\noccupied by the \"godly and painful Master Marshall,\" under whom James\nNaylor sat and groaned with unction.\n\nBut Naylor relaxed his religious exercises on visits to a Mrs. Roper at\nHorbury, a lady whose husband had been for some time absent. When this\nlady became a mother by James Naylor, the Rev. Mr. Marshall thought it\nnecessary to expose him, and Naylor, indignant with his Independent\nminister, joined the sect of the Quakers, then founded by George Fox. In\n1652 he went on a religious visitation to the West, and in 1655 he\nvisited London, in which city a meeting of Quakers had been established\nby the ministry of Edward Burrough and Francis Howgill, two men of\nWestmoreland.\n\nNaylor prophesied in the meeting with so great applause that several\nwomen began to exalt him above Burrough and Howgill, and disturbed the\nlatter when they attempted to speak. The two ministers reproved the\nwomen, and they in dudgeon complained to Naylor, and he encouraged them\nin their opposition to Burrough and Howgill. Two of these women, Martha\nSymonds and Hannah Stranger, became his most devoted adherents, and\nfollowed him in all his wanderings.\n\nIn 1656 he revisited the West, prophesied in Cornwall, and on passing\nthrough Exeter was arrested under the sweeping charge of vagrancy, and\ncommitted to gaol. There he was visited by many devout females, amongst\nothers by one Dorcas Erbury, who fell into a swoon, and was revived by\nNaylor, who cried over her, \"Tabitha, I say unto thee, arise!\" She\nawoke, and the faithful believed that Naylor had restored her from death\nto life.\n\nHe was released at length by order of Council and then he travelled to\nBristol at the head of six believers. On reaching Bedminster, a village\na mile from Old Bristol, though now a suburb of the town, Naylor and his\nparty formed in procession, intending to produce a scene in the streets\nof Bristol.\n\nOne of his disciples, a young man with bare head, led the horse by the\nbridle upon which Naylor was mounted; two men followed in single file on\nhorseback, each with his wife on a pillion behind him; and one woman\nwalked on the causeway. As they went forward the six shouted, \"Holy,\nholy, holy, Lord God of Sabaoth!\" till they came to the almshouse in the\nsuburbs of Bristol, \"when one of the women alighted, and she, with the\nother of her own sex, lovingly marched on each side of Naylor's horse.\"\nThe road was deep in mud and rain was falling, but neither mud nor rain\ndamped the ardour of the enthusiasts. On reaching Redcliffe Gate,\nTimothy Wedlock, a Devonshire man of the company, bareheaded, and Martha\nSymonds holding the bridle on one side and Hannah Stranger holding it on\nthe other, advanced, chanting their hymn of praise.\n\nNaylor wore a broad-brimmed hat and a long sad-coloured mantle. He was\nof a moderate height, ruddy complexion, had a slightly arched nose,\nlarge brown eyes, was a remarkably handsome man, and was thought by many\nto resemble the traditional type of face attributed to our Lord. Martha\nSymonds was the wife of Thomas Symonds, bookbinder of London; and Hannah\nStranger was the wife of John Stranger, combmaker in London. The two\nother women accompanying Naylor were Dorcas Erbury, whom he had raised\nfrom the dead, and her mother.\n\nIn this way the solemn procession advanced to the High Cross at Bristol,\nand after that to the White Hart, Broad Street, where lodged two\nQuakers, Dennis Hollister and Henry Row.\n\nThe magistrates at once apprehended the party, and committed them to\nprison.\n\nThe following is the examination of the prisoners, somewhat condensed:--\n\n\nEXAMINATION OF JAMES NAYLOR.\n\nBeing asked his name, he replied, \"The men of this world call me James\nNaylor.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Art not thou the man that rid on horseback into Bristol, a woman\nleading thy horse, and others saying before thee, 'Holy, holy, holy,\nHosannah to the Son of David'?\"\n\n_A._ \"I did ride into a town, but what its name was I know not; and by\nthe Spirit a woman was commanded to hold my horse's bridle, and some\nthere were that cast down clothes and sang praises to the Lord, such\nsongs as the Lord put into their hearts; and it is like it might be the\nsong, 'Holy, holy, holy,' &c.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Whether or no didst thou reprove these women?\"\n\n_A._ \"Nay; but I bade them take heed that they say nothing but what they\nwere moved to by the Lord.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Dost thou own this letter which Hannah Stranger sent unto thee?\"\n\n_A._ \"Yes, I do own that letter.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Art thou (according to that letter) the fairest of ten thousand?\"\n\n_A._ \"As to the visible, I deny any such attribute to be due unto me;\nbut if as to that which the Father hath begotten in me, I shall own it.\"\n\nTwo letters were then produced and read; we need only give one:--\n\n\n     \"JAMES NAYLOR,\n\n     \"Oh! thou fairest of ten thousand, thou only begotten Son of God,\n     how my heart panteth after thee! O stay me with flaggons and\n     comfort me with wine. My beloved, thou art like a roe or young hart\n     upon the mountains of spices, where thy beloved spouse hath long\n     been calling thee to come away, but hath been but lately heard of\n     thee. Now it lies something upon me that thou mindest to see her,\n     for the spirit and power of God is with her, and there is given to\n     her much of excellent and innocent wisdom arisen and arising in\n     her, which will make all the honest-hearted to praise the Lord\n     alone, and no more set up self. And therefore let not my lord and\n     master have any jealousy against her, for she is highly beloved of\n     the Lord, and that shall all see who come to know the Lord. And now\n     He doth bless them that bless His, and curse them that curse His;\n     for this hath the Lord showed me, that her portion is exceedingly\n     large in the Lord, and as her sorrow hath been much, so shall her\n     joy be much more; which rejoiceth my heart to see her walk so\n     valiantly and so faithfully in the work of the Lord, in this time\n     of so great trials as hath been upon her especially.\n\n     \"And I am,\n     \"HANNAH STRANGER.\n\n     \"_The Postscript._\n\n     \"Remember my dear love to thy master. Thy name is no more James,\n     but Jesus.\n\n     \"JOHN STRANGER.\"\n\n     \"Remember my love to these friends with thee. The 17th day of 8th\n     month, superscribed to the hands of James Naylor.\"\n\n\n_Q._ \"Art thou the only Son of God?\"\n\n_A._ \"I am the son of God; but I have many brethren.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Have any called thee by the name of Jesus?\"\n\n_A._ \"Not as unto the visible, but as Jesus, the Christ that is in me.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Dost thou own the name of the King of Israel?\"\n\n_A._ \"Not as a creature; but if they gave it to Christ within, I own it,\nand have a kingdom, but not of this world; my kingdom is of another\nworld, of which thou wotest not.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Whether or no art thou the prophet of the Most High?\"\n\n_A._ \"Thou hast said I am a prophet.\"\n\n_Q._ \"By whom were you sent?\"\n\n_A._ \"By Him who hath sent the Spirit of His Son in me to try, not as to\ncarnal matters, but belonging to the kingdom of God, by the indwelling\nof the Father and the Son, to judge all spirits, to be guided by none.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Is not the written Word of God the guide?\"\n\n_A._ \"The written Word declares of it, and what is not according to that\nis not true.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Who is thy mother? or whether or no is she a virgin?\"\n\n_A._ \"Nay, according to the natural birth.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Who is thy mother according to thy spiritual birth?\"\n\n_A._ \"No carnal creature.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Who, then?\"\n\nHe returned no answer.\n\n_Q._ \"Art thou the everlasting Son of God?\"\n\n_A._ \"When God is manifest in the flesh there is the everlasting Son;\nand I do witness God in the flesh. I am the Son of God, and the Son of\nGod is but one.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Art thou the everlasting Son of God, the King of Righteousness?\"\n\n_A._ \"I am; and the everlasting righteousness is wrought in me; if ye\nwere acquainted with the Father ye would also be acquainted with me.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Do any kiss thy feet?\"\n\n_A._ \"It might be they did, but I minded them not.\"\n\n_Q._ \"How dost thou provide for a livelihood?\"\n\n_A._ \"As do the lilies, without care, being maintained of my Father.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What business hast thou at Bristol, or that way?\"\n\n_A._ \"I was guided and directed by my Father.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Where were you born?\"\n\n_A._ \"At Arderslow, in Yorkshire.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Where lives thy wife?\"\n\n_A._ \"She whom thou callest my wife lives in Wakefield.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Why dost thou not live with her?\"\n\n_A._ \"I did till I was called to the army.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Under whose command didst thou serve in the army?\"\n\n_A._ \"First under him they call Lord Fairfax.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Who then?\"\n\n_A._ \"Afterwards with that man called Colonel Lambert. And then I went\ninto Scotland, where I was quartermaster, and returned sick to my\nearthly habitation.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What wentest thou for to Exeter?\"\n\n_A._ \"I went to Launceston to see the Brethren.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What estate hast thou?\"\n\n_A._ \"Take no care for that.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Wherefore camest thou in such an unusual posture as two women\nleading thy horse; others saying, 'Holy, holy, holy!' &c, with another\nbefore thee bareheaded, knee-deep in the highway mud, when thou mightest\nhave gone on the causey; and at such a time that, it raining, thy\ncompanions received the rain at their necks, and vented it at their hose\nand breeches?\"\n\n_A._ \"It tended to my Father's praise and glory; and I ought not to\nslight anything which the Spirit of the Lord moves.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Wherefore didst thou call Marthy Symonds 'Mother,' as George Fox\naffirms?\"\n\n_A._ \"George Fox is a liar and a firebrand of hell; for neither I, nor\nany with me, called her so.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Thou hast a wife at this time?\"\n\n_A._ \"A woman I have, who by the world is called my wife, and some\nchildren I have, which according to the flesh are mine.\"\n\n\nMARTHA SYMONDS' EXAMINATION.\n\n\"She contendeth she knew James Naylor formerly, for he is now no more\nJames Naylor, but refined to a more excellent substance; and so she\nsaith she came with him from Eccles to Bristol.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What made thee lead his horse into Bristol, and cry, 'Holy, holy,\nholy!' and to spread thy garment before him?\"\n\n_A._ \"I was forced thereto by the power of the Lord.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Whether didst thou kneel before him?\"\n\n_A._ \"I was forced thereto by the power of love.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Dost thou own him to be the Prince of Peace?\"\n\n_A._ \"He is a perfect man; and he that is a perfect man is the Prince of\nPeace.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Hast thou a husband?\"\n\n_A._ \"I have a man which thou callest my husband.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What made thee leave him, and to follow James Naylor?\"\n\n_A._ \"It is our life to praise the Lord, and the Lord my strength is\nmanifest in James Naylor.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Oughtest thou to worship James Naylor upon thy knees?\"\n\n_A._ \"Yea, I ought so to do.\"\n\nHannah Stranger, Thomas Stranger, and Timothy Wedlock were next\nexamined. It is not necessary to reproduce their interrogations; they\nmuch resemble what has been given above.\n\nDorcas Erbury was next called. She was widow of William Erbury, once a\nminister.\n\n_Q._ \"Where dost thou live?\"\n\n_A._ \"With Margaret Thomas.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Wherefore dost thou sing, 'Holy, holy, holy'?\"\n\n_A._ \"I did not at that time; but those that sang did it discharging of\ntheir duty.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Dost thou own him to be the Holy One of Israel?\"\n\n_A._ \"I do, and with my blood will seal it.\"\n\n_Q._ \"And dost thou own him for the Son of God?\"\n\n_A._ \"He is the only begotten son of God.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Wherefore didst thou pull off his stockings, and lay thy clothes\nbeneath his feet?\"\n\n_A._ \"He is worthy of it, for he is the Holy One of Israel.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Christ raised those that had been dead; so did not he?\"\n\n_A._ \"He raised me.\"\n\n_Q._ \"In what manner?\"\n\n_A._ \"He laid his hand on my head after I had been dead two days, and\nsaid, 'Dorcas, arise!' and I arose, and live, as thou seest.\"\n\n_Q._ \"Where did he this?\"\n\n_A._ \"At the gaol in Exeter.\"\n\n_Q._ \"What witness hast thou for this?\"\n\n_A._ \"My mother, who was present.\"\n\n_Q._ \"His power being so much, wherefore opened he not the prison doors\nand escaped?\"\n\n_A._ \"The doors shall open when the Lord's wish is done.\"\n\nThe Bristol magistrates sent Naylor and his deluded followers to London,\nto be examined before Parliament.\n\nOn the 31st October it was ordered that a Committee should be appointed\nto consider the information given touching \"the misdemeanour and\nblasphemies of James Naylor and others at Bristol and elsewhere, and to\nreport thereon.\"\n\nThe Committee met next day, and on December 2nd it was resolved that the\nreport of the Committee should be brought in and read on the following\nFriday, December 5th. On that day it was read by the reporter,--it\nconsisted of thirteen sheets of paper--and the debate on the report\nbegan on the 6th, when James Naylor was called to the bar of the House.\nHe came with his hat on, but it was removed by the Serjeant. The report\nwas read to him, and he was demanded whether each particular was true,\nand he acknowledged that it was so.\n\nThe debate was adjourned to Monday, the 8th, and it occupied Parliament\ntill the 20th December. The House resolved \"that James Naylor was guilty\nof horrid blasphemy, and that he was a grand impostor and seducer of the\npeople,\" and his sentence was, \"that he should be set on the pillory,\nwith his head in the pillory, in the Palace Yard, Westminster, during\nthe space of two hours, on Thursday next, and be whipped by the hangman\nthrough the streets from Westminster to the Old Exchange, London; and\nthere, likewise, he should be set on the pillory, with his head in the\npillory, for the space of two hours, between the hours of eleven and\none, on Saturday next, in each place wearing a paper containing an\ninscription of his crimes; and that at the Old Exchange his tongue\nshould be bored through with a hot iron, and that he should be there\nalso stigmatised in the forehead with the letter B; and that he should\nafterwards be sent to Bristol, to be conveyed into and through the city\non horseback, with his face backwards, and there also should be whipped\nthe next market-day after he came thither; and that thence he should be\ncommitted to prison in Bridewell, London, and there be restrained from\nthe society of all people, and there to labour hard till he should be\nreleased by Parliament; and during that time he should be debarred the\nuse of pen, ink, and paper, and should have no relief but what he earned\nby his daily labour.\"\n\nThe women were ordered to be kept in confinement. The severity of this\natrocious sentence deserves notice. The Independents, who had suffered\nunder Laud and the Star Chamber, now that they were in power, had no\nidea of tolerating the Quakers, who read their Bibles differently from\nthemselves. Cromwell was especially prejudiced against them, and it is\nprobable that the Protector had something to do with the severity of the\nsentence on Naylor.\n\nOne Robert Rich, a merchant of London, wrote to the Parliament, on\nDecember 15, a petition in favour of Naylor: \"If I may have liberty of\nthose that sit in Parliament, I do here attend at this door, and am now\nready out of the Scriptures of truth to show that not anything that\nJames Naylor hath said or done is blasphemy, &c.\"\n\nSentence was pronounced by the Speaker, Sir Thomas Widdrington. Naylor\non hearing it said, \"I pray God He may not lay it to your charge.\" On\nDecember 20th, 1656, Naylor suffered a part of his sentence, standing\ntwo hours in the pillory, and receiving at the cart's tail three hundred\nand ten stripes. \"The executioner gave him three hundred and ten\nstripes,\" says Sewell, \"and would have given him one more, as he\nconfessed to the Sheriff, but his foot slipping, the stroke fell upon\nhis own hand, which hurt him much. Naylor was hurt with the horses\ntreading on his feet, whereon the prints of the nails were seen. His\nwounds were washed by R. Travers, who certified, 'there was not the\nspace of a man's nail free from stripes and blood, from his shoulders\nnear to his waist; his right arm sorely striped; his hands much hurt by\nthe cords that they bled and were swelled: the blood and wounds of his\nback did very little appear at first sight, by reason of abundance of\ndirt that covered them, till it was washed off.'\"\n\nAnother petition in his favour was presented, signed by about a hundred\npersons, to Parliament, requesting the remission of the rest of his\nsentence, and as this was refused, appeal was made to Cromwell the\nProtector, with like want of success.\n\nFive Independent ministers visited Naylor in prison, and vainly urged\nhim to recant.\n\nRich besieged the doors of Parliament on December 27th, from eight\no'clock till eleven, imploring a respite, but all in vain. Naylor was\nthen brought out to undergo the rest of his sentence; he was again\npilloried, his tongue bored through, and his forehead branded. Rich held\nthe hand of the unhappy man whilst his tongue was pierced, and the\nred-hot iron applied to his brow, and he licked the wounds to allay the\npain. Thousands who witnessed the execution of the sentence exhibited\ntheir respect by removing their caps. There was no reviling, and nothing\nthrown at Naylor, but all stood silent and sympathetic.\n\nJames Naylor was then sent to Bristol, and whipped from the middle of\nSt. Thomas' Street to the middle of Broad Street, and taken back to his\nprison in Bridewell. There he wrote his recantation, in epistles\naddressed to the Quakers. In one of these he says: \"Dear brethren, my\nheart is broken this day for the offence which I have occasioned to\nGod's truth and people, and especially to you, who in dear love followed\nme, seeking me in faithfulness to God, which I rejected, being bound\nwherein I could not come forth, till God's hand brought me, to whose\nlove I now confess. And I beseech you forgive wherein I evil requited\nyour love in that day. God knows my sorrow for it, since I see it, that\never I should offend that of God in any, or reject his counsel; and I\ngreatly fear further to offend or do amiss, whereby the innocent truth\nor people of God should suffer, or that I should disobey therein.\"\n\nHe was confined about two years, and was then set at liberty. He\nthereupon went to Bristol, where in a public meeting he made confession\nof his offence and fall so movingly as to draw tears from most of those\npresent; and he was then restored to the community of the Quakers, from\nwhich he had been excluded by George Fox at Exeter for his presumption\nand pride.\n\nCharges of the most gross immorality have been brought against James\nNaylor, whether truly or falsely who can now decide? It is possible that\nthe language of the women who followed him, in speaking of him, their\nletters to him, one of which has been quoted, may have given rise to\nthese reports. Naylor, however, never would admit that there had been\nanything unseemly in his behaviour towards the women who followed him\nfrom London into Cornwall, and from Cornwall to Bristol; and Sewell, who\nknew Hannah Stranger, repudiates the charge as utterly false. But it is\ncurious to notice how that religious fanaticism and sensuality so\nfrequently run together. It was so in that outburst of mysticism in the\nMiddle Ages--the heresy of the Fraticelli; it was so with at least one\nbranch of the Hussites in Bohemia; and in the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies, when the great convulsion of the Reformation had set minds\nnaturally predisposed to religious excitement in a ferment, this was\nmost conspicuous, as in the ferocious licentiousness of John Bockelson,\nthe Anabaptist King of Sion, or the more cautious profligacy, under a\ncloak of religion, of Ludwig Hetzer and David Joris.\n\nJames Naylor quitted London finally in 1660, intending to return to\nWakefield; but was found by a countryman one evening in a field near\nHolm and King's Rippon, in Huntingdonshire, having been robbed and left\nbound. He was taken to Holm, and his clothes were changed. To those who\nkindly cared for him he said, \"You have refreshed my body; the Lord\nrefresh your souls.\"\n\nHe shortly after died there of the rough handling he had received from\nthe highwaymen who had plundered him, and was buried in a Quaker's\ncemetery belonging to Thomas Parnel, a physician.\n\nTwo hours before he died he uttered the touching and eloquent\nspeech:--\"There is a spirit which I feel that delights to endure all\nthings, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all\nwrath and contention, and to weary out all exultation and cruelty, or\nwhatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all\ntemptations. As it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in\nthoughts to any other. If it be betrayed, it bears it; for its ground\nand spring are the mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is\nmeekness; its life is everlasting love, unfeigned, and takes its kingdom\nwith entreaty and not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of\nmind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regard it or can own\nits life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forth without any to\npity it; nor doth it murmur at grief and oppression. It never rejoiceth\nbut through sufferings; for with the world's joy it is murdered. I found\nit alone, being forsaken; I have fellowship therein with them who lived\nin dens and desolate places in the earth; who through death obtained\ntheir resurrection, and eternal, holy life.\"\n\nA more beautiful and true description of the Christian spirit was never\nuttered. It is a passage meriting a place beside the famous definition\nof charity by S. Paul. The man who used such words was no hypocrite when\nhe used them. If he had erred greatly, he had also repented; if he had\nfallen, he had risen after his fall. One is glad to turn away the eye\nfrom the blemishes of the unfortunate Quaker's career to the spot of\npure light that rests on his death-bed.\n\nHis writings were collected and published in an octavo volume in 1716.\nThey are very unequal. Some passages of great beauty, almost comparable\nto that given above, may be found, but there is also much that is as\ninvolved in style and confused in thought as the specimen quoted earlier\nfrom his recantation.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[8] Authorities:--\"The Grand Imposter Examined; or, the Life, Trial, and\nExamination of James Naylor, London, 1656,\" reprinted in the Harleian\nMisc., vi., 424. Johannis Lussenii \"Hist. u. Schrifft-m\u00e4ssige Er\u00f6rterung\nder vor wenig Zeit in Engelland entstandenen secte der Qu\u00e4cker,\" in\n\"Qu\u00e4cker Grueuel,\" published by authority of the magistrates of Hamburg,\n1702. \"The Recantation of James Naylor,\" in \"Somers' Tracts,\" vi., 22,\npub. 1659. \"Naylor's Writings Collected,\" 8vo, 1716. Sewell's \"Hist. of\nthe Quakers,\" 1714. Sewell was personally acquainted with Hannah\nStranger, one of Naylor's followers. \"The Journals of the House of\nCommons,\" vi., p. 448-59. Blome's \"Fanatick History.\" J. Whiting's\n\"Account.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"OLD THREE LAPS.\"\n\n\nAt Laycock, two miles west of Keighley, at a farm called \"The Worlds,\"\nlived a close-fisted yeoman named Sharp, at the end of last century and\nthe beginning of this. He carried on a small weaving business in\naddition to his farm, and amassed a considerable sum of money. The story\ngoes that on one occasion old Sharp brought a piece of cloth to the\nKeighley tailor and told him to make a coat for him out of it. The\ntailor on measuring the farmer pronounced the cloth to be insufficient\nto allow of tails to the coat, and asked what he was to do under the\ncircumstances. \"Tho' mun make it three laps,\"--_i.e._, _any way_. The\nexpression stuck to him, and till the day of his death the name of\n\"Three Laps\" adhered to him, when it passed to his still more eccentric\nson.\n\nThis son, William Sharp, for a while followed the trade of a weaver, but\nwas more inclined to range the moors with his gun than stick to his\nloom; and the evenings generally found him in the bar of the \"Devonshire\nInn\" at Keighley, the landlord of which was a Mr. Morgan. Young Three\nLaps was fond of chaffing his boon companions. On one occasion he\nencountered a commercial traveller in the timber trade, and began his\nbanter by asking him the price of a pair of mahogany \"laithe\" (barn)\ndoors. The traveller, prompted by Mr. Morgan, drew him out, and booked\nhis order.\n\nAfter some weeks the invoice of mahogany barn-doors, price upwards of\n\u00a330, was forwarded to William Sharp. Young Three Laps was beside his\nwits with dismay, and had recourse to Mr. Morgan, and through his\nintervention the imaginary mahogany barn-doors were not sent.\n\nThe barmaid of the \"Devonshire\" was a comely, respectable young woman,\nthe daughter of a neighbouring farmer named Smith. William Sharp fell\ndesperately in love with the girl, proposed, and was accepted. The day\nfor the wedding was fixed, and the young man went to Keighley Church at\nthe appointed hour to be married. But the bride was not there. At the\nlast moment a difficulty had arisen about the settlements. Mr. Smith\ncould not induce Old Three Laps to bestow on his son sufficient money to\nsupport him in a married condition, and the two old men had quarrelled\nand torn up the settlements.\n\nThe blow was more than the mind of William Sharp could bear. He returned\nto \"The Worlds\" sulky, went to bed, and never rose from it again. For\nforty-nine years he kept to his bed, and refused to speak to anyone. He\nwas just thirty years old when he thus isolated himself from society and\nactive life, and he died in his bed at the age of seventy-nine, on March\n3rd, 1856.\n\nThe room he occupied measured nine feet long and was about the same\nbreadth. The floor was covered with stone flags, and was generally damp.\nIn one corner was a fire-place which could be used only when the wind\nblew from one or two points of the compass; the window was permanently\nfastened, and where some of the squares had been broken, was carefully\npatched with wood. At the time of his death, this window had not been\nopened for thirty-eight years. The sole furniture comprised an antique\nclock, minus weight and pendulum, the hands and face covered with a\nnetwork of cobwebs; a small round table of dark oak, and a plain\nunvarnished four-post bedstead, entirely without hangings. In this\ndreary cell, whose only inlet for fresh air during thirty-eight years\nwas the door occasionally left open, did this strange being immure\nhimself. He obstinately refused to speak to anyone, and if spoken to\neven by his attendants would not answer. All trace of intelligence\ngradually faded away; the only faculties which remained in active\nexercise were those he shared with the beasts.\n\nHis father by his will made provision for the temporal wants of his\neccentric son, and so secured him a constant attendant. He ate his meals\nregularly when brought to him, and latterly in a very singular manner,\nfor in process of time his legs became contracted and drawn towards his\nbody, and when about to eat his food he used to roll himself over and\ntake his meals in a kneeling posture. He was generally cleanly in his\nhabits. During the whole period of his self-imposed confinement he never\nhad any serious illness, the only case of indisposition those connected\nwith him could remember being a slight loss of appetite, caused\napparently by indigestion, for two or three days--and this,\nnotwithstanding that he ate on an average as much as any farm labourer.\nHe certainly, physically speaking, did credit to his food, for though\narrived at the age of seventy-nine years, his flesh was firm, fair and\nunwrinkled, save with fat, and he weighed about 240 lbs. He showed great\nrepugnance to being seen, and whenever a stranger entered his den he\nimmediately buried his head in the bed-clothes. About a week before his\ndeath his appetite began to fail; his limbs became partially benumbed,\nso that he could not roll himself over to take his food in his\naccustomed posture.\n\nFrom this attack he seemed to rally, and no apprehensions were\nentertained that the attack would prove fatal, till the evening before\nhis death.\n\nHowever, during the night he rapidly became worse, and expired at four\na.m. on Monday, March 3rd, 1856.\n\nShortly before he expired he was heard to exclaim--\"Poor Bill! poor\nBill! poor Bill Sharp!\"--the most connected sentence he had been known\nto utter for forty nine years.\n\nHe was buried in Keighley Churchyard on the 7th of March, amidst crowds\nwho had come from all parts of the neighbourhood to witness the scene.\nThe coffin excited considerable attention from its extraordinary shape,\nas his body could not be straightened, the muscles of the knees and\nthighs being contracted. It was an oak chest, two feet four inches in\ndepth. The weight was so great that it required eight men with strong\nropes to lower it into the grave. It was thought to weigh with its\ncontents 480 lbs.\n\nA gentleman who visited Old Three Laps before his death has given the\nfollowing account of what he saw:--\n\n\"If you chance to go a-skating 'to the Tarn,' and want a fine bracing\nwalk, keep on the Sutton road about a mile, and you will come to an\navenue of larch, not in a very thriving state, but sufficient to\nindicate that some one had an idea of the picturesque who planted the\ntrees, although the house at the top of the avenue has not a very\nattractive appearance. You have now reached 'World's End,' and save here\nand there a solitary farm, with its cold stone buildings and treeless\nfields, there are few signs of life between you and the wide and\nboundless moors of Yorkshire and Lancashire. On the opposite hill, right\nup in the clouds, is 'Tewett Hall,' the residence of a Bradford Town\nCouncillor. He alone, in this part, seems to follow Three Laps'\nancestors' plan of planting, and in a few years we may expect to see a\nfine belt of timber on the verge of the horizon, a sight that will cheer\nthe heart of some future Dr. Syntax when in search of the picturesque.\nAt this place Three Laps 'took his bed,' and in a little parlour, with a\nnorthern light, the sill of which is level with the field, the floor\ncold and damp, and meanly furnished, it was my privilege to see Three\nLaps some twenty-five years ago. To gain admission we had some\ndifficulty; but with the assistance of the farmer and a tin of tobacco\nto the nurse, who was an inveterate smoker, we were shown into his\nbedroom. As soon as he heard strangers, he pulled the bed-clothes over\nhis head, which the nurse with considerable force removed, and uncovered\nhis body, which was devoid of every vestige of body-linen. A more\nstartling and sickening sight I never saw. Nebuchadnezzar rushed into my\nmind. Three Laps covered his face with his hands, his fingers being like\nbirds' claws, while, with his legs drawn under his body, he had the\nappearance of a huge beast. He had white hair, and a very handsome head,\nwell set on a strong chest. His body and all about him was scrupulously\nclean, and his condition healthy, as his nurse proudly pointed out,\ndigging her fist furiously into his ribs. He gave no signs of joy or\npain, but lay like a mass of inanimate matter. It struck me at the time\nthat his limbs were stiff; but a neighbour of his, who after his dinner\nstole a peep into his bedroom window, told me that he found him playing\nwith his plate in the manner of a Chinese juggler, and with considerable\nability. On my informant tapping the window, he vanished under the\nbed-clothes.\n\n\"Such was the life of the strange man who for love of a woman never left\nthis obscure room for nearly half a century.\"\n\nThe case of Old Three Laps is not unique.\n\nIn the early part of this century there lived in the neighbourhood of\nCaen, in Normandy, a Juge de Paix, M. Halloin, a great lover of\ntranquillity and ease; so much so, indeed, that, as bed is the article\nof furniture most adapted to repose, he rarely quitted it, but made his\nbed-chamber a hall of audience, in which he exercised his functions of\nmagistrate, pronouncing sentence with his head resting on a pillow, and\nhis body languidly extended on the softest of feather beds. However, his\nservices were dispensed with, and he devoted the remaining six years of\nhis life to still greater ease. Feeling his end approach, M. Halloin\ndetermined on remaining constant to his principle, and showing to the\nworld to what an extent he carried his passion for bed. Consequently,\nhis last will contained a clause expressing his desire to be buried at\nnight, in his bed, comfortably tucked in, with pillows and coverlets, as\nhe had died.\n\nAs no opposition was raised against the execution of this clause, a huge\npit was sunk, and the defunct was lowered into his last resting-place\nwithout any alteration having been made in the position in which death\nhad overtaken him. Boards were laid over the bed, that the falling earth\nmight not disturb this imperturbable quietist.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTOPHER PIVETT.\n\n\nChristopher Pivett died at York, in 1796, at the advanced age of\nninety-three years. He was by trade a carver and gilder, but in early\nlife had served in the army, and been present in several\nbattles--Fontenoy, Dettingen, and the siege of Carlisle.\n\nAfter he settled at York, his house was accidentally burnt down; and he\nthen formed the singular resolution never again to sleep in a bed, lest\nhe should be burned to death whilst asleep, or not have sufficient time\nto remove his property, should an accident again occur. This resolution\nhe strictly adhered to for the remaining forty years of his life.\n\nHis practice was to repose upon the floor, or on two chairs, or sitting\nin a chair, but always dressed.\n\nDuring the whole period he dwelt alone he was his own cook, and seldom\nsuffered anyone to enter the house. He would not tell anyone where he\nhad been born or to whom he was related, and there can be little doubt\nthat the name of Pivett was an assumed one. Among other singularities,\nhe kept a human skull in his house, and strictly ordered that it should\nbe buried with him.\n\n\n\n\nDAVID TURTON,\n\nMUSICIAN AT HORBURY.\n\n\nDavid Turton was born in Horbury, near Wakefield, A.D. 1768, and died\nAugust 18th, 1846.\n\nHe was by trade a weaver of flannel, and his loom, which was in the\nupper room of the cottage in which he lived, might be heard by\npassers-by going diligently from early morn to dewy eve. In this way he\nsupplied his few earthly wants, for he was a man of a very simple and\nunobtrusive character; and he did not change either his dress or his\nhabits with the growing luxury of the times.\n\nIn matter of diet he was frugal, and he always stuck to the old oat-cake\nand oatmeal porridge he had been accustomed to from childhood. \"Avver\nbread and avver me-al porritch\" was what he called them, for he spoke\nthe broadest Yorkshire. Alas! the delightful oat-cake, thin, crisp, is\nnow a thing of the past in Horbury. There was an old woman made it, the\nlast of a glorious race of avver bre-ad makers in Horbury, some years\nago. But she has gone the way of all flesh; and the base descendants of\nthe oat-cake crunchers, the little men of to-day, sustain their\nmiserable lives on bakers' wheat bread.\n\nDavid did not, as is the custom with Northerners now, speak two\nlanguages--English and Yorkshire, according to the company in which they\nfind themselves; but on all occasions, and for all purposes, he adhered\nto that peculiarly racy and piquant tongue, both in pronunciation and\nphraseology, which was so well known to those who dwelt in the West\nRiding of Yorkshire half a century ago, and which still more or less\nprevails in that locality. Half a century ago every village had its own\npeculiarity of intonation, its own specialities in words. A Horbury man\ncould be distinguished from a man of Dewsbury, and a Thornhill man from\none of Batley. The railways have blended, fused these peculiar dialects\ninto one, and taken off the old peculiar edge of provincialism, so that\nnow it is only to be found in its most pronounced and perfect\ndevelopment among the aged.\n\nThe figure of David Turton was spare, his legs long and lean as\nclothes-line props. He wore drab breeches and white stockings, a long\nwaistcoat of rather coarse black cloth, with a long coat of the same\nmaterial, much the pattern of that now affected by our bishops.\n\nHis features were small and sharp, his eye especially bright and full of\nlife; and having lost nearly all his teeth at a comparatively early age,\nhis pointed chin and nose inclined much towards each other.\n\nMusic was his great delight, and in that he spent all his spare time and\nmoney. He was a good singer, and could handle the violoncello\ncreditably. All Handel's oratorios, besides many other works of the\nclassical composers, he knew off by heart, and he was for a long time\nthe chief musical oracle in the neighbourhood in which he lived. He even\naspired to be a composer, and published a volume of chants and psalm\ntunes. Some of the former, but few of the latter, have survived. His\nchants have found their way into various collections of Anglican chants\nalong with those of Dr Turton, Bishop of Ely, also a musician and\ncomposer of chants. But they have ceased to sound in his own parish\nchurch, where they have been displaced by Gregorians. Not one of his\nhymn tunes has found its way into the most popular collection of the\nday--\"Hymns Ancient and Modern\"--which is the more to be regretted, as\nTurton's tunes were often original, which is much more than can be said\nfor a good many of the new tunes inserted in that collection.\n\nA considerable number of choristers in cathedral and parish church\nchoirs owed all their musical skill to the careful training of old David\nTurton.\n\nHis efficiency in music, together with the simple goodness of his\ncharacter, made him a favourite among musical people in all grades of\nsociety, and there was seldom a gathering in the neighbourhood where any\ngood class of music was performed in which his well-known figure was not\nto be seen.\n\nOn one occasion he went to Hatfield Hall, then the residence of Francis\nMaude, Esq., who was a great lover of music, and a friend and patron of\nold David.\n\nHis own account of his _d\u00e9b\u00fbt_ on that occasion is sufficiently\ncharacteristic to be given:--\n\n\"I went t' other day,\" said he, \"to a gre-at meusic do at ou'd Mr.\nMaude's at 'Atfield 'All. Nah! when I gat theare, a smart looking chap\no' a waiter telled me I was to goa into t' parlour; soa I follows efter\nhim doun a long passage till we commed to a big oppen place like, and\nthen he oppens a doo-ar, and says to me, 'Cum in!' soa I walks in, and\ntheare I seed t' place were right full o' quality (gentlefolks), and Mr.\nMaude comes to me and says, 'Now, David, haw are ye?' 'Middlin',' says\nI, 'thenk ye!' Soa then there comes a smart chap wi' a tray full of cups\no' tea, and he says to me, 'Will ye hev sum?' 'Thenk ye,' says I, 'I'm\nnone particular.' 'Why, then, help yer sen,' says he. Soa I taks a cup\ni' my hand; and then says he, 'Weant ye hev sum sugar and cre-am?' 'Aye,\nfor sure,' says I; soa I sugars and creams it, and then there comes\nanother chap wi' a tray full of bre-ad and butter, and cakes like, and\nsays he, 'Will ye hev sum?' 'I don't mind if I do,' says I. 'Well,\nthen,' says he, 'tak sum wi' thy fingers.' Soa I holds t' cup and t'\nsawcer i' one hand, and taks a piece of spice cake i' t' other. 'Now,\nthen,' thinks I, 'how am I ever to sup my te-a? I can't team (pour) it\nout into t' sawcer, for boath my hands is fast.' But all at once I sees\na plan o' doin' it. I thowt I could hold t' cake i' my mouth while I\nteamed (poured) t' te-a into t' sawcer, and then claps th' cup on a\nchair while I supped my tea. But, bless ye, t' cake war so varry short\n(crumbling) that it brake off i' my mouth, and tum'led onto t' floor,\nand I were in a bonny tak-ing. Howsomever, I clapt t' cup and t' sawcer\nonto t' chair, and kneeled me down on t' floor, and sammed (picked) it\nall up as weel as I could; and then I sups up my tea as sharp as I\ncould, and gave t' cup and t' sawcer to t' chap who cumed round again\nwi' his tray. 'Will ye hev some more?' says he. 'Noa,' says I, 'noa\nmore, thenk ye.' For I thowt to mysen I had made maugrums (antics)\nenough, and all t' quality 'at war theare mun ha' thowt me a hawkard owd\nchap. Weel! when tea were finish'd we gat to th' music, and then, I\npromise ye, I war all reet, an' a rare do we had on it.\"\n\nDavid was returning through a pasture one day in which was a furious\nbull, who seeing old David with his red bag, made at him. The musician\ndid not fly; that would not comport with his dignity, and his bass viol\nthat he carried in the bag might be injured by a precipitate retreat\nover the hedge. The bull bellowed, and came on with lowered horns.\n\n\"Steady!\" soliloquised the musician; \"I reckon that was double B\nnat'ral.\"\n\nAgain the bull bellowed.\n\n\"I am pretty sure it were B,\" said David again, \"but I'll mak' sure;\"\nand opening his bag, he extracted the bass viol, set it down, and\ndrawing his bow across the vibrating string, produced a sound as full\nof volume and of the same pitch as the tone of the infuriated beast.\n\n\"I thowt I were reet,\" said David, with a grim smile.\n\nAt the sound of the bass viol the bull stood still, raised his head, and\nglowered at the extraordinary object before him. David, having his viol\nout, thought it a pity to bag it again without a tune, and began the\nvioloncello part in one of Handel's choruses. It was too much for the\nbull; he was out-bellowed, and turned tail.\n\nWhen David was getting a little advanced in years he was coming home on\na dark night from a musical gathering, and tumbling over a large stone\nwhich happened to be lying on the road, he fell down with great force\nand dislocated his hip.\n\nThis was a sore trial to him in many ways. In the first place, it quite\nprevented his going on with his customary means of obtaining his living,\nand, besides that, it deprived him of the pleasure of going about among\nhis musical friends.\n\nFor a long, weary time he was quite confined to his bed, and time hung\nheavy on his hands, for he had no other resources except his loom and\nhis music. His constant companion in bed was his violoncello, and as he\ncould not for a long time sit up sufficiently to enable him to use the\nbow, he spent a great part of the day in playing over pizzicato the\nmusic which he loved so well.\n\nAfter some time he got about a little on crutches, and ultimately was\nable to go by the help of a stick. His little savings had now dwindled\naway, and poverty began to look him in the face. But at this crisis his\nmusical friends came forward, and gave with great success for his\nbenefit the oratorio of the \"Messiah\" in the town of Wakefield, and by\nthis means raised for him the liberal sum of \u00a370, of which they begged\nhis acceptance.\n\nHe was afraid to have so large a sum in his own charge, and he\ntherefore requested that it might be placed in the hands of the Vicar of\nHorbury, so that he might draw from time to time just as much as he\nneeded. This was accordingly done, and by his careful expenditure of it,\nit sufficed to make him quite comfortable during the rest of his life,\nand to erect the simple memorial-stone which now stands over his grave\nin Horbury churchyard.\n\nHe had a married sister living in London who had often invited him to\npay her a visit, and when he had recovered from his accident\nsufficiently to go about pretty well by the aid of a stick, and having\nnow plenty of time at his disposal, on account of his being lame and\nunable to work at his loom, he determined to embark on the railway to\nLondon.\n\nHis sister lived in Kensington, and his own account, of his visit, and\nof what he saw in the great city, was highly amusing:--\n\n\"I went up,\" said he, \"on a Setterday, and o' t' Sunday-morn, while we\nwas getting our breakfast, th' sister's husband says to me across t'\ntable, 'I reckon ye'll goa wi' us to chapel this forenoin,' for ye see\nthey was chapel-folks. 'We'll see,' says I, 'efter a bit.' But I knew\nvarry weel mysen what I were boun' to do, though I didn't say so to\nthem.\n\n\"Soa I just watches my opportunity, an' when they was all gone out of\nthe room, I nips out, as sharp as a lark, and goas to t' end o' t'\nentry. For t' sister's house war not to t' street, but up a bit on a\nentry like; and away I goas till I sees a homnibus, and I calls out to\nt' fellow, 'I say, are ye for Sant Paul's?' 'Aye,' says he.\n\n\"Why then,' says I, 'ye're t' chap for me!' Soa he oppens t' door, an' I\njumps in.\n\n\"'How much is it?' says I. 'Nobbut sixpence,' says he. Soa I rode all t'\nway thro' (from) Kensington to Sant Paul's--and ye know it's a rare\nway--all for sixpence.\n\n\"Eh! and bless ye! we just hed a sarvice! Think nobbut o' me goin to\ntheir ou'd chapel, wi' nowt but a bit on a poor snufflin' hymn or two,\nan' some squealin' bairns and women to sing 'em, and a ram'lin, rantin'\nsarmon iver so long, when I had t' opportunity o' going to Sant Paul's\nto hear thinks done as they sud be done. Nay, nay!--I warn't sich a\nfooil as that nauther. I warn't born i' Yorkshire to know no better nor\nthat, I'll uphou'd ye.\n\n\"Howsomever, when I gat back hoame, they was into me weel for giving 'em\nt' slip, an' turnin' my back, as they said, on t' blessed Gospel\ninvitin' of me. But I let 'em say what they'd a mind to. When a beer\nbarrel begins to fiz out o' t' bung hoil, tha' mun let it fiz a bit,\nthof't mak a mucky slop, or it'll bust t' barrel. I said nowt; I just\nset and thowt o' what I'd heard, and I played it ower again on my\nin'ards.\n\n\"T' next day I thowt I sud like to goa and hear t' band of t' Orse\nGuards. Now t' sister 'usband had a nephy 'at was one on 'em; soa I went\nwi' him. And after they'd played iver so mony things--eh! an' bless ye,\nthey just did play 'em--he says to t' leader o' t' band--'Yon ow'd\nchap'--meaning' me--'knows a bit about meusic.' Soa t' fellow says to\nme, 'Is there owt partickler ye'd like?' 'Nay,' says I, owt 'at ye've\ngot'll be reight for me.'\n\n\"'Nay,' says he, 'owt' at ye've a mind to ax for.' Soa I picks two or\nthree things 'at justs comes to my mind like. And, bless ye! they play\n'em like owt at all, and then I menshuned another or two, an' they were\nnever fast wi owt till it was time for 'em to lap up. Soa they says, 'we\nmun goa now, but ye mun come agean another day!' 'I sall,' says I, 'ye\nmay depend.' And I went reg'lar every day as long as I war i' London;\nand rared pleased they war wi' me an' all, and so ye mind war I wi'\nthem.\n\n\"That, and Sant Paul's, an' Westminster Habbey, war t' main o' what I\nseed and heeard all t' time I war i' London.\"\n\n\n\n\nJOHN BARTENDALE,\n\nTHE PIPER.\n\n\nIn the reign of King Charles I. a strolling musician, a poor piper,\nnamed John Bartendale, was brought, in 1634, before the Assizes, and was\nconvicted of felony.\n\nHe received sentence, and on March 27th was hung on the gallows, outside\nMicklegate Bar, York. There were no houses there at that time--it was\nopen country. After he had remained swinging for three-quarters of an\nhour, and was to all appearance dead, he was cut down, and buried near\nthe place of execution. The officers of justice had accomplished their\nwork carelessly in both particulars, as it afterwards transpired, for he\nhad been neither properly hung nor properly buried.\n\nEarth has a peculiarly invigorating and restorative effect, as has been\nrecently discovered; and patients suffering from debility are by some\nmedical men now-a-days placed in earth baths with the most salutary\neffects. In the case of gangrened wounds a little earth has been found\nefficacious in promoting healthy action of the skin. John Bartendale was\nnow to experience the advantages of an earth-bath.\n\nThat same day, in the afternoon, a gentleman, one of the Vavasours of\nHazlewood, was riding by, when he observed the earth moving in a certain\nplace. He ordered his servant to alight; he himself descended from his\nhorse; and together they threw off the mould, and discovered the\nunfortunate piper alive. He opened his eyes, sat up, and asked where he\nwas, and how he came there. Mr. Vavasour and his servant helped him out\nof his grave, and seated him on the side. The man was sent for water and\nother restoratives, and before long the news had spread about down\nMicklegate that the poor piper was come to life again. A swarm of\nwondering and sympathising people poured out to congratulate John the\nPiper on his resurrection, and to offer their assistance. A conveyance\nwas obtained, and as soon as Bartendale was in a sufficient condition to\nbe moved, he was placed in it, covered with Mr. Vavasour's cloak,--for\nhe had been stripped by the executioner before he was laid in the\nearth--and was removed again to York Castle.\n\nIt was rather hard that the poor fellow, after he had obtained his\nrelease, should have been returned to his prison; but there was no help\nfor it. The resurrection of the piper was no secret; otherwise Mr.\nVavasour would doubtless have removed him privately to a place of\nsecurity till he was recovered, and then have sent him into another part\nof the country.\n\nAt the following Assizes, Bartendale was brought up again. It was a nice\npoint at law whether the man could be sentenced to execution again after\nthe Sheriff had signed his affidavit that the man had been hung till he\nwas dead. Mr. Vavasour was naturally reluctant to supply the one link in\nthe chain of evidence which established the identity of the prisoner\nwith the piper who had been hung and buried for felony; he made earnest\nintercession that the poor fellow might be reprieved, popular sympathy\nwas on his side, the judge was disposed to mercy, and Bartendale was\naccorded a full and free pardon, the judge remarking that the case was\none in which the Almighty seemed to have interfered in mercy to\nfrustrate the ends of human justice, and that therefore he was not\ndisposed to reverse the decree of Providence according to the piper a\nprolongation of his days on earth.\n\nDrunken Barnaby in his \"Book of Travels\" alludes to Bartendale, when he\nstops at York:\n\n\n     \"Here a piper apprehended,\n     Was found guilty and suspended;\n     Being led to t' fatal gallows,\n     Boys did cry, 'Where is thy bellows?\n     Ever must thou cease thy tuning,'\n     Answered he, 'For all your cunning,\n     You may fail in your prediction.'\n     Which did happen without fiction;\n     For cut down, and quick interred,\n     Earth rejected what was buried;\n     Half alive or dead he rises,\n     Got a pardon next Assizes,\n     And in York continued blowing--\n     Yet a sense of goodness showing.\"\n\n\nAfter his wonderful deliverance the poor fellow turned hostler, and\nlived very honestly afterwards.\n\nWhen asked to describe his sensations on being hung, he said that when\nhe was turned off, flashes of fire seemed to dart before his eyes, and\nwere succeeded by darkness and a state of insensibility.\n\n\n\n\nBLIND JACK OF KNARESBOROUGH.[9]\n\n\nBlind Jack Metcalf is certainly one of the most remarkable characters\nthat Yorkshire has produced. Afflicted with loss of sight, the\nindomitable energy of his true north-country character enabled him to\ncarry on a successful business where many a south countryman would have\nfailed.\n\nHe was born at Knaresborough on the 15th August, 1717, and was the son\nof a labourer. At the age of six he was seized with small-pox, and on\nhis recovery it was found that he had become totally blind. Children\nspeedily accommodate themselves to circumstances. Jack in six months was\nable to find his way from his father's cottage along the street of\nKnaresborough and back home without a guide, and in the course of three\nyears could go to any part of the little town alone, could find the\nshops, and execute errands for his father or mother. He began also to\nassociate with other boys in bird-nesting expeditions, and would climb\nthe trees and throw down the nests to his companions. By accompanying\nthe boys in their rambles he learned his way about the neighbourhood,\nand was in a short time perfectly acquainted with all the lanes, woods,\nand fields within a radius of two or three miles. As his father kept\nhorses, he learned to ride, and in time became an able horseman. He was\ntaught the fiddle, as it was thought that the only means open to him for\nobtaining a subsistence was that of strolling musician. But Jack\nMetcalf had more natural taste for the cry of a hound or a harrier than\nfor the squeak of his fiddle.\n\nA gentleman at Knaresborough, of the name of Woodburn, was owner of a\npack of hounds. This gentleman encouraged young Metcalf by taking him to\nhunt with him, and Blind Jack kept five hounds of his own. Mr.\nWoodburn's hounds being seldom kennelled, Metcalf used to take several\nof them out secretly along with his own at night when the hares were out\nfeeding in the fields; but one of them having destroyed a couple of\nlambs, he got into trouble, and was obliged to discontinue his midnight\nexcursions.\n\nWhen about fourteen years old, his activity of limb led him to imagine\nthat he could undertake anything without danger, and with certainty of\nsuccess. The following adventure, however, somewhat modified his\nopinion:--\n\nA large plum-tree in the neighbourhood of Knaresborough having attracted\nthe attention of Metcalf's companions, they with one consent repaired to\nthe place on a Sunday morning. In these cases Metcalf was always\nappointed to ascend for the purpose of shaking the trees. Accordingly,\nhe was sent to his post; but his comrades being suddenly alarmed by the\nappearance of the owner of the tree, ran away, leaving Blind Jack up the\ntree. He, taking the alarm, dropped, and fell headlong into a gravel-pit\nbelonging to Sir Henry Slingsby, cut his face, and lay for some time\nstunned in the pit.\n\nShortly after this, he and some other boys, one night between eleven and\ntwelve o'clock, assembled in the church porch at Knaresborough--that\nbeing the usual place of meeting. They determined to rob an orchard.\nHaving accomplished this feat with success, they returned to the\nchurch-porch to divide their booty. Now it happened that the door of\nKnaresborough church was opened by means of a ring, which turned the\nlatch. One of the party took hold of it, and by way of bravado gave a\nloud rap, calling out, \"A tankard of ale here!\" A voice from within\nanswered aloud, \"You are at the wrong house!\" The boys were so scared\nthat for a moment or two none spoke or moved. At length Metcalf said,\n\"Did not you hear something speak in the church?\" Upon this, without\nanswering, they all ran until they got out of the churchyard. They then\nheld a consultation, all equally wondering at the voice, and equally\nunable to account satisfactorily for it.\n\nLike true Yorkshire boys, they were not, however, to be scared away\nwithout knowing what had frightened them; and they stealthily returned\nto the porch. But no sooner had they reached it, than the ring turned,\nand the door began to open. This was too much even for their nerves, and\nthey fled in all directions like wind. Only on reaching the outside of\nthe churchyard wall did they venture to breathe freely and look back,\nand then, lo! the whole of the interior of the church was alight--\n\n\n     \".  .  . Glimmering thro' the groaning trees,\n     Kirk Alloway seem'd in a bleeze.\"\n\n\nUninspired, like Tam o' Shanter, with draughts of John Barleycorn, they\ndid not venture nearer, but dispersed to their homes. The cause of this\npanic was as follows:--The remains of an old lady in the neighbourhood\nhad been kept from interment until the arrival of her relations, who\nlived at a great distance. Immediately on their arrival the sexton was\ncalled up to dig the grave in the church, and had lighted a great number\nof candles.\n\nAbout the year 1731, when Metcalf was fourteen years old, he began to\nlearn swimming in the river Nidd, and soon became so expert, that he\nsurpassed all his companions. About this time two men were drowned in\nthe eddies of the Nidd. Metcalf was sent to dive for the bodies, and\nafter four attempts succeeded in bringing up one of the corpses. The\nother body could not be found.\n\nThere are frequent floods in the river Nidd, and in the deep places\nthere are eddies, which draw to the bottom any substance, however light,\nthat comes within their sphere of action. Large pieces of timber were\noften carried down by the floods; these on coming over the deep places\nspun round, and then sank. Upon these occasions Metcalf would dive for\nthem, and with the greatest ease fix ropes to the wood, which was then\ndrawn up by persons stationed on the banks.\n\nIn the year 1732, one John Barker kept an inn at the west end of the\nHigh Bridge, Knaresborough. This man was a manufacturer of linen cloth,\nand used to bleach his own yarn. At one time, having brought two packs\nof yarn to the river to wash, a sudden flood, occasioned by a heavy rain\nin the neighbourhood, swept them away, and carried them through the\narches of the bridge, which stands on a rock. A little below was a sheet\nof still water, supposed to be twenty-one feet in depth; as soon as the\nyarn got to this it sank, except a little which caught the edge of the\nrock in going down. Metcalf being intimate with Barker, and calling at\nhis house a few days after the accident, found him lamenting his loss.\nMetcalf told him that he hoped to recover the yarn, but Barker smiled at\nthe supposed absurdity of the proposal; finding, however, that his\nfriend was resolved on trial, he consented. Metcalf then ordered some\nlong cart-ropes to be procured, and fixing a hook at one end, the other\nbeing held by some persons on the High Bridge, he descended, and hooking\nas much of the yarn as he could at one time, gave orders for drawing up.\nIn this way the whole was recovered with little damage.\n\nAt Bilton, two miles from Knaresborough, was a rookery, where boys had\nmade many attempts to take the young birds; but the owner wishing to\npreserve them, they were prevented. Metcalf determined to make a trial,\nsent one of his comrades in the day-time to reconnoitre the position of\nthe nests, and having received his information, they set out in the dead\nof night and brought away seven dozen and a half, excepting the heads,\nwhich they left under the trees. The owner of the rooks finding the\nheads, offered a reward of two guineas for the discovery of the\noffenders; but the secret was kept until long afterwards.\n\nA person at Knaresborough having occasion to go to Borough Bridge, which\nis about seven miles distant, and having left something behind, sent his\nson for it. Metcalf being about the same age as this boy, chose to\naccompany him. When they got to the place the boy missed the key, which\nhe had lost from his pocket by the way, and being afraid to return, he\nconsulted Metcalf how they should proceed. Metcalf was for entering the\nhouse at all events, and not being able to procure a ladder, got a pole,\nwhich reached to the thatch, and having borrowed a rope and a stick, he\nclimbed up the pole, and then ascending by the roof to the chimney, he\nplaced the stick across, and fastening the rope to it, attempted to\ndescend, but finding the flue too narrow, he threw off his clothes, and\nlaying them on the ridge of the house, made a second attempt, and got\ndown by the assistance of the rope; he then opened the door for his\ncompanion. While they were in the house there was a heavy\nthunder-shower, to which Metcalf's clothes were exposed. He attempted to\nget up again to fetch them, but the pole by which he had ascended was\nnow so wet that he could not climb by it; he was therefore obliged to\nwait till it dried, when he succeeded in recovering his clothes.\n\nIn the year 1732, Metcalf was invited to Harrogate to succeed as\nfiddler an old man of the name of Morrison, who had played there for\nseventy years. The old man died in the 102nd year of his age, and played\nin the year he died. Metcalf was well received by the nobility and\ngentry, who employed no other fiddler, except a boy, whom he hired as an\nassistant.\n\nMetcalf now bought a horse, and often ran him for small plates. He kept\ngame-cocks, as he was devotedly fond of cock-fighting. He often hunted,\nand sometimes went coursing. In the evenings he played at the\nassemblies.\n\nAbout this time there was a long room built at the Green Dragon at\nHarrogate. More music being then wanted, he engaged one Midgeley (one of\nthe Leeds waits) and his son as assistants. Midgeley, senior, being a\ngood performer, was taken into partnership gratis, but the son and\nMetcalf's former assistant paid five pounds each as premium.\n\nIn the year 1735, Francis Barlow, Esq., of Middlethorpe, near York, who\nkept a pack of hounds, was at Harrogate, and, liking Metcalf, invited\nhim to spend the winter at Middlethorpe, and bring his horse with him.\nThe invitation was gladly accepted, and he went out with Mr. Barlow's\nhounds twice a week. Having completed a visit of six months at\nMiddlethorpe, he had learnt to walk and ride very readily through most\nof the streets of York, and as he was riding past the George Inn, in\nConey Street, Standish, the landlord, stopped him, calling out, \"What\nhaste?\" Metcalf told him he was for Knaresborough that night; the\nlandlord replied that there was a gentleman in the house who wanted a\nguide to Harrogate; adding, \"I know you can do that as well as\nanyone.\"--\"So I can,\" said he, \"but you must not let him know that I am\nblind, for perhaps he will be afraid to trust me.\"--\"I shall manage\nthat,\" replied Standish. So going in, he informed the gentleman that he\nhad procured a safe guide. Pleased at this, the gentleman requested\nMetcalf to come in and take a glass. This, for an obvious reason, the\nlandlord objected to, on the part of Metcalf, but recommended some wine\nat the door. Metcalf started as soon as the wine was drunk, taking the\nlead, naturally enough. As they were turning Ousegate corner, a voice\nshouted out, \"SQUIRE BARLOW'S BLIND HUNTSMAN!\" But the gentleman had no\nsuspicion that the cry had any reference to his guide. They rode briskly\nup Micklegate, through the Bar, turned the corner at Holgate, and\nthrough Poppleton Field, on to Hessay Moor, and so proceeded forward,\ngoing over Skip Bridge. At this time the turnpike was not made between\nYork and Harrogate.\n\nOn the north-west of Kirk-Hammerton Moor the road to Knaresborough\njoined the main road which leads to Borough Bridge by a sudden turn to\nthe left; but Metcalf cleared that without any difficulty. When they\ncame to Allerton-Mauleverer, the stranger asked whose large house that\nwas on the right, and was immediately informed by Metcalf. A little\nfarther on, the road is crossed by the one from Wetherby to Borough\nBridge, and proceeds along by the high brick wall of Allerton Park.\nThere was a road leading out of the park opposite to the gate upon the\nKnaresborough road, which Metcalf was afraid of missing, but the wind\nbeing from the east, and he perceiving a blast coming through the park\ngate, readily turned his horse to the opposite gate, which leads to\nKnaresborough. Reaching out his hand to open it, and feeling the heel,\nas it is called, he believed the gate had been changed in the hanging\npart, as he had not been there for seven months; and backing his horse,\nexclaimed, \"Confound thee! thou always goes to the gate's heel, instead\nof the head!\" The gentleman observed to him that his horse seemed\nawkward, and that his own mare was good at coming up to a gate;\nwhereupon Metcalf permitted him to perform this office. Darkness, which\nhad now come on, being no obstruction to him, he briskly led the way,\nresolved that his companion should not again see his face till they got\nto Harrogate. As they were going through Knaresborough the gentleman\nproposed a glass of wine, which Metcalf refused, alleging that the\nhorses were hot, and that as they were near their journey's end, it was\nnot worth their while to stop.\n\nForward they went, and presently some one cried out, \"That's Blind\nJack!\" This, however, was contradicted by another person, who could not\nclearly distinguish him; and by this means the stranger was kept in the\ndark as effectually as his guide. They then proceeded over the High\nBridge and up Forest Lane, and entered the forest about a mile from\nKnaresborough. They had now to pass along a narrow causeway which\nreached about one-third of the way to Harrogate, the forest at that time\nnot being inclosed, and no turnpike being made. Metcalf still kept the\nlead.\n\nWhen they had gone a little way upon the forest the gentleman saw a\nlight. He asked what place it was. There were some rocks called Hookston\nCrags, and near to these the ground was low and swampy in some places,\nclose by which runs the Leeds road. About this part will-o'-the-wisp\nused to be commonly seen. Metcalf took it for granted that his companion\nhad seen one of these lights, but for good reasons declined asking him\nwhereabouts the light was; and to divert his attention, asked him, \"Do\nyou not see two lights--one to the right, the other to the left?\"--\"No,\"\nreplied the gentleman, \"I see but one--to the right.\"--\"Well, then,\nsir,\" said Metcalf, \"that is Harrogate.\" There were then many tracks,\nbut Metcalf made choice of that nearest the fence. By the side of this\npath, which is very near Harrogate, some larches were planted, and\nstepping-stones laid for the convenience of foot-passengers. Metcalf\ngot upon this stony path, and the gentleman's horse following, got one\nof his hind feet jammed between two of the stones. When his horse was\nfreed, he asked, \"Is there no other road?\"--\"Yes,\" replied Metcalf,\n\"there is another, but it's a mile about\"; knowing there was a dirty\ncart-way, but thinking the stony road preferable to the deep slough of\nthe other, he preferred this rugged path.\n\nOn reaching their journey's end, they stopped at the house called the\nMarquis of Granby, but found that the hostler was gone to bed. Metcalf\nbeing very well acquainted with the place, led both the horses into the\nstable and the hostler soon after appearing, he delivered them into his\ncare, and went into the house to inquire after his fellow-traveller,\nwhom he found comfortably seated over a tankard of negus, in which he\npledged his guide. Metcalf took the tankard the first time very nicely,\nbut when attempting to take it the second time, he reached out his hand\nwide of the mark; however, he soon found it, and drank, and going out\nagain, left the landlord with his companion. \"I think, landlord,\" said\nthe gentleman, \"my guide must have drunk a great deal of spirits since\nwe came here.\"--\"Why, my good sir, what makes you think so?\"--\"Well, I\njudge so from the appearance of his eyes.\"--\"Eyes! bless you, sir,\"\nrejoined the landlord, \"do you not know that he is blind?\"--\"What do you\nmean?\"--\"I mean, sir, that he cannot see!\"--\"Blind! Are you in\nearnest?\"--\"Yes, sir; as blind as a stone!\"--\"Come, come, landlord,\"\nsaid the gentleman, \"this is too much. Call him in.\" Metcalf entered.\n\"My friend, are you really blind?\"--\"Yes, sir; I lost my sight when six\nyears old.\"--\"Had I known that, I would not have ventured with you for a\nhundred pounds.\"--\"And I, sir,\" said Metcalf, \"would not have lost my\nway for a thousand.\" Metcalf was rewarded by a present of two guineas,\nbesides a plentiful entertainment the next day at the cost of this\ngentleman.\n\nIn 1736, when the Harrogate season commenced, Metcalf resumed his\nmusical occupation, and was well received at all the inns, where he was\nalways given free quarters for himself and horse.\n\nThe Green Dragon at that place was kept by a Mr. Body, who had two\nnephews with him; and when the hunting season drew near its close,\nthese, with some other young men, expressed a desire for a day's sport;\nand knowing that Mr. Woodburn, the master of the Knaresborough pack of\nhounds, had often lent them to Metcalf, they asked Blind Jack to procure\nfor them the pleasure of a run. Metcalf had no doubt but that Mr.\nWoodburn would grant him this favour, and went, flushed with hope, to\nMr. Woodburn, requesting him to lend the pack the next day. This,\nhowever, was a favour out of his power to grant, as Mr. Woodburn\npolitely informed him, as he had engaged to meet Mr. Trappes with the\nhounds next morning upon Scotton Moor, for the purpose of entering some\nyoung foxhounds. Chagrined at this, Metcalf debated with himself whether\nthe disappointment should fall to the lot of Mr. Woodburn's friends or\nhis own, and resolved that it should not be to the latter. He arose the\nnext morning before daybreak, and crossed the High Bridge. He took with\nhim an excellent hound of his own, and nipping him by the ears, made him\ngive mouth loudly, himself hallooing at the same time. This device had\nso good an effect that in a few minutes he had nine couples about him,\nas the hounds were kept by various people about the shambles, &c, and\nwere suffered to lie unkennelled. Mounting his horse, away he rode with\nthe dogs to Harrogate, where he met his friends ready mounted and in\nhigh spirits. Some of them proposed going to Bilton wood, near\nKnaresborough, but this was opposed by Metcalf, who preferred the moor;\nin fact, he was apprehensive of being followed by Mr. Woodburn, and\nwished accordingly to be at some distance from Knaresborough.\n\nFollowing his advice, they drew the moor at the distance of five miles,\nwhere they started a hare, killed her after a fine chase, and\nimmediately put up another. Just at this moment up came Mr. Woodburn,\nfoaming with anger, swearing terribly, and threatening to send Metcalf\nto the House of Correction.\n\nHe swung his whip round his head, intending to horse-whip the rogue, but\nMetcalf heard the whistle of the lash in the air, and escaped the stroke\nby making his horse start aside.\n\nMr. Woodburn then endeavoured to call off his hounds, but Metcalf,\nknowing the fleetness of his own horse, ventured within speaking, but\nnot within whipping distance of him, and begged that he would permit the\ndogs to finish the chase, alleging that it would spoil them to take them\noff, and that he was sure they would (as they actually did) kill in a\nvery short time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn's anger had begun\nto abate; and going nearer to him, he pleaded in excuse, a\nmisunderstanding. The apology was accepted, for Mr. Woodburn, though hot\nof temper, was very good-natured; and so the affair ended.\n\nBlind Jack became also very skilful at bowls, but he always bargained\nthat he should count three to his adversary's one; and he bribed the\njacks to give him hints as to the direction he was to throw, by the\ninflexion of their voices, lowering their tones in speaking to one\nanother if he flung too much to the right, raising them if he threw too\nwide on the left.\n\nBut what is far more singular is, that he was able to distinguish cards\nby their feel, and that by simply passing his fingers over their\nsurface. By this means he was able to play whist and other games, and\nbeat those opposed to him; by this means realising a little money.\n\nThese achievements were far from exhausting his ambition. He aspired to\nthe acquaintance of jockeys, and frequented the York races, where he\nbetted, and was able to make books with men of rank and position, who\ntook an interest in Jack on account of his affliction and the energy of\nhis character.\n\nHe commonly rode to the race-ground amongst the crowd, and kept in\nmemory both the winning and losing horses.\n\nBeing much in the habit of visiting York in the winter time, a whim\nwould often take him to call for his horse at bed-time, and set out for\nKnaresborough, regardless of the badness of the roads and weather, and\nof all remonstrance from his friends.\n\nAbout the year 1738, Metcalf having increased his stud, and being aware\nof the docility of that noble animal the horse, he so tutored his own\nthat whenever he called them by their respective names they would\nimmediately answer him by neighing. This was chiefly accomplished by\nsome discipline at the time of feeding. He could, however, without the\nhelp of those responses, select his own horse out of any number.\n\nHaving matched one of his horses to run three miles for a wager of some\nnote, and the parties agreeing to ride each his own, they set up posts\nat certain distances in the forest, marking a course of one mile;\nhaving, of course, three miles to go. Great odds were laid against\nMetcalf, upon the supposition of his inability to keep the course. But\nBlind Jack was quite equal to the occasion. He procured four\ndinner-bells, and placed a bell-man at each post. Each man rang in turn,\nand Metcalf was thus able to run from one post to the next, and know\nwhere to turn his horse. By this means he was able to win the race.\n\nA gentleman who was present, named Skelton, then came up, and proposed\nto Metcalf a small wager, that he could not gallop a horse of his 50\nyards, and stop him within 200. This horse was notorious as a runaway,\nand had baffled the efforts of the best and strongest riders to hold\nhim. Metcalf agreed to the wager on condition that he might choose his\nground; but Skelton bargained that there should be neither hedge nor\nwall on the course, lest his horse should be injured. Metcalf agreed;\nthe stakes were deposited; and knowing that there was a large bog near\nthe old Spa at Harrogate, he mounted at about a distance of 150 yards\nfrom it. Having observed the wind, and placed a person who was to sing a\nsong to guide him by the sound, he set off at a full gallop towards the\nbog, and soon fixed the horse saddle-deep in the mire. He then\nfloundered through the dirt as well as he was able, till he gained a\nfirm footing, when he demanded his wager, which was allotted him by\ngeneral suffrage. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that the\nhorse could be extricated. That Metcalf was so well acquainted with the\nspot was owing to his having about three weeks before relieved a\nstranger who had got fast in it in the night, and whose cries attracted\nhim.\n\nIt was now no unusual thing with him to buy horses with a view to\nselling them. Happening to meet with a man who had been huntsman to Sir\nJohn Kaye, and who had a horse to sell, Metcalf inquired the price of\nthe horse, and asked to try it. Having trotted the horse a mile or two,\nhe returned, and told the owner that the eyes of his nag would soon\nfail. The man, however, stood firm to his demand of 25 guineas for the\nhorse, alleging that he was beautifully moulded, only six years old, and\nhis action good. Metcalf then followed the man into the stable, and\ndesired him to lay his hand upon the eyes of the horse, and feel their\nunusual heat; asking, at the same time, how he could, in conscience,\ndemand so great a price for a horse that was going blind. The treaty\nended with Metcalf purchasing the horse, bridle, and saddle for \u00a314.\n\nA few days after, as he was riding on his new purchase, he ran against a\nsign-post upon the common, near a toyshop, and nearly threw it down. Not\ndiscouraged by this, he set off for Ripon to play at an assembly; and\npassing by a place at Harrogate called the World's-End, he overtook a\nman going the Ripon road: with him Metcalf laid a wager of\nsixpenny-worth of liquor that he would get first to an ale-house at some\ndistance. The ground being rough, Metcalf's horse soon fell, and lay for\na while on the thigh of his master, when, making an effort to rise, he\ncut Metcalfs face with one of his fore-shoes. The Rev. Mr. Richardson,\ncoming up at this moment and expressing his concern for the accident,\nMetcalf told him that nothing had hurt him but the cowardice of his\nhorse, who had \"struck him whilst he was down.\" His instrument, however,\nsuffered so materially, that he was obliged to borrow one to perform on\nfor the night at Ripon, to which place he got without further accident.\nThe assembly over, he set off to return to Harrogate, and arrived there\nabout three in the morning.\n\nHe now thought it was time to dispose of his fine horse, whose eyes\nbegan to discharge much. After applying the usual remedies of alum blown\ninto the eyes, rowelling in different parts, &c., he found the beast in\nmarketable condition; and knowing that there would soon be a great show\nof horses without Micklegate Bar at York, he resolved to take the chance\nof that mart; and setting out the night before put up at the Swan, in\nMicklegate. The next morning, when the show began, Metcalf's nag\nattracted the notice of one Carter, a very extensive dealer, who, asking\nthe price, was told twenty-two guineas. Carter then inquired if he was\nsound, and received for answer, \"I have never known him LAME; but I will\ntrot him on this pavement, and if there be any ailment of that sort it\nwill soon appear with my weight.\" The dealer bade him sixteen guineas,\nand a little after seventeen; which Metcalf, for well-known reasons, was\nglad to receive.\n\nIn the year 1738 Metcalf attained the age of twenty-one years and the\nheight of six feet one inch and a half, and was remarkably robust\nwithal.\n\nAbout this time Dr. Chambers of Ripon had a well-made horse with which\nhe used to hunt, but finding that he had become a great stumbler, he\nexchanged him with a dealer, who took him to Harrogate, and meeting with\nMetcalf told him he had an excellent hunter to sell at a low price.\nMetcalf desired to try how the horse leaped, and the owner agreeing, he\nmounted him, and found that he could, when saddled, leap over any wall\nor fence the height of himself. The bargain was soon struck, and this\nhappening at the Queen's Head Hotel, several gentlemen who were\nwitnesses of the horse's performance invited Metcalf to accompany them\ntwo days after to Belmond Wood, where a pack of hounds were to throw\noff. These hounds were the joint property of Francis Trappes, Esq., and\nhis brother, of Nidd, near Ripley. A pack superior to this was not to be\nfound in the kingdom.\n\nThe wished-for day arriving, Metcalf attended the gentlemen, and the\nhounds were not long in finding. The fox took away to Plumpton Rocks,\nbut finding all secure there, he made for Stockeld Wood, and found\nmatters in the same state as at Plumpton--he had then run about six\nmiles: he came back and crossed the river Nidd near the old abbey, and\nwent on the east side of Knaresborough to a place called Coney-Garths\n(where there were earths), near Scriven. Metcalf's horse carried him\nnobly, pulling hard, and he required proportionate resistance. The wind\nbeing high, Metcalf lost his hat, but would not stop to recover it; and\ncoming to Thistle Hill, near Knaresborough, he resolved to cross the\nriver at the Abbey Mill, having often before gone on foot over the\ndam-stones. When he got to the dam he attended to the noise of the fall\nas a guide, and ranging his horse in a line with the stories dashed\nforward for some part of the way; but the stones being slippery with a\nkind of moss, the horse stumbled, but recovered this and a second\nblunder; the third time, however, floundering completely, away went\nhorse and rider into the dam. Metcalf had presence of mind to disengage\nhis feet from the stirrups during the descent, but both the horse and\nhimself were immersed over head in water. He then quitted his seat and\nmade for the opposite side, the horse following him. Having secured his\nnag, he laid himself down on his back and held up his heels to let the\nwater run out of his boots, which done, he quickly remounted and went up\na narrow lane which leads to the road betwixt Knaresborough and\nWetherby; then through some lanes on the north-east side of\nKnaresborough, and crossing the Borough Bridge Road, he got to the\nConey-Garths, where he found that the whipper-in only had arrived before\nhim.\n\nHere the fox had earthed, as was expected; and the other horsemen (who\nhad gone over the Low Bridge and through the town) after some time came\nup. They were much surprised at finding Metcalf there, and attributed\nthe soaked condition of himself and horse to profuse sweating; nor were\nthey undeceived till they reached Scriven.\n\nSoon after this, Blind Jack was at Scarborough. As he was walking one\nday on the sands with a friend, he resolved to take a swim in the sea,\nhis companion agreeing to shout out when he should think he had gone far\nenough outward; but the other not making a sufficient allowance for the\nnoise of the sea, suffered him to go out of hearing before he shouted,\nand Metcalf continued swimming until he got out of sight of his friend,\nwho now expected to see him no more. At length Metcalf began to think he\nmust have got out of hearing of his friend, and becoming rather tired he\nturned on his back to rest himself, his ears being covered with water;\nbut after he had sufficiently rested he turned himself again, and\nremoving the hair of his head from his ears, began to listen, when he\nthought he heard the breakers beating against the pier which defends the\nSpa; finding by the noise that he was at a great distance, he increased\nhis efforts, and providentially taking a right direction, he landed in\nsafety, to the immense relief of his friend.\n\nHaving an aunt at Whitby, near the Alum Works, he went there, left his\nhorse, and got on board an alum ship bound for London. He arrived at the\nmetropolis, stayed there only a few weeks, played on the violin, and did\nvery well; but meeting so many acquaintances, did not think himself\nsafe. After some time, meeting with a vessel, he returned back again to\nWhitby; and having a numerous acquaintance at Newcastle, formed at\nHarrogate, he went thither, and was kindly received by many persons.\nAmongst the rest was one Councillor Grey, who invited Metcalf to dine\nwith him every day during the time he should stay, which was about a\nmonth. One day he said to Metcalf, \"You and I are near a size,\" and\nbrought down a suit of clothes, saying, \"I think these will fit you, and\nare at your service if you please to accept them; they have scarcely\nbeen worn; go into the next room and try them on.\" Metcalf then left\nNewcastle and went to Sunderland, where he stayed a short time among the\nsailors; then proceeded to Whitby to his aunt's, with whom he had left\nhis horse, as she was in tolerable circumstances; after that he\ndetermined to go to Knaresborough, and set off in the forenoon,\nintending to call at Mr. Varley's, as he had been there for six months\nshortly before. He had company over the moor to Pickering, as he had\nnever been that road. At Pickering his company left him.\n\nHe then went to Malton, which was six miles, though he had never been\nthat road before, but had been at Malton; he got safe there, and\ncontinued along the York road. A little from Malton his horse began to\ntire at a place called Crombeck, where there is a ford dangerous in\ntimes of flood. It happened to be a very rainy time, and his horse being\nweak, he took hold of the bridle-rein to lead him through, not being\nafraid of the water himself, but fearful of drowning his horse. Having\ngot safe through, he pursued his journey, but his horse being weak, he\nwas under the necessity of leading him part of the road, and walking\nsometimes up to the boot-tops in dirt.\n\nHe soon came to a common called Stockton Moor, about four or five miles\nfrom York, where was neither turnpike nor paved causeway at that time,\nand he had got out of the track and was in great difficulty; but\nfortunately he heard a cock crow in Stockton, and by turning in the\ndirection whence he heard the call of chanticleer, he got into Stockton.\nFrom this place there was a paved causeway all the way to York, upon\nwhich he went, now feeling himself safe. He then came down Goodram Gate,\ncrossed Peter Gate, down the Shambles, and through Pavement, over Ouse\nBridge, turned into Skelder Gate, and through the Postern, it being in\nthe dead of night, but he wanted no guide, as he knew the places so\nwell; then coming to Middlethorpe, the gates were fast: they were made\nof wood, with iron spikes at the top, which made it difficult to climb\nover; but necessity being the mother of invention, he called forth her\naid. Metcalf took the bridle from off his horse's head, doubled the\nrein, and throwing it over one of the spikes of the gate, by that means\nand the help of a corner of the wall that joined the gate, he got up and\nclimbed over; but when he was at the top his situation was perilous, for\nif his foot had slipped he would have fallen on the spikes and been\nimpaled. He then opened the gates, and led his horse through, and\ngreatly surprised some women by his appearance, who happened to be up\nwashing. When daylight appeared, the family received him very kindly. He\nstayed about three weeks, and then returned to Knaresborough, where he\nmet with a north countryman who played on the bagpipes and frequented\nthe houses of many gentlemen in town. He had been in London several\ntimes, and he advised Metcalf to take a trip with him, which he did.\n\nBy this man Metcalf found out several gentlefolks who were in the habit\nof visiting Harrogate during the season, and amongst others Colonel\nLiddell, who resided in King Street, Covent Garden, and who gave him a\ngeneral invitation to his house. The colonel was member of Parliament\nfor Berwick-upon-Tweed, and lived at Ravensworth Castle, near\nNewcastle-upon-Tyne; and on his return from London to the North, which\ngenerally took place in the month of May, he was accustomed to spend\nthree weeks at Harrogate.\n\nWhen the winter was over, Metcalf thought he must take a walk out of\nLondon. Accordingly he set out through Kensington, Hammersmith,\nColnbrook, Maidenhead, and Reading, in Berkshire; and returned by\nWindsor and Hampton Court to London in the beginning of May. In his\nabsence, Colonel Liddell had sent to his lodgings to let him know that\nhe was going to Harrogate, and that if agreeable to him he might go down\neither behind his coach or on the top. Metcalf on his return waited upon\nthe colonel and thanked him, but declined his kind offer, observing that\nhe could with great ease walk as far in a day as he would choose to\ntravel in his coach. The next day at noon the colonel and his suite,\nconsisting of sixteen servants on horseback, set off, Metcalf starting\nabout an hour before them. They were to go by the way of Bugden, and he\nproceeded as far as Barnet. A little way from Barnet the Bugden and St.\nAlban's roads part, and he had taken the latter; however, he arrived at\nWelling, the place where they were to sleep, a little before the\ncolonel, who was surprised at his performance. Metcalf set off again\nnext morning before his friends, and coming to Biggleswade, found the\nroad was crossed with water, there being no bridge at that time. He made\na circuitous cast, but found no other way except a footpath, which he\nwas doubtful whether to trust. A person coming up, asked, \"What road are\nyou for?\" He answered, \"For Bugden.\" \"You have had some liquor this\nmorning, I suppose?\" said the stranger. \"Yes,\" replied Metcalf, although\nhe had tasted none that day. The stranger then bid him follow, and he\nwould direct him into the highway. Soon after, they came to some sluices\nwith planks laid across, and Metcalf followed by the sound of his\nguide's feet; then to a gate on one side of the turnpike, which being\nlocked he was told to climb over. Metcalf was struck with the kind\nattention of his conductor, and taking twopence from his pocket, said,\n\"Here, good fellow, take that, and get thee a pint of beer;\" but the\nother declined it, saying he was welcome. Metcalf, however, pressing the\nreward upon him, was asked, \"Can you see very well?\" \"Not remarkably\nwell,\" he replied. \"My friend,\" said the stranger, \"I do not mean to\ntithe thee--I am rector of this parish; and so God bless you, and I\nwish you a good journey.\" Metcalf set forward with the parson's\nbenediction, and stopped every night with the colonel. On coming to\nWetherby, he arrived at the inn before him, as usual, and told the\nlandlord of his approach, who asked him by what means he had become\nacquainted with that, and was informed by him how he had preceded the\ncolonel the whole week, this being Saturday, and they had left town on\nMonday noon. The colonel arriving, ordered Metcalf into his room, and\nproposed halting till Monday, but Metcalf replied, \"With your leave,\nsir, I shall go to Harrogate to-night, and meet you there on Monday.\" So\nhe set off for Knaresborough that night, and met the colonel at\nHarrogate on Monday, as he had said.\n\nMetcalf became now in great request as a performer at Ripon assembly,\nwhich was resorted to by many families of distinction, such as Sir\nWalter Blacket of Newby; Sir John Wray, Sir R. Graham, Squire Rhodes,\nSquire Aislaby of Studley, and many others. When he played alone, it was\nusual with him after the assembly to set off for Harrogate or\nKnaresborough; but when he had an assistant he remained all night at\nRipon to keep him company, his partner being afraid to ride in the dark.\n\nFinding himself worth \u00a315 (a larger sum than he ever had before), and a\nmain of cocks having been made in the neighbourhood, he became a party,\nand lost two-thirds of his whole fortune. The remaining \u00a35 he laid out\non a horse which was to run at York a few days later; and had the good\nfortune to win the last wager.\n\nMetcalf still followed cock-fighting, cards, and racing, but continued\nto play at the assemblies; but his profession interfered with his\nsports, and he cast about in his mind how to obtain an independence. Now\nit fell out that about this time a Miss Benson, daughter of the host of\nthe Royal Oak, was about to be married to a young man whom Metcalf was\nconvinced she did not like. It was a match made up by the parents, and\nthere was no affection in it--at least on her side. Blind Jack had some\nreason to think that the fair lady was not insensible to him, and he\nhastened to Harrogate, and hung about the Royal Oak till he had an\nopportunity of speaking to the damsel, who was to be married the very\nnext day. Metcalf used his most urgent persuasion with the girl to elope\nwith him that night, and obtained from her a tardy consent. It was\narranged that she should put a lighted candle in the window when ready\nto run away, and Metcalf engaged a friend to look out for the candle for\nhim.\n\nThis having been settled, the lady went into the house, and in a short\ntime was followed by Metcalf, who was warmly received by the supposed\nbridegroom and company.\n\nThe tankard went briskly round with \"Success to the intended couple!\" in\nwhich toast, it may be readily believed, Metcalf joined most cordially.\n\nHaving stayed till it was near dark, he thought it time for putting\nbusiness into proper train. Going then to the public-house known by the\nname of the World's End, he inquired for the hostler, whom he knew to be\na steady fellow; and after obtaining from this man a promise either to\nserve him in an affair of moment in which he was engaged, or keep the\nsecret, he related the particulars of his assignation and the intended\nelopement, to forward which he desired him to let him have his master's\nmare, which he knew would carry two. This agreed on, he requested the\nfurther service of meeting him at Ross's Library at ten o'clock. A\nwhistle was to be given by the first who got there, as a signal. They\nmet pretty punctually, and Metcalf asked if he saw a star, meaning the\nlighted candle. After half-an-hour's delay the signal-light appeared.\nThey then approached the house, and left the horses at a little\ndistance, not choosing to venture into the court-yard, which was paved.\nOn the door being opened by the lady, he asked her if she was ready, and\nshe replied in the affirmative. He advised her, however, to pack up a\ndress or two, as she probably might not see her mother again for some\ntime. She had about twenty gowns at that time, and a new pillion and\ncloth. Metcalf asked her for it. \"Oh, dear,\" said she, \"it is in the\nother house; but we must have it.\" She then went to the window and\ncalled up her sister, who let her in. The pillion and cloth were in the\nroom where the intended bridegroom slept, and on his seeing her enter,\nshe said, \"I will take this and brush it, that it may be ready in the\nmorning.\"--\"That's well thought on, my dear,\" said he. She then went\ndown, and all three hastened to the horses. Metcalf mounted her behind\nhis friend, then got upon his own horse, and away they went. At that\ntime it was not a matter of so much difficulty to get married as it is\nat present, and they had only the trouble of riding twelve miles, and a\nfee to pay, without any calling of banns requiring a delay of three\nweeks.\n\nMetcalf left his bride at a friend's house within five miles of\nHarrogate, and came to the Queen's Head to perform the usual service of\nplaying his violin during the breakfast half-hour. In the meantime Mrs.\nBenson and her other daughter began to prepare for breakfast, and\nobserving that Dolly lay very long in bed, her mother desired that she\nmight be called; but her usual bed-fellow declaring that she had not\nslept with her, she was ordered to seek her in some of the other rooms.\nThis was done, but in vain. They then took it for granted that she had\ngone out early to take a morning ride with Mr. Dickenson (the intended\nbridegroom), but he could give no account of her. All her friends now\nbegan to be seriously alarmed, and a person from the Oak came and\ninformed Metcalf of all that had happened there that morning.\n\nMetcalf listened seriously to the news, and then composedly said, \"You\nneed not be alarmed. I MARRIED HER since you saw me last night!\"\n\nHe then sent a message through the brother of his Dolly to the father\nand mother, to the effect that he asked their pardon. He acknowledged\nthat he was far below them in circumstances, but his affection for their\ndaughter was sincere, and he promised that he would make them the best\namends in his power by affectionate treatment of his wife.\n\nIt is hardly to be supposed that they were mollified by this assurance.\n\nMetcalf took a small house at Knaresborough. It was a matter of wonder\nthat Miss Benson should have preferred a blind man to Dickenson, she\nbeing as handsome a woman as any in the country. A lady having asked her\nwhy she had refused so many good offers for Blind Jack, she answered,\n\"Because I could not be happy without him.\" And being more particularly\nquestioned, she replied, \"His actions are so singular, and his spirit so\nmanly and enterprising, that I could not help liking him.\"\n\nMetcalf continued going to Harrogate as usual, and one day determined to\npay a visit to his mother-in-law. He mounted his horse, and riding up to\nthe kitchen-door called for a pint of wine. There were then only women\nin the house, who were afraid to serve him, and they all ran upstairs in\na fright. He then rode into the kitchen, through the house, and out at\nthe hall-door, no one molesting him.\n\nHe afterwards went to demand his wife's clothes, but was refused; on a\nsecond application, however, he succeeded. His wife having brought him\na boy, and some respectable people being the sponsors, they employed\ntheir good offices to heal the breach between the families, and were\nfortunately successful. On the birth of a daughter (the second child)\nMrs. Benson herself was godmother, and presented Metcalf with twenty\nguineas.\n\nHe continued to play at Harrogate in the season; and set up a four-wheel\nchaise and a one-horse chair for public accommodation, there having been\nnothing of the kind there before. He kept these vehicles two summers,\nwhen the innkeepers, beginning to run their own, he gave them up, as he\nalso did racing and hunting; but still wanting employment, he bought\nhorses, and went to the coast for fish, which he took to Leeds and\nManchester; and so indefatigable was he that he would frequently walk\nfor two nights and a day with little or no rest; for as a family was\ncoming on he was as eager for business as he had been for diversion,\nkeeping up his spirits, and blessed with good health.\n\nGoing from Knaresborough to Leeds in a snowstorm, and crossing a brook,\nthe ice gave way under one of his horses, and he was under the necessity\nof unloading to get him out; but the horse as soon as free ran back to\nKnaresborough, leaving him with two panniers of fish and three other\nloaded horses in the midst of a snowstorm at night. After much\ndifficulty, however, he divided the weight amongst the others, and\npursuing his journey, arrived at Leeds by break of day.\n\nOnce passing through Halifax, he stopped at an inn called the Broad\nStone. The landlord's son, and some others who frequented Harrogate,\nseeing Metcalf come in, and having often heard of his exploits,\nsignified a wish to play at cards with him; he agreed, and accordingly\nthey sent for a pack, but before playing he asked to feel them over.\nThe man of the house being his friend, he could depend upon his honour\nin preventing deception. They began to play, and Metcalf beat four of\nthem in turn, playing only for liquor. Not satisfied with this, some of\nthe company proposed playing for money, and when engaged at shilling\nwhist, Metcalf won 15s. The losing party then proposed to play double or\nquit, but Metcalf declined playing for more than half-a-guinea points;\ntill at last, yielding to much importunity, he got engaged for guineas,\nand, favoured by fortune, won ten, and a shilling for liquor each game,\nwhich completely cleared the loser of his cash, who took up the cards\nand went out, but shortly returned with eight guineas more. Metcalf's\nfriend examined the cards to see if they were not marked, and finding\nall fair, they went on again, until those eight pieces followed the\nother ten. They then drank freely at Metcalf's cost, he being now in\ncircumstances to treat. About ten o'clock at night he took his leave,\nsaying he must be at Knaresborough in the morning, having sent his\nhorses before. On his way he crossed the river Wharfe, about a mile\nbelow Poole; the water being high, his horse swam, and he got safe home.\nThus ended his pursuits as a fishmonger, the profit being small and his\nfatigue very considerable.\n\nFrom the period of his discontinuing the business of fishmonger Metcalf\ncontinued to attend Harrogate as a player on the violin, in the long\nroom, until the commencement of the rebellion in 1745.\n\nThe alarm which took place was great; and loyalty to the House of\nHanover, and preparations against the Jacobites, were general in the\ncounty of York.\n\nAmongst the many instances which mark this, none were more striking than\nthe conduct of William Thornton of Thornville, near Knaresborough, for\nhe determined to raise a company of soldiers at his own expense, and\nwent to Knaresborough about the 1st of October, 1745, where he sent for\nour blind hero to his inn, and asked him if he knew of any brave fellows\nwho were likely to make spirited soldiers. Jack having satisfied his\npatron on this head, he was appointed assistant to a sergeant already\nprocured, with orders to begin recruiting the next day.\n\nSuch was their success that in two days only they enlisted 140 men at\n5s. each, their allowance being 1s. per day; out of whom the captain\ndrafted sixty-four, the number of privates he wanted. Soon after, he\nbrought them to Thornville, where he ordered every other day a fat ox to\nbe killed for their entertainment, and gave them beer seven years old,\nexpressing great pleasure at its being reserved for so good a purpose.\n\nHe now began to sound the company as to their attachment to the cause\nand to himself. \"My lads!\" said he, \"you are going to form a part of a\nring-fence to the finest estate in the world! The king's army is on its\nmarch northward, and I have confidence that all of you are willing to\njoin them.\" They replied, enthusiastic for the whole ox a day and the\nseven-year-old beer, \"We will follow you to the world's end!\"\n\nAll matters being adjusted, the company was drawn up, and amongst them\nBLIND JACK cut no small figure, being near six feet two inches high,\nand, like his companions, dressed in blue and buff, with a large\ngold-laced hat. Jack played a march, and off the company moved for\nBoroughbridge to join General Wade's army, which was there.\n\nOn reaching Newcastle, by order of General Wade they were united with\nPulteney's regiment, which having suffered much in some late actions,\nwas thought unduly weak. Captain Thornton gave orders for tents for his\nmen and a marquee for himself. He pitched them on Newcastle Moor, and\nserved out a pair of blankets to each tent. On the first night of their\nencampment the snow fell six inches.\n\nAfter stopping there for about a week, the General received intelligence\nof the motions of the Jacobite army, and gave orders to march by break\nof day for Hexham in three columns, wishing to intercept it upon the\nwest road, as their route seemed to be for England that way. The tents\nwere instantly struck, but the Swiss troops in the van not being willing\nto move at so early an hour, it was half-past ten before they left the\nground, and the snow by that time was extremely deep. The troops were\noften three or four hours in marching a mile, the pioneers having to cut\nthrough some of the drifts, level some of the obstructions, and fill up\nseveral ditches, to make a passage for the artillery and baggage.\n\nAbout ten at night they arrived at Ovington, the place marked out for\nthem, with straw to rest on; but the ground was frozen so hard that but\nfew of the tent-pins would enter in, and in those few tents which were\npitched the men lay upon one another, greatly fatigued with their march,\nit having been fifteen hours from the time of their striking their tents\ntill their arrival at this place, although the distance was only seven\nmiles.\n\nThe next day they reached Hexham, where they halted. On Monday night\nabout ten o'clock the army was put in motion by a false alarm. After\nstopping there about three days, General Wade returned to Newcastle to\ncatch the post-road leading to Yorkshire, and immediately began his\nmarch for Yorkshire by way of Pierse Bridge, Catterick, and\nBoroughbridge; and continuing his route southward, encamped his men on\nClifford Moor, where they halted a few days, and then moved to ground\nbetween Ferrybridge and Knottingley. The Scottish army had now\npenetrated southward as far as Derby; but the General having heard that\nthey had received a check from the Duke of Cumberland, sent General\nOglethorpe with 1000 horse towards Manchester, either to harass the\nenemy in their retreat, or to join the Duke's forces; and retired\nhimself with the remainder, by Wakefield-Outwood and Leeds, to\nNewcastle.\n\nIn the meantime the Duke came up with the army of Prince Charles Edward\nat Clifton, on the borders of Westmoreland. Lord George Murray occupied\nthe town, and the Highlanders were fortified behind hedges and a ditch.\n\nThe Duke coming upon the open moor after sunset, gave orders for 300\ndragoons to dismount and advance to the brink of the ditch; the rebels\nthen fired upon them from behind the hedges; they returned the fire, and\nfell a few paces back. The Highlanders mistaking this for flight, rushed\nover the ditch, but meeting a warmer reception than they expected, were\nglad to retreat, and continued their route to Penrith, and from thence\nto Carlisle, where they left part of their army.\n\nHis Royal Highness thought it advisable to reduce this place; and on its\nsurrender he returned to London. General Wade continued his march for\nthe North, dismissing all the foreigners from his army; and General\nHawley, on coming from London to take the command, was joined by some\nregiments which had been withdrawn from Flanders. They marched to\nEdinburgh, and from thence to Falkirk, and pitched their tents on the\nnorth-east side of the town on the 16th of January; the Highland army\nbeing at Torwood, about midway between Falkirk and Stirling, and about\nthree miles from the English camp, they could easily see each other's\ncamp light. The English army lay all night on their arms in expectation\nof being attacked, but the van and picket-guards came in on the morning\nof the 17th, having observed no motions in the hostile camp which\nshowed any signs of an attack, although they were as near as safety\nwould permit. Soon after, the enemy were observed to move some of their\nflags from Torwood towards Stirling, which made the English suppose that\nthey were retreating; but this motion was a feint to deceive them.\nHowever, upon this the soldiers were ordered to pile their arms and take\nsome refreshment; and although Lord Kilmarnock was in the army of Prince\nCharles Edward, General Hawley went to breakfast with Lady Kilmarnock at\nCallander House. The enemy in the meantime stole a march down a valley\nnorthward, unperceived; but just before the army discovered them, they\nwere seen by a person, who ran into the camp exclaiming, \"Gentlemen!\nwhat are you about? The Highlanders will be upon you!\" On which some of\nthe officers said, \"Seize that rascal; he is spreading a false\nalarm!\"--\"Will you believe your own eyes?\" said the man; and at that\nmoment the line of Highlanders was seen fringing the high ground on\nFalkirk Moor.\n\nIt is unnecessary here to relate the details of the engagement of\nFalkirk, so graphically described by Sir Walter Scott in \"Waverley,\"\nresulting in a momentary gleam of hope to the adherents of Prince\nCharles Edward, and in as brief a discouragement to the English. Captain\nThornton lost twenty of his men, together with his lieutenant and\nensign, who were taken prisoners. The captain was in a house when the\nEnglish were surprised, and hearing the bagpipes at the door, he ran\nup-stairs and hid in a room behind the door. One of the Highlanders ran\nin, looked round, but not seeing him, called out, \"None of the rascals\nare here.\"\n\nThe woman of the house having seen the captain go up-stairs, went to him\nsoon after, and opening a closet door, entreated him to enter, which he\ndid; she then brought a dresser and placed dishes, &c, upon it, which\nprevented all appearance of a door in that place; and fortunately there\nwas no bed in the room. About ten minutes after he had been fixed in his\nnew quarters a great number of people, consisting chiefly of Highland\nofficers, amongst whom was Secretary Murray, took possession of the\napartment, which being large, they proposed making use of for business\nduring their stay.\n\nIn the meantime Metcalf had escaped the Highlanders. Knowing that two of\nhis master's horses had been left at a widow's house a short distance\nfrom the town, he made his way to the place with intent to secure them.\nThis woman had in the morning expressed great seeming loyalty to King\nGeorge; but when Metcalf returned in the evening, the wind had changed:\nshe now extolled Prince Charles, and said, \"The defeat of George's folk\nwas a just judgment.\"\n\nMetcalf went into the stable and found the horses, saddled them, and was\nleading out the first, when he was surrounded by a few stragglers of the\nHighland army. \"We must have that beast,\" said they; but Metcalf\nrefusing to give him up, they said one to another, \"Shoot him!\" On\nhearing two of them cock their pieces, he asked, \"What do you want with\nhim?\"--They answered that they wanted him for the Prince.--\"If so, you\nmust have him,\" replied he. They took him, and immediately went off.\nMetcalf then brought out the other, but as he was about to mount, the\ncaptain's coachman (whose name was Snowden), joined him, and Metcalf\ninquiring of him the fate of his master, was answered that he had not\nseen him for some time. This induced Metcalf to think that the worst had\nbefallen him. They then thought it advisable to attempt falling in with\nthe rear of the army, but before they had proceeded many yards their\nhorse sank up to the saddle-girths in a bog; however, being strong, and\nplunging out, they mounted again, and soon joined the army as they had\nwished; when, on making diligent inquiry after their captain, they were\ntold that he was left behind. Snowden thereupon returned as far as he\ncould with safety, but without gaining any intelligence, and Metcalf\nwalked on with the army.\n\nThey arrived at Linlithgow, where they halted, and the next day marched\nto Edinburgh. There the mob and the lower orders of people were very\nfree in their expressions, and some of the higher also spoke out warmly\nin favour of Prince Charles, making no secret of their wishes and hopes\nthat \"the King should have his own again.\"\n\nThe next morning as many of Captain Thornton's men as had escaped being\ntaken prisoners (about forty-eight in number) assembled; and none of\nthem knowing what had become of the Captain, they supposed him to have\nshared the fate of many other brave men who had fallen in the action.\nThere was therefore no more ox and beer to sustain their loyalty. The\ndisappearance also of two other officers and twenty of their men greatly\ndispirited them, and to this was added the suspension of their regular\npay. This induced some of them to apply to Metcalf for a supply in order\nto carry them home; but this he refused, in part, no doubt, because he\nhad not the means of paying them.\n\nThe headquarters of the army were now at Edinburgh, the staff being\nlocated in Holyrood Palace. The superior officers sent for Metcalf,\nthinking it singular that a person deprived of sight should have entered\nthe army. One of the officers belonging to the dragoons who retreated\nfrom Falkirk, speaking ironically of Thornton's men, asked Jack how he\ngot off the field of battle. Metcalf answered, \"I found it very easy to\nfollow by the sound of the dragoon horses, they made such a clatter over\nthe stones.\" This reply turned the laugh against the officer, who\ncoloured with anger and shame. Colonel Cockayne then asked how he durst\nventure into the service, blind as he was. To which he replied \"that had\nhe possessed a pair of good eyes, he would never have come there to have\nrisked the loss of them by gunpowder.\" Then making his obeisance, he\nwithdrew.\n\nHe now determined upon a journey to Falkirk in search of his captain;\nbut this being attended with difficulty, he applied to a Knaresborough\nman who lived at Edinburgh, and was of the party of Prince Charles\nEdward, telling him that he wished to be a musician to the gallant young\nPrince, as he found it was all over with the English. The man informed\nhim that they had a spy, an Irishman, going to the Prince, and that he\nmight travel with him. This he agreed to do, and they started together;\nbut on coming up to the English out-sentries they were stopped. Metcalf\ninquired for the captain, and informed him of the real cause of his\njourney. By him he was kindly advised to lay aside his dangerous\nproject; but as he still persisted, he was allowed to proceed with the\nspy, and arrived at Linlithgow, where they stayed all night. They met\nwith several women who had been plundering, and were then on their\nreturn to Edinburgh; and the spy instructed them how to avoid the\nEnglish sentries. Metcalf was very careful to examine the clothes they\nhad got, making it appear he wanted to purchase some, thinking that by\nchance he might meet with some of his captain's, and so ascertain if he\nwere dead. One of the women sent a token by Metcalf to her husband, who\nwas Lord George Murray's cook. This woman's guide was a horse-dealer,\nwho soon became acquainted with Metcalf, having frequented the fairs in\nYorkshire, and at this time by some means had got introduced to the\nheads of both armies, and obtained a pass and orders from each to press\nhorses. This man's fate was remarkable; for going into Stirling, where\nthe English army lay, he found that orders were given to let no\nstrangers pass without an examination. He said that he had a protection\nfrom General Huske. Being ordered to produce it, he had the misfortune\nto take that out of his pocket which he had got from the Pretender; and\nwhen informed of his mistake instantly produced the other. But too late!\nfor he was tied up by the neck to a lamp-post and hung.\n\nA short time before Metcalf and the spy had got clear away from\nLinlithgow, some of the vanguard of the rebels came in and called for\nwhiskey; and it was supposed that they dropped there a silver-mounted\npistol, which on their setting out the spy picked up and offered to\nMetcalf. He refused it, saying he thought it not advisable to have\nfire-arms about him, as he expected to be searched. So they pursued\ntheir journey, and presently fell in with the rebel out-guard, several\nof whom accosted Metcalf, and as all seemed well, they were allowed to\npass, and arrived at Falkirk, where Metcalf inquired for Lord George\nMurray's cook to deliver his present, and was afterwards introduced to\nand conversed with Lord George Murray, Secretary Murray, and other\ngentlemen. Lord George Murray gave him part of a glass of wine, an\narticle at that time of great rarity, for, as the rebels had been there\nthree times, and the English twice, they had almost swept the cupboard\nclean of crumbs.\n\nWhilst conversing with them he was very cautious, knowing that his life\nwas in danger if the real purpose of his journey became known.\n\nHe then made his way towards the market-place, where a number of\nHighlanders were assembled. This was on Wednesday, the 22nd; but it\nhappened that his master had left the place that morning about four\nhours before his arrival.\n\nWe must now return to Captain Thornton, whom we left on Friday in the\ncloset, in close neighbourhood to the Highland chiefs, who every day\ntransacted business in the room. The quartermasters of the Jacobite army\nhaving taken the house, and given the woman to whom it belonged a small\napartment at the back, it made Captain Thornton's position very\ncritical; but every night she took care to carry him such provisions as\nshe could convey through a crevice at the bottom of the door, and this\nshe did for fear of alarming those who slept in the adjoining rooms. The\ncloset was only a yard and a half square, and the captain's clothes\nbeing wet when he entered, made his situation the more uncomfortable, as\nhe had got a severe cold, and sometimes could not forbear coughing even\nwhen the rebels were in the room. Once in particular, hearing a cough,\nthey said one to another, \"What is that?\" But one of them answered that\nit was somebody in another room, not in the least suspecting that one of\ntheir enemies lay hid so near.\n\nOn Monday night the woman of the house went to the door to carry\nprovisions as usual, when the captain said to her, \"I am determined to\ncome out, let the consequence be what it may; for I will not die like a\ndog in this hole.\" But she begged that he would bear this confinement\nuntil the next night, and she would adopt some plan to effect his\nescape. She accordingly consulted an old carpenter who was true to the\nHanoverian cause, and he came the following night when the room was\nvacant, removed the dresser, and liberated the captain. They proceeded\ndown-stairs in the dark to the woman's apartment, where she made tea\nwhilst the carpenter and captain concerted their plan of operation. They\ndressed him in a plaid and brogues, and put on him a black wig. The\ncaptain had only ten guineas about him (having left his cash with his\nlieutenant, Mr. Crofts), eight of which he gave to the woman who had so\nfaithfully preserved him, and two to the carpenter; who, to secrete\nthem, put them into his mouth along with his tobacco, fearful of a\nsearch by the Highlanders, who would have suspected him had they found\nmore than a shilling.\n\nEverything being ready, they set out, the captain, with a bag of tools,\nfollowing his supposed master. On coming into the crowd, the old\ncarpenter looked about and was rather dismayed, for although in\ndisguise, the captain did not look like a common workman. This made the\nold man dread discovery, so he called out to him: \"Come alang, ye filthy\nloon; ye have had half a bannock and a mutchkin of drink in your wame:\nwe shall be o'er late for our day's wark.\" Whether this artifice served\nhim or not is uncertain; but they got safe through the throng, and\nleaving the high road, pursued their journey across the country. Having\ncome to a rising ground, the captain took a view of Falkirk Moor, and\nsaid, \"Yonder's the place where such a sad piece of work was made last\nFriday.\" The old man at the same time looking the other way saw about\n300 Highlanders, who had been on plunder, coming down a lane which led\nfrom Callander House (Lord Kilmarnock's seat) into the main road; and\nbeing desirous of passing the end of this lane before they came up, in\norder to avoid them, said, \"We shall have a worse piece of wark of it\nthan we had on Friday if ye do not hasten your pace,\" and begged the\ncaptain to come forward, which he did; but walking briskly up a hill, he\nsuddenly stopped, and said, \"I am very sick.\" However they gained their\npoint, and passed the Highlanders; for had they come up with them, the\ncaptain's speech or appearance might have led to suspicion, and he would\nhave been shot or led back to Falkirk as a prisoner. On going two miles\nfarther, they arrived at a house belonging to a friend of the\ncarpenter's, and which had been plundered. There the old man got an egg,\nbut not being able to find a pan to boil it in, he roasted it in peat\nashes, and gave it to the captain to put in his wame or stomach.\nProceeding a few miles farther, they arrived at another house, where\nthey procured a horse for the captain. He arrived at the English\noutposts, and making himself known, was permitted to pass, and reached\nEdinburgh in safety.\n\nTo return to Metcalf, whom we left at Falkirk, and whose dress was a\nplaid waistcoat laced with gold, which he had borrowed of a friend at\nEdinburgh, together with a blue regimental coat faced with buff. Jack\ntold the Highlanders, in answer to their inquiries, that he had been\nfiddling for the English officers, and that they had given him that\ncoat, which had belonged to a man who was killed; and also that his\nintention was to serve in the same capacity with Prince Charles. But a\nperson coming up who had seen Jack at Harrogate, said, \"That fellow\nought to be taken up, for there is something more than common in his\nproceedings;\" on which Metcalf was taken to the guard-room and searched\nfor letters, but none were found, he having only a pack of cards in his\npocket, which they split, to see if they contained any writing in the\nfolds. Finding nothing, he was put into a loft in the roof of the\nbuilding, along with a dragoon and some other prisoners, and there for\nthree days they were suffered to remain in confinement, exposed to\nsevere cold.\n\nMetcalf and his fellow-prisoners were brought out at the end of this\ntime, and tried by a court-martial. Metcalf was acquitted, and had\npermission given to go to the Prince; but as he asked to borrow a clean\nshirt they inquired where his own was. He said at Linlithgow, but that\nhe durst not go there on account of George's fellows. They then\ninformed him he might safely go there along with the Irish spy. He knew\nthat his companion had letters for the Highlanders' friends at\nEdinburgh, but had no intention to pass the English sentries. Metcalf\ntherefore amused him with assurances that he had \u00a310 at Edinburgh, for\nwhich he should have no occasion if he joined the Prince, and that he\nwould give his friend a share of it. The spy on hearing this became very\ndesirous of his company to Edinburgh, wishing to finger the money, and\nproposed going across the country; but Metcalf said he could pass the\nEnglish sentries by saying he was going to Captain Thornton. They then\nproceeded, and after going two miles they met an officer who was\nreconnoitring, and he knowing Metcalf, told him that his master was\narrived safely at Edinburgh. On leaving the officer the spy accosted him\nwith, \"So, then, you ARE going to him.\" \"No!\" said Jack, \"nor to any\nsuch fellows.\" They then passed the sentry, as Metcalf proposed, and\narrived at Edinburgh, where they parted, but promised to meet the next\nevening at nine o'clock. Jack went directly to his captain, who rejoiced\nat so unexpected a meeting. Metcalf told him that he had given him a\ngreat deal of trouble, adding that he thought people might come home\nfrom market without being fetched. The captain smiled and said, \"What is\nto be done, for I have neither money nor clothes, having left all behind\nat Falkirk; but I have bills upon the road to the amount of \u00a3300?\" This\nproved fortunate; for had they been a few days sooner, these also might\nhave been lost. The reason of the delay was that all letters directed to\nScotland were at this time sent to London to be examined at the General\nPost-Office. Metcalf told the captain that he could get him some money,\nbut this the other thought impossible. However, he went to a friend and\nobtained \u00a330. Tailors were immediately set to work, and next morning the\ncaptain was enabled to visit his brother officers at Holyrood.\n\nThe army remained quartered at Edinburgh, while part of the rebels were\nin Falkirk, and another part at Stirling, where they raised several\nbatteries, and besieged Stirling Castle.\n\nThe Duke of Cumberland arrived at Edinburgh on the 30th of January,\n1746; and two days afterwards marched at the head of the army towards\nFalkirk, Prince Charles' army leaving it a little time before. Captain\nThornton visited the Duke often, and his Royal Highness took particular\nnotice of Metcalf, speaking to him several times on the march. On the\narrival of the army at Linlithgow, intelligence was received that the\nrebels were marching towards them to give them battle; upon which the\narmy was drawn up in order, and the Duke rode through the lines, and\naddressed the men as follows:--\"If there be any who think themselves in\na bad cause, or are afraid to engage the enemy, thinking they may fight\nagainst any of their relations, let them now turn out, receive pardon,\nand go about their business without any further question.\" On the\nconclusion of this speech, the whole army gave three hearty cheers. But\nthe intelligence proving false, they proceeded to Falkirk, and continued\ntheir journey to Stirling, Perth, Montrose, Brechin, and Aberdeen, where\nthey halted. The army of the Prince was encamped at Strathbogie.\n\nAt Aberdeen the Duke gave a ball to the ladies, and personally solicited\nCaptain Thornton for his fiddler, there being at that time no music in\nthe army except Colonel Howard's (the Old Buffs), which was wind music,\nand the performers, who were Germans, were unaccustomed to country\ndances. As the Prince's army was only twenty miles distant, no\ninvitations were sent until five o'clock, though the ball was to begin\nat six. Twenty-five couples danced for eight hours, and his Royal\nHighness made one of the party, and several times as he passed Metcalf,\nwho stood on a chair to play, shouted, \"Thornton, play up!\" But Jack\nneeded no exhortation, for he was well practised and better inclined.\n\nNext morning the Duke sent him two guineas; but as he was not permitted\nto take money, he informed his captain, who said, as it was the Duke's\nmoney, he might take it, but observed that he should give his Royal\nHighness's servants a treat (he had only three servants with him--viz.,\nhis gentleman, cook, and groom). So the next night two of them paid\nMetcalf a visit, and a merry party they made, the captain ordering them\nplenty of refreshments.\n\nIn a little time they proceeded on their march, and engaged the gallant\narmy of the Prince on Culloden Moor. The battle ended in the total rout\nof the army of the young \"Pretender,\" and the somewhat severe treatment\nof his soldiers by the \"Butcher\" Duke.\n\nThe English prisoners were all liberated. Three of Captain Thornton's\nmen had died in prison; the rest returned home.\n\nThe rebellion having been completely suppressed and peace restored,\nCaptain Thornton returned home, accompanied by Metcalf, who had the\nhappiness to find his faithful partner and children in good health.\n\nBlind Jack being now at liberty to choose his occupation, attended\nHarrogate as usual; but having in the course of his Scotch expedition\nkept his eyes open (if we may use such an expression of a blind man), he\nhad become acquainted with various articles manufactured in that\ncountry, and judging that some of them might find a market in England,\nhe repaired in the spring to Scotland, and supplied himself with various\narticles in cotton and worsted, especially Aberdeen stockings. For all\nthese articles he found a ready sale at the houses of gentlemen in the\ncounty of York; and being personally known to most of the families, was\neverywhere kindly received. He was never at a loss to know among one\nthousand articles what each had cost him, as he had a method of marking\nthem which enabled him to distinguish them by the feel. It was also\ncustomary with him to buy horses for sale in Scotland, bringing back\ngalloways in return. He was an admirable judge of horses by running his\nhands over them.\n\nHe also engaged pretty deeply in contraband trade, the profits of which\nat that time were so considerable as to make it worth while running the\nrisk. Once, having received a pressing letter from Newcastle-upon-Tyne\nrequiring his speedy attendance, he set out on horseback from\nKnaresborough at three in the morning, and got into Newcastle the same\nevening about six o'clock, a distance of nearly seventy-four miles, and\ndid not feel fatigued.\n\nHaving received some packages, he employed a few soldiers to convey them\nto a carrier, judging that men of their description were least liable to\nsuspicion. After sending off his goods, he stayed two nights with some\nrelations, and then set out for home. He had with him about a\nhundred-weight of tea, cased over with tow, and tightly corded up; this\nhe put into a wallet, which he laid across the saddle.\n\nComing to Chester-le-Street (about half-way between Newcastle and\nDurham), he met at the inn an exciseman, who knew him as soon as he had\ndismounted, and asked him what he had got there. Metcalf answered, \"It\nis some tow and line for my aunt, who lives a few miles distant. I wish\nshe was far enough, for giving me the trouble to fetch it.\" The officer\nsaid to him, \"Bring it in\"; he replied, \"I am only here for a few\nminutes; it may as well remain on the horsing-stone.\" By this seeming\nindifference about his packet he removed suspicion from the mind of the\nexciseman, who assisted in replacing it across the saddle.\n\nOnce having disposed of a string of horses, he bought with the produce a\nquantity of rum, brandy, and tea, to the amount of \u00a3200, put them on\nboard a vessel for Leith, and travelled overland on foot to meet the\nvessel at that port. He had about thirty miles to walk, and carried near\nfive stone weight of goods, which he did not choose to put on shipboard.\nAt Leith he had the mortification to wait six weeks without receiving\nany tidings of the vessel, which many supposed to have been lost, there\nhaving been a storm in the interval. The distress of mind resulting from\nthis induced him to say, \"If she is lost I wish I had been in her, for\nshe had all my property on board.\" Soon after, however, the ship got\ninto Leith harbour. He then went on board, and set sail for Newcastle;\nbut another storm arising, the mate was washed overboard, the main-sail\ncarried away, and the ship driven near the coast of Norway. Despair now\nbecame general, the prospect of going to the bottom seemed almost\ncertain. Metcalf had now no wish to go to the bottom with his property,\nand vowed he would give all his fortune to touch dry earth again. But\nthe wind changing, hope began to return, and the captain put about for\nthe Scotch coast, intending to make Aberbrothock. A signal of distress\nwas put up, but the sea ran so high that no boat could venture out with\na pilot. He then stood in for the harbour, but struck against the pier\nend, owing to the unmanageable state of the vessel from the loss of her\nmain-sail; she narrowly escaped being bulged, but having got to the back\nof the pier, was towed round into the harbour with nearly five feet of\nwater in her hold.\n\nAs the vessel stood in need of repairs, Metcalf put his goods on board\nanother, and went in her to Newcastle. There he met with an\nacquaintance, and thinking the fellow trustworthy, over his cups\ninformed him that he had got 400 gallons of gin and brandy for which he\nhad a permit, and about thirty gallons for which he had none, and which\nhe wanted to land. In a quarter of an hour he found that the man whom he\nhad taken for a friend had gone down the quayside and given information\nof what he knew, and all the goods were seized and brought on shore.\nMetcalf imagined that none were seizable but the small part for which he\nhad not obtained a permit; but was soon undeceived, the whole being\nliable to seizure as not agreeing with the specified quantity.\n\nHe then repaired to the Custom-house and applied to Mr. Sunderland, the\ncollector. This gentleman knew Metcalf, whom he had seen at Harrogate;\nhe received him very kindly, but informed him that it was not in his\npower to serve him, the captors being the Excise people, and not of his\ndepartment. He, however, suggested that some good might result from an\napplication to Alderman Pelreth, with whom Metcalf was acquainted, and\nwho was intimate with the collector of the Excise. The alderman gave him\na letter to the collector, representing that the bearer had bought 400\ngallons of spirits at the Custom-house at Aberdeen, and that the extra\nquantity was for the purpose of treating the sailors and other friends,\nas well as for sea-stock for himself. At first the collector told him\nthat nothing could be done for him until he should write up to the\nBoard, and receive an answer; but Metcalf remonstrating on the\ninconvenience of the delay, and the other reconsidering the letter, he\nagreed to come down to the quay at four o'clock in the afternoon, which\nhe accordingly did, and released everything without any expense.\n\nA short time after, the regiment called \"The Queen's Bays\" were raised;\nthey were quartered at Knaresborough and the adjacent towns; but after\na short stay they were ordered to the North. The country people seemed\nunwilling to supply carriages for the baggage, the King's allowance\nbeing but ninepence a mile per ton: that of the county, one shilling in\nthe West Riding, and fifteenpence in the North Riding. Metcalf having\ntwo waggons, was desirous to try this new business; and to make sure of\nthe job, got the soldiers to press his two carriages, which were\naccordingly loaded, and he attended them to Durham himself. Previous to\nloading, however, the country people, who knew the advantage of carrying\nfor the army, and who had kept back in hopes of an advance in the price,\ncame forward with their waggons in opposition to Metcalf; but they were\nnow too late--Metcalf had secured the job.\n\nOn arriving at Durham, he met Bland's dragoons on their march from the\nNorth to York; they loaded his waggons again for Northallerton, and\nwould willingly have engaged them to York; but this he was obliged to\ndecline, having promised to bring twenty-three wool-packs to\nKnaresborough. He was just six days in performing this journey; and\ncleared, with eight horses and the one he rode, as much as \u00a320.\n\nSome horses belonging to the Queen's Bays, stationed at Durham, were to\nbe sold, and Metcalf, hearing of the sale, set off from Knaresborough\nonly the day before, and arrived there in time. Amongst the horses to be\nsold was a grey one, belonging to one of the drums. The man who had the\ncharge of him not having been sufficiently careful in trimming him, had\nburnt him severely, which caused a swelling. Had his careless conduct\nbeen known to his superiors he would have been punished for it; upon\nthat account the matter was hushed up. Metcalf, however, having been\napprised of the circumstances from a farrier whom he had got to know,\ndetermined to purchase him, judging that the horse would be sold cheap.\nHe was not mistaken. He bought him for very little, and realised a good\nprofit out of him shortly afterwards.\n\nIn the year 1754 Metcalf commenced a new business. He set up a\nstage-coach between York and Knaresborough, and conducted it himself,\ntwice a week in the summer season, and once in the winter; and this\nbusiness, together with the occasional conveyance of army baggage,\nemployed him until his first contract for making roads, which suiting\nhim better, he disposed of his draught and interest in the road.\n\nAn Act of Parliament having been obtained to make a turnpike from\nHarrogate to Boroughbridge, a person of the name of Ostler, of Farnham,\ntwo miles from Knaresborough, was appointed surveyor. Metcalf being in\ncompany with him, agreed to make about three miles of it, between\nMinskip and Ferrensby. The materials were to be procured from one\ngravel-pit for the whole length. He therefore provided deal boards and\nerected a temporary house at the pit, took twelve horses to the place,\nfixed racks and mangers, and hired a house for his men at Minskip,\ndistant about three-quarters of a mile. He often walked from\nKnaresborough in the morning, with four or five stone-weight of meat on\nhis shoulders, and joined his men by six o'clock. By his attention and\ndiligence he completed the work much sooner than was expected, to the\nentire satisfaction of the surveyor and trustees.\n\nDuring his leisure hours he studied measurement in a way of his own, and\nwhen certain of the girth and length of any piece of timber, he was able\nto reduce its true contents to feet and inches, and would bring the\ndimensions of any building into yards and feet.\n\nAbout the time that this road was finished the building of a bridge was\nadvertised to be contracted for at Boroughbridge, and a number of\ngentlemen met there for that purpose at the Crown Inn. Metcalf, amongst\nothers, went also. The masons varied considerably in their estimates.\nOstler, the surveyor of the roads, was appointed to survey the bridge,\nand Metcalf told him that he wished to undertake it, though he had never\ndone anything of the kind before.\n\nOn this the surveyor acquainted the gentlemen with what Metcalf\nproposed; when he was sent for and asked what he knew about a bridge. He\ntold them that he could readily describe it, if they would take the\ntrouble of writing down his plan, which was as follows:--\"The span of\nthe arch 18 feet, being a semicircle, makes 27; the arch-stones must be\na foot deep, which, if multiplied by 27, will be 486; and the basis will\nbe 72 feet more. For the arch, it will require good backing; for which\npurpose there are proper stones in the old Roman wall at Aldborough,\nwhich may be brought, if you please to give directions to that effect.\"\nThe gentlemen were surprised at his readiness, and agreed with him for\nbuilding the bridge. The persons who had given in their estimates were\nmuch offended; and as the stone was to be procured from Renten, a sale\nquarry belonging to one of the masons who was there, he was unwilling to\nsell any to Metcalf; upon which he went to Farnham, and found good\nstones which the lime-burners had left (being too strong for their\npurpose), got them dressed at the place for a trifle, conveyed them to\nBoroughbridge, and having men to take them off the carts, set them, and\ncompleted the arch in one day.\n\nSoon after, there was a mile and a half of turnpike road to be made\nbetween Knaresborough Bridge and Harrogate, for which Metcalf also\nagreed. Going one day over a place covered with grass, he told his men\nthat he thought it different from the ground adjoining, and would have\nthem try for stone or gravel, which they immediately did, and found an\nold causeway, supposed to have been made in the time of the Romans,\nwhich afforded many materials for the new road. Between the forest\nlane-head and Knaresborough Bridge there was a bog in a low piece of\nground. The surveyor thought it impossible to make a road over it, but\nMetcalf assured him he could accomplish it. The other then told him that\nif so he should be paid as if he had carried the road round the bog.\nJack set about it, cast the road up, and covered it with whin and ling,\nand made it as good as any part he had undertaken. He received for his\ncontract about \u00a3400. He afterwards contracted for making five miles of\nroad between Harrogate and Harewood Bridge, and received for it \u00a31200.\nFor a mile and a half through part of Chapeltown to Leeds, and for\nlengthening the arch of Sheepscar Bridge, he received \u00a3400.\n\nThe following are some of his other contracts:--Four miles of the road\nbetween Skipton and Colne, and two miles on the Burnley Road. Two miles\nof the road through Broughton to Marton, and two miles more through\nAddingham and over part of Romalds Moor, for all which he received\n\u00a31350. Four miles between Mill Bridge and Halifax, and five miles\nbetween Wakefield and Chickingley Beck, near Dewsbury; and received for\nthe same \u00a31200. Three miles and a half between Hag Bridge and\nPontefract, and one mile and a half on the Doncaster Road, from Crafton,\nthrough Foldby. For the road from Wakefield to Pontefract, Doncaster,\nand Halifax, he received \u00a36400. From Blackmoor foot to Marsden, and from\nthence to Standish foot; also from Lupset Gate through Horbury; and also\nthree miles from Standish to Thurton Clough; from Sir John Kaye's seat\nto Huddersfield; and thence to Longroyd Bridge toll-bar, in the course\nof which were several bridges, the whole distance about twenty-one\nmiles, for which he received \u00a34500.\n\nIn the building of bridges, where the foundations were bad, he laid on\na sufficient thickness of ling (where it could be got), otherwise straw;\nhe next laid planks five inches thick, with square mortices cut through,\nand driving in a number of piles, made the foundations secure. He then\nlaid springs for the arches upon the planks, which caused all to settle\nregularly. And though he built many arches of different sizes, none ever\nfell. He also undertook to build houses, amongst which was one belonging\nto Mr. Marmaduke Hebden, near Huddersfield, nine yards wide,\ntwenty-three long, and twenty-one feet from the foundation to the square\nof the building, with twenty chimneys.\n\nMetcalf having now made up his mind to follow building and road-making,\nfinding it remunerative, contracted for and executed at various times a\ngreat many roads.\n\nAbout the year 1781 Metcalf, hearing how beneficial the cotton business\nwas to all that were engaged in it, resolved to have a share in that\nalso; he accordingly purchased the necessary machinery, but the scheme\nfailed, as a time came when no yarn could be sold without loss;\ntherefore he gave up that business. In 1789 he contracted for making\nseveral pieces of road in Lancashire, between Bury and Heslington, and\nanother part from Heslington to Accrington; and also a branch from that\nto Blackburn, the work of two summers, for which he received \u00a33500. In\n1791 he returned into Yorkshire, and began to speculate in buying and\nselling hay, measuring the stacks with his arms, and having learnt the\nheight, he could soon tell the number of square yards contained in the\nwhole.\n\nHaving gone to York in the first days of 1795, he set out on January 9th\nto walk to Green-Hammerton, on his way to Thornville Royal, and\naccomplished the distance, which was ten miles, in three hours and a\nhalf. He slept that night at Thornville Royal, and next day walked to\nKnaresborough, January 10th, the birthday of Sir Thomas Slingsby's\neldest son, which was kept with great rejoicings.\n\nThence he went to Spofforth, where he resided with his daughter, after\nthe death of his wife in 1778. There he died on the 27th April, 1810, in\nthe full possession of his faculties, aged ninety-three. He was buried\nin Spofforth churchyard.\n\nAt the time of his death his descendants were four children, twenty\ngrandchildren, and ninety great and great-great grandchildren.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[9] Chiefly from a Chapbook Life, written apparently shortly after his\ndeath. Published by Johnson, of Leeds.\n\n\n\n\n\"PEG PENNYWORTH.\"\n\n\nMargaret Wharton, an unmarried lady of great wealth and ancient family,\nwas one of the Yorkshire oddities of last century.\n\nShe belonged to the family of the Whartons of Skelton Castle, in\nCleveland, and possessed a fortune of \u00a3200,000, of which, with rare\nliberality, she made her nephew a present of \u00a3100,000. Her charities\nwere liberal, but always private, and if she heard that a recipient of\nher bounty had disclosed the good deed, that person never received\nanother penny from her.\n\nShe was a short, stout lady, dressed fashionably, had an aristocratic\nair, and liked to be respected as rich and of good family.\n\nFor some time she resided at York, and visited Scarborough in the\nseason, where she was well known on account of her eccentricities. She\nused to send for \"a pennyworth of strawberries\" or \"a pennyworth of\ncream\" at a time, and pay down her penny, as she had an aversion to\ntradesmen's bills. From this she obtained the name of \"Peg Pennyworth,\"\nwhich stuck to her through life. An incident occurred at Scarborough in\nwhich she displayed her dislike to public charities. She was solicited\nby some gentlemen to give a subscription to a charity on behalf of which\nthey were making a collection. Peg pulled out her purse with an ominous\nfrown, and turned out its contents into her palm. This was in or about\n1774, when light guineas were in disgrace. She deliberately selected\nfrom among the coins the lightest guinea she could find, and handed it\nto the gentlemen.\n\nThe celebrated Foote is said to have drawn her character in a farce.\nWhen informed of this she exclaimed, with a smile, \"I will see it acted,\nas I live.\" She did, and expressed her satisfaction that the character\nin the play did her justice.\n\nShe frequently catered for herself, making her own purchases, and taking\nthem home in her carriage. Once, having purchased some eels, she put\nthem in her pocket, entered her coach, and called on a lady friend and\ninvited her to come out with her for an airing.\n\nThe warmth of Peg's pocket revived the seemingly dead eels, and they\nbegan to wriggle out to enjoy a little fresh air. The lady who was\nsitting beside Peg, happening to look down, saw what she thought was a\nserpent writhing into her lap, and several hideous heads breaking out of\nthe side of Mistress Margaret Wharton. She uttered an awful shriek,\nbounded to her feet, pulled the checkstring, and cried, \"Madam! madam!\nyou are swarming with adders! Coachman, stop! Let me out! let me out!\"\n\nMistress Wharton coolly looked at the eels, now escaping rapidly from\nher pocket, gathered them up, and shoved them into her reticule, saying,\n\"I protest, madam, it is only my eels come to life. Sit you down again,\nand don't be frightened.\"\n\nOne day at Scarborough she had ordered a large meat-pie to be baked for\ndinner. It was a very large one--to serve for herself, some visitors,\nand all the servants. When it was made she ordered the footman to take\nit to the bakehouse, but he declined, saying that it was not his place,\nneither did it comport with his dignity, to be seen in Scarborough\nstalking through the streets in plush and tags, bearing a huge meat-pie.\n\nMistress Margaret then ordered the coachman to take it, but he declined.\n\n\"Bring out the carriage, then!\" said Peg Pennyworth. The horses were\nharnessed; the coachman put on his powdered wig and mounted the box; the\nfootman took his place behind; and Mistress Margaret Wharton, bearing\nthe meat-pie, sat in state in the carriage. \"Drive to the bakehouse.\"\n\nSo the coachman whipped his horses, and the meat-pie was carried thus to\nthe baker's. An hour or two later the carriage was ordered out again,\nthe coachman remounted the box, the footman took his stand behind, and\nthe lady drove to the bakehouse to fetch her pie, which she carried back\nthus to her house. \"Now,\" said she to the coachman, \"you have kept your\nplace, which is to drive; and you,\" turning to the footman, \"have kept\nyours, which is to wait; and now we shall all have some of the pie.\"\n\nMistress Wharton had a visiting acquaintance with a lady, a clergyman's\nwife, in York. On the death of her husband, the widow retired with her\nfour daughters to Thirsk, and she invited Peg Pennyworth to visit her.\n\nTo her dismay, one day up drove Mistress Wharton in her carriage, with\ncoachman, footman, and lady's maid. The widow, whose means were not very\nample, endured having all these people quartered on her for a month, but\nat the expiration of that time she was obliged to hint to the nephew of\nher guest that \"the pressure on her means was rather greater than she\ncould bear.\"\n\n\"Let my aunt have her way,\" said Mr. Wharton. \"I will pay you two\nhundred a year during her life, and one hundred during your own, should\nyou survive her.\"\n\nMistress Margaret Wharton never left the house of the widow, but died\nthere after some years, in the one hundred and third year of her age, in\n1791. The annuity was regularly paid to the widow lady to the day of her\ndeath.\n\n\n\n\nPETER BARKER,\n\nTHE BLIND JOINER OF HAMPSWAITE.\n\n\nPeter Barker was born on July 10th, 1808. At the age of four he was\ndeprived of sight by an inflammation of the eyes, and ever afterwards he\nwas--\n\n\n             \"dark, amid the blaze of noon,\n     Irrevocably dark; total eclipse,\n     Without all hope of day.\"\n\n\nThe loss of his sight caused Peter from an early age to cultivate music,\nand he became a skilful performer on the violin; and as he grew up to\nmanhood he frequented the village feasts, dances, and merry-makings all\nround the country, as a performer on that instrument. This led him into\nhabits of intemperance. But he had a strong will, a tender conscience,\nand seeing that he was sinking in his own respect and in that of others,\nhe determined to abandon his musical profession.\n\nBut he must earn his livelihood; and he determined to become a joiner.\nHe fell to work to make a chair, succeeded in the first attempt, and for\nthe rest of his life followed carpentering as his profession. He handled\nhis tools with all the dexterity of a practised workman; his shop was\nalways in order, the tools in their proper position in the rack, or in\nhis hands. The only peculiarity about his instruments was in the\nfoot-rule he used for making his measurements, the lines on which were\nmarked by small pins, of different numbers, to indicate the different\nfeet on the rule. The idea of having his rule thus marked was suggested\nby a lady who interested herself in his welfare. She wrote to a\nmanufacturer of carpenters' rules in London, to inquire if such a thing\ncould be had as a rule with raised lines and figures; the answer was\nthat no such rules were made. Failing to procure an article of this\nkind, she suggested the making of the measurements on it with pins; and\nthis was carried into effect.\n\nThe articles made by this blind workman were firm and substantial, the\njoints even and close, and the polish smooth. It is said that a\ncabinet-maker at Leeds, having heard reports of the blind joiner's\nskill, procured a chair he had made, and showed it to the workmen in his\nshop, asking them their opinion of the chair. After examining it, they\nsaid that they thought there was nothing particular about the chair,\nonly it was a thoroughly well-made, serviceable one. \"So it is,\" said\nthe master; \"but--will you believe it?--the man who made it never saw\nit: he was blind from a child.\" Their indifference was at once turned\ninto amazement.\n\nThe writer of a memoir of Peter Barker[10] says:--\n\n\"We have frequently seen him at work, and were it not from the more\nfrequent handling of the articles operated on, and the nearness of his\nfingers to the edge of the chisel or saw, there was nothing apparently\nto distinguish his manner from that of an ordinary workman. In 1868 we\nfound him at work in the church, repairing the seats, and watched him\nfor some time before he was conscious of the presence of any one. He\nshowed us what he had done--lowered the fronts of both the pulpit and\nreading-desk, the one twenty inches, the other a foot: brought forward a\npew some three feet, and refronted it with panels of old carved oak,\nwhich he asserted was very difficult to work over again; showed us a\npiece of carving which he, in conjunction with the churchwarden, had\nonly discovered the day before, and which was upwards of 200 years old;\nled the way into the belfry, giving a word of advice to be careful in\nascending the old rickety stairs; showed the clock, which he had under\nhis care to keep clean and in going order. At this point, while seated\non a bench, he gave us a narrative of his first acquaintance with the\nclock, which we give in his own words as nearly as we can\nremember:--[11] \"You see, our clock is yan o' these and fashion'd\nhandmade 'uns, not made exact and true by machinery as they are now, but\nivvery wheel cut an' filed by hand. Aud Snow, a notified clock-makker\n'at lived up aboon abit here, had the managing of her a lang time, at so\nmuch a year. He used to come just at t' time when his year was up, give\nt' aud clock a fether full o' oil, tak his brass, and there was no mair\non him till t' next year. At last she gat as she wadn't gang at all; she\nwad naither turn pointers nor strike. T' foaks i' t' toon were sadly\ndissatisfied; they neither knew when to get up nor gang to bed, as they\nhad done afore, when t' clock was all reet. T' church-maister sent for\nt' clock-maker, and he come an' come ageean, an' fizzled an faff'd aboot\nher, but nivver did her a farthing's worth o' good. At last he was\nforced to give her up as a bad job; she was fairly worn out, an' she wad\nnivver be no better till she was mended with a new un; and that's aboon\ntwenty year sin, an' t' aud clock's here yet. Then Johnny Gill, another\nclever fellow, took her under hands, and she lick'd him as fairly as\nshe'd deean aud Snow. I was i' t' church by mysel one day, I hardly know\nwhat aboot, when it com' into my heead 'at I would try my hand at her;\nI nivver had deean nowt o' t' sort; but if ye nivver try, ye nivver can\ndea (do) nowt. So t' first thing I did was to give her a reet good\nfeelin' all ower her; an' then, heving settled all her parts fairly i'\nmy mind, I fell to work and took her to pieces, bit by bit, got all t'\nworks out of her, and cleaned her all ower reet soundly, particularly t'\npivots, and then gav 'em all a sup o' nice oil; then I put her together\nageean; efter a few trials I got her all reet, got her started--she\nstrake an' kept time like a good un. Efter I finish'd I com' doon, an'\ninto th' church garth, and wha did I meet there but Mr. Shann, our vicar\nat that time, and just as I was meeting him t' clock strake ageean.\n'What's that, Peter?' he says. I says, 'It's t' clock, sir!' He says\nageean, 'What does this mean, Peter?' I says, 'It meeans t' time o' day\nwhen t' clock strikes.' He began o' laughing, and said, 'You're a queer\nfellow, Peter. I mean who made the clock strike?' 'Oh,' I says, 'I've\ndeean that mysel, sir. I've been at her a goodish bit to-day, an' I\nthink I've gotten her put all reet at last.' 'Well done, Peter, you're a\nclever fellow,' he says. 'But you sha'n't do all this for nothing. I\nshall let the churchwardens know what you have done. You must have some\nreward.' 'Varry weel, sir,' I says, and so we parted. And he was as good\nas his word. When t' churchmaisters met, he tell'd 'em all aboot it, and\nthey allowed me four shillings for my job; and I was to have ten\nshillings a year for keeping her ganning ivvery year efter.\"\n\nIn the month of July, 1865, the clock did not strike correctly. As Peter\ntold the tale himself:--\"I was i' t' shop when I heard her at it, two or\nthree times. I stood it as lang as I could; at last I banged down my\nteeals (tools), and says to mysel', 'I'll mak thee either strake reet,\nor I'll mak thee as that thou'll nivver strike ageean.' Away I went,\nspent an hour over her, gat her reet, and she's kept reet ever sin'.\"\n\nHis biographer says:--\"Once on a visit to Peter's cottage, we found a\nwindow had been recently inserted, according to his statement, to make\nthe fireside more lightsome--Peter having been mason, joiner, and\nglazier himself. In short, he appeared to be able to do any kind of work\nthat he had the desire or the will to do. He was an expert in the art of\nnetting--fabricating articles in that line from the common cabbage net\nto the curtains which adorn the windows of the stately drawing-room. As\na vocalist he sang bass in the church on Sundays. He was also one of the\nbell-ringers; and during the winter months the curfew bell is rung at\nHampswaite at eight o'clock every evening. When it was Peter's turn to\nring he took a lighted lanthorn with him--not for the purpose of seeing\nothers, but that others might see him.\n\n\"He always fattened a pig in the winter season, and had a method of\nmeasurement of his own for ascertaining how much weight the pig had\ngained every week; and to such measurement and calculation the pig was\nweekly subjected until he attained the proper bulk and weight. Peter\ngenerally bought his pig himself, and for that purpose attended the\nmarket at Knaresborough, where the bargain was cause of much amusement\nto the onlookers. When the pig was pointed out which was thought likely,\nthe seller had to seize the same, and hold it still as possible, until\nPeter had felt it over and ascertained its _points_, and passed his\njudgment on its feeding qualities.\"\n\nPeter learned to read with his fingers in 1853, and was given a New\nTestament with embossed letters.\n\nHe was very fond of children, and would play tunes to them on his fiddle\nat his shop door of a summer evening, whilst they danced and sang. He\nhad made this fiddle himself, as well as the case in which he kept it.\n\nSo delicate was Peter's touch that he was able to tell the hour on a\nwatch by opening the case and running his fingers lightly over the face.\n\nPeter in his youth had a romantic courtship, and married a wife. She\npresented him with a son, born in 1846; and died on June 3rd, 1862. The\nboy, who was his father's constant companion and delight, died the\nfollowing year, on Jan. 19th, 1863, leaving the poor blind joiner's\nhouse completely desolate.\n\nAfter a few weeks' illness, Peter died in his cottage, near the\nchurchyard gate, on February 18th, 1873, at the age of sixty-five.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] Published by T. Thorpe, Pately Bridge, 1873.\n\n[11] The strong provincial dialect is somewhat modified in this, or it\nwould be unintelligible except to Yorkshire readers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE HOUSE.\n\n\nOn the road between Raskelfe and Easingwold stood in 1623, and stands\nstill, a lonely inn called \"The White House.\"\n\nThe wide, brown, heathery moor called Pill-Moor then extended to the\nroots of the Hambledon hills; on a slight rising ground above the\nmarshes stood here and there a farm or cottage; and here and there a\nportion of the soil had been enclosed. To this day a large portion of\nthe moor remains untilled, and is a favourite resort of botanists, who\nfind there several varieties of gentian and orchis, rare elsewhere.\nOriginally it stretched from Borough Bridge to the Hambledons,\nintersected by the streams flowing into the Ouse, patched here and there\nwith pools of water.\n\nIn the White House lived a man called Ralph Raynard, and his sister.\nRalph paid his addresses to a fine-looking young woman, dark-eyed,\ndark-haired, who lived at Thornton Bridge, at the Red House, where the\nroad from Brafferton or Tollerton crossed the Ouse to Topcliffe and\nRipon. The old house, lonely, surrounded by trees, with traces of a moat\nor pond, in spring full of yellow flags, stands to this day, almost\ndeserted. The girl was poor, and a good match was of the first advantage\nto her; she was at the time in service at the Red House, and thither\nRalph came to visit her.\n\nBut, for some cause unknown, they quarrelled, an estrangement ensued,\nand Ralph came no more across Thornton Bridge.\n\nAt the same time a yeoman named Fletcher, living at Moor House, in the\nparish of Raskelfe, had cast his eyes on the comely young woman, and he\ntook advantage of the rupture between the lovers to step in and offer\nhis hand to the damsel. He was at once accepted, in a fit of resentment\nagainst Ralph Raynard, and the marriage rapidly followed; so that she\nsoon found herself the wife of a man whom she did not love, and some\nmiles nearer the White House, where lived Ralph, whom she did love, than\nwhen she had resided at Thornton Bridge.\n\nThe resentment she had felt died away; an explanation followed when too\nlate. There was a scene--despair on both sides, and resentment\nentertained by both Ralph Raynard and Mrs. Fletcher against the\nunfortunate yeoman who stood between them and perfect union and\nhappiness.\n\nOn market-day, when Mrs. Fletcher ambled on her nag into Easingwold, she\ninvariably halted at the White House, when the hostler, one Mark Dunn, a\nbeetle-browed, uncouth fellow from Huby, received and held her horse as\nshe dismounted and entered the inn. Ralph, the host, was always there,\nand received Mrs. Fletcher with an affection which dissatisfied his\nsister, a woman of sense, who saw that this cherishing of an old passion\ncould lead to no good. When Mark Dunn disappeared for hours at a time,\nshe shrewdly suspected that he was sent on messages to Raskelfe.\n\nMore than once she interfered and rebuked Ralph, her brother, warning\nhim of the dangerous consequences of thus encouraging the attachment of\na woman now bound to another man by the most sacred ties. With an oath\nhe bade her mind her own business, and not interfere with him.\n\nFletcher could not but be aware that his wife did not love him; whispers\nreached him that she met her old sweetheart when he was from home; that\nher nag was seen standing an unreasonable time outside the door of the\nWhite House. He caught Mark Dunn one evening prowling in his orchard,\nand he fell on him with a stick. The ungainly fellow howled with pain,\nand swore revenge.\n\nFletcher became gloomy, neglected his affairs, and began to fall into\ndifficulties. He had been sincerely, passionately attached to the\ndark-eyed, handsome girl he had brought to his home. He had done his\nutmost to render her happy, and now she was making his home miserable,\ndestroying the former serenity of his spirits.\n\nHe was obliged to go one day on business to Easingwold. He would not\nreturn till late. His wife knew it. Something troubled his mind. A\npresentiment of evil which he could not shake off hung over him, and he\nwrote on a sheet of paper--\n\n\n     \"If I should be missing, or suddenly wanted be,\n     Mark Ralph Raynard, Mark Dunn, and mark my wife for me,\"\n\n\ndirected it to his sister, and on reaching Easingwold, posted it.\n\nNo sooner was he gone than Mrs. Fletcher mounted her horse and rode to\nthe White House. She asked to see Raynard, and he walked by her side\nsome way back to Raskelfe. There they parted; and Raynard was next\nobserved in close conversation with his hostler, Mark Dunn.\n\nIt was May-Day. In the sweet spring evening Fletcher was returning on\nfoot from Easingwold, when he came to Daunay Bridge, where at that time\na road branched off from the highway from the North to York, and\ntraversing the Lund, led to Raskelfe. As he crossed the bridge he stood\nstill for a moment, and looked up at the stars, just appearing. Next\nmoment Raynard and Dunn were upon him; they had sprung from behind the\nbridge, and he was flung over it into the water. The stream is narrow\nand not deep, so that, once recovered from the shock, he could have\neasily crawled out. But the murderers leaped into the water after him.\nMrs. Fletcher, with a long sack over her shoulder, ran out from the\nshadow of a bush where she had been concealed, and they held the farmer\nunder water, the two men grasping his throat, his wife retaining his\nfeet in the sack, into which she thrust them, till his struggles ceased,\nand he was, or was supposed to be, dead.\n\nThe body was then thrust into the sack which Mrs. Fletcher had brought\nfor the purpose, and the three guilty ones assisted in carrying or\ndragging the body along the road towards the White House. They were\nalarmed once; the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard, and they\nconcealed themselves by the road-side. The horseman passed, they emerged\nfrom their place of hiding, and continued their course.\n\nAs they drew near to the inn a streak of light from the inn-door showed\nthat it was open. They heard voices. The horseman had called for\nsomething to drink, and it was brought to him without his dismounting.\nThen Miss Raynard was heard calling, \"Ralph! Ralph!\" She wondered,\nperhaps, at his long absence, or wanted him for some purpose in the\nhouse.\n\nNo answer was returned. Raynard, Dunn, and Mrs. Fletcher lifted the body\nover the low hedge into Raynard's croft or garden, and buried it in a\nplace where the ground had been disturbed that day by his having stubbed\nup an old root. They carefully covered the body with earth, and Raynard\nsowed mustard-seed over the place.\n\nIt was thought prudent that Mrs. Fletcher and Raynard should not meet\nafter this.\n\nPeople wondered what had become of Fletcher; but knowing that he was\nsomewhat embarrassed in his circumstances, they readily accepted the\nstatement of his wife--that he had gone out of the way to avoid having\na writ served on him.\n\nThus matters stood till the 7th July, when Ralph Raynard rode to\nTopcliffe fair. It was a bright sunny day. He passed the Moor House, but\ndid not stay there; crossed Thornton Bridge, went before the Red House,\nwhere he had so often visited and spent such happy hours with the woman\nwho was now his accomplice in crime, along by Cundall to Topcliffe.\n\nHe dismounted at the inn there--the Angel, an old-fashioned house near\nthe dilapidated market-cross. He led his horse out of the yard into the\nstable. The sun glared without; within it was dark. As he was removing\nthe bridle from his horse, suddenly he saw standing before him the\nspirit of Fletcher, pale, with a phosphoric light playing about him,\npointing to him, and saying, \"O Ralph, Ralph! repent. Vengeance is at\nhand!\" In an agony of horror he fled out of the stable. In the daylight\nwithout he recovered composure, and endeavoured to believe that he had\nbeen a victim to delusion. He thought he must buy some present for the\nwoman, love for whom had led him to the commission of murder. He went to\none of the stalls to buy some trinket--a chain of imitation coral beads.\n\"How does it look on the neck?\" he asked, extending it to the keeper of\nthe stall. Then he looked up and saw a ghastly figure opposite--the dead\nman with the coral round his neck, knotted under his ear, and his head\non one side, the eyes wide open, with a blaze in the eyes, and heard him\nsay: \"How like you a red streak round the neck such as this? I will put\none round the throat of my wife; and you shall wear one too!\"\n\nSick and faint, he hastened back to the inn, and called for beer.\nTowards evening he rode home. He saw as he came towards the Carr, where\nthere is a dense clump of trees, a figure looking at him. It was\ndeliberately getting out of a sack, and shaking and wringing water out\nof its clothes. With a scream of terror Raynard plunged his spurs into\nthe horse's flanks, and galloped past Cundall, home. As he crossed\nThornton Bridge he closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he saw\nthe well-known figure of the dead man walking before him so fast that\nhis horse could not catch him up. The ghost trailed the sack after it,\nand left a luminous track on the road. When it reached a point at a\nlittle distance from the White House--the very spot where Raynard, Mrs.\nFletcher, and Mark Dunn had turned aside with the body--the spectre\nstrode across the heather, leaped the low hedge, and melted, apparently,\ninto the ground, where now a rich, green crop of mustard was growing.\n\n\"You're back earlier than I thought,\" said the sister of Ralph Raynard.\n\"I reckon thou'st not been stopping this time at Moor House?\"\n\nRaynard said nothing, except \"I'm ill.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said his sister, \"I've gotten thee a nice bit o' supper ready,\nwith a beautiful dish o' salad.\"\n\nAnd she laid the cloth, and placed upon it a plate of fresh-cut\n_mustard_!\n\nRaynard's face grew rigid and white.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked his sister.\n\nOpposite him, on the settle, sat the dead man, pointing to the salad.\n\nRalph sprang up, drew his sister away, and told her all.\n\nShe, poor woman, horror-struck, ran off at once to Sir William\nSheffield, a justice of peace, residing at Raskelfe Park. The three\nguilty parties were apprehended and taken to York, where, on July 28th,\n1623, all three were hung.\n\nWhen they had been cut down, the bodies were removed and conveyed in a\nwaggon to the White House, the hangman seated by the driver in front.\nThere is a little rise not far from the inn, commanding the spot where\nthe murder was committed, and the green mustard-bed where the body of\nFletcher had been hidden, but which had been removed and buried in\nRaskelfe churchyard. On this hill a gibbet had been erected, and there\nthe three bodies were hung, with their faces towards the dismal flat and\nthe gurgling stream where the murdered man had been drowned. There they\nhung, blown about by the autumn storms, screeched over by the ravens and\nmagpies, baked by the summer sun, their bare scalps capped with cakes of\nsnow in the cold winter, till they dropped upon the ground, and then the\nbones were buried and the gallows cut down.\n\nAbout eighty years ago the plough was drawn over Gallows Hill, when a\nquantity of bones were unearthed by the share. They were the bones of\nRaynard, Dunn, and Mrs. Fletcher. The hill to this day bears its\nill-omened name, and people mutter about Raskelfe the doggerel lines--\n\n\n     \"A wooden church, a wooden steeple,\n     Rascally church, and rascally[12] people.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[12] Raskelfe is commonly called Rascall.\n\n\n\n\nJEMMY HIRST;\n\nAN ODDITY.[13]\n\n\nJemmy was born at Rawcliffe, in the West Riding, on October 12th, 1738.\nHis father was a respectable substantial farmer, without great\nbrilliancy of parts, but with the usual Yorkshire shrewdness.\n\nThe boy soon began to exhibit originality; mischievousness was mistaken\nby a fond mother for genius, and he was destined for the Church. He was\nsent accordingly to a boarding-school, to a clergyman, at the age of\neight, to acquire the rudiments of the necessary education.\n\nBut at school Jemmy's genius took an altogether perverse turn. He was\nalways first in the playground and last in class; a leader in mischief,\na laggard in study. Finding his master's spectacles on the desk one day,\nJemmy unscrewed them, and removed the glasses. When the Principal came\nin, he gravely took up the spectacles and put them on. Finding them dim,\nhe removed them. When he was seen demurely to wipe where the glasses had\nbeen, and then, with his fingers through the rims, to hold them up to\nhis eyes to see what was the matter, the whole school burst out\nlaughing. The pedagogue demanded the name of the culprit. Jemmy had not\nthe honesty or courage to proclaim himself the author of the trick, and\nthe whole school was whipped accordingly. On the morning of the 1st\nApril, early, a big boy in his dormitory sent Jemmy to the master,\nexpecting that he would knock at his bedroom door, wake him, and get a\nthrashing for his pains. Jemmy turned out of bed and went outside the\ndoor, waited a minute, and then came into the dormitory again. \"Ah! Tom,\nthou'rt in for it. Thou mun go at once to Lovell for having made an\nApril fool of him and me.\" The boy, believing this, went to the master's\ndoor, knocked him up, and got well thrashed for his pains. \"You will\nknow in future what is meant by the biter being bit,\" said Jemmy, when\nthe boy returned, crying. \"There's an old fable about the viper biting\nthe file and breaking his teeth. Perhaps you can understand the moral of\nit now.\"\n\nThe Principal kept an old sow. Jemmy used to get on her back, tie a\npiece of twine--\"band\" a Yorkshire boy would call it--to the ring in her\nsnout, run a nail through the heel of his boot to act as spur, and\ngallop the old sow round the yard. This was often performed with\nimpunity, but not always. The master saw him from his window one morning\nas he was shaving, and rushed down with a horse-whip in his hand. Jemmy\nwas careering joyously round and round the yard when a crack of the lash\nacross his back dislodged him. He was fed next day on bread and water as\na punishment.\n\nOne night Jemmy and some of his schoolmates got out of the house with\nintent to rob an orchard. But one of the day scholars had overheard the\nboarders planning the raid, and he informed the farmer whose orchard it\nwas purposed to rob, and he was on the look-out for the young rogues.\nWhen they arrived he suffered one of them--it was Jemmy--to climb an\napple-tree without molestation, but then he rushed forth from his\nhiding-place and laid about him with a carter's whip with hearty\ngood-will. The boys fled in all directions, except Jemmy, who escaped\nfurther up the tree, and there remained, unable, like a squirrel, to\nleap from bough to bough, and so escape. The farmer went under the tree\nand shouted to him, \"Come down, you young rascal! I'll strap thee!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered Jemmy, \"dost see any green in my eye? It's like I should\ncome down to get a whipping, isn't it?\" And he began leisurely to eat\nsome of the apples, and pelt the farmer with others. The man, highly\nirate, began to climb the tree after him. Jem remained composedly eating\ntill the farmer was within reach of him, and then he drew a cornet of\npepper from his pocket and dusted it into the eyes of his pursuer. The\nman, half-blinded, desisted from his attempts to catch the boy, in his\nefforts to clear his eyes, and Jemmy slipt past him down the tree and\nescaped. Next day the farmer came to the school to complain, and Jemmy\nreceived thirty strokes on his back with the birch. \"Ah!\" said Jemmy,\n\"thou'st made my back tingle, and I'll make thine smart.\" So he got a\ndarning-needle, and stuck it in the master's hair-bottomed chair in such\na way that when anyone sat down the needle would protrude through the\ncushion, but would recede on the person's rising again.\n\nAt school hour the master came in, and seated himself in his chair with\nhis usual gravity. But suddenly up he bounded like a rocket; then turned\nand examined the cushion, very red in the face. The cushion seemed all\nright when he felt it with his hand, so he sat himself down on it again,\nbut this time much more leisurely. No sooner, however, was his weight on\nit than up came the needle again, and with it up bounded the master.\n\n\"Please, sir,\" said Jemmy, affecting simplicity, \"was there a thorn in\nthe seat? If so, thou'd better run two or three times round t' school\nyard; I did so yesterday to work t' birch buds out o' my flesh.\"\n\nJemmy had one day tied two cats together by their hind legs and thrown\nthem over a rail, when the master, who had been watching him from an\nupper window, made his appearance on the scene, horsewhip in hand, and\nbelaboured Jemmy severely. But little Hirst always retaliated in some\nway. The master used to walk up and down in the evening in the yard\nbehind the school. He wore a foxy wig. Jemmy one evening went into the\nstudy where Mr. Lovell kept his fishing tackle, for he was fond of\nangling. The window was open; Jemmy cast the hook, as for a fish, and\ncaught the little fox-coloured wig. Then leaving the rod in the window,\nand the head of hair dangling above the master's reach, he ran down into\nthe school. The Principal was therefore obliged to go upstairs with bald\nhead to his study to recover his wig. This final act of insubordination\nwas too much for Mr. Lovell--it touched him in his tenderest point; and\nhe wrote to Mr. Hirst to request him to remove the unmanageable boy from\nhis school.\n\nHe was fourteen years old when his father took him away, and was little\nadvanced in his learning. Every prospect of his going into the Church\nwas abandoned, but what trade or profession he was qualified for was as\nyet undecided. His father wanted to put him to school again, but Jemmy\nso steadily and doggedly persisted in his refusal to go to another, that\nhis indulgent father ceased to press it. The boy showed no inclination\nfor farming, and no persuasion of his father could induce him to take a\nfarming implement in his hands to work with. His chief pleasure\nconsisted in teaching pigs and calves to jump.\n\nMr. Hirst had a friend at Rawcliffe, a tanner, and this friend persuaded\nMr. Hirst to bind Jemmy apprentice to him; and as the boy showed no\ndisinclination to the trade, he was bound to the tanner for seven years.\n\nThe tanner had a daughter called Mary, a year younger than Jemmy, and a\ntender friendship grew up between the young people: Jemmy was softened\nand civilised by the gentle influence of the girl; he took willingly to\nthe trade, became settled, lost his mischievous propensities, and\npromised to turn out a respectable member of society. An incident\noccurred three years after he had entered the tanner's house which\ntended to cement this attachment closer. Mary went one Saturday to spend\nthe day with an aunt living at Barnsley. Jemmy ferried her over the\nriver in a boat belonging to the tanner, and promised to fetch her in\nthe evening. Accordingly, towards nightfall, he crossed the river, and\nmade his boat fast to a stake, and then walked to Barnsley to meet the\nyoung girl. Mary met him with her usual smile, and tripped by his side\nto the boat, but in stepping into it her foot slipped, and she was swept\ndown by the current. Jemmy instantly leaped overboard, swam after her,\novertook her before she sank, and supporting her with one arm, succeeded\nin bringing her ashore, where several persons who had witnessed the\naccident were assembled to assist and receive her.\n\nMary's parents showed Jemmy much gratitude for his courageous conduct in\nsaving her life, and the girl clung to him with intense affection;\nwhilst Jemmy, who seemed to think he had acquired some right over her by\nhis having saved her life, was never happy unless he was by her side.\nThey were always together. She would steal in to do her needlework in\nthe place where he was engaged in his trade, and when work was over they\nwere together walking in the lanes and fields.\n\nBut in the midst of this happiness a stroke fell on them which for ever\naltered the tenor of Jemmy's life. Mary fell ill with small-pox. The lad\nwatched by her bedside night and day, giving her medicine, making up her\npillow, tending her with agonised heart, utterly forgetful of himself,\nfearing no risk of infection, heedless of taking his natural rest. The\nwhole time of her illness he never slept, and could scarcely be induced\nto leave her side for his meals.\n\nOn the fifth day she died. The blow was more than Jemmy could bear, and\nhe was prostrated with brain-fever.\n\nThat the poor boy had naturally very deep feelings is evident from his\nhaving, some few years before, been laid up with fever when his mother\ndied. Hearing of her death whilst he was at school, he became ill and\nwas removed home, where it was some time before he got over the shock.\nMary had taken the place in his vacant heart formerly occupied by his\nmother, and with years the strength of his feelings had increased.\nConsequently the loss of Mary affected him even more than that of his\nmother.\n\nIn his brain fever he raved incessantly of the poor dead girl, and for\nseveral weeks his life was despaired of. By degrees he slowly recovered;\nbut for some time it was feared that his reason was gone. At the end of\nsix or seven months he was able to take a little exercise without\nattendance; but, as will be seen, he never wholly recovered the blow,\nand his conduct thenceforth was so eccentric that there can be no doubt\nhis brain was affected.\n\nHe left the tanner's, abandoned the trade, and returned to his father's\nhouse, where he idled, preying on his fancies--one day in mad, exuberant\nspirits, the next overwhelmed with despondency.\n\nWhen aged five-and-twenty he took a fancy to a fine bull-calf belonging\nto his father, which he called \"Jupiter,\" and he began to train it to\nperform various tricks, and to break it to bear the saddle. Jupiter bore\nthe bridle patiently enough, but plunged and tossed his horns when the\nsaddle was placed on his back. Jemmy next ventured to mount his back.\nThe young bull stood for a minute or two, as his father said, \"right\ndown stagnated,\" and then began to plunge and kick. Jemmy held fast, and\nJupiter, finding he could not thus dislodge his rider, set off, tearing\nacross the paddock towards a thick quickset hedge at the bottom. But\ninstead of leaping it, as Jemmy expected, the bull ran against the\nfence, and precipitated his rider over the hedge into the ditch on the\nfurther side. Jemmy was unhurt, except for a few scratches and some\nrents in his garments, and patches of mud, and picking himself up, raced\nafter Jupiter, nothing daunted, caught him, and remounting him, mastered\nthe beast. After this he rode Jupiter daily, to the great amusement of\npeople generally, especially when he trotted into Snaith on market-days\non the back of the now docile bull.\n\nOn the death of his father he was left about \u00a31000. The farm he gave up,\nhaving no taste for agriculture, and he took a house on the bank of the\nriver, not far from his old master's the tanner. The house had a few\nacres of land attached to it, which he cultivated. The old housekeeper,\nwho had known him since a child, followed him to his new home; and in\nhis stable was a stall for Jupiter.\n\nHe began to speculate in corn, flax, and potatoes, and having\nconsiderable natural shrewdness underlying his eccentric manners, he\nmanaged to realise enough to support himself comfortably. He invested\n\u00a34000 in consols, and had \u00a32000 lying at interest in a neighbouring\nbank. He rode out with Lord Beaumont's foxhounds, always on Jupiter, who\nwas trained to jump as well as to run. When he was seen coming up on the\nbull, Lord Beaumont would turn to those with him at the meet and say,\n\"Well, gentlemen, if we are not destined to find game to-day, we may be\nsure of sport.\"\n\nHis dress was as extraordinary as his mount, for he wore a broad-brimmed\nhat of lambskin, fully nine feet in circumference; his waistcoat was\nlike Joseph's coat of many colours, made of patchwork; his breeches were\nof listings of various colours, plaited together by his housekeeper; and\nhe wore yellow boots.\n\nThough Jupiter could keep up with the foxhunters for a few miles, his\npowers of endurance were not so great as those of a horse, and he began\nto lag. Lord Beaumont would pass Jemmy, and say, \"Come, Mr. Hirst, you\nwill not be in at the death.\"\n\n\"No; but I shall at the dinner,\" was Jemmy's dry reply. Lord Beaumont\nalways took the hint and invited him to Carlton House to the hunting\ndinner.\n\nHis Lordship had a nephew visiting him on one occasion, a London\nexquisite, who thought he could amuse himself at Jemmy's expense. One\nday at the meet this young man said to Captain Bolton, \"Let us quiz the\nold fellow.\"--\"By all means,\" answered the captain; \"but take care that\nyou do not get the worst of it.\"\n\nWhen Jemmy came up, the young dandy, bowing to him on his saddle, said,\n\"I wish you a good morning, Joseph.\"\n\n\"My name isn't Joseph,\" answered Jemmy.\n\n\"Oh, I beg pardon. I mistook you by your coat and waistcoat for that\npatriarch.\"\n\n\"Young man,\" said Jemmy, with perfect composure, \"'t win't do to judge\nby appearances. As I wor a-coming up, says I to mysen, 'You're a\ngentleman.' When I gotten a bit closer, says I, 'Nay, he's a dandy.' And\nnow that I heard thee voice, I knows thou'rt nowt but a jackass.\"\n\nJemmy was out with the hounds one day, along with Lord Wharncliffe and\nLord Beaumont and several of the gentry of the neighbourhood. It was\nagreed amongst them, unknown to Jemmy, that he should be let into a\nscrape, if possible. Accordingly, after the start, Lord Wharncliffe kept\nnear him, and led him into a field surrounded by a low, thick hedge--low\nenough for Jupiter to clear without any trouble. On the other side of\nthe hedge in one place there was a drinking-pond for the cattle, five or\nsix feet deep, and full of water at the time. Lord Wharncliffe kept\nclose by Jemmy, and edged towards where the pond was; and then, putting\nspurs to his horse, he leaped the fence, and Jemmy did the same to\nJupiter, and clearing the hedge in gallant style, came splashing into\nthe water, and rolled off Jupiter.\n\nLord Wharncliffe, when he saw Jemmy fairly in the middle of the pond,\nturned back, and alighted, in order to assist him out of the water. He\nfound him half blinded with mud and dirt, trying to scramble out, his\nclothes completely saturated. Jemmy managed to get out without\nassistance, but it was some time before their united efforts could\nextricate Jupiter.\n\nLord Beaumont offered Jemmy a change of clothes if he would go to his\nhouse, but he would not hear of the proposal, declaring he would see the\nday's sport over first; and so they rode on together towards the rest of\nthe party, who were halted near Rawcliffe Wood. The fox had been caught\nafter a short run, and the huntsmen were already beating after another.\n\nJemmy was greeted with a general titter. Captain Bolton laughed out, and\nsaid, \"Why, Jemmy, you've been fishing, not hunting. What have you\ncaught?\"\n\nJemmy looked hard at him--he was in no good humour after his plunge--and\nsaid, \"I reckon there's a flat fish I know of that I'll catch some day.\"\n\n\"Why, Jemmy,\" said Lord Wharncliffe, laughing, \"I saw you catch a\nflounder.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" said the captain, \"that's good! You've taken the shine out of\nyour smart clothes to-day, Jemmy.\"\n\n\"A little water will give it back to them,\" answered Hirst, sulkily.\n\n\"Jemmy,\" asked Captain Bolton, \"did you think you were drowning in the\nwash-tub? Did you say your prayers in it?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Jemmy, angrily, \"I didn't; but what I was doing then was\nwishing I'd got a contemptible puppy named Bolton in the pond with me,\nthat I might kick his breech.\"\n\nJemmy soon saw that he had been the victim of a planned trick, and he\ndetermined to have his revenge. \"I know very well that Lord Wharncliffe\nled me o' purpose into t' pond--I could see't by his manner; but I'll be\neven wi' him.\"\n\nHe did not carry his purpose into execution at once, lest he should\narouse suspicion, but about a month afterwards, when in company with\nLord Wharncliffe, he adroitly let drop that he had seen a number of\nsnipe on Rawcliffe moor. This moor, now enclosed, was then a wide, open\ncommon, full of marshy places, and with here and there bogs covered with\na little green moss, deep holes full of peat water, not to be discerned\nexcept by those who were well acquainted with them and the\ntreacherousness of their bright green covering. Lord Wharncliffe,\nCaptain Bolton, and some others, made up a party to shoot on the common\nthe following day, and met Jemmy, who undertook to show them where the\nsnipe most congregated.\n\nThey had a good day's sport, and when it fell dusk were returning home,\nJemmy beside Lord Wharncliffe, whom he engaged in conversation, and\nCaptain Bolton, with his gun over his shoulder, immediately behind,\njoining in the conversation at intervals. Jemmy led the way direct to\none of these bog-holes, and on reaching the patch of moss adroitly\nslipped on one side, and let Lord Wharncliffe and Captain Bolton walk\nstraight into it. The moss at once yielded, and both sank to their\nbreasts, and only kept their heads above water by spreading out their\narms on the moss. In this condition they were perfectly helpless. To\nstruggle was to endanger their lives, for if the web of moss were torn,\nthey must infallibly sink beneath it.\n\nJemmy looked at them from the firm ground with a malicious grin.\n\n\"Ha, ha! captain,\" said he, laughing; \"art thou saying thy prayers in\nyond wash-tub?\"\n\n\"Go to the devil!\" roared Captain Bolton.\n\n\"Nay,\" answered Jemmy, \"thou'rt going to him as fast as thou can, unless\nI pull thee out.\"\n\nHe held out his gun to Lord Wharncliffe, and assisted him from the hole.\n\"There, my lord, now you have tit for tat.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Hirst, I shall take care how I play with edged tools again.\nBut I think it is too bad of you to punish Captain Bolton as well as\nme.\"\n\n\"Why, my lord, he seemed to enjoy the horse-pond so much that I thowt\nI'd let him taste the bog-pit. I've no doubt it gives him a deal o'\npleasure.\"\n\n\"You old scarecrow!\" said the captain, angrily. \"I've a great mind to\nshoot you.\"\n\nAs he was helping Captain Bolton out with his gun he said drily, \"Sure\nit's a rare funny sight to see a queer sole angling for a flat fish.\"\n\nThe immersed man little enjoyed the jokes at his expense, and he swore\nat Jemmy. \"Ah!\" said that oddity, \"I don't think thou'rt a fish worth\ncatching. Shall I fling him in again, my lord? He's nowt but what folks\nwould call a little common-place.\"\n\nJemmy's old housekeeper died, and he supplied her place by a strange\ncreature, nearly as great an oddity as himself, called Sarah, who for\nmany years had kept house for a rag-and-bone dealer at Howden, but who\nat his death had returned to Rawcliffe, her native place, and was living\nwith her brother there when Jemmy engaged her.\n\nHaving made money by his speculations in corn and potatoes, he resolved\nto retire from business. He invested \u00a34000 in the funds and \u00a32000 in the\nbank, and lived on the interest. He was now forty-five years old.\n\nAn inactive life, however, did not suit him, so he turned his mind to\nmechanics, and made several curious contrivances, some useful. He\nconstructed a windmill to thrash corn, but for this purpose it did not\nanswer, though it served for cutting up straw and chopping turnips.\n\nHis next contrivance was a carriage, the body of which was made of\nwickerwork. It cost him a year's constant application to finish it, and\nwhen completed it was calculated to cause a sensation. It was a huge\npalanquin, with a top like an exaggerated Chinaman's hat, supported on\nfour iron rods, which were screwed into the shafts, the shafts running\nthe whole length of the carriage, and resting on springs connected with\nthe axle of the wheels. The sides and back of the carriage were made of\nwickerwork matting. The axle-case was faced with a clock dial with\nnumbers, and hands connected with a piece of ingenious mechanism,\nafterwards perfected and patented by another person, which told the\ndistance the carriage had gone by measuring the number of rotations made\nby the wheels.\n\nJemmy used for his hunting-suit a lambskin hat, a rabbit-skin jacket, a\nwaistcoat made of the skins of drakes' necks with the feathers on, a\npair of list breeches, yellow, blue, black, and red, stockings of red\nand white worsted, and yellow boots. His best room was furnished as\ncuriously as his person. Instead of pictures, the walls were hung round\nwith bits of old iron and coils of rope; in one place an old frying-pan,\nin another a rusty sword, a piece of a chair, or a jug.\n\nOne evening, after a day's sport, he invited the party to join him for a\nsocial evening, and the offer was eagerly accepted, as every one was\ncurious to see the interior of his house. He gave them a very fair\nentertainment, and amused them all the evening with his jokes.\nImmediately over Lord Wharncliffe's head was suspended a pair of horse's\nblinkers.\n\n\"Do you wear these?\" asked a Mr. Sadler who was present.\n\n\"No, sir, I do not; I keep them for donkeys of a peculiar make, who\nstand on their hind legs and ask impertinent questions.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the young man, reddening. \"Is that intended as\na personal remark?\"\n\n\"Draw your own inferences,\" answered Jemmy, knocking the ashes out of\nhis pipe.\n\nThe young man was so offended that he demanded satisfaction for the\ninsult. The company tried hard to pacify him, but in vain. Jemmy then\nwhispered in Lord Wharncliffe's ear, and the latter immediately rose\nfrom the table, and said, \"Now, gentlemen, Mr. Hirst is quite willing to\ngive Mr. Sadler that satisfaction he desires. He has requested my\nservices as second. I have granted his wish. As soon as Mr. Sadler can\narrange with any gentleman to act as his second, I shall be happy to\narrange preliminaries with him.\"\n\nMr. Sadler having chosen a second, the belligerents were desired to\nleave the room for a few moments until arrangements had been made for\nthe duel.\n\nAs they left the room Lord Wharncliffe whispered in the ear of one of\nthe party, \"Follow Mr. Sadler into the other room, and take a bottle of\nwine with you; get him to drink as much as possible, and we will manage\nto make the affair end in fun.\"\n\nThe gentleman did as desired. Then Lord Wharncliffe and Jemmy, slipping\nin by another door, proceeded to dress up a dummy that was in a closet\nhard by in Jemmy's clothes.\n\nMr. Sadler was then told that all was ready, and he returned into the\nroom rather the worse for the liquor he had drunk.\n\nThe pistol was put into his hand, and he was stationed opposite the\ndummy, which with outstretched arm pointed a pistol at him. The signal\nwas given, and Mr. Sadler fired; then Jemmy, who was secreted in a\ncloset hard by, pulled a string, and the dummy fell with a heavy thud\nupon the floor.\n\nMr. Sadler, who thought he had killed his antagonist, was sobered\ninstantly, and was filled with remorse and fear. He rushed to the dead\nman and then towards the door, then back to the corpse to see if life\nwere quite extinct. Then only, to his great relief, he found that the\nsupposed dead man was made of wood. The company burst into a roar of\nlaughter, and when he had sufficiently recovered from his bewilderment\nhe joined heartily in the mirth raised at his own expense. Jemmy,\nemerging from his place of concealment, apologised for the offence he\nhad given, and both shook hands. The carouse was renewed with fresh\nvigour, and the sun had risen an hour before the party broke up, and its\nmembers unsteadily wended their way homewards.\n\nJemmy had bought a litter of pigs, and entertained the idea of teaching\nthem to act as setters in his shooting expeditions, and therefore spent\na considerable time every day in training them. There were only two that\nhe could make anything of. But he never could induce them to desist\nfrom grunting. It was impossible to make them control their emotions\nsufficiently to keep quiet, and this inveterate habit of course spoiled\nthem as setters.\n\nWhen the litter was about six months old, one of the little pigs\ndiscovered his potato garden, and that by putting its snout under the\nlowest bar of the gate it could lift the gate so that the latch was\ndisengaged from the catch, and the gate swung open; by this means the\npig was able to get to the roots. Hirst saw the pig do this several\ntimes, and he determined to stop the little game. He therefore ground\nthe blade of a scythe, and fixed it, with the sharp edge downwards, to\nthe lower bar.\n\nShortly after, Jemmy saw the pig go to the gate, but in lifting it off\nthe hasp the scythe-blade cut the end of the Snout off. Jemmy burst out\nlaughing, and called his old housekeeper to see the fun; but old Sarah\nwas more compassionate than her master, and begged him to kill the pig\nand put it out of its pain.\n\nThe carriage did not altogether satisfy Jemmy; he therefore enlarged it\nto double its former size. He made it so that, when necessary, he could\nhave a bed in it; and then he bought four Andalusian mules to draw it,\nand with them he drove to Pontefract and Doncaster races, which he\nattended every year, and created no small sensation along the roads and\non the course. Bear and bull baiting were favourite pastimes with him,\nas was also cock-fighting. He kept two bulls and a bear for this\npurpose. He used to call the bear Nicholas. It was a large savage\nanimal, and was always kept muzzled at home.\n\nOne morning, after it had been baited and had destroyed four dogs, he\ntook it something to eat, but it would not touch the meat. \"Ah! thou'rt\nsulky; then I mun gi'e thee a taste o' t' whip.\" So saying, he struck\nthe bear over the muzzle with a hunting-whip he carried in his hand.\n\nHe had no sooner done so than the bear sprang upon him, seized him, and\nbegan to hug him. Jemmy roared for help, and a favourite dog rushed to\nhis assistance and seized Bruin by the ear. The bear let go Jemmy to\ndefend itself against the dog, and Jemmy, who had the breath nearly\nsqueezed out of him, managed to crawl beyond the reach of the beast. The\ndog seeing his master safe, laid himself down by him, facing the bear,\nto guard him from further attacks. Sarah found her master half-an-hour\nafter on the ground, unable to rise, and in great pain. She raised him,\nassisted him to the house, and put him to bed. He was confined for three\nweeks by the injuries he had received.\n\nA few weeks after his recovery he attended Pontefract races in his\ncarriage, drawn by four splendid mules, and no one on the course could\nkeep up with him when he put the mules to their speed. Sir John Ramsden\nwas in a carriage drawn by two fine bays, of which he was not a little\nproud, and he challenged Jemmy to a trial of speed round the course. Off\nthey started, Sir John taking the lead for a short time, but Jemmy's\nmules, with their light carriage, soon overtook Sir John's bays, and\ncame in a hundred yards before them. It was the most popular race run\nthat year on the Pontefract course.\n\nHe also constructed for himself a pair of wings, and by an ingenious\ncontrivance was able to spread the feathers. But his attempt to fly from\nthe mast-top of a boat in the Humber failed. He fell into the water, and\nwas drawn out covered with mud, amidst the laughter of a crowd which had\nassembled to witness his flight.\n\nJemmy's eccentricities had reached the ears of King George III., and he\nexpressed a desire to see him. Lord Beaumont promised to do his best to\npersuade Hirst to come to town, but at the same time he told the King\nthat if Jemmy took it into his head to decline the invitation, no power\non earth could move him.\n\nAccordingly, Lord Beaumont wrote to Jemmy, stating his Majesty's wish to\nsee him, and urging him to come as soon as possible. At the end of the\nweek Lord Beaumont received the following reply:--\n\n\n     \"MY LORD,--I have received thy letter stating his Majesty's wish to\n     see me. What does his Majesty wish to see me for? I'm nothing\n     related to him, and I owe him nothing that I know of; so I can't\n     conceive what he wants with me. I suspect thou hast been telling\n     him what queer clothes I wear, and such like. Well, thou may tell\n     his Majesty that I am very busy just now training an otter to fish;\n     but I'll contrive to come in the course of a month or so, as I\n     should like to see London.\"\n\n\nLord Beaumont showed Jemmy's letter to George III., who laughed when he\nread it, and said, \"He seems to think more of seeing London than of the\nhonour of introduction to royalty.\"\n\nJemmy spent a month in getting ready for his journey to London; he had\nan entirely new suit made--a new lambskin hat of the old dimensions, an\notter-skin coat lined with red flannel and turned up with scarlet cloth,\na waistcoat of the skins of drakes' necks, list breeches, red and white\nstriped stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles on them. His\ncarriage was repainted in the most lively colours; and when all was\nready he adjured Sarah to look well after his favourites during his\nabsence, and then drove off at a slashing pace, drawn by his four\nAndalusians.\n\nHe created a sensation in every town and village he passed through.\nPeople turned out of their shops and houses to see him.\n\nHe put up at Doncaster at the King's Head Inn. The hostler there\nexhibited Jemmy's carriage and mules at a penny charge for admission,\nand realised something handsome thereby. The landlord also reaped a good\nharvest, for the inn was crowded as long as Jemmy stayed there.\n\nJemmy reached London in three days. Lord Beaumont's butler had been sent\nsome time before to Tottenham, with orders to wait there till Mr. Hirst\nmade his appearance and then to conduct him to his Lordship's town\nresidence.\n\nOn Jemmy arriving at Tottenham, the butler informed him of his\nlordship's orders, and then rode off before him to show the way. The\nnews spread through London, and the streets were crowded, so that the\ncarriage could hardly make its way through the numbers of people whom\nthe report of the arrival of an eccentric Yorkshireman on a visit to the\nKing had drawn together. Jemmy, who was immensely conceited, was greatly\ndelighted with this ovation. On reaching Lord Beaumont's house he was\nwelcomed by his Lordship with great cordiality; and after lunch was\ndriven out in Lord Beaumont's carriage to see the sights of London. The\nKing was informed of Jemmy's arrival, and his Majesty expressed his wish\nthat Jemmy should be presented to him on the morrow. Lord Beaumont\nvainly endeavoured to press on the strange fellow the obligations of the\nCourt ceremonial. \"D---- your forms and ceremonies!\" said he,\nimpatiently. \"If the King don't like my ways, he must let it alone. I\ndid not seek his acquaintance--he must take me as I am. I am a plain\nYorkshireman, and if the King asks me a question in a plain manner, I\nshall answer him in a plain way, so that he or anybody else may\nunderstand. I can do no more.\"\n\nLord Beaumont saw it was in vain to press him further in the matter,\nand therefore left him to follow his own course.\n\nOn the following morning, Jemmy set out in his wickerwork carriage, in\nall the glory of drakes' necks, lambs' wool, and otter skins turned up\nwith scarlet, to visit the King. But if the streets were crowded the day\nbefore, on this occasion they were crammed, for the news had spread that\nJemmy was going in state to Court.\n\nLord Beaumont and a couple of Horse Guards accompanied the carriage, and\nwith difficulty made a passage for Jemmy; and all along the streets the\nwindows were filled with heads.\n\nWhen Jemmy alighted he was conducted by Lord Beaumont into an\nante-chamber, to await the King's pleasure. The Duke of Devonshire was\nalso waiting there for an audience with His Majesty, and on seeing this\nextraordinary fellow enter, he burst into a fit of uncontrollable\nlaughter, and exclaimed, \"'Pon my honour! what a scarecrow. Why,\nBeaumont, where did you pick up that ridiculous object? Why have you\nbrought such a merry-andrew here?\" Jemmy listened patiently for a moment\nonly to the Duke's exclamations and laughter, and then seizing a tumbler\nof water that stood on the sideboard, he dashed it in the Duke's face,\nexclaiming that the poor man was in hysterics: he ran to the Duke,\nloosed his cravat, pulled his nose, and shook him, pretending that he\nwas using his best endeavours to bring him round from his fit.\n\nAt that moment a messenger came to announce that his Majesty wished to\nsee Lord Beaumont and Mr. Hirst; so Jemmy was ushered into the royal\npresence. But instead of kneeling and kissing the hand that was extended\nto him in silence, he caught it and gave it a hearty shake, saying,\n\"Eh! I'm glad to see thee such a plain owd chap. If thou ever comes to\nRawcliffe, step in and give me a visit. I can give thee some rare good\nwine, or a sup of brandy and water at ony time.\"\n\nThe court was convulsed with laughter, and King George III. could hardly\ncontain himself. However, he did not laugh out openly, but with courtesy\nmaintained his gravity, and asked Jemmy how he liked London. \"I like it\nweel enow,\" answered the oddity; \"but I hadn't ony idea afore yesterday\nand to-day there were sae mony fools in it.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the King; \"you pay us a very poor compliment, Mr. Hirst.\nI did not know that we were so badly off for wisdom in London. Perhaps\nthat is an article in such demand in Yorkshire that there is none to\nspare for cockneys.\"\n\n\"Why, I'll thee how it were,\" said Jemmy. \"When I come into t' town\nyesterday, and to thy house to-day, the streets were full o' crowds of\nfolks gathered as thick as owt to see me, just a cause I happ'd to be\ndressed different frae other folk; and as I were waiting out yonder i'\nt' fore-chamber, there were one o' thy sarvants burst out laughing at\nme; but I reckon I spoiled his ruffled shirt for him and punished his\nimpertinence.\"\n\nThe King asked an explanation of Lord Beaumont, and when he had heard\nwhat Jemmy had done to the Duke of Devonshire, the King laughed\nheartily.\n\n\"Did you think to find London streets paved with gold?\" asked the King.\n\n\"Mebbe I did,\" answered Jemmy; \"but I've found out I was mista'en. It's\nnowt but a mucky place, after all.\"\n\n\"A Yorkshire bite,\" said his Majesty.\n\n\"Aye,\" answered Jemmy, \"but I'm no a bite for thee.\"\n\nAfter some further conversation the King and his attendants descended\nto look at Jemmy's carriage, and he showed the clock for marking the\ndistance he travelled; the King was interested with this, and praised it\nas an ingenious contrivance. Jemmy then showed him the place he had made\nfor the reception of his wine when he travelled, but which was then\nempty. His Majesty immediately ordered it to be filled with bottles from\nthe royal cellar.\n\nAs Jemmy was taking leave of the King he heard a young nobleman say to\nanother, \"What an old fool that is to wear such a hat; it is three times\nas large as is necessary.\"\n\nJemmy turned sharply upon him and said: \"I'll tell thee what, young\nchap, folks don't always have things aboot 'em that's necessary, or his\nMajesty could dispense varry weel wi' thee.\"\n\nLord Beaumont gave an entertainment at which Jemmy was present, and\ndanced with a niece of his host. He danced very well, and was very\npopular; all the evening he was surrounded by a knot of young ladies and\ngentlemen who did their best to draw him out. But it was dangerous game,\nfor those who attempted to play jokes on him generally got the worst of\nit. A young man present asked Jemmy to procure him a suit of clothes\nlike his own, as he wanted them to attend a masquerade in. Jemmy asked\nin what character he wished to appear.\n\n\"Oh, as a clown, of course,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Nay, then,\" said Jemmy, \"thou'st nowt to do but go just as thou art;\nnobbudy'll mistake thee for owt else.\"\n\n\"You have got your answer,\" said Lord Beaumont's niece, laughing; \"I\nhope you are satisfied with it.\"\n\nDuring his stay in London, Jemmy visited the Court of Chancery, and\nwhilst Lord Beaumont was talking to a friend, a barrister in wig and\ngown passing by stopped, and staring at Jemmy, said, \"Holloa, my man,\nwhat lunatic asylum have you escaped from, eh?\"\n\n\"Bless me!\" exclaimed Jemmy, catching Lord Beaumont's arm; \"sithere,\nyonder's an owd woman i' her nightdress that's tummled out o' bed into\nan ink-pot, and is crawling aboot. Let's get a mop and clean her.\"\n\nAfter spending a week in the metropolis, he returned home much delighted\nwith his visit, which furnished him with topics of conversation for a\nlong time.\n\nSarah, his old housekeeper, falling ill, and being unable to work, Jemmy\nengaged the services of a young woman from Snaith to wait upon him, and\nshe so accommodated herself to Jemmy's whims, that she soon became a\ngreat favourite with him. He would not, however, allow followers about\nthe house; and as Mary had a sweetheart, the meetings between them had\nto be carried on surreptitiously.\n\nHowever, one day whilst Jemmy was hunting, his bull tripped in jumping a\nfence, and fell, with Jemmy's leg under him, which was broken with\ncompound fracture.\n\nThis invalided him for some while. He had a block-tackle fixed to a hook\nin the ceiling of the room, and a sling made for his leg to rest in,\nfastened to the lower end, and whenever he wished to alter the position\nof his leg, he hoisted it up or let it down with the tackle.\n\nDuring his illness the restraint of his observant eye was off Mary, and\nthe sweetheart had opportunities of visiting her. One night, when Jemmy\nwas somewhat recovered, he was sitting in the corner of his garden\nenjoying a pipe of tobacco, when he saw a man jump over the wall into\nthe garden and make his way to the kitchen window, then rap with his\nfingers against the glass. Mary came out to him, and they spent some\ntime in conversation together, and when they parted he promised to\nreturn and see her the following night.\n\nJemmy heard every word that had been said, and he sat chuckling to\nhimself, and muttered, \"So thou'lt come again to-morrow night, wilt\nthou? I'll learn thee to come poaching on my preserves.\"\n\nNext morning, very early, Jemmy rose and dug a hole, four or five feet\ndeep and six or seven feet long, just under that part of the garden wall\nwhere the sweetheart had clambered over the night before, and covered it\nall over with thin laths and brown paper, and then sprinkled mould over\nit, so that it had all the appearance of solid earth. A small stream of\nwater ran through his garden into the river. Jemmy cut a small grip from\nit to the hole he had dug, and filled the hole with water; then choked\nthe grip up and went into his house, laughing to himself at what would\nprobably happen that night.\n\nStationing himself at nightfall in the garden where he could not be\nseen, he had not long to wait before he saw a head rising above the\nwall, then the body of a man, and in another moment the expectant lover\nhad cleared the wall, and dropped on the covering of the pitfall. The\nlaths and brown paper yielded to his weight, and he plunged up to his\nneck in water. The unfortunate young man screamed with fright, and Jemmy\nand Mary rushed to the spot.\n\n\"Holloa, my man! what's the matter? What art a' doing i' yond water-pit?\nHast a' come to steal my apples and pears?\"\n\nThen turning to Mary, he asked if she knew him. The poor girl hesitated,\nbut at last confessed that the young man was her sweetheart. \"Well,\nthen,\" said Jemmy, \"help him out and get him into t' house, and let us\nchange his clothes, for I reckon he's all over muck.\"\n\nThe young man was brought in dripping like a water-rat.\n\n\"Now, then,\" said Jemmy, \"thou mun have a dry suit. Which wilt a'\nhave--a pair o' my list breeches and rabbit-skin coat, or my old\nhousekeeper's petticoats and gown?\"\n\nThe young man ungallantly chose the former, thinking if he must be made\nridiculous before the eyes of Mary, he would be less so in male than\nfemale attire. Jemmy gave him a glass of hot brandy-and-water, kept him\ntalking by the kitchen fire till his clothes were dried, and then\ndismissed him with permission to come to the house openly, and visit\nMary as often as he liked. The young fellow became in time a great\nfavourite with the old man, and when he married Mary, Jemmy gave him \u00a350\nto start life with.\n\nJemmy took it into his head to make himself a coffin, for he said he was\ngetting old, and did not know how soon he might require one, and\ntherefore it was best to be ready. It took him a month to construct it.\nIt had folding-doors instead of a lid, and two panes of glass in each\ndoor; and he fitted the inside with shelves for a cupboard, saying that\nhe might as well turn it to some use whilst he was alive, and then fixed\nit upright in the corner of his sitting-room. Twelve months after, he\nhad a second coffin made on the same model, but better, and with some\nimprovements, by a joiner at Snaith, which cost him \u00a312. \"He always\nwished people to believe that he made it himself; but this was not the\ncase, for the person that made it declared to us that Jemmy enjoined him\nnot to divulge who had made it during his lifetime.\"[14] Inside the\ncoffin he placed a handle connected with a bell outside, so that, as he\nsaid, if he wanted anything when in his grave--shaving-water, sherry, or\nhis boots--he would ring the bell for his servant to bring them to him.\n\nHe bought a sloop, which he called \"The Bull,\" and made a voyage in her\nonce as far as Boston; but he was so sick during the passage that he\ncould never after be persuaded to set foot on her again. \"Nay, nay,\"\nsaid he, \"a yard of dry land is worth a mile of water.\"\n\nOtter-hunting on the marshes between Rawcliffe and Goole was one of his\nfavourite pastimes. He kept a small pack of otter-hounds for the\npurpose.\n\nOne day, when out with three dogs, near where Tunbridge House now\nstands, the dogs started an otter and gave him chase. He made for a\ndrain, and there being plenty of water in it, he dived several times.\nThe dogs followed him in the water, and Jemmy ran along the edge waiting\nfor him. When the otter came out close to him, Jemmy struck at him, but\nmissed his aim and fell, owing to the mud being slippery. The otter\nimmediately seized him by the leg, and succeeded in dragging him into\nthe water before the hounds could come to his assistance. A favourite\ndog, named Sancho, dived, and seizing the otter by the throat, forced it\nto release Jemmy's leg, and he reached the bank greatly shaken and\nexhausted. He fortunately wore that day a thick pair of leather boots,\nwhich prevented the teeth of the otter from cutting his flesh. The other\ndogs had dived to the assistance of Sancho, and they brought the otter\nto the bank, where Jemmy clubbed it. It was the largest otter that he\nhad ever caught, and he had the skin tanned. He kept it for two or three\nyears, and then made a present of it to a hair-dresser who used to\nattend and shave him.\n\nAs he was returning one night about eight o'clock from Howden, where he\nhad been to the bank to draw some money, he was attacked by a couple of\nfootpads, who probably knew where he had been. One seized the bridle of\nhis bull, and the other took hold of Jemmy's arm and demanded his money.\nJemmy suddenly drew a pistol from his pocket and fired it--according to\nhis own account--full in the man's face, then struck spurs into the bull\nand galloped home. After getting assistance, he returned to the place\nwhere he had been stopped, but could find no trace of the persons who\nhad attempted to rob him.\n\nWith the assistance of the captain of his sloop, Jemmy rigged some sails\nto his carriage, and after a few trials of the new contrivance in the\nlanes about Rawcliffe, he set off one day to Pontefract with all sail\nset. Having a fair wind he went at a dashing speed. When he reached the\ntown every one turned out to see the wonderful ship that sailed on dry\nland.\n\nBut when Jemmy reached the first cross-street a puff of wind caught him\nsideways, upset the carriage, and flung Jemmy through the window of a\ndraper's shop, smashing several panes.\n\nThe crowd that followed speedily righted the carriage and extricated\nJemmy, who paid for the damage he had done, and led the way to the\nnearest tavern, where he treated the whole crowd with ale. This bounty\nnaturally elicited great enthusiasm, which exhibited itself in prolonged\ncheers, to Jemmy's great delight, for he was one of the most conceited\nof men.\n\nThe authorities having intimated to him that he would not be allowed to\nsail back through the streets, the crowd yoked themselves to the\ncarriage, and drew him triumphantly out of the town, and would have\ndragged him half way to Rawcliffe had not a favourable wind sprung up,\nwhen Jemmy spread his sails again, and was blown out of sight of the\ncrowd with expedition. He reached home without any further mishap.\n\nA friend writes to me:--\"I remember Jemmy Hirst well coming to Doncaster\nraces in his wretched turn-out, and with a bag of nuts, which he always\nbrought with him for a scramble. He was not a very reputable individual,\nand must have been, I fancy, half-witted. He was wont to issue flash\nnotes on the 'Bank of Rawcliffe,' meaning the river bank, for five\nfarthings; and as these bore a great resemblance to the notes issued by\na banking firm in Doncaster, he was able to deceive many people with\nthem.\"\n\nAmong other accomplishments, Jemmy played the fiddle tolerably well. In\nwinter he would collect all the boys and girls of Rawcliffe at his house\nin the evenings, once a week at least, when he would play the fiddle for\nthem to dance to. At nine o'clock punctually he rang a bell and\ndismissed them. He never would allow them to remain a minute longer.\nThey were sent away with buns, simnel-cake, or apples.\n\nOn another evening of the week he would have all the old women to tea,\nbut he would allow no men in to have tea with him on these occasions.\nThey were invited to come in later, and then dancing and singing began,\nwhich continued till nine, when he would dismiss them with a glass of\nrum or gin each.\n\nOn the evenings that he wished the children to come he blew a horn\nthrice at his door, and six blasts of the horn assembled the old people.\n\nIn his old age, Jemmy was frequently laid up with gout, when he amused\nhimself with the composition of doggerel verses, mostly about himself.\nThey were contemptible productions, but his vanity made him suppose that\nhe was a poet. He got these rhymes printed, and sold them for a penny to\nhis numerous visitors, and as sometimes on a Sunday he had three or four\nhundred people to see him, he realised a good sum--enough to keep him\nfor the week--from this source.\n\nBut besides selling his verses, Jemmy used to make money by showing his\ncoffin to visitors. He would induce them to enter the largest one, which\nwas contrived to close upon any one inside, and hold him fast as a\nprisoner till released from the outside. No one once within was\nsuffered to escape without payment--men were charged a penny, women one\nof their garters. In this way Jemmy accumulated hundreds of garters,\nwhich he tied to his chair. They were of all sorts, from a piece of silk\ndown to a bit of whip-cord. He used to say that he could always tell a\nwoman's character by her garter.\n\nHis old housekeeper, Sarah, after a tedious illness, died, and then\nJemmy would not suffer any one to attend him except the wife of the\ncaptain of his sloop, \"The Bull,\" who used to live in the house with him\nwhen her husband was at sea. All his pets were sold off, except a fox\nwhich he called Charley, that was chained in the back-yard; and his\npointer pigs were converted into bacon and eaten.\n\nDuring the last few years of his life Jemmy was confined a great deal\nwithin doors, and the neighbouring gentry used very often to visit him\nfor the sake of old times; but he never would tolerate a visit from a\nclergyman. He had no religion whatever, and very little morality either.\nNo one ever saw him inside a church or chapel, or got him to enter on\nreligious conversation.\n\nHe was visited one day when he was visibly declining by Lord and Lady\nWharncliffe; and the latter, on his swearing at the twinges of his gout,\ngently reproved him, pained to see how utterly indifferent he seemed to\nthe future. \"Mr. Hirst,\" said her Ladyship, \"you should not swear; you\nreally ought to make some preparation for death.\"\n\n\"Haven't I, my lady?\" asked Jemmy. \"I've had my coffin made these ten\nyears.\"\n\nIt was in vain that Lady Wharncliffe endeavoured to get him into a\nserious turn; he turned off all her remarks with a bantering reply.\n\nJemmy was subject to temporary fits of insanity, in one of which he\nstripped himself stark naked and ran all round Rawcliffe. Fortunately\nit was night, so that there were not many people abroad; but he nearly\nfrightened one young fellow out of his wits as he came bounding upon him\nin the moonlight, round a corner. The cries of this man brought people\nto his assistance, and they ran after Jemmy and caught him as he was\nstepping into a boat with the purpose of ferrying himself across the\nriver, his mind in this disordered condition returning to the event of\nhis youth, when he rowed across to meet his poor Mary. They brought him,\nnot without trouble, to his house, and put him to bed. What made it the\nmore remarkable was, that he had been confined to his bed all day with\ngout, and could scarcely move a limb.\n\nJemmy died on October 29th, 1829, at the age of ninety-one. By his will\nhe left \u00a312 to be given to twelve old maids for carrying him to his\ngrave, \u00a35 for a bagpiper from Aberdeen to play before him alternately\nwith a fiddler to whom he also bequeathed \u00a35, as he was borne to the\nchurchyard.\n\nThe executors had some trouble in carrying out his wishes. The rector of\nRawcliffe protested against the music being played on the occasion; but\neventually a compromise was effected, and the piper was alone allowed to\nhead the funeral to church, playing sacred music. Sacred music on a\nScottish bagpipe!\n\nLong before the funeral started for the church hundreds of spectators\nhad collected in front of the house. Everything being in readiness, the\nprocession moved off--the neighbouring gentry and farmers on horseback,\nfollowed by the piper; next came the coffin, carried by six of the old\nmaids and two men, the other six of the old maids bearing the pall. The\npiper played a psalm tune; but as soon as ever the funeral was over, the\nfiddler met the piper at the church gates, and they struck up the tune\nof \"Owre the hills and far awa',\" followed by the crowd to Jemmy's late\nresidence, where they received their money and were dismissed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[13] \"The Life and Adventures of J. Hirst.\" Hepworth, Knottingly (n.d.)\nAnother Life published at Pontefract.\n\n[14] \"Life and Adventures of James Hirst,\" Knottingley: Hepworth (n.d.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDY OF BENINGBROUGH HALL.\n\n\nIn 1670, Beningbrough Hall, a fine Elizabethan red-brick mansion, stood\nin a park near the junction of the Ouse and Nidd. The old house has been\npulled down, and replaced by an edifice neat and commodious, as the\nguide-books would say, and we need say no more.\n\nIn 1670 Beningbrough Hall belonged to a Roman Catholic family of the\nname of Earle. Mr. Earle, the proprietor, was in somewhat embarrassed\ncircumstances, and was mixed up with some of the plots then rife. He was\nmuch away from the Hall--generally in London; but the house was full of\nservants, under the control of a steward, Philip Laurie, and a\nhousekeeper, named Marian--a comely woman, just passing into middle age.\n\nOne day, when Laurie was absent, two gentlemen arrived at the Hall,\ncloaked, with their hats drawn over their eyes, and were admitted by\nMarian. One of these was Mr. Earle himself, anxious to escape\nrecognition. Who the other was did not transpire. After some\nconversation with the housekeeper, Marian summoned the servants into the\nhall, and ordered them immediately to collect and pack the plate and\npictures--everything that was of value and readily movable. Mr. Earle\ndid not show himself--he remained in the housekeeper's room; but his\ncompanion appeared, and announced that he and Marian were acting under\nthe authority of Mr. Earle, and he read them a letter from that\ngentleman requiring the removal of his valuable property as the\nhousekeeper should direct.\n\nThe servants were much surprised; but as it was known that their master\nwas in difficulties, and as some suspicion seems to have entered their\nheads that he was engaged in a plot, their wonder died away; they\ndiligently discharged their duty, and everything that was required was\nspeedily collected and stowed away in leather bags or wooden boxes in\nthe hall. The housekeeper then dismissed the servants, and she and the\nstranger conveyed the articles packed up into her room.\n\nWhere were they next to be conveyed to, so as to be readily removed? Mr.\nEarle expected a warrant for his arrest on the charge of high treason,\nand the confiscation of all his property. He was therefore desirous to\nremove all he could in time to escape to France.\n\nTo avoid observation, it was advisable that his valuables should be\nsecreted somewhere near, but not in the house. Marian then, with some\nhesitation, told the master that an attachment subsisted between her and\nthe gamekeeper, a man named Martin Giles; that she could rely on his not\ndivulging the secret, and trust him with the custody of the plate, &c.,\ntill it suited the convenience of Mr. Earle to take them away. She was\naccordingly despatched to the gamekeeper's cottage, and he was brought\nto the Hall, and as much of the secret confided to him as could not well\nbe retained. He promised most frankly to do what was desired of him, and\nas he was a Roman Catholic, Mr. Earle felt satisfied that he could trust\nhim not to betray a master who professed the same faith.\n\nWhen Philip Laurie returned he found to his surprise that the house had\nbeen stripped of everything precious. He was extremely incensed, and in\nan angry interview with Marian charged her with having told tales of him\nto her master, and so of having lost him the confidence of Mr. Earle.\nShe did not deny that she mistrusted his honesty, unhappily recalled a\ncircumstance he thought she knew nothing of, and took occasion to give\nhim \"a bit of her mind\"; but she protested that she had not spoken on\nthe subject to her master.\n\nPhilip Laurie asked where the property was removed to. She refused to\ntell him. He swore he would know. He did not trust her story. The house\nhad been plundered; the opportunity had been taken when he was absent,\nand Marian was privy to a robbery.\n\nAfter violent words on both sides they parted. As he left the room the\nsteward turned, fixing his eyes, blazing with deadly hate, upon the\nhousekeeper, and muttered a few inarticulate words.\n\nIt was not long before Laurie suspected or discovered where the\nvaluables were secreted.\n\nChance had thrown in his way a labourer of bad character named William\nVasey, a poacher and a reputed thief. Laurie walked through the park to\nthe cottage of this miscreant, and it was resolved between them that the\nhousekeeper should be murdered, and then that the lodge of the\ngamekeeper should be robbed.\n\nIn the evening Marian was taking her accustomed walk along a beech\navenue beside the Ouse. It was evening, and the red evening sky was\nreflected in the water, which looked like a streak of blood. The rooks\nwere cawing and wheeling about the tree-tops, settling for the night.\n\nA white owl that lived in the ivy that covered the north side of the\nhouse floated, ghostlike, through the gathering darkness. Marian in her\nwhite cap walked quietly in the avenue. She was a Roman Catholic, and\nwas reciting her beads. Laurie knew that she was accustomed every\nevening to retire into this walk to say her rosary.\n\nAt one point a beech-tree had been blown over, and had left a gap to the\nwest, through which the faint reflection of the evening sky fell,\nleaving the shadows beyond it in deeper gloom. For some unaccountable\nreason, as Marian came to this gap, instead of passing it and continuing\nher walk, she stood still, and then turned. A second time she walked the\navenue and came to this gap. A mysterious repugnance to advance caused\nher to hesitate and halt.\n\nThinking that this was an unreasonable feeling, she walked on a couple\nof steps, and then stood still, turned round, and looked at the spot\nwhere the sun had gone down.\n\nAt that moment Vasey sprang from behind a tree, and thrust Marian over\nthe brink. With a shriek she sank.\n\nNext morning the body was found, a part of the rosary clenched in her\nhand, and the other portion was discovered caught in the stump of the\nbroken beech. Prints of a man's boots in the mud showed that Marian had\nnot died by accidentally falling into the water.\n\nSuspicion of the guilt of the murder fell upon Martin Giles, the\ngamekeeper. Laurie was in the Hall the whole time, and therefore no one\nsupposed him implicated in the commission of the crime. The gamekeeper\nhad behaved mysteriously for the last day or two. He had avoided his\nusual friends; he had been seen privately conversing with the\nhousekeeper. Only Marian and he knew that their master had been in the\nhouse; his presence had been concealed from the other servants, who only\nsaw his companion. The removal of the valuables to the house of Giles\nhad been accomplished by the two gentlemen with the assistance of the\ngamekeeper alone. After the valuables had been taken away, the two\ngentlemen in disguise had ridden off.\n\nThe servants, who had noticed that there was some mystery to which Giles\nand Marian were privy, thought that the keeper had killed the poor woman\nout of dread lest she should prove an untrustworthy depositary of the\nsecret, whatever it was. It was known also that the lovers had been\naccustomed to meet in the beech avenue, the place where the murder had\nbeen committed.\n\nWhilst the tide of popular indignation ran strong against the\nunfortunate gamekeeper, Laurie and Vasey resolved on committing the\nrobbery--before also Mr. Earle and his companion had found means to\nremove the property entrusted to his custody.\n\nAt midnight Vasey and the steward went to the gamekeeper's cottage.\nLaurie was to remain outside, and the other ruffian to enter and rob the\nhouse. They thought that Martin Giles was sure to be asleep; but they\nwere mistaken. The man had been sincerely attached to poor Marian, and\nlay tossing in bed, wondering who could have murdered her, and vainly\nracking his brain to discover some clue which could guide him to a\nsolution of the mystery. As he thus lay, he thought he heard a slight\nsound down-stairs. But the wind was blowing, and the trees roaring in\nthe blast; the little diamond panes in the latticed windows clattered,\nand the keeper thought nothing of it.\n\nPresently, however, he heard the latch of his door gently raised, and in\nthe darkness he just distinguished the figure of a man entering the\nroom. He immediately jumped out of bed, but was felled to the ground. As\nhe struggled to rise he was again struck down, and for the moment was\nstunned. But he recovered consciousness almost immediately. He had\nfallen upon a sheep net, which lay in a heap on the floor. He quietly\ngathered up the net in his hands, sprang to his feet, and flinging the\nnet over the murderer, entangled his arms so that he could not extricate\nhimself.\n\nHe wrenched the bludgeon out of his hand, and struck him over the head\nwith it, so that he measured his length, insensible, on the floor.\n\nHad Martin only known that this ruffian had been the murderer of her\nwho had been dearer to him than anyone else in the world, there is no\ndoubt but the blow would have fallen heavier, and would have spared the\nhangman his trouble.\n\nGiles then threw open his window and fired off his gun, to alarm the\ninmates of the Hall.\n\nIn a few minutes the servants made their appearance, amongst them Philip\nLaurie, with a ghastly face. A sign passed between him and Vasey, and he\nrecovered some of his composure. The captured ruffian had assured him he\nwould not betray his accomplice.\n\nVasey was taken into custody, and on the following day was removed to\nYork Castle, where he was committed for burglary with intent to commit\nmurder.\n\nWhen Mr. and Mrs. Earle heard of what had taken place, the latter came\nwith the utmost speed into Yorkshire. Mr. Earle, fearing arrest for\ntreasonable practices, did not venture to do so.\n\nLaurie's conduct had already excited suspicion. He had not been seen\nissuing from the Hall on the night of the attempted robbery with the\nother servants, and was found on the spot fully dressed, and that not in\nhis usual costume, but one which looked as if intended for a disguise.\n\nMrs. Earle sent for him to her boudoir, and dismissed him from her\nservice. As yet there was no charge sufficiently established against him\nto warrant her committing him to custody; but, she added, Vasey had\ndeclared his full intention to confess before his execution.\n\nLaurie, a desperate man, flung himself on his knees, and implored his\nmistress not to send him away; or if, as he heard, she was about to\nescape with Mr. Earle to France, would she allow him to accompany them?\n\nShe indignantly thrust the wretch from her. He started to his feet,\ndrew a pistol from his coat-pocket, and presented it at her head. She\nstruck up his hand, and the contents of the pistol shivered the glasses\nof a chandelier that hung in the room. He rushed out of the room, ran to\nhis own apartment, put another pistol to his forehead, and blew his\nbrains out.\n\nVasey now confessed everything, and was executed at the Tyburn, outside\nMicklegate Bar, at York, on August 18th, 1670.\n\nIt is said that at night a pale, female figure is seen to steal along\nthe bank of the Ouse, where the avenue stood in olden time, and to\ndisappear in the churchyard of Newton, which adjoins the park, where\nMarian was buried.\n\n\n\n\nA YORKSHIRE BUTCHER.\n\n\nThe subject of this memoir has been dead but a few years, and therefore\nI do not give his name, lest it should cause annoyance to his relatives.\nHe was a tall, red-faced, jovial man, with a merry twinkle in his small\neyes; a man who could tell a good story with incomparable drollery, and\nwithal was the gentlest, kindest-hearted man, who would never wound the\nmost sensitive feelings by ridicule. He had a splendid bass voice, and\nsang in the church choir; his knowledge of music was not inconsiderable,\nand for some time he was choir-master, and performed a feat few other\nmen have been able to accomplish--he was able to keep the discordant\nelements of a choir in harmony. His inimitable tact, unvarying good\nnature, and readiness to humour the most self-consequential of the\nperformers, made him vastly popular with them, and prevented or healed\nthose jars which are proverbial among professed votaries of harmony.\n\nThis worthy butcher thus narrated his courtship:--\n\n\"It's a queer thing, sir, hoo things turns oot sometimes. Noo it war a\nqueer thing hoo I chanced to get wed. I war at Leeds once, and I'd na\nmair thowts aboot marrying na mair 'an nowt; and I war just going doon\nt' street, tha knaws, sir, when I met wi' my wife--that's her 'at's my\nwife noo, tha knaws. I'd kenned her afore, a piece back; soa shoo comes\noop to me, an' shoo ses, 'Why, James, lad, is that thee?'--'Aye,' I ses,\n'it is awever.'--'Weel, James,' ses she, 'what's ta doing wi' thysen\nnoo?'--'Why,' I ses, 'I's joost getten me a new hoose.' Soa wi' that she\nses, 'Then I lay, James, if tha's getting a new hoose, tha'll be\nwanting a hoosekeeper.' Soa I ses to 'er, ses I, 'Tha ma' coom and be t'\nwife if ta likes; tha mawn't be t' hoosekeeper, tha knaws, but tha ma'\ncoom and be t' wife.' And soa shoo ses, 'I ain't partikler. I don't mind\nif I do.' So we never had na mair to do aboot t' job.\"\n\nI asked him if he ever had found occasion to regret such an expeditious\nway of settling the matter. He shook his head and said, \"Noa, sir,\nniver. Shoo's made a rare good wife. But shoo's her mawgrums a' times.\nBut what women ain't got 'em? They've all on 'em maggots i' their heads\nor tempers. Tha sees, sir, when a bone were took out o' t' side o' Adam,\nto mak a wife for 'm, 't were hot weather, an' a blue-bottle settled on\nt' rib. When shoo's i' her tantrums ses I to her, 'Ma dear,' ses I, 'I\nwish thy great-great-grand ancestress hed chanced ta be made i' winter.\"\n\nWhen he was married he took his wife a trip to Bolton, and spent a week\non his honeymoon tour. As soon as he was returned home, the first thing\nhe did was to put his wife into the scales and weigh her. Then the\nbutcher took out his account-book, and divided the expenses of the\nmarriage and wedding-tour by the weight of the wife. \"Eh! lass!\" said\nhe, \"thou'st cost me fourteen pence ha'penny a pound. Thou'st the\ndearest piece o' meat that iver I bought.\"\n\nHe had a barometer. The glass stood at set-fair, and for a whole week\nthe rain had been pouring down. On the eighth day the glass was still\ntelling the same tale, and the rain was still falling. Our friend lost\nhis patience, and holding the barometer up to the window he said,\n\"Sithere, lass! thou'st been telling lees. Dost thou see how it's\npouring? I'll teach thee to tell lees again!\" And he smashed the glass.\n\nHe was laid up with gout. The doctor had tried all sorts of medicines,\nbut nothing seemed to profit him. At last the medical man said, \"Try\nsmoking. I daresay smoking would do you a deal of good.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the wife, \"it's possible it might. But thou seest, doctor,\nchimleys is made so narrow nowadays that one cannot hang un up i' t'\nreek (smoke) as one did wi' one's bacon i' bygone days.\"\n\nHis wife was dying. She was long ill, and during her sickness was always\nexclaiming, \"Eh! I'm boun' to dee. It win't be long afore I dee. I\nshan't be long here\"--and the like. Our jolly butcher heard these\nexclamations day after day, and said nothing. At last he got a little\nimpatient over them, and said one day, as she was exclaiming as usual,\n\"O dear! I'm goin' to dee!\"--\"Why, lass, thou'st said that ower and ower\nagain a mony times. Why doan't thou set a time, and stick to it?\"\n\nOn another occasion his wife slightly varied the tune to \"Eh! the poor\nbairns! What will become o' t' bairns when I dee? Who will mind t'\nbairns when their mother is dead?\"\n\n\"Never thee trouble thy head about that,\" said her husband; \"go on wi'\nthy deein'. I'll mind t' bairns.\"\n\nHe was going to York with his son, a boy of eighteen. He took a ticket\nfor himself and a half-one for the boy. When the train drew near to\nYork, the ticket-collector came round, and exclaimed at this\nhalf-ticket, \"Where's the child?\"\n\n\"Here,\" said the butcher, pointing to the tall, awkward youth.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the indignant ticket-collector. \"He ain't a\nchild; he's a young man!\"\n\n\"Ah! so he is, now,\" answered the butcher; \"but that's thy fault, not\nmine. I know when we got in at Wakefield he were nobbut a bairn; but\ntha'st been going so confounded slow that he's growed sin' we started!\"\n\nMany years ago, on a rare occasion, James took a glass too much. It was\nthe last time such a misfortune took place with him. His clergyman was\nobliged to speak to him about it, and in doing so said--\"You know,\nJames, beasts do not get drunk.\"\n\n\"There's a deal o' things belonging to all things,\" answered the worthy\nbutcher, who never suffered himself to be cornered. \"If a horse were o'\none side o' a pond, and another on t' other side, and t' first horse ses\nto t' other, 'Jim, I looks towards ye!' and t' other ses to the first,\n'Thank y' kindly, Tom; I catches your eye.' And the first horse ses\nagain, 'Tha'll tak' another sup, lad, and drink ma health'; the second\nwill be sewer to say, 'I will, and I'll drink to lots o' your healths.'\nWhy, sir, them two horses will be nobbin to one another iver so long.\nLor bless ye! them two horses win't part till they's as drunk as\nChristians.\"\n\nJames at one time was not well off. He had a brother whom we will call\nTom, who had some money.\n\nNow James happened to hear that his brother was very ill, and as they\nhad not latterly been very good friends, he was afraid lest, if Tom\ndied, he would not leave him his money.\n\nSo he immediately set off to his brother's house, and on his arrival\nfound him ill in bed. He went up to the room in which his brother lay,\nand began--\"Weel, Tommy, an' hoo art a'?\"\n\n\"Oah, James!\" said Tom, \"I'se vara bad. I thinks I's boun' to dee.\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said James, \"well, mebbe tha'lt outlive me, Tommy; I nobbut feels\nvara middlin' mysen. I hain't felt weel for a long while, and I war just\nthinking, Tommy, o' sending to Mr. Smith, t' lawyer, to mak' me a bit o'\na will, tha knaws. Hast a' made _thy_ will, Tommy?\"\n\n\"Noa,\" said Tom, \"I hain't; but I was thinking wi' thee, James, o'\nsending for Lawyer Smith. Noo, who wast a' thinking o' making thy heir,\nJames?\"\n\n\"Weel, tha knaws, Tommy,\" said James, \"mebbe thou and me hain't lately\nbeen vara particklers; but I war thinking it ever owt ta be, 'Let\nbygones be bygones'; and soa I was thinking o' leaving my bit o' brass\nto thee. Noo, Tommy, hoo wast a' thinking o' leaving thy money?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Tommy, \"as thou'st been sa good as leave thy money ta me, I\nthink it wadn't be reet if I didn't do t' same by thee, and leave thee\nmy brass.\"\n\n\"Weel,\" said James, \"I think thou couldn't do better; and soa let's send\nfor Mr. Smith to mak' our wills, and I think mebbe, Tommy, _thou'd\nbetter ha' thy will made fust_.\"\n\nSo these two men sent for the lawyer to make their wills. Tommy's was\nmade first, and a very few days after he died. His money then came to\nJames, who in reality was not ill in the least, but had only pretended\nto be so.\n\nOne of James the butcher's sayings I well remember. He was addressing a\nyoung man who was courting a girl, and was very hot and eager in his\npursuit of her.\n\n\"I'll gi'e thee a bit o' advice, Joa: Don't bother to shuttle a\nhapple-tree to get t' fruit; tak' it easy; wait, and t' apples will fall\ninto thy lap o' their selves. Don't go coursing over hedges and threw\nditches after rabbits; wait a bit, and t' rabbits 'all come into thy\nspringes without trouble. Don't take on running after t' lasses; take it\neasy, and thou'lt find, Joa, lad, that t' lasses will run after thee.\"\n\nAt one time James rented some land of a neighbouring gentleman of large\nfortune and estates who was well known for his hospitality. James was\ninvited with other tenants to dine on Court day at the Hall, and dinner\nwas served up in the best style. On his return home to his wife, he gave\nher an account of it \"Eh! Phoebe, but it wad ha' capped owt. There were\nbeef and mutton, and chickens and game, and ivery thing one could think\nof. I's sewer I were fair an' bet wi' it all; but what bet ma moast o'\nall were 'at we'd ivery one on us a small loaf lapped up i' a clout.\"\n\nLiqueurs were handed round after dinner. Our good friend took his little\nglass of the, to him, unknown tipple, and after drinking it off at one\ngulp, and considering a while, turned round to the waiter and said,\n\"John, bring us some o' this 'ere i' a moog.\"\n\nAt a club dinner, a wedding breakfast, or a funeral lunch, James was\noverflowing with anecdotes. He was generally the hero of his stories;\nbut I do not believe that they all in reality happened to himself. The\nstories often told against the principal actor in them, and therefore he\nmay have thought it legitimate to appropriate to himself tales which\nmade him appear in a ludicrous light.\n\nI can remember only a few of these stories.\n\n\"It was one night in November last that I and my wife Phoebe was sitting\ntawking i' t' house. It were a dark night, as black as Warren's best.\nNow I mun tell thee that our Rachel Anne--that's our grown up\ndaughter--were at that age when they mostly likes to ha' a sweetheart,\nShoo'd gotten a young man. I don't like to name names, but as we're all\nfriends here, I don't mind saying he were a downright blackguard. It\nwere old Greenwood's son, tha knaws; t' lad as were locked up by t'\npolice for boiling a cat. Well, Rachel Anne were mad after him, and\nnother her mother nor I liked it. We were nicely put out, I promise you.\n\n\"To go on with my tale. Phoebe and I were sitting by t' fire, when all\nat once I ses to my old woman, 'Phoebe, lass, where's Rachel Anne?\nShoo's not at home, I reckon.'\n\n\"'Nay, James, lad,' said she, 'shoo's at a confirmation class.'\n\n\"'At a confirmation!' said I, and I whistled. 'I thowt confirmation was\nower.'\n\n\"'Ah! I dunnow sure; but that's what shoo said.'\n\n\"'Is owd Greenwood's son, Jim, going to confirmation class too?'\n\n\"'I cannot tell,' shoo said.\n\n\"'No more can I,' said I; 'but I'd like to know?'\n\n\"'So should I,' said she.\n\n\"'Win't thee look out o' chamber window and see if there's a leet i' t'\nschool?' said I. So my owd woman went upstairs and looked, and when shoo\ncame doun, 'No, there ain't,' said she.\n\n\"'I thowt not,' said I.\n\n\"Well, we sat by t' fire some while, and then my owd lass went into back\nkitchen to get a bit o' supper ready. Shoo hadn't been there long afore\nshoo come back and said, 'James, lad!'\n\n\"'Ah!' says I; 'what's up?'\n\n\"'Why, this,' says she; 'there's summun i' t' back yard.'\n\n\"'How dost a' know?' says I.\n\n\"Says she, 'I heard 'em taukin'; and there's a lanthorn there.'\n\n\"'There's impidence!' says I. 'Who is they?'\n\n\"'I think Rachel Anne is one,' says Phoebe.\n\n\"'And Jim Greenwood is t' other,' says I; 'and I'm glad on't.'\n\n\"'Why?' says Phoebe.\n\n\"'Lass,' says I, 'I'll pay yond chap out, I will. I'll go out by t'\nfront door, and I'll come on him, and I'll let him know what I think of\nhim, coming arter our Rachel Anne. And when I've gotten howd on him,\nI'll hollow. Then do thou run out o' t' back door, and I'll howd him\ntight, and thou can poise him behind as much as thou like. Since we've\nbeen man and wife these fourteen year,' says I, 'we've taken our\npleasure in common,' says I. 'We've been to Hollingworth Lake together,'\nsays I. 'And we've been to Southport together,' says I. 'And wunce we've\nwent together to t' exhibition i' Wakefield together. So,' says I,\n'we'll ha' the kicking, and the shuttling, and the rumpling up o' yond\nlad o' Greenwood's together. O glory!' And then I run out o' t' front\ndoor as wick as a scoprill,[15] and came shirking round towards t' back\ndoor i' t' yard. Well, t' night were dark, but I could see there were\nsome folks there, and I could see the glint o' a lanthorn, and t' leet\nfrom t' back kitchen window came on a bit o' gownd, and I know'd it\nbelonged to Rachel Anne.\n\n\"'Drat him!' said I to mysen, 'what is lasses coming to next, when they\nbrings their young men under the noses o' their parents wot can't abear\nthem?'\n\n\"So I came sloping up along the wall till I was quite near. Will you\nbelieve it?--her young man, that's owd Greenwood's lad Jim, was sitting\nas easy as owt i' a chair.\n\n\"'Oh, you charmer!' says Rachel Anne. I heard her voice. I know'd it\nwere she. 'You're near perfect noo!'\n\n\"'Oh lawk!' thinks I, 'there's no accounting for tastes.' Jim he ain't\nower much o' a beauty, I promise thee. He's gotten a cast i' one o' his\neyes, and when he washes his face he's gotten a black stock on; and when\nhe don't, why, then he's all o' a muck, face and neck alike.\n\n\"'Can I get thee owt?' says Rachel Anne, as shameless as owt. 'Ah! tha\nwants a pair o' boots. I reckon father's gotten an owd pair he win't\nmiss. I'll get them for thee.' Then sudden, as she was going away to t'\nback door, she turns and says, 'My! he ain't got no pipe. I mun get him\none o' father's.'\n\n\"'Oh, ye abandoned profligate!' groaned I, 'robbing thy parents to\nbestow all on this owdacious waggabone! But I'll be even wi' thee! I'll\nlet my fine gentleman know the looks o' my back-yard! I'll let un ha' a\ntaste o' my baccy! I'll let un know the feel o' my boots!'\n\n\"'Father's breeches fit un rare!' said Rachel Anne.\n\n\"Well, now! if that warn't too much. I yelled--\n\n\"'Ah! ye dirty waggabone! Thou stealing rascal! Thou cock-eyed\nraggamuffin!' And I wor upon him in no time. I caught un by t' neck and\nshook un furious. I wor nigh brussen wi' rage. He were fair down capped,\nand said nowt. But, as you'll see presently, he were gathering up his\nrage for a reglar outbust. He were nigh brussen too.\n\n\"'Well,' says I, 'wot is't a doing here? I knows! Thou'rt arter my\nRachel Anne. Well. Tha'lt never marry my daughter if I can help it. I'll\nnever own thee wi' thy ugly face for a son-in-law. I win't run the\nchance o' a cock-eye i' my grand-children. If my dowter will ha' thee,\nI'll disown her; I win't speak to her again.' Then I shook him. 'Take\nthat,' says I, and I gave him a blow o' the fist on his nose, and I\nreckon I flattened it in. 'Dost a' like it?' says I. 'Take another\ntaste--a little stimulant will do thee good.' Then I kicked un off t'\nchair, and dragged him up, and shook, and shook, and shook him till I\nwere all of a muck wi' sweat. So I hollered to my Phoebe. 'Phoebe, lass!\ncome and poise un i' t' rear. I'll hold un i' position.' Well, she came\nout, and she gave him a crack.\n\n\"'Now,' says I, 'I'd like to look i' thy ugly face and take stock o' t'\ndamages. I've done thy beauty. Phoebe, lass! give me t' candle.' Shoo\nwent to t' lanthorn, and browt out t' candle and gave it to me.\n\n\"Jim Greenwood hung all limp, like old clothes i' my hand, and never\nspoke. But I didn't know what fire and fury was in him then. He wor just\none o' them chaps as endures what you may say and do up to a certain\npoint, but when that point is passed, then--Lor'!'\n\n\"I took t' candle from my owd woman--that's my wife, I mean, tha mun\nknow--and I held it afore me. Lor-a-mussy, I were flayed! I let go hold,\nand let t' candle tumble on Jim--that's owd Greenwood's son, tha\nknows--and I stood shakin' i' all my limbs. I'd smashed his nose right\nin; I'd broken t' bridge and knocked it in, and there weren't nowt on it\nremaining. And his eyes--Lor'! I hadn't time to think, for I had passed\nt' point, and t' chap couldn't stan' no more. I'd let t' candle fall on\nhim, and set him on fire. Folks don't over much like being set fire\nto--leastways owd Greenwood's son didn't; for he did blaze, and bang,\nand fizz, and snap, and crackle away! He reglar exploded, he did! I\nstood in a sort o' maze like--I were dazed. Phoebe screamed. And then\ncame a great haw-haw from my boys, who were all there. I could see 'em\nnow by t' leet o' t' burning sweetheart. 'Lor', father!' said Rachel\nAnne, as innocent as owt, _'What hast a' been doing to our Guy Fawkes?_'\n\n\"Well, sir, will you believe it?--it was nowt but a Guy Fawkes full o'\nstraw and squibs and crackers 'at I'd involuntarily set on fire.\"\n\nThis story was told, scarcely above a breath, during a missionary\nmeeting, whilst a colonial bishop was addressing us. James did not laugh\nhimself--was as grave as was proper on the occasion; but his little eyes\ntwinkled roguishly, and those who could hear the whispered tale with\ndifficulty restrained their laughter.\n\n\"I think I can tell you summut as happened to my brother Tommy,\" said\nJames, after we had sung \"From Greenland's icy mountains,\" and were\nwalking at a judicious distance from the colonial bishop. \"Well, my\nbrother Tom were a rare bird to drink. He'd been to t' Horse and Jockey\none day, and had supped enough beer for once, and when he came out about\nhalf after ten, he warn't ower clear as to t' direction he sud go.\nHowm'ever, he took t' loin (lane) all right. Presently there come some\none along t' road. 'Now,' thowt he, 'I mun keep clear o' he, or he'll\nrun hissel' again' me, and knock me down.' T' mooin were up, just\nsettin', and castin' shadows; so he made a great roundabout to avoid\nlurching again' t' man as were comin' along; but seeing his shadow, ma\nbrother mistook that for t' man, and thowt t' shadow had cast t' feller.\nSo he tried to step ower t' chap and avoid t' shadow. As tha mun see, he\ncame wi' a crack again t' chap.\n\n\"'Ye druffen rascal,' said he, giving ma brother a bang on t' lugs\n(ears) as made his head spin.\n\n\"'It's thy fault,' said Tom. 'What dost a' mean by having a standing-up\nshadow and solid too?'\n\n\"The chap gives him another crack and tumbles him down. When ma brother\ngot up again he went on his road again, saying to hissel', 'I winna go\nblundering again' no more shadows to-night if I see anybody coming.'\nJust then he thowt he saw another chap; so to get out o' his way he\nturned into a field by a gate to let un pass. Now, ma brother had a\nlittle too much beer in his head; soa when he got into t' field he\ncouldn't get out again. He rambled round and round, and t' mooin went\ndown.\n\n\"'Weel,' ses he, 'I don't care; I'll sleep where I am.' And he ligs him\ndown on t' ground. He hadn't been long asleep afore he wakened wi' cold.\nT' dews o' neet came falling on him and wetted him, and his teeth were\nchattering; so then he opened his eyes. And what dost a' think he seed?\nWhy, standing above him were a hawful form as black as a crow. His legs\nwas crooked, his arms was spread, and Tom could see claws on his\nfingers. His face were like nowt earthly; and he had bristling hair,\nand great horns like a coo. Tom could see t' glint o' his wicked een\nfixed on him.\n\n\"Weel, now, Tommas weren't that sort o' chap exackly as might flatter\nhissen angels 'ud come after him out o' heaven; so the thowt came on him\nit were t' owd chap come to fetch his soul to t' other place.\n\n\"Tom lay quite still. He thowt t' owd chap mebbe would let un lig a\nwhile if he shammed sleep. He wouldn't be so unmannerly as to wake un up\nfor the purpose o' takin' him away. Tha knaws t' owd chap war' a gem'man\nonce, tho' he's fallen a bit sin'. Yet what's born i' t' bone comes out\ni' t' flesh--leastwise so Tom thowt.\n\n\"Soa Tom lay quiet. But presently he thowt he felt t' owd chap's fingers\nfeeling in his pocket for four and twopence he'd gotten aboot him\nsomewhere. Soa Tom turned round sudden on him and ses, 'Tha mun tak ma\nsoul if tha's boun' to do soa; but I'll trouble thee to let t' four and\ntwopence aloan.'\n\n\"Ah! he war' a deep one war' t' owd chap. As sharp as owt, when Tom\nturned on un, he were standing up stiff and unconcerned, and looking t'\nother way.\n\n\"Nah, as Tom had spoken, 't warn't no use his pretending any more to be\nasleep. So he thowt, 'What am I to do next? Tha mun do more wi' traycle\nthan tha can wi' brimstone. I'll soap un down a bit.'\n\n\"Then Tom opens his eyes and looks at un and ses, 'Owt fresh?' But he\nwouldn't answer and reveal the mysteries o' his shop.\n\n\"So Tom ses, ses he, 'I reckon tha'st coom a rare long way, and it's\nthirsty work walking, or flying, or travelling by train, or whichiver\nway tha hast comed. And,' ses he, 'I tak it vara civil o' thee to come\nfor me. There's ma owd woman grummles if shoo's to come for ma to t'\nHorse and Jockey, and that's half a mile from my home. And mebbe tha's\ncomed for me five thousand mile. It's vara civil. It's not like a north\ncountryman that,' ses he. 'We are outspoken folk, and there ain't much\ncivility among us, but hard rubs. But I won't be outdone by a south\ncountryman i' civility. I daresay tha'rt dry. Tha'll stop a bit, and\nI'll fetch thee a sup o' home-brewed beer.'\n\n\"Soa Tom gets up on his feet, and away he goes as wick as a scoprell,\nand gets home, and dashes in at t' door. There were Sarah Anne, his\nwife, as red as a turkey-cock, and swollen fit to brussen wi' he getting\nhome so late.\n\n\"But Tommy he out wi' it at once. 'Sarah Anne, lass! run and get a jug\no' beer and a mug, and off wi' thee as fast as tha' can to t' owd\nchap--he's waiting for thee.' He thowt, tha knaws, to get t' owd chap to\ntak t' wife instead of he. But Sarah Anne she up wi' her fist and\nknocked him down as flat as ginger-beer as has had t' cork out a\nfortnight. 'Ah, James,' ses ma brother to me, 'I've tried to send ma owd\nwoman to t' owd chap, but shoo winna go. Tha mun tak' a horse to t'\nwater, but tha canna mak' un drink.'\n\n\"Weel, next morning ma brother Tom hoo went to look at t' place where he\nwas i' t' neet, and there he see'd t' owd chap still.... But by day\nleet--what dost a' think?--he was nowt but a flaycrow (scarecrow).\"\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[15] As lively as a teetotum.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ONE-POUND NOTE.[16]\n\n\nSamuel Sutcliffe lived at Hebden Hay, or Hawden Hole, about a quarter of\na mile west of Newbridge, nearly at the bottom of the steep slope which\ndescends from Whitehill Nook to the river Hebden. The house is still\nstanding, easy to be recognised by its whitewash and by the yew-tree\nwhich grows between the door and the path leading to Upper Hepton and\nTommy Rocky's. Beside the farmhouse there is under the same roof a\ncottage at the east end. In the field at the west end, and below the\nhouse, stretching down to the stream, were formerly some mounds, where\nit was said that the Heptonstall people during the plague buried their\ndead. Crabtree says (p. 15): \"Of that dreadful epidemic, the plague, one\nhundred and seventeen persons are said to have died at Heptonstall in\n1631, several of whom were buried at home, but all entered in the\nregister there.\" In the old barn near the house, pulled down a few years\nago, since 1817, an old man cut his throat. The yew-tree is no inapt\nsymbol of the melancholy associations of this secluded spot--a cemetery,\na suicide, and a murder.\n\nSamuel Sutcliffe, commonly called Sammy o' Kattie's, lived there to the\nage of eighty, a bachelor. He was a manufacturer of worsted pieces, and\nfor several years farmed the small farm. The only person living with him\nwas his nephew, William Sutcliffe. On Saturdays, sometimes the uncle,\nsometimes the nephew, attended Halifax market; sometimes both. On\nSaturdays, towards evening, the old man might have been seen crossing\nthe old bridge at Hebden Bridge, and calling at the \"Hole in the Wall\"\nto take a single glass of ale and hear the news, while he gave himself a\nvery brief rest after his walk from Halifax, before passing on. He was a\nstout, active man for his age; sober, steady, and industrious; and by\neconomy, but without penuriousness, had saved a considerable sum of\nmoney. The cottage adjoining Sammy's dwelling was inhabited by a weaver\nnamed William Greenwood.\n\nFor five or six years the nephew, William Sutcliffe, had carried on a\nlittle business in the fustian trade on his own account; and for two\nyears he had the take of the farm, on which he kept a couple of cows.\nHis business led him to travel into Lancashire, Craven, and even\nWestmoreland. His journeys were taken three times a year: he started on\nMonday morning, and returned usually on Friday evening, sometimes on\nSaturday. He left Hawden Hole on one of these journeys on Monday,\nFebruary 3rd, 1817, and was this time expected home on the Thursday\nnight following, but circumstances prevented his return till the\nSaturday.\n\nThe name of the murderer was Michael Pickles, commonly designated \"Old\nMike.\" He lived at Northwell, near Heptonstall, on the road leading from\nHeptonstall by Newbridge to Haworth. His cottage, since pulled down, was\nof one storey: it contained two rooms--one towards the valley and the\ntownship of Wadsworth, into which the door entered, formed the dwelling\nor \"house;\" the other, trenching back into the hill-side, was called the\n\"shop,\" and contained the looms. Some portion of the walls of the shop\nare still visible. Approached from the road, Old Mike's cottage stood a\nlittle below and a little beyond the principal house now standing at\nNorthwell. A small garden was attached, in the walls of which are still\nto be seen the recesses which contained Mike's bee-hives. The\nplump-looking navel-wort, possibly introduced by him, may be seen\npeeping from crevices in the walls. Like Hawden Hole, Northwell has also\nits characteristic tree. The sombre Scotch pine which stands prominently\nforward in front of Northwell is in the corner of Mike's garden, and is\nsaid to have been planted by him. He lived at this cottage fifteen\nyears. His age was forty-one. He is described as a strong, broad-set,\nbut not a tall man, with rather dark hair, pale, cadaverous face, no\nwhiskers, and large rolling eyes. He was left-handed, his hands being\nvery large: he often made exhibition of the power of his left hand in\ngrasping and crushing anything placed within it, in which exploit he\nsurpassed all competitors. He had a very large, flat foot; his knees\ninclined very much inwards. He had the reputation of being\n\"double-jointed,\" whatever may be meant by that term. His occupation was\nsometimes that of weaving at Northwell, sometimes of gardening for his\nneighbours, but more frequently that of an out-door labourer in\ndry-walling, and especially in constructing, of large stones, what is\ncalled \"weiring,\" for preventing the river-edge from encroaching on the\nneighbouring fields; for which his great strength qualified him. He had\nthe reputation of being light-fingered. In dressing the gardens of his\nneighbours he not unfrequently helped himself to some of the contents.\nHis house was generally very well supplied with milk in summer, which\nwas considered to have been obtained by milking the cows in the fields.\nAbove all, he had the reputation of stealing bee-hives, to which the\nfact of his being a bee-keeper was a sort of cover. As a gentleman was\none night riding along the \"Needless Road\" when not quite dark, he and\nhis horse were suddenly startled, on coming in view of the steep field\nstretching from that road up to Northwell, by the sight of a strange\nfigure moving slowly and heavily up the field: it was Mike with his not\nuncommon night burden, a hive of bees on his head. Another gentleman,\nstopping late at Kebcote Inn because of the rain, saw Mike and a\ncompanion take shelter there about an hour after midnight, the former\nbeing loaded with the customary \"hive-piche\" on his head. In the floor\nof his house, under the bed, he had excavated a secret hiding-place for\nstolen goods, covered by a moveable flag-stone. The paving before his\ndoor had been raised by the earth taken from this so-called \"cave.\"\nNotwithstanding these dishonest practices, Mike made a considerable\nprofession of religion. He was a joined member at Birchcliffe Chapel,\nhaving, with his wife, received adult baptism. Whether he was originally\nsincere in his profession and afterwards fell away, is more than\ndoubtful when we consider that, notwithstanding his mal-practices, he\ncontinued to make great religious profession. In conversation he would\nexpound at large the doctrines of Christianity. To approach him with\nthe view of holding short discourse with him on general topics while he\nwas gardening for you, was to incur the risk of a sermon from him. He\nfetched milk from old Sammy's at Hawden Hole, and was in the habit of\nsitting and conversing with him, not unfrequently of reading to him\nduring the long evenings. They had been acquainted many years.\n\nMike's accomplice was John Greenwood, a weaver, a tallish, slender man,\naged twenty-nine years, with lightish hair, whose features gave the\nimpression of a weak and undecided, rather than a depraved and wicked\ndisposition. His characteristic want of firmness rendered him the easy\ndupe of any deeper adept in villany who might throw temptation into his\nway. It is believed that he would not have been connected with the\nmurder but for the persuasion of Mike. His character does not appear to\nhave lain under any suspicion, although, as his confession afterwards\nshowed, he was already addicted to dishonest practices. He and Mike\nmarried sisters. He lived in a cottage attached to a remote farm in\nWadsworth called Bog-eggs, above Old Town, a little below the moorland\nprominence called Tomtitiman from which so noble a prospect of this\ndistrict may be obtained. His cottage, now unoccupied, forms the upper\npart of the building at Bog-eggs, being contiguous to the farm-house.\n\nOn Thursday, the 6th of February, 1817, \"Joan o' t' Bog-eggs\" went over\nto Northwell to try to obtain some money from Old Mike, saying that he\nwas \"pinned.\" Times were very hard just now, and doubtless there was\nmuch suffering among the poor. Flour was selling at eight shillings per\nstone, and meal at four and sixpence to five shillings. Old Mike said\nthat he had no money, but that he knew of a place where they could get\nsome. This was just the sort of temptation in which Joan's (John's)\nweak principles were likely to fail; and Mike was exactly the sort of\nman to attempt to turn Joan's infirmities to his own advantage. Mike's\nplausible speech soon prevailed over Joan's scruples; and it was agreed\nthat that night they should sally forth and rob Old Sammy.\n\nOn Thursday evening, February 6th, 1817, \"Old Mike\" and \"Joan o' t'\nBog-Eggs\" were sitting by Old Mike's fireside at Northwell. The night\nwas wearing late, and the family had been sometime in bed. It was\nclearly understood between Mike and Joan, that after waiting till the\nhour was sufficiently advanced, they should sally out and rob \"Sammy o'\nKattie's.\" The hour agreed upon was midnight. Mike was smoking his pipe,\nand thinking over the circumstances of the intended burglary. Simple,\nunthinking Joan had fallen asleep under the influence of the warm fire.\nAt length the clock struck twelve, and Mike aroused his companion,\nsaying, \"Come, it's time to be going.\" They took with them Mike's gun,\nand left the house, proceeding towards Whitehill Nook, along a field\ncalled Adcock, which is to the left of and above the public road leading\nto Whitehill Nook. They then travelled down the steep rough wood to\nHawden Hole. Thrice Joan's heart failed him as he thought of the\npossible consequences to them both of the meditated robbery. Reassured\nby Mike's arguments, he proceeded to Old Sammy's. Half-past twelve was\nthe hour for the moon to rise; but the night was cloudy, though without\nrain. Arrived at the house, Joan was placed as sentry before the door,\nwith the gun in his hand, and directed to shoot any person who should\noffer interruption. Mike, perfectly familiar with the premises, took out\na window at the west end of the house. There were more than one window\nat that end. He took out the larger one, being that nearest to the\nriver. He then entered the house, and undid the door, and opened it.\nBesides a lock, the door was also fastened by a stout wooden bar placed\nacross it, with the ends inserted in holes in the masonry. Coming out of\nthe house through the now opened door, he fastened the door of William\nGreenwood, the neighbouring cottager, by placing the wooden bar across\nthe doorway, and fastening the latch to the bar with string. Probably\nthey both entered Sammy's cottage. Mike mounted the stairs into the room\nwhere Old Sammy was sleeping alone. About a month before, the old man\nhad bought a small oak box, in which he placed such of his papers and\ndocuments as were of value, and most of his money. The box was placed in\na bucket which stood in one corner of his bedroom. Mike secured this\nbucket, with its contents. Three cotton pieces and four warps were also\ntaken from the bedroom: the pieces were marked by William Greenwood. A\ncloth-coat, and a pair of shoes belonging to William Sutcliffe, which\nwanted soling, were also taken, and a new shirt of Sammy's.\n\nBut old men sleep lightly. Before these things were secured and got\naway, Sammy awoke. Sitting up in bed to listen, he heard footsteps in\nthe house. He endeavoured to alarm his neighbour in the adjoining\ncottage, and called out, \"William! William! William!\" Fearful of being\ndisturbed or detected, Mike approached the bed and seized his old friend\nand companion by the throat with his terrible left hand. Gripping him as\nin a vice, he held him down; nor did he quit his grasp till the spark of\nlife was extinguished.\n\nWilliam Greenwood was disturbed during the night. He fancied he heard a\nnoise in Sammy's house, but could not be sure. He called out, but\nreceived no answer. He conjectured that the old man might be talking in\nhis sleep; at any rate, he took no more notice of the matter, and fell\nasleep again. The wind was very strong, and roared terrible in the\nyew-tree. Probably the noise which he heard was Sammy's voice calling\nout \"William\" the third and last time. The silence which ensued was, as\nMr. Hardy eloquently described it at York, \"the silence of death.\"\n\nI have a short document drawn up at Halifax for the satisfaction of\nWilliam Sutcliffe, on the 17th or 18th of February, 1817, that he might\npossess some account of the manner of his uncle's last struggles, in\nwhich is recorded the substance of what Mike confessed on the subject at\nHalifax, February 17th. It is as follows:--\"The further examination of\nWilliam Sutcliffe, of Hawden Hole, in Heptonstall, who saith that on\nMonday, the 17th day of February, 1817, Michael Pickles, the prisoner,\ntold this examinant that after he had entered the dwelling-house of his\nlate uncle, Samuel Sutcliffe, and had got into the bedroom, the said\nSamuel Sutcliffe rose up on the bed and called out, 'William! William!\nWilliam!' on which the said Michael Pickles seized the said Samuel\nSutcliffe by the throat, and heard no more from him, except that he\nsobbed, as it was soon over with him, and he bore very little. And saith\nthat the cause of his asking the question of the said Michael Pickles as\nto his uncle's death was to know what his said uncle said previous to\nhis death, and if he suffered much.\"\n\nMike now descended the stairs, and greatly alarmed his companion by\ntelling him he was afraid he had killed Sammy. Leaving the bucket\noutside the house, they made off to Northwell with their booty--the\ncotton pieces, the warps, the shoes, the cloth-coat, the shirt, and,\nabove all, the oak box with its contents.\n\nHaving arrived at Northwell, Mike deposited the cotton pieces and warps\nin the hiding-place under the flag-stone. Joan took the shoes. The oak\nbox they at once burnt to prevent detection, but preserved the\ncontents. Mike told his wife he was afraid he had killed Sammy, and she\nbegan to cry. He also charged Joan to keep it a secret, even from his\nwife, for his revealing it would cause them both to be hanged. In\ndividing the money Joan contrived to take advantage of his more crafty\ncompanion; for he pocketed one note unknown to Mike. Mike's \"Confession\"\nsays respecting the remaining notes--\"John Greenwood took the\nguinea-note, and gave me the two Bank of England notes, and I gave him\nnine shillings and sixpence in silver, which made it equal--one pound\nten shillings and sixpence each.\"\n\nWilliam Sutcliffe in his evidence at York said that on going from home\non Monday, February 3rd, \"he left his uncle four one-pound notes and\nsome silver, to pay wages with in his absence. His uncle had also some\nnotes of his own; among others, one of Mytholm Bank, which had been\nissued without the signature of Turner, Bent, and Co. It was No. 63. His\nattention had been called to this note on the 1st of February (the\npreceding Saturday); his uncle had brought it down-stairs in an old\nbook: there were also in this book another pound-note and a\nguinea-note\"--in all seven notes. William Sutcliffe on his return said\nthat Sammy's three notes were pinned in a ready reckoner. Now, on\nexamining the house the following morning, among some loose papers in\nthe window down-stairs, there were found three one-pound notes which had\nescaped the notice of the robbers. These three which were left being\nadded to the four which Mike and Joan took away, made seven notes. It\nwould seem that Sammy had separated one of William's four notes from the\nremaining three; that this note he had placed in his box up-stairs with\nthe three notes belonging to himself; and that thus his three notes and\none of William's were taken away, while three of William's notes had\nbeen left in the pocket-book in the window down-stairs. The note which\nJoan appropriated to himself, unknown to Mike, was the unsigned Mytholm\nnote. Had this note fallen into Mike's hands, he would probably have\nobserved the danger arising from the circumstance, and destroyed the\nnote; but the ignorant and unsuspecting Joan was not aware of the\ndanger.\n\nThere was at this time a set of men in the Cragg valley who went by a\nbad name. In order to shift the suspicion of the murder and robbery from\nhimself and Mike, Joan, on his way home to Bog-eggs, instead of crossing\nthe valley at Foster Mill, travelled down towards Mytholmroyd, and\ncrossing the Calder at Carr Bridge, threw down the papers and documents\nobtained from Sammy's box at Carr Green, hoping thereby to induce\nsuspicion that some of the Cragg band were the robbers and murderers.\n\nAnd now for the events of the following morning. During the week Sammy\nhad paid some money for work to a man named James Greenwood, of\nLobbmill; but a balance of four shillings was left unpaid. Before\ndaylight on Friday morning James Greenwood presented himself at Sammy's\ndoor, having come for his four shillings. He was surprised to find the\ndoor wide open. This excited his fears that some mischief had taken\nplace during the night. He knocked at William Greenwood's door, stated\nthe suspicious circumstance, and desired him to come out. On attempting\nto do so, he found that the door would not open. James Greenwood then\ndiscovered (it was still dark) that the door was fastened by means of\nthe wooden bar. It was now ascertained that Sammy's house had been\nentered by robbers through the window, and that he lay lifeless in his\nbed. His mouth was full of blood, and some had run out upon the\nbed-clothes. The empty bucket was found outside the door. William\nGreenwood, who had seen Sammy at half-past ten the night before in good\nhealth, looked for the cotton pieces which he had taken in the previous\nday, but they were gone. He observed one footstep leading to the window\nwhich had been removed. It was the mark of a bare foot.\n\nThere was great consternation in the neighbourhood as soon as the murder\nwas known. Mr. Thomas Dineley, surgeon, of Hebden Bridge, was called in.\nHe gave his opinion that the deceased died of strangulation. It is\ncommonly said that he also pronounced Sammy to have been strangled by a\nleft-handed person; but some persons very likely to know most of the\nfacts have no remembrance of this circumstance.\n\nThe papers and documents were found at Carr Green early in the morning\nby Olive Heyhirst, who was going to fetch milk.\n\nSeveral persons expressed to each other their suspicions that Old Mike\nwas the criminal. A woman met him in Northwell Lane on Friday morning.\nHe said, \"Have you heard that Old Sammy's murdered?\" She replied, \"If he\nis, it's thee that's done it.\"\n\nMike afterwards confessed that the day after the murder he could neither\neat, drink, nor sleep, and was always uneasy wherever he was. On Friday\nevening he went to Heptonstall to be shaved. He was in such a state of\nrestless agitation that the barber had much difficulty in fulfilling his\noffice, and when Mike was gone out, the barber said to some bystanders,\n\"Yon's the man that's murdered Sammy.\"\n\nWilliam Sutcliffe, the nephew, returned from his journey on Saturday\nafternoon. A messenger had been sent to expedite his return; but he was\nnot able to get back more than a couple of hours earlier than he would\notherwise have done. He now privately made known to several neighbours,\nand among others to Mr. John Sutcliffe, of The Lee, that among the\nmissing property there was an unsigned Mytholm note. It had been entered\nby Mr. Barker, the clerk to Turner, Bent, and Co., but was not signed by\nthem. Having been pinned in the ready reckoner, it would show the marks\nof pin-holes. At that time several firms near Hebden Bridge issued\nprivate notes of various values. Messrs. Turner, Bent, and Co. issued\nboth guinea and one-pound notes, printed in black ink. Messrs. Rawden,\nof Callis Mill, issued both guinea-notes and five-shilling cards,\nprinted in blue ink, and therefore called \"blue-backs.\" Mr. John\nSutcliffe, of The Lee, issued cards, value three shillings and sixpence,\nprinted red. Mr. Edmondson issued seven-shilling notes. Mr. Richard\nChatburn, of Sprutts, issued three and sixpenny cards. Mr. Robert\nSutcliffe, of New Shop, put out five-shilling notes. Silver was very\nscarce just then; the smooth shillings which had been current were being\ncalled in by Government, and stamped ones were being issued instead.\n\nMonday, February 10th, Mike attended service at Birchcliffe Chapel. The\nminister, Mr. Hollinrake, during his sermon made some strong remarks\nabout the murder. His text was Matthew xxiv., 43--\"But know this, that\nif the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would\ncome, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be\nbroken up.\" This smote Mike's conscience so severely that he afterwards\ndeclared that, if any one had looked him earnestly in the face, he might\nhave discovered that he was the man. An inquest was held at Heptonstall;\nand poor old Sammy's remains were interred at Heptonstall church.\nStanding outside the churchyard, at the east end, near the street, you\nmay read his epitaph through the rails:--\"In memory of Samuel\nSutcliffe, of Hebden Hay, in Heptonstall, who died February 7, 1817,\naged eighty-one years.\"\n\nJohn Greenwood had a brother living at Luddenden, named William. John\nwent to him, and gave the unsigned note into his hand. He then received\nthe note back again from his brother. This farce was enacted between\nthem to enable John to give an evasive answer to any one who should make\ntroublesome inquiries as to how he became possessed of the note. John\nnow went to the house of Thomas Greenwood, of Birchcliffe, and completed\nthe purchase of a clock from him, giving him in payment the unsigned\nnote, with some other money. Another version of the story is that given\nby William Greenwood, the brother, at York, viz., that \"John Greenwood\ncame to his father's house on Tuesday, February 11th, and on going home,\ndesired William to 'go agatards' with him; when he told him that he had\nbought a clock of Thomas Greenwood that came to forty-two shillings;\nthat he would give him a note which the witness was to give to Thomas\nGreenwood on John's account, and say that he had lent it to John. This\nWilliam did; but he then began to think that John had not come by the\nnote in an honest manner.\"\n\nA woman named Betty Wadsworth, having had an illegitimate child, had\nbeen disowned by her relatives, and was now living \"afore t' friend\" at\nRawholme with another William Greenwood, commonly known by the name of\n\"Will o' t' shop.\" She possessed a chest of drawers, which, to raise\nmoney, she disposed of to Thomas Greenwood, of Birchcliffe, who in\npayment handed over to her the unsigned note on Tuesday, February 11th.\nThe same evening she went to the shop of John Hoyle, of Woodend, to buy\ngroceries, and offered the unsigned note in payment. Hoyle refused to\nreceive it, seeing it was unsigned. She took it back to Rawholme.\nWednesday morning, the 12th, she sent it up to Thomas Greenwood by\nSarah, wife of \"Will o' t' shop,\" complaining that he had paid to her a\nnote which was not genuine. Now this Thomas Greenwood[17] was a weaver\nfor Mr. John Sutcliffe, of The Lee; and on the day before Tuesday he had\nreceived from Mr. John Sutcliffe, for wages, a Halifax banknote. Not\nbeing able to read, he was not aware whether the rejected note was that\nwhich he had received from William Greenwood, of Luddenden, or from Mr.\nJohn Sutcliffe. Doubting whether he should be able to get a good note\nfrom John or William Greenwood in exchange for it, he decided to try The\nLee first, and hope for a successful issue of the experiment. He went\nimmediately to The Lee, and found in the warehouse Mr. Richard Aked, who\nwas learning the business with Mr. Sutcliffe. To him he gave the note,\nsaying that Mr. Sutcliffe must have given him an unsigned note by\nmistake the day before. Mr. Aked took the note to Mr. Sutcliffe, who was\nbreakfasting. He at once saw that this note was the key to the discovery\nof Sammy's murderer. He sent for some constables, and meanwhile learned\nfrom Thomas Greenwood that the note had come from \"Joan o' t' Bog-eggs.\"\nJames Wilson, the constable, sizer, of Hebden Bridge Lanes, soon made\nhis appearance, and with him three others--viz., George Hargreaves, John\no' Paul's (Greenwood), and John Uttley, commonly called John Clerk,\nbeing the clerk of Heptonstall church. Mr. John Sutcliffe and Thomas\nGreenwood accompany the officers to Bog-eggs, and Joan is apprehended.\nHe declares that the note was paid to him by his brother William. Joan\nis therefore set at liberty, and William is apprehended at Luddenden,\nand taken to Halifax in proper custody the same day. He is brought\nbefore Thomas Horton, Esq., J.P., at the justice-room, Copper Street. He\nrefuses to give any account of the note, being afraid of criminating his\nbrother, till Friday, February 14th. On that day William Greenwood\nconfesses the hoax as to the passing of the note from Joan to him, and\nback again. The same day Joan is re-apprehended, and declares before Mr.\nHorton that he received the unsigned note from Old Mike. William\nGreenwood is set at liberty. Old Mike is looked for, but cannot be\nfound, his wife stating that he is gone off seeking for work.\n\nSunday, February 16th, Mike is apprehended at his brother's at Cowside,\nnear Blackshaw Head. He is kept in custody at an inn in Heptonstall for\nthe night. He declared to the Rev. J. Charnock, who visited him, \"I am\nas innocent as you are; I am as innocent as a child unborn.\"\n\nMonday morning, February 17th, Mike was taken to Halifax, before Justice\nHorton, with many other persons who had by this time been apprehended on\nsuspicion. (Some had already been brought before Mr. Horton at Halifax.\nAs many as sixteen or seventeen persons in all were taken up. Some of\nthese confessed other crimes, being, however, unconnected with this\nmurder, as of stealing meal and flour, and a gun from Handganroyd Mill,\nsheep-stealing, &c. I believe that one or two persons were convicted of\nsheep-stealing. The rest escaped, partly from the unwillingness of the\nparties robbed to prosecute.) Mike is confronted with Joan, and denies\nJoan's accusation. Joan contradicts himself by some blunder as to the\nday of the week and day in the month when he went to Old Mike's to\nborrow money. Hereupon Mike appears to be cleared, and is set at\nliberty. Joan's father comes to Joan, and entreats him, if he knows\nanything about the robbery, to confess it. At length he yields to this\npersuasion, and unreservedly confesses all about both the robbery and\nthe murder. John Uttley, the constable, is in court, and having a horse\nat the inn, he volunteers to pursue Old Mike on his way back to\nHeptonstall. He overtakes him in King's Cross Lane, walking quickly\nhomewards, and eating \"sweet parkin.\" Uttley calls out, \"You must come\nback with me.\" Mike, off his guard, asks, \"What! has he been telling\nsomething?\" Uttley brings him quietly back to the magistrates' room.\nMike no longer denies the crimes of murder and burglary. When he and\nJoan were confronted by each other there occurred such a scene of\ncrimination and recrimination that it was found necessary to place Joan\nin the cell (or cellar) until the minutes of Joan's confession had been\nread over to Mike. After Mike had confessed many circumstances connected\nwith the affair, the prisoners exchanged places, and the minutes of\nMike's confession were read over to Joan. Both were now consigned to\ntheir cells.\n\nTuesday, February 18th, the prisoners were again before Mr. Horton, but\nnothing new was elicited. They were this day committed to York Castle.\nThe same day James Wilson, the constable, searched Mike's house for the\nthird time. His evidence at York is that \"he found, concealed under a\nflag, under the bed, three fustian pieces and four warps, and some other\narticles, and above the fireplace a gun. The cotton pieces were\nidentified by William Greenwood, Sammy's neighbour, who had taken them\ninto the house of the deceased and marked them; the other articles were\nidentified by William Sutcliffe.\"\n\nThe _Leeds Mercury_ of Saturday, Feb. 22nd, says that on Wednesday, the\n13th, the two prisoners passed through that town, strongly ironed, on\ntheir way to York Castle.\n\nThe trial took place at York Castle on Friday, March 14th, 1817. The\nprisoners were arraigned on an indictment of murdering Samuel Sutcliffe,\nand also on an indictment of burglary. Both admitted the burglary; both\ndenied the murder. By the recommendation of the judge they pleaded \"Not\nguilty\" to both indictments. No fewer than 22 witnesses were taken to\nYork, including all the individuals whose names have been given above;\nwith Mr. William Sutcliffe, of Heptonstall, who made Sammy's writings;\nMr. John Barker and Mr. Jas. Bent, of Mytholm, and Mr. Henry Sutcliffe,\nof Pendle Forest, &c. Mr. Hardy, in a very eloquent and perspicuous\nopening, stated the facts of the case. The names of the witnesses whose\nevidence is given in the _Leeds Mercury_ (Saturday, March 22, 1817),\nare William Sutcliffe, William Greenwood (the neighbouring cottager),\nThomas Dyneley, Betty Wadsworth, John Hoyle, Sarah Greenwood, Thomas\nGreenwood, William Greenwood, of Luddenden, Thomas Horton, Esq., Olive\nHeyhirst, John Thomas, of Midgley, and James Wilson. John Thomas \"was a\nshoemaker, and received a pair of shoes from the prisoner, John\nGreenwood, on the 8th of February, which he delivered to the constable,\nand which, being produced in court, were identified by William Sutcliffe\nas the shoes which he had left in the house\" when he went on his\njourney. The other witnesses gave evidence agreeing in most particulars\nwith the facts stated above.\n\nThe remainder of the proceedings at York we give in the words of the\n_Leeds Mercury_ of Saturday, March 22nd, 1817. \"The prisoners being\ncalled upon for their defence, Michael Pickles said--John Greenwood came\nto my house and said he was pined, and asked me to go with him to\nSammy's, of Hawden Hole, which I did, and he took the gun with him. When\nwe got to the old man's house, we got in at the window, and we both went\ninto the chamber where the old man was. He started up in bed when he\nheard us, and we both ran away, and I never touched the man.\n\n\"John Greenwood said--The robbery was proposed by Michael Pickles, for I\ndid not know that there was such a house--I had never been there in my\nlife. When we got to the house, Pickles went in at the window, but I\nstayed at the outside. I was never in the biggin' at all, but stood at\nthe shop-end all the time, and Pickles brought out all the goods to me\nthat he had taken out of the biggin'. He then told me that he had taken\nthe old man by the neck, and was afraid he had killed him; and I said,\n'Surely thou hast not hurt the old man?' Michael Pickles gave me the gun\nto carry, but I tied my handkerchief in two knots over the lock, for\nfear I should do some mischief with it. When we got back to Pickles'\nhouse, he told his wife he was afraid he had killed the old man; and his\nwife began to cry. Pickles charged me that I should keep it a secret\nfrom every one, even from my wife, for if I told I should be hanged.\n\n\"Three witnesses were called. Two of them spoke favourably of the\ncharacter of John Greenwood. The third stated that he had a wife and\nthree children, but that he did not know much about his character.\n\n\"His Lordship, in his charge to the jury, stated that where two or more\npersons were jointly engaged in the commission of any burglary or other\nfelonious act, and one of the party killed a person in furtherance of\ntheir common object, every one of the party would in law be guilty of\nthe crime of murder. And it was necessary, continued his Lordship, for\nthe safety of society, that it should be so, that associations in guilt\nmight be as much as possible prevented. If indeed an individual of any\nsuch party should put a person to death to gratify his own private\nrevenge, and not for the furtherance of their common object, in that\ncase he alone would be answerable for the murder. His Lordship explained\nthat this furtherance comprises all acts done to prevent or overpower\nresistance and to prevent discovery. Applying this rule to the case\nbefore them, his Lordship said that if the jury were satisfied that both\nthe prisoners had gone to the house of the deceased for the purpose of\ncommitting a robbery, and that one of them, to prevent any alarm or\ndiscovery, had by violence occasioned the death of the deceased, it\nwould be murder in them both, though one of the prisoners should not\nhave been within the house at the time, and should have given no consent\nto the murderous deed, or even not have known of its being committed.\nThat a burglary had been committed in the house was too evident to admit\nof a doubt. It also appeared from all the circumstances of the case\nthat the death of Samuel Sutcliffe had been produced by strangulation,\nand it was admitted by Pickles that he had seized him by the throat, and\nthat when he quitted his grasp he had reason to suppose he was dead. If\nthe jury were satisfied of these facts, and further thought that Michael\nPickles had committed this violence, not from any personal enmity (of\nwhich there was not the least proof), but with a view to prevent alarm\nand secure the accomplishment of their design of robbing the house, it\nwould be the duty of the jury to find both the prisoners guilty.\n\n\"The jury turned round in the box for a moment, and then pronounced\nagainst both prisoners the fatal verdict of 'Guilty.' His Lordship\nproceeded, after a most solemn and affecting address, to pass the\nsentence of the law, which was, that they were both of them to be hung\nby the neck on Monday until they were dead, and that their bodies should\nbe delivered to the surgeons for dissection.\n\n\"John Greenwood fell on his knees, begging for mercy, and protesting his\ninnocence of the murder.\n\n\"It is understood that since his conviction he has acknowledged to the\nchaplain that he was in the house, and stood at the foot of the steps\nwith the gun.\n\n\"The sentence of the law was carried into execution on Monday, March\n17th, a few minutes after eleven o'clock, and their bodies, after being\nsuspended the usual time, were delivered to the surgeons for dissection.\nThe body of Pickles has been sent to the Dispensary at Halifax.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] The circumstances of the murder and the discovery of the murderer\nwere collected with great care by the brother of a friend of the author,\nnow dead, and were communicated by him to the _Hebden Bridge Chronicle_\nin 1856. The papers of the compiler have been kindly sent to the author,\nand placed at his disposal. The facts of this extraordinary story were\ncollected partly from individuals now surviving, who lived in the\nneighbourhood at the time, especially from one who was a principal\nwitness at the trial at York, and partly from documents. Of the latter\nthe principal are a good report of the trial given in the _Leeds\nMercury_ of Saturday, March 22nd, 1817, and a confession by the\ncondemned parties drawn up in the usual style of confessions, and\nprinted at Leeds for the purpose of being hawked about the streets. The\n_Manchester Mercury_ of Tuesday, March, 18th, 1817, gives a short\naccount of the trial and condemnation of the prisoners, and concludes\nwith a confession of the principal prisoner; being a long verbatim\nextract from the confession printed at Leeds for sale by hawkers. One of\nthe official books belonging to Heptonstall church contains a copy of\nthe charge of the judge to the jury at York, taken verbatim from the\n_Leeds Mercury_ of March 22nd.\n\n[17] Greenwood is probably the most prevalent name in the neighbourhood.\nOut of 755 entries in a public register in the neighbourhood, the name\nGreenwood occurs 48 times, Helliwell 34, Sutcliffe 33, Cockcroft 18,\nSmith 18, Akroyd 15, Crabtree 15, Mitchell 14, Stansfield 13, Uttley 13,\nHorsfall 12, Midgley 12, Gibson 11, Taylor 11, Pickles 9, Fielden 9,\nGill 9, &c. We may here remark on the prevalence of patronymic names,\nwhich sometimes are really useful, however inelegant, in a district\nwhere the same names recur so frequently. Thus \"John o' Abbie's\" and\n\"Joan o' Jim's\" were the ordinary names of two individuals who were each\nlegally designated John Stansfield. By how many useful variations is the\nname John Sutcliffe represented! To strangers this practice is the more\npuzzling from the frequent use of abbreviations, such as Eam, Tham, Lol,\nAbbie, Jooas, Kit (or Katie), Joan, Tim, and Tum; for Edmund, Nathaniel,\nLawrence, Abraham, Joseph, Catherine, John, Timothy, Thomas. There was\nformerly a \"Jimmie, o' Jamie, o' James, o'th Jumps.\" \"George o' my\nGronny's\" and \"Will o' Nobody's\" are bold specimens of what may be done\nby the principle in question carried out with a little licence. Not\nunfrequently, also, people are named from their residences, as \"John up\nth' steps,\" and \"Old Ann o' th' Hinging Royd.\" Bye-names also become\nsometimes attached as if they were real family surnames. If it were not\npersonal, many singular instances might be given. Persons are frequently\nunable, without some consideration, to recognise the legal names of\ntheir neighbours. Upon the hillside at Jumps, near Todmorden, I once\nasked a little girl who was her father. \"Will o' th' Jumps,\" she\nreplied. \"And who's Will o' th' Jumps?\" I again inquired. \"He's Ailse o'\nth' Jumps, fellie,\" replied the girl; and I doubt whether she had any\nidea whatever of her legal surname.\n\n\n\n\nMR. WIKES, OF LEASEHOLME.[18]\n\n\nThe living of Leaseholme, in the North Riding of Yorkshire, was held by\nthree successive generations of the Wikeses for upwards of a century;\nall of whom were men of literary talents, popular preachers, great\noddities--but much given to the bottle. The first of the Wikes family\nwho held the living was a gentleman who had been captain in the army in\nthe reign of Charles I., and had fought for the unfortunate monarch\nthroughout the civil war. In one of the battles he received a wound in\nhis leg, which incapacitated him from further active service, and the\ndeath of the king and the supremacy of Cromwell prevented him from\nlooking to Government for promotion.\n\nBut on the Restoration Mr. Wikes cast about for some berth in which he\nmight spend his declining years in ease and comfort. The living of\nLeaseholme fell vacant, and he applied for it, remembering how his old\nfriend the sea-captain, Lyons, had obtained the bishopric of York from\nQueen Elizabeth.\n\nCaptain Wikes was ordained by the Archbishop of York, and given the\nliving he solicited, King Charles II. being glad to reward an old\nsoldier of his father, who had shared his misfortunes, thus economically\nto himself.\n\nMr. Wikes also held the incumbency of Ellerburn, near Leaseholme, and\ntook service in the morning at Leaseholme, and in the afternoon at\nEllerburn, or _vice vers\u00e0_.\n\nOne year, when the 30th of January fell on a Sunday, Mr. Wikes marched\noff to Ellerburn for morning service, with a pathetic sermon on the\nmartyrdom of his royal master in his pocket; but on his arrival at the\nplace he found the clerk and sexton near the churchyard, with a short\npole in their hands, watching a domestic quarrel that was going forward\non the opposite side of the beck that flows through the village. The\nparson asked why the church was empty and his subordinates were not in\ntheir places. The clerk pointed across the beck, and bade Parson Wikes\n\"look and see a woman combing her husband's head with a three-legged\nstool.\"\n\nMr. Wikes at once plunged over the brook, and striking the husband with\nhis fist, tore the furious pair asunder, shouting, \"Be quiet, you\nbrute!\" to the husband, and \"Hold your tongue, you vixen!\" to the woman.\nBoth fell on him, and he had hard work in defending himself from husband\nand wife. In the fray that ensued the yells of the parson--\"Peace, you\nmonster! Have done, termagant! Hands off, you coward! Retire,\nvirago!\"--were mingled with the abuse and blows of the disputants, till\nthe absurdity of the whole scene burst upon them all, as the crowd of\ndelighted parishioners and neighbours gathered in a circle about them,\nand they fell back laughing, and shook hands all round.\n\nBut matters did not end here. When husband and wife disagree, and a\nthird party interferes, according to local custom, all three are doomed\nto \"ride the stang,\" whilst the people shout and caper around the\nvictims, chanting, as they beat frying-pans and blow horns--\n\n\n               \"Rub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, ran-a-tan-tang,\n     It's neither what you say nor I say, but I ride the stang.\"\n\n\nThe parishioners insisted on the immemorial custom being complied with,\nand Parson Wikes was made to sit astride on the short pole the clerk and\nsexton had prepared; two others were provided for the belligerent\nhusband and wife; and the whole village prepared to march in procession\nwith them. But though the parson sat complacently on his pole, the\nhusband and wife refused to submit to the ignominious custom, and he\narmed himself with the pitch-fork, she with the poker, and began to\ndefend themselves against the villagers. Parson Wikes was carried to the\nscene of conflict, and the clerk and sexton, in their eagerness to join\nin the struggle, dropped him into the beck. Then the villagers rushed\nupon him, swearing that he was shirking his duty of riding the stang,\nand he had to stand up to his middle in the water, and fight them off.\nArmed with the stick, which he whirled about him in single-stick\nfashion, he rattled their heads and arms with it to such good purpose\nthat he was able to beat a retreat into the church, where he rapidly\nvested himself in his surplice, and placed the sanctity of the place and\ngarb between him and his opponents.\n\nThe crowd now poured into the church, and Parson Wikes proceeded with\nthe service, leaving a trail of water up and down the chancel as he\npaced to the altar and thence to the pulpit. Having prefaced his sermon\nwith an announcement that he took in good part the disorderly conduct\nand undignified treatment he had met with, he preached them a moving\nsermon on the merits of Charles the Martyr, and the ingratitude of the\npeople of England to such a virtuous monarch, and wound up with--\"Let\nthose who feel the consequence of such a misfortune deplore with me upon\nthis melancholy occasion; but if there be any among you (and I make no\ndoubt there are) who may have secretly wished for this event, they have\nnow got their desire, and may the devil do them good with it.\" After\nwhich he made the best of his way home to his rectory, and endeavoured\nto counteract the effects of his dipping by moistening his clay within\nwith hot punch.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[18] \"Anecdotes and Manners of a few Ancient and Modern Oddities.\" York,\n1806.\n\n\n\n\nTHE REV. MR. CARTER,\n\nPARSON-PUBLICAN.\n\n\nI cannot do better than extract verbatim the following account from a\ncurious book entitled \"Anecdotes and Manners of a Few Ancient and Modern\nOddities, interspersed with Deductive Inferences and Occasional\nObservations, tending to reclaim some Interlocutory Foibles which often\noccur in the Common Intercourses of Society.\" York, 1806:--\n\n\"The Rev. Mr. Carter, when curate of Lastingham, had a very large\nfamily, with only a small income to support them, and therefore often\nhad recourse to many innocent alternatives to augment it; and as the\nbest of men have their enemies--too often more than the worst--he was\nrepresented to the archdeacon by an invidious neighbour as a very\ndisorderly character, particularly by keeping a public-house, with the\nconsequences resulting from it.\n\n\"The archdeacon was a very humane, worthy, good man, who had imbibed the\nprinciples not only of a parson, but of a divine, and therefore treated\nsuch calumniating insinuations against his subordinate brethren with\nthat contempt which would accrue to the satisfaction and advantage of\nsuch as listen to a set of sycophantic tattlers culled from the refuse\nof society. Besides, the improbability of a malevolent story generally\nrenders it more current by increasing the scandal; and the world, like\nthe pious S. Austin, believes some things because they are impossible.\nHowever, he considered that not only the conduct of the inferior clergy\nclaimed his attention, but also to have some idea how far their\nsubsistence was compatible with the sanctity of their functions;\ntherefore, at the ensuing visitation, when the business of the day was\nover, he, in a very delicate and candid manner, interrogated Mr. Carter\nas to his means of supporting so numerous a family--ever thinking of\nthis admirable hint to charity, that the more a person wants, the less\nwill do him good--which was answered, as related to me by one well\nacquainted with the parties, in nearly the following words:--\n\n\"'I have a wife and thirteen children, and with a stipend of \u00a320 per\nannum, increased only by a few trifling surplice fees. I will not impose\nupon your understanding by attempting to advance any argument to show\nthe impossibility of us all being supported from my church preferment.\nBut I am fortunate enough to live in a neighbourhood where there are\nmany rivulets which abound with fish, and being particularly partial to\nangling, I am frequently so successful as to catch more than my family\ncan consume while good, of which I make presents to the neighbouring\ngentry, all of whom are so generously grateful as to requite me with\nsomething else of seldom less value than two or three-fold. This is not\nall. My wife keeps a public-house, and as my parish is so wide that some\nof my parishioners have to come from ten to fifteen miles to church, you\nwill readily allow that some refreshment before they return must\noccasionally be necessary, and when can they have it more properly than\nwhen their journey is half performed? Now, sir, from your general\nknowledge of the world, I make no doubt but you are well assured that\nthe most general topics in conversation at public-houses are politics\nand religion, with which ninety-nine out of one hundred of those who\nparticipate in the general clamour are totally unacquainted; and that\nperpetually ringing in the ears of a pastor who has the welfare and\nhappiness of his flock at heart, must be no small mortification. To\ndivert their attention from these foibles over their cups, I take down\nmy violin and play them a few tunes, which gives me an opportunity of\nseeing that they get no more liquor than necessary for refreshment; and\nif the young people propose a dance, I seldom answer in the negative;\nnevertheless, when I announce time for return, they are ever ready to\nobey my commands, and generally with the donation of a sixpence they\nshake hands with my children, and bid God bless them. Thus my\nparishioners enjoy a triple advantage, being instructed, fed, and amused\nat the same time. Moreover, this method of spending their Sundays is so\ncongenial with their inclinations, that they are imperceptibly led along\nthe paths of piety and morality; whereas, in all probability, the most\nexalted discourses, followed with no variety but heavenly\ncontemplations, would pass like the sounds of harmony over an ear\nincapable of discerning the distinction of sounds. It is this true sense\nof religion that has rendered my whole life so remarkably cheerful as it\nhas been, to the great offence of superstitious and enthusiastic\nreligionists. For why should priests be always grave? Is it so sad to be\na parson? Cheerfulness, even gaiety, is consonant with every species of\nvirtue and practice of religion, and I think it inconsistent only with\nimpiety and vice. The ways of heaven are pleasantness. Let \"O be joyful\"\nbe the Christian's psalm, and leave to the sad Indian to incant the\ndevil with tears and screeches. Now, to corroborate my remarks upon\ncheerfulness as conducive to contentment, I will by leave solicit so\nmuch of your indulgence as to hear the following extract from the works\nof an eminent divine of the Established Church:--The Thirty-Nine\nArticles are incomplete without a fortieth precept enjoining\ncheerfulness; or you may let the number stand as it does at present,\nprovided you expunge the thirteenth article, and place that heavenly\nmaxim in the room of it. Might not the Archbishop of Cashel have been a\nsound divine though he added the arch-stanza about Broglio to the old\nIrish ballad in praise of Moll Roe? Or did the Bishop (not the Earl) of\nRochester's poems on the man-like properties of a lady's fan ever\nimpeach his orthodoxy in the least?'\n\n\"Here the archdeacon very candidly acknowledged the propriety of Mr.\nCarter's arguments in defence of his conduct, and complimented him on\nhis discernment in using the most convenient vehicle for instruction;\nobserving that, although he might deviate a little from the plans\ngenerally advised for the accomplishment of that purpose, yet it bore no\nless authority than the celebrated Dr. Young, who wrote a play ('The\nBrothers') for the propagation of the Gospel, the profits of which he\nconsecrated to the Society for Propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts.\"\n\n\n\n\nJOB SENIOR,\n\nTHE HERMIT OF RUMBOLD'S MOOR.[19]\n\n\nJob's mother was Ann Senior, of Beckfoot, near Ilkley; he was an\nillegitimate child. His father, a man named Hacksworth, left him a\nlittle money when he died. Job grew up a spruce, active young man, very\nstrong, and not devoid of good looks. He was employed as a labourer by\nthe farmers round Ilkley; but afterwards went to live at Whitkirk, near\nLeeds. He there fell into disorderly ways, drank, and became careless in\nhis dress and dirty in his habits. Yet he was a good workman, and when\nhe returned to Ilkley he was readily engaged by the farmers to plough,\nmow, and reap for them. He was a good fence-waller, and being a man of\nprodigious strength, is said to have used very heavy stones for the\npurpose, and when days were short he was frequently seen walling by\ncandlelight. Some of his walls are still pointed out, and the large\nstones he lifted elicit surprise. In winter he employed himself in\nwool-combing at a place called The Castle, near Ilkley. It is related of\nhim that he once laid himself down on the combing-shed floor, and that\nsome of his fellow-workmen chalked out his figure on the floor. By this\noutline he used to cut his shirts, the material being coarse harden,\nsewed with strong hemp-string.\n\nJob was at one time an hostler in the village, and a person who knew him\nwell at the time says that at this period his dissipated habits made\nhim the subject of many a practical joke.\n\nHe was afterwards employed by the farmers at Burley Woodhead; but as he\nbecame old and infirm, and troubled with rheumatism, he could not work\nas formerly, but did what he could, making no stipulations for wages,\nbut asking only for his board, and that his employers should pay him\nwhatever extra they thought his labour entitled him to receive.\n\nAbout this time he became acquainted with a widow named Mary Barret, who\nlived in a cottage near Coldstone Beck, on the edge of Rumbold's Moor.\nThe widow had a little garden and a paddock which, together with the\ncottage, had been left her by her husband, who had taken the land from\nthe common and built the cottage on it. Job thought if he could secure\nthe hand of the widow the house and land would be his for life. So one\nday he paid her a visit.\n\n\"I'll tell ye what I've been thinking,\" said Job Senior.\n\n\"What hast a' been thinking on then, Job? Out wi' it, lad,\" said the\nwidow.\n\n\"Well, I've been thinking thou'st getting ou'd, and thou lives all by\nthy sen i' this house. And I'm a young man\"--(he was about sixty)--\"and\nI lives all by my sen by yond crag. Why should not thou and me make it\nagreeable to live together?\"\n\n\"Dost a' mean that I'm to take thee as a lodger?\" asked Mary Barret.\n\n\"Nay, nay, lass!\" answered Job; \"I mean we'd better goa to t' kirk\ntogether and be wed.\"\n\n\"I reckon I'm ower ou'd for that,\" said the widow. She was in her\neightieth year.\n\n\"I doan't know if tha be ou'd,\" said Job; \"but I knows vary weel thou'rt\nbonny.\"\n\nNo woman's heart, not even in her eightieth year, is proof against\nflattery, and the fair Mary blushed and yielded to the blooming Job, and\nmarried they were.\n\n\"It's an easy gotten penny by the light o' the moon,\" said Job, looking\nover his domain.\n\nMrs. Senior did not long survive her second marriage. She had a long\nsickness, and Job was kind to her in it. \"It's cou'd, Job,\" she said to\nher husband one evening when he returned from his work on the moor.\n\"It's cou'd i' this bed, and I cannot feel t' warmth o' t' fire.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt be warm, ou'd lass, if I can fashion it,\" said Job. \"But as\nI cannot bring t' fire nigher thee, I mun bring thee nigher to t' fire.\"\nSo he pulled up a couple of flags in the floor beside the hearth, dug a\npit, and made the old woman's bed in this premature grave, so that she\ncould be close to the fire and comfortable, and if she wanted a cup of\ntea, could put out her hand and take the pot from the hearth.\n\n\"Eh, Job!\" said old Mary another day, \"I think I'd like summut good to\neat afore I dies.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" answered her husband; \"then I'll get thee a rare good morsel,\nthat'll set thee up on thy legs again, ou'd lass.\"\n\nSo he bought a pound of bacon, roasted it, caught the melted fat in a\nlarge iron spoon, and ladled it down his wife's throat.\n\n\"It's rare good now, isn't it?\" exclaimed the husband, as the old woman\ngulped it down. \"Open the trap and I'll teem (pour) down some more.\"\n\nThe old woman lay back in her hole and groaned. \"I'm boun' to die!\" she\nsaid.\n\n\"Nay, lass! take another spoonful first.\"\n\nBut the poor creature was dead. Job looked at her disconsolately for a\nminute, and whilst doing so the fat of the frying bacon fell into the\nfire and blazed up. \"Eh! but I mustn't waste the fat,\" said Job. \"If t'\nou'd lass cannot take it, why, I mun eat it mysen. Ah! it's varry good;\nbut it's hot. I reckon 't were too hot for her ou'd insides.\"\n\nJob now thought that the house, garden, and paddock were his own; but he\nwas mistaken. The family of Barret, the first husband of Mary, claimed\nit and took possession of the field. Job clung desperately to the\ncottage and the potato-garth. One evening when he returned from his work\nhe found that the cottage had been pulled to pieces. He had hidden some\nmoney in the walls, and this was either lost or stolen. His rage and\ndisappointment completely disturbed his brain, and from that time\nforward he lived in a miserable hovel he erected for himself out of the\nruins of the house, in idleness and squalor.\n\nHis hut was like a dog-kennel; to enter it he was obliged to creep on\nhands and knees. Within it was only large enough for him to lie down in\nand turn himself about: it was thatched, and provided with a rude door,\nbut no window. The garden had contained fruit trees; but these he\nstubbed up, and instead planted the whole garth with potatoes. He made\nlarge, unsightly ridges, and put in a great quantity of seed, always\nplanting for the following year when he gathered his crop in autumn. In\none corner of his garth was a peat fire where he roasted his potatoes.\nHis custom was, when eating, to sit with one leg on each side of the\nfire of peat, his little bag of oatmeal before him; then with his staff\nhe poked the potatoes out of the embers, peeled them with his dirty\nfingers, rolled them in his meal bag, and then ate them. He always drank\nhis water warm.\n\n\"Do you drink your water warm, Job?\" asked a visitor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the hermit, \"I reckon I does.\"\n\n\"And your butter-milk too?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye. Sithere.\" And he poked two stone bottles out from the embers.\n\"I do it to clear my voice,\" said the hermit. \"Now thou shalt hear my\nfour voices.\" He then got up, set his face to the crag, and began a\nwonderful performance of four voices--treble, alto, tenor, and bass. He\nsaid he had picked up his \"four voices\" by listening to the choir in\nLeeds parish church. He usually sang sacred hymns, such as \"While\nshepherds watched their flocks by night,\" \"Christians, awake,\" and the\nOld Hundredth. He went about the country in winter, singing in four\nparts for money, and his performance was sufficiently remarkable for him\nto be brought to perform in public at the theatre at Leeds, and in the\nHeadingly Gardens and the Woolsorters' Gardens at Bradford, where he\nstayed for weeks at a time. He would sleep in any outbuilding or\nblacksmith's shop; indeed, he was so dirty that few people would like to\nhave given him a bed in their houses.\n\nHe used to walk leaning on two rough sticks, wearing a pair of heavy\nwooden clogs on his feet, stuffed with hay, his legs bandaged with\nstraw. His coat was of many colours and much patched; his trousers were\nto match. He wore no braces, but kept his trousers in position with a\nhempen belt, part of an old horse-girth, which he buckled round his\nbody. A bag on his back was fastened at the front to his belt. His head\nwas adorned with a hat of the most antique shape, without a brim, and\nstitched together with hemp-string.\n\nThe condition of his skin, which had not seen water for years, need not\nbe described. His hair, once jetty black, now hung in heavy clotted\nlocks on his shoulders. His eyebrows were black and prominent; his eyes\nlow-set and watery. He wore a coarse beard, grizzled with age, and very\ndirty. From his hat depended a tobacco-pipe, hung by a string.\n\n\"Never,\" he would say to his visitors, \"never take to nowt, but whenever\nyou can get a penny, felt (hide) it, and let nobody know about it, and\nthen they cannot get it from you. Get all the brass ye can, and as soon\nas ye can buy a bit o' grund like this o' mine, ye see, set it with\npotatoes, and it'll keep ye. There'll be a peck or two to spare; ye can\nsell them, and so ha' brass agean. Are ye married?\" said the hermit to a\nyoung man who went to see him.\n\n\"No,\" answered the visitor.\n\n\"Then ye are right there, young chap. Keep so. If ye get a wife, ye'll\nsee shoo'll be coming on wi' a family, and then that'll take all your\nbrass. I' th' first place, ye'll want a house and furniture, and then\nthere'll be rent and taxes, and your wife'll be always wanting summat\nfor hersen or the bairns. And besides, just look how more flour ye'll\nwant, and sugar, and soap, and candles. And look how many more potatoes\nye'll want for them all to eat. Eh! but they're the animals 'at eats\nbrass. They say that maggots eats cheese, and weevils eats cloathes, and\nmice eats corn; but wife and bairns eats brass, and it's t' brass as\ngets cheese, and cloathes, and corn. Nay, lad! have nowt to do wi' them\nsoort o' cattle. And then--if th' wife takes to bonnets and gowns, ye're\nruined directly. Nay, nay, grund is better nor a wife, and potatoes nor\nbairns. If ye want to save your brass and snap up a bit o' grund, ye\nmunna be married.\"\n\nJob's end came as he was on one of his singing rounds. It is thought\nthat some youngsters drugged his drink, in prank, at Silsden, and the\nconsequences were a violent attack of English cholera. He got back to\nIlkley, and crept into a barn belonging to the White Sheaf Inn; but the\nlandlord seeing that his end was near, sent for the parish authorities,\nand he was moved to the Carlton workhouse, as he belonged to Burley. He\ndied in the course of a few days, at the age of seventy-seven, and was\nburied in Burley churchyard, near Otley.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[19] \"The Hermit of Rumbold's Moor.\" Bingley: Harrison (n.d.)\n\n\n\n\nNANCY NICHOLSON,\n\nTHE TERMAGANT.\n\n\nMrs. Nancy Nicholson[20] was born at Drax, in the county of York, on the\n3rd day of May, 1785, and was the only child of the Rev. John Jackson,\nvicar of Drax, by his second wife. Mr. Jackson had a son by a former\nmarriage, but he was taken by his mother's relatives into Cumberland;\nconsequently the daughter, Nancy, was the only child at home, and from\nher infancy was indulged to a fault, and suffered to grow up without\nrestraint, so that she soon became a terror to the other children in the\nschool of which her father was the master.[21]\n\nIt is curious that the child of a schoolmaster should have been suffered\nto grow to womanhood almost wholly without education; but such was the\ncase. The following extract from a letter written by her when aged\nsixty-four shows how miserably her education had been neglected:--\"Dear\nMrs. Wilson,--Your letter just came in time as I whas thinking of\nletting my land but if John Harrison will come and we can a gree I ceep\nit on if not I shall let it Mr. Totton of Howden whants it and Taylors\nof Asselby also I Ceep all land and Hosses while I see him pray send him\nword to Come this week as I must have my Patays up and also my stakes\nwants thashing.\"\n\nHaving naturally a certain amount of shrewdness, it was mistaken for\ntalent, and low cunning for genius. Being indulged in every way, her\nheadstrong will became intolerant of the smallest restraint. She played\nwith the boys of the school, and acquired from them the coarsest\nlanguage, and throughout her life never learned, indeed never attempted,\nto control her tongue.\n\nWhen Miss Jackson was about twenty years old, the Rev. John Nicholson, a\nyoung man from Cumberland, came to Drax to assist Mr. Jackson in his\nschool. He was at that time a well-disposed, gentlemanly young fellow,\nwho gave promise of being a scholar and of use in his generation. But\nMiss Jackson, who was not without some charms of person, was the\nill-omened star that was to blight his life. Living in the house of her\nfather, he was brought in daily contact with her, and she exerted some\nsort of fascination upon him. If two young people are brought much\ntogether, they are sure to form an attachment, and it was so in this\ncase. Nancy concealed her evil disposition from the usher, and laid\nherself out to catch him.\n\nMr. Nicholson could not be blind to the fact that Miss Jackson was\nentitled to property on the death of her parents, and it is probable\nenough that to a needy young clergyman without interest, the chance of\nmaking himself master of a competence may have had more to do with his\npaying his addresses to Miss Jackson than love.\n\nIn the year 1810 Mr. Jackson died, and perhaps this event decided Mr.\nNicholson to offer his hand to Nancy. He was at once accepted, and the\ninterest of her friends secured for him immediately the vacant situation\nof master of the Grammar School. Shortly after the marriage he also\nbecame vicar of Drax.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Nicholson were married at Drax Church in October, 1811, and\nshe then became undisputed mistress of the establishment. Her harsh and\ntyrannical disposition had now free scope to develop, and the first to\nfeel it was the mother who had encouraged her as a child. The widow was\nsoon obliged to leave the house, where her daughter made it impossible\nfor her to live in comfort and tranquillity. The servants would not\nstay; no fresh ones could be induced to enter the house under such a\nmistress. She was therefore obliged to do all the work of the\nschool-house herself, making the unhappy boarders help her in cleaning\nthe house and in washing the clothes. The poor boys were scantily fed,\nand otherwise miserably provided for.\n\nFour gentlemen, including Lord Downe, were trustees of the Grammar\nSchool at Drax, and made visits of inspection regularly every quarter.\nNancy was always prepared for these occasions. She had a clean cloth on\nthe table, a plentiful dinner provided, and a dumpling set before each\nboy. But she took care to impress on each boarder that the one who left\nthe largest amount of dumpling on his plate would receive a reward, and\nhe should receive a hiding who emptied his plate. \"And,\" said Mrs.\nNicholson, \"let any boy beware how he looks sad or dissatisfied.\"\n\nWhen these quarterly visits took place in the cold weather, she had a\nlarge fire lighted in the school-room, round which she assembled the\nboys, and when the trustees came in, she would address them with--\"Well,\ngentlemen, and you, my lord, you see how saucy these boys are; scarce\none of them has eaten his dumpling. And capital dumplings they are, my\nlord and gentlemen!\"\n\nWhen Mr. and Mrs. Nicholson had been married about three years they took\nan orphan niece of Mr. Nicholson's from Cumberland to provide for, and\nto this child for several years she behaved with the greatest cruelty,\nuntil at length Mrs. Nicholson's mother took compassion on the child,\nand removed it to her own house. However, when Mrs. Nicholson considered\nher niece capable of working, she insisted on her return, making her do\nthe work of a servant, and subjecting her to the harshest treatment. The\nwork was heavy, as she kept two or three cows, besides pigs and poultry.\n\nThe schoolboys were compelled to collect her eggs, and she caused them\nto rob the neighbours to obtain a greater number. These depredations\nwere not unknown to the neighbours, but they good-naturedly excused the\nboys, as they knew they were urged to them by Mrs. Nicholson. She gave\nthe boys a penny a score for all the eggs they could bring. She would\nthen say, \"Now, boys, I have such nice apples; I will give you a good\npennyworth of apples for your penny; do have a pennyworth.\" The boys\ndurst not object, and bought the apples. But still she was not\nsatisfied, but would say, \"Come, I will play you a game at push-pin for\nyour apples, and I daresay you will win.\" However, as may be supposed,\nthey never were suffered to win, so that she obtained eggs, penny,\napples, and pins also. She committed various other depredations on the\nproperty of her neighbours, such as taking coals, corn, goslings--and,\nin short, anything that came within her reach. One Sunday morning, while\nthe neighbours were at church, she made some of the boys assist her in\nstealing a hen and fourteen chickens. These she confined in a brick oven\ntill the following morning, when she took them to Selby and disposed of\nthem in the market.\n\nFor many years she regularly attended Selby market with her butter,\nwhich more than once was seized and taken from her for being light\nweight. She employed the boys in collecting rags, old iron, &c., all of\nwhich she took to Selby, because she could obtain a better price there\nthan at home. It was in vain that Mr. Nicholson remonstrated with her\non the disgrace her conduct brought upon him; she only replied in\nabusive language.\n\nOn Sunday mornings she was always remarkably late in her attendance at\nchurch, generally entering in the middle of the service, and her\nappearance was like anything but that which became a vicar's wife, and\nformed a strange contrast to that of her husband, who retained his care\nto appear like a gentleman, in clean and well-brushed clothes, and with\nscrupulously white cravat.\n\nNancy was neither clean nor well-dressed. For many years she would not\nafford herself a new bonnet, until at length her mother, utterly ashamed\nof her appearance, bought one for her. But Mrs. Jackson made her give up\nthe old bonnet before she received the new one, being convinced, if she\nhad the chance, that Nancy would put the new one away and continue to\nwear the old one.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Nicholson continued in the school-house several years,\nduring which time they amassed a considerable sum of money, with which\nthey bought various lots of property in the parish, Mrs. Nicholson\nalways contriving to have her name inserted in the deeds as well as Mr.\nNicholson's, so that he could not deprive her of her life-interest. One\nfield which they purchased at Carlton she had conveyed to her for her\nown use and disposal. This caused great dissension between them when\ndiscovered by Mr. Nicholson.\n\nAt length the trustees were obliged to interfere in behalf of the\nschool. They did so with the utmost reluctance. All respected and pitied\nMr. Nicholson, who was a good Christian and a gentleman, and was\nprepared to discharge his duty conscientiously. But it was impossible\nfor him to control his wife, and make her treat the boarders with\nordinary humanity. She was a genuine Mrs. Squeers; but he was a very\ndifferent sort of person to the Yorkshire schoolmaster of \"Nicholas\nNickleby.\"\n\nThe trustees were obliged to insist on an investigation. It was\nconducted with the greatest consideration for the feelings of Mr.\nNicholson; but the investigation ended in the school being taken from\nhim.\n\n\"Oh, Nancy, Nancy!\" Mr. Nicholson would repeat, \"you have disgraced me\nterribly!\"\n\nThe humiliations he was obliged to undergo broke his spirit, and his\nself-respect, which had battled against adverse circumstances, gradually\ngave way. She used the most insulting language to him, not only in\nprivate, but in public, making the most odious insinuations, and\nbringing the scarlet spot of shame to his cheek. The unfortunate man was\nmade to drink to the dregs the cup of degradation.\n\nAt last, maddened beyond self-control, he beat her with his horse-whip.\nA friend, whose house was situated a mile from that of the Nicholsons,\nhas told me that his father has often heard at that distance the screams\nof rage uttered by Nancy when in a passion with her husband. Their\nquarrels became the gossip and scandal of Drax. Mr. Nicholson at last,\ndriven of an evening from his home, would visit farmers, or sometimes\nthe public-house, and forget his humiliation in the society of his\ninferiors. On these occasions he sometimes took too much.\n\nWhen they lost the school-house the Nicholsons built a new house for\nthemselves on some ground they had purchased at a place called Newland,\nnear Drax, where Mrs. Nicholson had full opportunity for keeping cows,\npigs, and poultry, her favourite occupation. But having no family, she\nwould not be at the expense of a servant, and soon gave herself up to\nsloth and dirt, both in her person and house.\n\nShe would rarely admit any visitors, and if Mr. Nicholson occasionally\nventured to invite a friend, she would either offend the guest at the\ntime (unless she saw her way to gaining some advantage by him), or\nrevenge herself on Mr. Nicholson after his departure. And if Mr.\nNicholson absented himself from the house without her consent, she\nalways upbraided him on his return with the vilest language, attributing\nthe visits to his neighbours or tenants to evil motives.\n\nThe following extract from the correspondence of a young lady from\nCumberland, a cousin of Mrs. Nicholson's, who was staying a few months\nat Drax in the year 1837, gives a lively picture of her mode of life at\nthat period:--\n\n\"One evening after tea my sister and I proposed, as we frequently did,\nto walk out as far as Newland, to see Mr. and Mrs. Nicholson. It was a\ndelightful evening, and a pleasant walk we had. Chatting over bygone\ntimes and talking about our future prospects, we soon arrived at the\nlittle gate, through which we entered the back grounds belonging to the\nhouse, and passed on into the kitchen, where we found Mr. and Mrs.\nNicholson seated by the little window which looks out upon the road. As\nsoon as we had got seated and the usual salutations were over, Mrs.\nNicholson (who, by-the-bye, I must confess, however little to my credit,\nwas my cousin) began with saying, 'Well, Miss H----n, there is going to\nbe a confirmation at Selby to-morrow, and Mr. Nicholson will have to go\nwith the young people; what do you say, will you go with him? You have\nnever been at Selby, and it will be a nice opportunity.' 'I certainly\nwould like it very much,' I replied, 'if you are going also. But how are\nwe to go?' 'By Langrick Ferry,' said Mr. Nicholson. 'We must be up there\nby nine o'clock, and meet the packet. You can be up by that time?' 'And\nwho do you think is going to pay a shilling a-piece to go by the packet?\nNot I, nor you either,' said Mrs. Nicholson, in an angry tone. 'And as\nfor Mary Anne, she has more sense than to waste her money in that way.'\nI replied by saying, 'Oh, a shilling is not much; and as there is no\nother conveyance by which we can get, we have no alternative, as we\ncannot possibly walk it.'--'No,' said she, 'we cannot walk it, but there\nis a man who has a cart, and I am sure if we could get a dozen to go he\nwould take us at threepence a-piece. There's plenty of lasses and lads\nwho are going to be confirmed would be glad of the chance. Why, you see,\nwe should make three ourselves, and Mr. Nicholson can speak to some of\nthem. The man can put the shelvings on, and we'll go rarely.' 'Who do\nyou mean will go?' said the clergyman. 'Do you think that I will go to\nSelby in a waggon, or Miss H----n either? No, you shall not bring me to\nthat. You have made me give up my horse and gig long since; but, go as\nyou will yourself, I and Miss H----n will take the packet.' At this his\namiable wife got into such a rage, and went on at such a rate, that to\nmake matters up I was glad to give my consent to go with her in the\nwaggon, and Mr. Nicholson said he would ask one of the churchwardens to\ntake him in his gig. This pacified her, and as we rose to take our\ndeparture, she said she would see the man about the cart, and I was to\nmind and be ready at nine o'clock, when they would call for me with it.\nHowever, I could not bear the idea of the neighbours around seeing a\ngreat waggon filled with country rustics stopping at our door for me to\ngo with them, so I told her I would come up to their house by that time,\nand we would go direct from thence. But she was afraid I wanted to get\noff going, and it was not without extorting a faithful promise from me\nthat I would not disappoint her that I succeeded in obtaining her\nconsent at last.\n\n\"The morning came, chill and gloomy, and I rose, hoping it was going to\nrain, that I might make that an excuse for not going. So I made myself\nready, and taking an umbrella, set off for Newland. I had proceeded as\nfar as a turn there is in the road, when I heard such a shouting and\nhurrahing that I stopped to see from whence it proceeded. I had not long\nto look, for turning the corner, the waggon appeared in sight, with\nabout fourteen or fifteen young people in it of both sexes, and Mrs.\nNicholson in the centre, laughing and shouting as loud as the rest. She\nsoon saw me, and bawled out, 'Oh, yonder is Miss H----n coming! Stop the\ncart!--stop the cart!' By this time I had come up to them, but was\ntrembling with shame at the idea of going with them, and I felt vexed at\nthe predicament I was in. At length I said, 'I think the cart is so full\nthere is no room for me, and as the rain is already falling, I would\nrather not go. So do not disturb yourselves, for I will walk back again\nas quick as possible.' 'Oh, it's not going to be much rain, and you\nshall come,' replied Mrs. Nicholson; 'so make room for her, lasses.\nThere, Betty, you can sit on the edge of the shelves, and Polly can take\nyour place. Now, Miss H----n, jump in, and let us be off.' It was in\nvain that I made every excuse I could think of. She appealed to them\nall, and they joined her, until I was forced to consent, and off we\ndrove. I felt thankful that it was raining a little as we passed through\nthe village, so I put up my umbrella to screen myself from view,\npretending that my clothes would get wet and spoiled.\n\n\"On we went, and after we had got through Drax the young people and she\nindulged themselves in conversation such as I had never heard before,\nand strove in vain to get me to join them, or laugh at their low and\nobscene discourse. Mrs. Nicholson at length said, 'Come, lasses, can't\nyou raise a song? We'll get her to laugh just now, I warrant us.' They\nthen inquired of her what they must sing, and she told them three or\nfour songs, all of which they sang with all their might, she every now\nand then asking me how I liked it. At last she said, 'Give us some sea\nsongs; she comes from a seaport town, and will maybe like them better.'\nSo, first one and then another was sung, but with no better success. At\nlength I saw a gig coming fast after us, and begged them to give over\ntill it got past. They all looked, and said it was Mr. Nicholson. 'Oh,\nsing away! Don't give over. Let them see how we are enjoying ourselves.\nDon't stop for him,' said Mrs. Nicholson. 'Come, go on--go on!'--'No,'\nreplied some of the young people, 'we won't sing while Mr. Nicholson is\ngoing past. Wait awhile.'\n\n\"Oh, how glad was I that they kept quiet while the gig was passing,\nalthough she was urging them to sing all the time.\n\n\"Many other carriages passed us on the road, and they sang and shouted\nloudly without regarding them; but I did not feel so mortified as I\nshould have done had I not been a stranger whom they could not know.\n\n\"At length we arrived at Selby, and I begged that I might be allowed to\nget out at the entrance to the town. But no. She declared I should not\ntill we arrived at the inn where the cart would put up; and I was\nobliged to submit. On reaching the inn many were the people that stood\nlooking at us as we alighted. I got out almost the first, and Mrs.\nNicholson was the last. I had then an opportunity of seeing her costume\nin full. There she stood, dressed in an old dirty print gown, so\nstraight that it was like a sack around her, and over her shoulders was\nthrown an old scarlet cloak, very short, with three small capes, the\nlargest of which did not reach down to her waist. Then the bonnet is\nbeyond description, and the cap beneath, with one plain muslin border\nthat had not been ironed, and sadly soiled. These, with a pair of great\ndirty shoes that looked fit for a ploughman, over a pair of coarse\nblack, or rather brown, worsted stockings, which her short petticoats\ndisplayed to full advantage, completed her attire. And thus, with a\ngreat, square, butter basket hanging over her arm, stood like some gipsy\nwoman the wife of the Rev. Mr. Nicholson.\n\n\"We then went to the inn, where Mr. Nicholson and all the other\nclergymen were to meet the children, from whence they would proceed to\nchurch, each at the head of his own flock. We found Mr. Nicholson in a\nroom upstairs with some other clergymen. To these he introduced me as\nhis cousin, but none of them appeared to notice Mrs. Nicholson. At last\nshe said, 'Come, Mr. Nicholson, we have business at the bank, and we\nwill have time enough to get it done before you have all to walk to\nchurch.' And bidding me come with them also, she proceeded downstairs,\nand left the inn. Mr. Nicholson was dressed in his gown and bands, and\nno one who was not acquainted with them would have thought for a moment\nthat she was his wife. However, she trotted on before us with her\nbasket, and, I daresay, we were neither of us sorry that she did so.\nWhen we reached the bank Mr. Nicholson's business was soon settled, and\nthen she said he had better go on to the children, or he would be too\nlate. 'Come, then, Miss H----n,' said Mr. Nicholson, 'she can meet us at\nthe church.' I replied, 'I had better wait for her.' (I had been told\nthat she was jealous of almost every female that he spoke to, so I\nfeared if I went with him she might abuse me about it another time.) But\nthough I declined going with him till I was ashamed, she insisted that I\nshould go. Accordingly we left her, and went again to the inn. The\nprocession was just walking off when Mr. Nicholson requested me to take\nhis arm, and we walked before the children of his flock to the church.\nAt the entrance we separated. He desired me to go upstairs into the\ngallery, as he would have to remain below with the children. I was shown\ninto a pew in the gallery, and viewed the imposing and solemn sight with\nreverential feelings. I thought, how much it was to be feared, many were\nthere that knew not what they did. I thought of our journey to Selby;\nand then I wondered why Mrs. Nicholson was not coming. Often and often\ndid I look to the entrance behind me to catch a glimpse of the bouncing\ndame in the old red cloak. (She was then very stout, being upwards of\nseventeen stones in weight.) At length the service was concluded. I\nhurried down as fast as possible, and, without waiting for Mr.\nNicholson, went out to seek her. After having sought some time, I spied\nher in a spirit-shop. She saw me at the same time, and called to me to\ngo in. She seemed quite in good humour, and asked where Mr. Nicholson\nwas. I replied I had left him in the church, having come out to seek\nher, as I wondered she had not come according to promise. She said she\nhad been doing business all the time, but when she had ordered some\nspirits here she had done, and would then go with me to the inn, as it\nwas time to be starting for home.\n\n\"When we got again to the inn, and into the room where we had been\nbefore, she inquired for Mr. Nicholson, and was told he was in another\nroom. She said, 'I suppose he is tipsy; show me where he is.' The waiter\nwent out, and she followed him, desiring me to wait until her return. In\na short time she came back, saying, 'Aye, he is yonder, tipsy enough. He\nhas been dining and drinking wine with a set of them, and now he is laid\nupon a sofa, and I cannot get him to stir. It will have cost him a fine\ndeal; but he won't tell me anything, and what is worse, I can't get his\nmoney from him, and he has a large sum in his pocket. I expect the cart\nwill be here presently, and they won't wait for me. I suppose I must go,\nbut if I leave him, he'll be robbed. I never can walk home, and besides,\nI shall have my threepence to pay. So I suppose I must go. Oh, Mary\nAnne, do you go and speak to him, and see if he will come. The gentleman\nwith whom he came has gone for his gig, and if he won't go with him, and\nwe leave him, he will be robbed, and perhaps murdered.'\n\n\"'Well,' I replied, 'I'll go and see; but if he won't move for you, I\ndon't expect he will for me. But see, there is the waggon with its live\nload at the door. For my part I would rather walk all the way than go in\nthat horrid thing.'\n\n\"She went out, and I followed her down a short passage, at the end of\nwhich we entered another room, where one or two gentlemen were sitting.\nWe found Mr. Nicholson lying on a sofa. I went up to him and said,\n'Come, Mr. Nicholson, won't you go home? The cart is at the door waiting\nfor Mrs. Nicholson, and she is quite distressed that you would not speak\nto her.' He replied that he would go directly the gig was ready. She\nthen came forward and said, 'Give me your money, or you will lose or\nspend it.'\n\n\"'No,' he replied, 'I won't; you shall not have it. Go away, I do not\nwant you here.'\n\n\"'Well, then,' said she, 'may Miss H----n stop with you?'\n\n\"'Yes,' he replied, 'I shall be glad of her company.'\n\n\"'No,' I said, 'I cannot stop, for I intend walking home, and it is time\nI was going.'\n\n\"'Oh, you must not leave him,' said Mrs. Nicholson. 'He will get more to\ndrink, and Mr. ---- will not get him home. He will be as stupid as a\nmule if he gets any more drink; so, there's a dear good girl, do stay\nwith him, and don't let him get any more drink, and mind and watch that\nnobody robs him, and see that he does not lose his bands. Now,' she\nsaid, addressing him, 'mind you do as Mary Anne wishes you.'\n\n\"'Yes; certainly,' he replied.\n\n\"'But,' I said, 'I shall have a long walk; so I must go directly.'\n\n\"'No,' said Mr. Nicholson, 'you had better come with us. I am sure that\nMr. ----, the churchwarden, will be glad to accommodate you with a seat\nin his gig. I will go and ask him.'\n\n\"'You'll get more drink if you go,' said Mrs. Nicholson; 'he is in the\nparlour below, and I'll go and ask him myself. So promise me, Mary Anne,\nthat you won't leave him, and then I'll be content.'\n\n\"Just then the gentleman himself entered the room, and Mr. Nicholson\nasked him if he could take this young lady also. He said he could, with\nthe greatest pleasure. Mrs. Nicholson was delighted with this\narrangement. She charged me again not to leave him, and then hurried\naway, and got into the cart, where the driver was grumbling at having to\nwait so long.\n\n\"Mr. Nicholson, Mr. ----, and myself had a pleasant chat until the gig\ndrove up. We were soon wheeling along the road, and overtook the waggon\na short distance from the town, Mrs. Nicholson bawling out as we\npassed--'Mind, Mary Anne, and take care of him; don't let him out of\nyour sight till I come.'\"\n\nAbout this time they bought some more land, and, as usual, Mrs.\nNicholson wanted to have it secured to herself, but her husband\npositively refused to hear of it. On the morning when he was going to\norder the writings she endeavoured to gain her point by a little\ncoaxing. As she assisted him on with his coat she said, \"Come, Johnny,\nhoney, I'll give you a glass of gin for fear you get cold. It is such a\ncold morning.\" And when she gave it to him she added, \"Now, Johnny,\nhoney, you'll get these deeds made the same as the others?\" \"No, Nancy,\"\nhe replied, \"I shall not indeed. I have been deceived by you too often.\"\nThis led to a torrent of abuse, before which Mr. Nicholson fled. He went\nto Howden to order the writings, from which, however, he excluded her\nname, an offence which she never forgave him, and the loss of that land\nafter Mr. Nicholson's death was a constant subject of regret.\n\nA small orchard was attached to one of their houses at Drax, and at the\nend of the building was a plum-tree. Mrs. Nicholson frequently cast a\nlonging eye on the plums, and as she was not on the best terms with the\nperson who occupied the premises, she determined, as the tree was not\nwithin the orchard fence, that she would have the plums for herself.\nAccordingly, by alternate scolding and coaxing, she prevailed on Mr.\nNicholson to go with her early one morning to assist in pulling the\nplums. When they arrived at the place she said--\"Now, Johnny, honey,\nyou'll be like to get into the tree.\" He told her the consequence of the\nact, and endeavoured to dissuade her from the attempt, but in vain. She\ninsisted on his climbing; to this he at length consented, and commenced\npulling the plums, which Mrs. Nicholson received in her apron. While\nthey were thus engaged the tenant discovered them, and assembled several\nother people as witnesses. He then ordered Mr. Nicholson out of the\ntree, and afterwards summoned him before a magistrate for stealing the\nplums.\n\nMr. Nicholson felt keenly the disgraceful position in which he had\nplaced himself by yielding to his wife's solicitations, and upbraided\nher bitterly, declaring that he should die of shame if he had to appear\nbefore a magistrate. Mrs. Nicholson advised him to feign himself ill,\nand undertook to appear in his stead. Accordingly, Mrs. Nicholson set\nout, and met at Langrick Ferry with the constable and witnesses, when\nthe constable inquired for Mr. Nicholson. She informed him he was so\npoorly he would not be able to walk. The constable said he would get a\nhorse for him, for come he must. Having procured a horse, he went to Mr.\nNicholson's, who, finding he had no means of escape, determined to go\nand endeavour to come to some arrangement with his tenant when he\narrived at the ferry.\n\nHaving proposed to settle the affair amicably, the tenant assured Mr.\nNicholson that he felt no resentment against him; and if he would pay \u00a35\nfor expenses, he would proceed no further. The money was paid, and the\naffair settled, but much to the vexation of Mrs. Nicholson. The tenant,\nhowever, generously proposed to spend the five pounds, stating that he\nonly wanted protection, not profit. He accordingly ordered supper for\nall present, and spent the remainder in drink. Mrs. Nicholson sulked for\nsome time, but at length joined the party, considering that she might as\nwell get all she could out of the \u00a35 as let them enjoy it without her.\n\nAfter Mr. Nicholson refused to let his wife's name appear in the deeds\nfor the property he purchased, she saved up a considerable sum of money\nunknown to her husband, and with it bought some property at Rawcliffe.\nThe deeds for this property she ordered to be made in her mother's name,\nand thus revenged herself on Mr. Nicholson for excluding her name from\nhis deeds. Mr. Nicholson often said it was his money which bought it,\nand they had frequent altercations about it.\n\nHer disposition for avarice seems to have increased, if possible, with\nher years. Her mother frequently declared it was impossible for anyone\nto live with her, and that although Nancy was her only child, she (her\nmother) would rather spend her declining years in the Union than in the\nhouse with her.\n\nIn the year 1842 Mrs. Jackson died, leaving Mrs. Nicholson the whole of\nher property for her own disposal, over which he, her husband,\nnotwithstanding the marriage, could have no control. After her mother's\ndeath she at once resolved to keep a separate purse, being determined\nthat Mr. Nicholson should not squander her money by his extravagance.\nShe told him she would not ask him for anything but the egg, butter, and\nfruit money, just to provide groceries, &c., and she would superintend\nhis house for her meat without any wage. But Mr. Nicholson had to\nprovide a servant, and he was bound to pay for coals, taxes, butcher's\nmeat, drink, and extras of all kinds, without touching the profits of\nthe dairy. She would never let him have a single penny without insisting\non its return, but she was by no means scrupulous about helping herself\nfrom his pockets when she had an opportunity, and if he missed anything,\nshe always persisted that he had lost it.\n\nAs soon as she had got matters settled after her mother's death, she\nwrote to a cousin in Dublin, desiring him to come over and divide the\nland, which, up to this time, had been a joint estate. But previous to\nhis coming, Mrs. Nicholson took care to pay a visit to the person who\noccupied the greatest portion of the land. She got him to show her all\nover the property, and point out to her where the best land was\nsituated, promising as he was an old tenant that he should never be\ndisturbed. Having obtained all the information she could, she took\nadvantage of her cousin, who was ignorant of the different qualities of\nthe soil, and she took care that no person should have an opportunity of\ntelling him till it was too late to retract. When he came over to\nYorkshire to accommodate her by dividing the land, she laid her plans,\nand partly by promises if he gratified her in letting her have such and\nsuch portions in her allotment, and partly by threats of disinheriting\nhim if he refused, she succeeded in getting nearly all the best land\nlaid to her share, and left him only the same quantity of the inferior\nquality.\n\nAt the same time that the cousin from Dublin was at Drax, another\ncousin, a widow from Cumberland, happened to arrive on some business of\nher own. Mrs. Nicholson conceived the project of getting this widow to\ncome and live in Yorkshire, doubtless thinking she would be able to make\nher useful, and, besides, she had a house unoccupied at Drax, and\nthought she might find in this cousin an eligible tenant. These\ncircumstances induced her to behave with tolerable civility to her\nvisitors for a short time, but her temper was so irritable that they\ncould not speak freely in her presence.\n\nHer cousins had agreed to depart from Yorkshire together, and travel in\ncompany as far as Liverpool, and the day of their departure was fixed,\nmuch to the satisfaction of all parties, for she sorely grudged the\nexpense of providing for them, and, as may well be believed, they did\nnot find themselves particularly comfortable at Drax.\n\nMrs. Nicholson had living with her at this time a great-niece of Mr.\nNicholson's, who was acting in place of the servant whom she had\ndischarged in a fit of jealousy.\n\nThe young girl had striven all she could, along with Mr. Nicholson, to\nmake the visitors comfortable, and generally contrived during the day to\nhave some eatables deposited where she could have free access to them at\nnight when they went to bed, so that while Mrs. Nicholson was enjoying\nher supper in the dairy, her visitors, thanks to the young girl's\nkindness, were quietly enjoying themselves upstairs in their bedrooms.\n\nMr. Nicholson, during the visit of these friends of Mrs. Nicholson's,\nhad behaved with the utmost kindness and cordiality towards them. On the\nMonday evening previous to their departure (which was fixed for\nWednesday), as they were together walking in the orchard, Mr. Nicholson\ndirected their attention towards some fine geese. \"Yes,\" he repeated, as\nhis visitors admired them, \"they are fine ones, and we will have one\nkilled and roasted for tomorrow's dinner, as it may be a long time\nbefore we shall all have an opportunity of dining together again.\" \"No,\"\nexclaimed Mrs. Nicholson, \"we will not; they are not your geese, they\nare mine; and I intend to send them to Selby market where I shall get\nfour and sixpence a-piece for them.\" \"Well, if they are yours,\" replied\nMr. Nicholson, \"you will surely not refuse to have one of them taken as\na treat for your friends the last day they will be here.\" \"Yes, but I\nwill, though,\" replied she. \"You care nothing about a goose, do you?\"\nsaid she, addressing herself to them. Of course they answered \"No.\"\n\"But,\" said Mr. Nicholson, \"we must have one; and if you will not give a\npaltry goose as a treat to your friends, I will buy one from you, for I\nam determined we shall have it.\" \"Well, then,\" she replied, \"I will sell\nyou one for five shillings.\" \"No,\" he answered; \"you said you would get\nfour and sixpence at the market, and I will give you no more.\" After\nmuch altercation and debate, it was at length agreed that he should have\na goose for four and sixpence, but he refused to pay the money without a\nreceipt, for he knew if he did not get one she would swear that he had\nnot paid for it. At last a receipt was written out and duly signed, and\ndeposited by Mr. Nicholson in his pocket-book. The evening passed away\npleasantly enough, and the visitors retired to rest not a little amused\nat the bargain which had been made between the husband and wife. Very\ndifferent, however, were the sentiments they experienced for the two\nindividuals; for the husband they could not help feeling both pity and\nesteem, but for the wife they felt nothing but disgust.\n\nIn the morning a scene ensued which it is difficult to describe. The\nvisitors were awakened by loud quarrelling and angry and bitter words.\nThey arose and went down-stairs, and found Mr. and Mrs. Nicholson almost\nat blows. It was supposed that Mrs. Nicholson, after they had all\nretired for the night, crept into her husband's room when she had been\nassured he was asleep (for at this time, and long previous, they had\noccupied separate apartments), and taking the pocket-book out of his\npocket stole therefrom the receipt for the goose; she then replaced the\npocket-book, and went quietly to bed. In the morning Mr. Nicholson rose\nearly to have the goose killed and dressed in good time, and it was\nready for the spit when Mrs. Nicholson came down-stairs. When she saw\nit, she was in a furious rage. She stormed and raved, and swore she\nwould have Mr. Nicholson taken up for theft. Just then her cousins all\ncame down-stairs and endeavoured to make peace, but in vain. She\ndeclared she would have him taken up, for the goose was hers, and he had\nstolen it.\n\n\"How can you say so,\" he replied, \"when I have your own receipt showing\nthat I paid you for it?\"\n\n\"You are a liar!\" she replied. \"You did not pay for it. You have no\nreceipt. You have killed my goose; but I will have you taken up, I\nwill.\"\n\n\"Did you ever hear such a woman?\" said Mr. Nicholson, appealing to the\ncompany. \"Is she not enough to drive a man mad? You all saw me pay for\nthe goose last night, and I can produce the receipt she gave me for it.\"\n\n\"You can't! you can't! I never gave you one, and you shall pay me for\nmy goose yet. Show the receipt if you have it, you thief!\"\n\nMr. Nicholson took out his pocket-book immediately, thinking to silence\nher; but the receipt was gone. Finding it had been abstracted from his\npocket-book, he was very much enraged, and accused her of having taken\nit. But she did not care for that, and after some more angry\nrecrimination, Mr. Nicholson, for the sake of peace, and to prevent the\ncompany from being any longer annoyed by their disagreement, consented\nto pay for the goose a second time, and it was then roasted for dinner.\n\nAfter dinner was over she suddenly declared her intention of going to\nCumberland to see some property she had there, and also to visit her\nhalf-brother and his children, whom she had not seen for many years.\nAnother inducement was her fear that her cousin would not return to\nsettle in Yorkshire unless she accompanied her on her journey to\nCumberland, when she would have an opportunity of continually urging her\nto do so. She also thought she could travel cheaper in her cousin's\ncompany than alone, for she always managed to lean pretty heavily on her\ncompanions.\n\nThe plan which the other friends had formed of travelling as far as\nLiverpool together was prevented by this fresh arrangement, and one of\nthe cousins was placed in a dilemma by a little act of kindness on the\npart of the niece, who had hidden in her box a few fine pears as a\nremembrance for the children in Cumberland. Now, Mrs. Nicholson had\ndeclared that she would not take any box or trunk with her, and desired\nher cousin to bring down her trunk to see if room could be made for the\nfew things she would require during her absence from home. No time was\ntherefore to be lost in removing the pears, which the niece slyly\neffected by transferring them to her pocket whilst her aunt was looking\nin another direction. Had Mrs. Nicholson seen the pears in the box, she\nwould have had cousins, niece, and all indicted together for stealing\nthem.\n\nOn the Wednesday morning her cousin from Dublin, with his wife and\ndaughter, took their departure, heartily glad to leave their\ninhospitable relative.\n\nMrs. Nicholson immediately commenced preparing for her journey, giving a\nparticular charge to her niece not to let Mr. Nicholson get possession\nof the butter or apple money during her absence, and to keep close watch\nover him that he did not get drunk. Previous to her departure, Mr.\nNicholson asked her to bring back with her into Yorkshire his sister,\nwho was decrepit and destitute, and dependent on him for her support.\nShe agreed to the proposal, remarking if he would keep her he could do\nit cheaper at home. But before she would undertake to bring the old lady\nshe required a promise in writing from Mr. Nicholson that he would\nrefund all travelling expenses incurred on his sister's account;\nremarking to her cousin that she would charge him plenty, for she was\nnot going to be at the trouble of bringing the old woman for nothing;\nand she thought if she proved good for anything, she might make her take\nthe place of a servant, if the niece left her, as she often threatened\nto do.\n\nTaking all these things into consideration, she promised to bring her\nsister-in-law with her when she returned from Cumberland. And now, all\nother things being arranged, she began to contrive the most economical\nway of making the journey. She proposed to take the packet for York at\nLangrick Ferry. She could walk that distance very well, but as her\ncousin had a trunk she advised her to hire a cart, which would take them\nall, for it would cost as much if she sent the trunk by itself.\nAccordingly, a cart was procured, they bade farewell to Mr. Nicholson,\nand proceeded on their journey. They got safe on board the packet, and\nnothing particular occurred until they arrived in York, about three\no'clock in the afternoon, when Mrs. Nicholson told her cousin that she\nknew a respectable house in Lendal where they could lodge cheap. Upon\nproceeding there they found very comfortable accommodation, and the\ncousin was much relieved by finding that the landlady perfectly\nunderstood Mrs. Nicholson's character.\n\nAt this time Mrs. Nicholson's dress consisted of an old mourning print\ndress, very thin and faded, and so scanty for her corpulent figure that\nit was scarcely sufficient to cover her under-garments, which were of a\ncorresponding description. Over her shoulders was an old black or rather\nbrown stuff shawl, bound round the edge with what had once been black\ncrape; her bonnet was an old fancy straw, trimmed with black ribbon; a\ncap to correspond; a large yellow silk handkerchief round her neck, and\na large printed apron tied before her, completed her travelling attire.\nIn the trunk was deposited a black, stuff dress. This, along with the\nshawl she wore, had been bought for her by her mother thirteen years\nbefore, as mourning for an aunt, and it had also served as mourning for\nher mother, for whom she was then wearing it. In addition to the gown,\nthere was a black apron, an old vest, and an old dimity skirt, which\nformed the whole of her wardrobe. However, the idea of these treasures\nbeing in the trunk made her very anxious about its safety in the various\nstages of their journey. After they had taken some refreshment, Mrs.\nNicholson said they must now consider which would be the cheapest way of\ngetting into Cumberland. It would never do to go by train. She knew\nthere were fly waggons travelling from York to various places, and they\nmust try and find them out.\n\nBeing, however, informed that the fly waggons had ceased travelling\nsince all goods were forwarded by train, it occurred to her that perhaps\nshe might get conveyed cheaper by luggage train. Accordingly she went to\nthe railway station, and applied at the offices of Pickford and other\ncarriers, telling them of her wish to travel by the fly waggons, but as\nthey were superseded by the luggage trains, she thought they might take\npassengers along with the goods in the same way as was formerly done by\nthe waggons. The clerks and porters told her they could not do anything\nof the sort; there were regular passenger trains, and she could not go\nby any other. She said she could scarcely afford to travel in that way,\nand begged to be allowed to go with the goods. But her labour was in\nvain, and much to the satisfaction of her thoroughly-ashamed companion,\nshe was obliged to relinquish her hopes, and return to her lodgings,\nfatigued, dispirited, and abusing everybody she had met with.\n\nOn the following morning she reluctantly consented to take the train as\nfar as Northallerton. When she arrived there several hours were spent in\nsimilar fruitless attempts to procure a conveyance to Darlington.\nFinding her efforts were useless, she began to consider that the expense\nof lodgings would be incurred if they remained there much longer, and\nshe then determined to take the last train at night for Darlington, at\nwhich station they arrived about ten o'clock. Proceeding towards the\ntown, they inquired where they could get a decent private lodging, and\nwere directed to an old couple, with whom they spent the night and next\nday till the conveyance they had chosen was ready to depart.\n\nThey found the waggon was very heavily loaded, having among other things\nseveral very long fir planks. There was some difficulty in getting Mrs.\nNicholson mounted, but at length she got squeezed in, and reclining\nherself on the planks, endeavoured to compose herself to sleep. But what\nwith the jolting of the waggon and the confined space into which she was\nsqueezed being insufficient for her huge person, her limbs became\ncompletely cramped; and this, with the excessive closeness of the place,\nfor the waggon was covered with canvas, made Mrs. Nicholson ill.\nReaching out her arms in the dark, she seized her companion by the hair,\nand exclaimed, \"Oh, I am dying! Oh, do get the man to stop! Oh, do, or I\nshall die in this confounded waggon.\" In vain did her companion beg she\nwould relinquish her hold of her hair, telling her if she did not\nrelease her she could not get to the front of the waggon to make the man\nhear. The only reply was, \"Oh, I am dying! Get a knife out of your\npocket and cut the cover open.\" At length her companion succeeded in\ndisengaging herself from Mrs. Nicholson's grasp, and scrambling over the\nvarious packages in the waggon, attracted the attention of the waggoner,\nwho immediately stopped his horses, and did all in his power to render\nthe situation of the travellers a little more comfortable. They arrived\nat Barnard Castle about nine in the morning. Here the driver said they\nwould remain until noon, and then proceed to Brough.\n\nMrs. Nicholson told the landlady of the house where the waggon stopped\nhow ill she had been on the road; that she could not afford to travel by\na better conveyance; that she could not take any refreshment except a\ncup of tea, and that she had plenty of eatables with her in her basket.\nThe kind landlady looked at her as if she sincerely pitied her, and\nsaid, \"Well, never mind, you shall have a kettle boiled, and you shall\nmake yourself comfortable. I will charge you nothing for it.\" She then\nshowed the travellers into a neat little room, and said she hoped when\nMrs. Nicholson had taken some tea, and had a little rest on the sofa,\nshe would be able to proceed on her journey as soon as the waggon was\nready.\n\nThey arrived in safety at Brough, intending to proceed on their journey\nnext morning. But in the morning she was very ill. She had been little\naccustomed to exercise for some time before, and the long and toilsome\njourney in the waggon had been too much for her.\n\nA day or two recruited her strength, and with the recovery of health,\nshe forgot her dislike to the waggon, for they next proceeded by\ncarrier's cart by Appleby to Penrith. But here she declared her\nintention of finishing her journey on foot, for what with lodgings and\nwhat with travelling expenses, she said it was going to cost as much as\nif they had proceeded direct by railway. The trunk was accordingly\nre-directed, to be left at Coldbeck, in Cumberland, till called for, and\ngiven in charge of the carrier, with many injunctions from Mrs.\nNicholson to be careful of it, as it contained many things of\nconsequence.\n\nWhen they reached the little inn at Blencow the landlady eyed them\nsuspiciously from head to foot.\n\nThe landlady, being unable to accommodate them, set a domestic to\ninquire for lodgings, but returned unsuccessful, for a company of\nSappers and Miners who were then in that neighbourhood occupied every\nplace which was available in the little village.\n\nMrs. Nicholson declared her intention of remaining, repeatedly asserting\nthat the landlady was compelled to accommodate them. But the landlady\nappeared to be anxious to get rid of them, and said she could not be\ncompelled to accommodate more travellers than the size of the house\nwould afford.\n\nFortunately Mrs. Nicholson remembered having an old acquaintance in the\nplace, and from him a light cart was obtained to convey the travellers\nto Southernby, where Mrs. Nicholson's tenant, Mr. Ralph, resided. Here\nthey remained a day or two, and were treated most hospitably.\n\nMr. Ralph conveyed them in his own cart to Park End, near Coldbeck,\nwhere Mrs. Nicholson's brother and family resided. The travellers\nreceived a hearty welcome and the kindest treatment. On the day after\ntheir arrival at Park End, at Mrs. Nicholson's request, her nephew\nproceeded to Coldbeck to inquire after the trunk. He brought the trunk\nback with him, and informed them that it had been carried by mistake to\nanother person of the same name, who had opened it, but finding it was\nnot hers, she had fastened it up again as well as she could, and said\nthe owner would find all right inside. \"Oh, my apron, my good black\napron, I am sure it will be gone,\" exclaimed Mrs. Nicholson; \"I wish I\nhad never put anything into your nasty trunk. My good skirts, too, if\nthey are gone I'll make them pay dearly for them.\" The trunk was soon\nexamined, and fortunately her precious things were all safe, so that\npeace was soon restored.\n\nThey remained at Park End about a week, and but for the restraint her\npresence always inflicted on those connected with her, the kindness they\nreceived would have made the visit delightful.\n\nMrs. Nicholson's nephew took his aunt and her cousin to the place where\nMr. Nicholson's sister resided. She explained to the persons who had the\ncare of her the arrangement which Mr. Nicholson had made for her future\ncustody, and desired them to be in readiness to convey her to Whitehaven\nwhen she was sent for. Both the old woman and the person she lived with,\nwho was a niece of Mr. Nicholson's, seemed much affected at the thought\nof parting with each other; but the idea of joining her dear brother\nseemed to console the old lady. Alas! she little knew the cheerless home\nthat awaited her.\n\nWhen they had arranged this business, they returned to Park End. Her\nnephew then took her to visit another lady, an old acquaintance of Mr.\nNicholson's, between whom it appeared a rather close intimacy had\nsubsisted previous to Mr. Nicholson's removal to Yorkshire. They\nreceived as usual a very kind reception, and an invitation to remain.\n\nMany sheep are kept in that part of Cumberland, and this was the period\nfor the annual clipping. At this season they make a kind of feast with\nwhat is called there \"butter sopps.\" Mrs. S----, the lady of the house\nwhere they were staying, presented Mrs. Nicholson with some of the\nbutter sopps in a basin, requesting her to take them to Mr. Nicholson as\na present from her, jocosely remarking that she would like to be within\nhearing when he was eating them. Mrs. Nicholson accepted the butter\nsopps, and promised to deliver the message.\n\nPart of old Miss Nicholson's furniture was sold, and arrangements were\nmade for removing the remainder to Yorkshire. Then Mrs. Nicholson and\nthe old lady started. It happened that part of the furniture of Miss\nNicholson had been bought by parties from Whitehaven, and a cart was\nengaged next day to convey a sofa and a clock to the abode of the\npurchaser. Mrs. Nicholson persuaded her cousin to proceed in this cart\nto Whitehaven, at which place her other sister resided. This lady was\nthe companion of Mrs. Nicholson when she went to Selby confirmation, and\nwrote the lively account of her visit which appears in this memoir. Mrs.\nNicholson's notable plan of travelling in the cart with the sofa and\nclock was adopted. The sofa was placed lengthways on the cart, so that\nthe two passengers when seated thereon travelled sideways. The\nclock-case lay behind, with a basket containing the works placed on the\ntop. They proceeded along pretty well until they were near a town named\nDistington, through which they had to pass, when by some means the works\nof the clock began to strike like a bell ringing, nor could their\nefforts to stop it avail. With every roll of the cart it went tingle,\ntingle, tingle, until the people began to look out of their houses as\nthey passed. \"Come and look,\" said they; \"here is such a fat woman\nmounted on a sofa, and they are ringing a bell and going to show her.\"\n\nThis exasperated Nancy Nicholson to the utmost. She swore at the urchins\nthat ran by the side of the cart, and the more furious she grew the more\nprovoking did they become.\n\nWhen they arrived at their cousin's house at Whitehaven the servants\nwere struck with amazement at her great size, and exclaimed, \"However\nshall we get her off the cart? We shall be forced to take her to the\nwarehouse and bouse her out with the crane.\" However, they managed to\nassist her down without the aid of the crane, and she was very soon made\nso comfortable that she forgot the vexation of her journey through\nDistington.\n\nMrs. Nicholson, old Miss Nicholson, and a cousin who was travelling with\nthem, and to whom the reader is indebted for the details of the journey,\nwere hospitably received by the cousin at Whitehaven.\n\nMrs. Nicholson appears to have been still fearful that her companion\nwould not return with her, and therefore determined to take her\ndeparture by the packet which left Whitehaven on Saturday for Liverpool,\nand her cousin arranged to accompany her. They had been informed that\nthe packet would start at two o'clock in the afternoon, but just as they\nwere sitting down to dinner a gentleman called to say the packet was\nthen making ready. Immediately all was bustle and confusion. It was\nnecessary to convey down to the vessel not only the luggage, but Mr.\nNicholson's sister also, who was unable to walk. The dinner was left\nuntasted, but the kind cousin at whose house they had been staying\nplaced the meat and vegetables in a basket, and sent it after them,\nsaying they must dine when they got on board.\n\nAll their friends assembled on the pier from which the packet sailed,\nand the sad farewell was followed by many prayers for her who had been\nlured away from her friends and home by what they considered the\nspecious promises of Mrs. Nicholson.\n\nThe travelling party now comprised Mrs. Nicholson, her sister-in-law\n(who was quite decrepit, and could scarcely walk even with the\nassistance of sticks), the cousin who had accompanied her throughout the\njourney, and her two children.\n\nSoon after the packet left Whitehaven, it commenced blowing pretty\nstrong, and many of the passengers were very sick; amongst the rest,\nMrs. Nicholson and her cousin.\n\nWhen the passengers left Whitehaven they expected to reach Liverpool by\nmidnight, when they would have been able to take the first train in the\nmorning for Manchester. The wind had caused some delay, and\nunfortunately the packet had run against a loaded schooner, which had\ncarried away one of her paddles, and in consequence the remainder of the\nvoyage was performed without the aid of steam.\n\nIt was late in the forenoon when our travellers arrived in Liverpool,\nand having procured a cab, as Miss Nicholson could not walk, they\nproceeded at once to the railway station in Lime Street. To their dismay\nthey found the station closed, and on inquiry were informed that it\nwould not be open again for some hours. They were now in an awkward\ndilemma, for Mrs. Nicholson declared her intention of remaining in the\nstreet until the doors were opened, for she could not think of being at\nthe trouble and expense of removing her sister-in-law backwards and\nforwards in vain.\n\nHer cousin urged her to go to the nearest public-house, as it would be\ndisgraceful to remain at the doors of a railway station for such a\nlength of time on the Sabbath-day. Her cousin felt herself degraded, as\nshe had both friends and relations in Liverpool, and was fearful of\nbeing recognised. But entreaties and expostulations were all in vain.\nMrs. Nicholson seated herself and her sister-in-law on the baggage, and\ntook out the mutton and potatoes, declaring herself right hungry, and\nthey would have their dinners. Mrs. Nicholson shared out the mutton and\npotatoes, settled herself down with the dish on her knees, and commenced\nher dinner most vigorously, declaring the meat was very good. Heartily\nglad was the cousin when the doors opened; in a few minutes they\nobtained their tickets, and were soon on their way to Manchester. On\ntheir arrival they alighted from the train, not being certain that they\ncould proceed any further that night, and their movements being very\nslow, the train started off again before they got fresh tickets. After\nthe train had departed and the crowd dispersed, the party proceeded to\nthe waiting-room to consult about procuring lodgings for the night, when\nMrs. Nicholson settled the point by declaring she would not leave the\nstation. They were still in the midst of their discussion when some of\nthe company's servants entered the waiting-room, and curtly informed\nthem it was necessary to depart, as the last train had gone, and they\nwanted to close the station. But Mrs. Nicholson told them the train had\ngone off and left them, as that old woman, pointing to her\nsister-in-law, was unable to walk; and if she was removed from the\nstation that night they would not be able to get her there again in time\nfor the morning train. They replied that there was an hotel close to\nthe doors of the station where they might all be accommodated, and being\nso near, the old woman could be brought to the train in the morning\nwithout much difficulty. \"Oh,\" replied Mrs. Nicholson, \"do, if you\nplease, my good man, let us remain here; we would rather remain here\nthan go anywhere else. We will give you a trifle to let us stop where we\nare, for we cannot afford to pay for our beds. But we will give you\nsomething if you will let us stop here; we can sleep on the long\nsettle.\" \"Well, poor woman,\" replied the kind-hearted man, evidently\ntouched with pity, \"I cannot give you leave to stay, neither can I\naccept anything from you; but I will acquaint the master, and see what I\ncan do for you.\" He accordingly departed, and in a little time returned,\nsaying it was quite contrary to their rules to permit anyone to remain\nin the station all night. However, as their case was so pitiful, and\nthey had missed the train, they would be allowed to remain till morning.\nHe then kindly offered to make a fire, which, however, Mrs. Nicholson\ndeclined, but thanked him heartily for his kindness. She said if he\nwould only permit the gaslight to remain burning, it would be all they\nwould require. He granted her request, and very kindly bade them\ngood-night, and shut the door.\n\nThe travellers then endeavoured to compose themselves to rest, Mrs.\nNicholson exulting in her success in obtaining leave to remain at the\nstation, whereby they would save the expense of lodgings. Fortunately a\npair of pillows belonging to the cousin were corded on the top of one of\ntheir trunks. They were accidentally omitted when the other portion of\nher furniture was packed off, and they now proved extremely useful. The\ncords were speedily untied, and Mrs. Nicholson and her sister-in-law\neach took a pillow, and laid down on the long seats of the waiting-room.\nHer cousin and her children, with the help of sundry bundles, followed\ntheir example, and wrapping themselves in shawls and cloaks, were soon\nsettled down, and prepared for a sound sleep after the fatigues of the\nday.\n\nOn the following morning they took tickets for Selby, where they arrived\nsafely without any further adventures, and returned to Drax in the\nevening by the carrier's cart, after having been absent from home about\na month.\n\nMr. Nicholson received his poor old sister very kindly.\n\nMr. Nicholson's niece left a few weeks after her aunt returned from\nCumberland, after which time Mrs. Nicholson treated the poor\nsister-in-law with the greatest cruelty, compelling her to walk without\nthe assistance of her sticks, although she was scarcely able to totter\nalong.\n\nIt will be readily imagined that under these circumstances matters\nbecame worse and worse in Mr. Nicholson's house.\n\nIt was about the end of November, 1844, that husband and wife had a\nviolent quarrel, which ended in a mutual agreement to separate.\n\nMrs. Nicholson's intention was to take up her abode in a house belonging\nto her at Drax, which was next door but one to that occupied by her\ncousin, and at that time unoccupied, and thither she moved with such\nfurniture as Mr. Nicholson would spare her. A series of miserable\nsquabbles ensued, an account of which is given in full in the chap. book\nfrom which this notice is taken, but which we will spare our readers.\n\nThe final quarrel took place in 1845, when Mr. Nicholson beat his wife,\nin the house where she lived. He never from that day visited her again,\nor would suffer her to re-enter his doors. Indeed, they never again met.\n\nShe remained at Newland some time, and then removed to Asselby. The\nfirst change she made there was to turn out of his farm the tenant who\nhad given her so much information previous to the division of the land\nwith her Dublin cousin, by means of which she had obtained the best\nland. For the purpose of gaining this information she had made her\ntenant a promise that he should never be disturbed. He reminded her of\nher promise, but she had made her plan, and cared neither for his\nentreaties nor for her promise. He was compelled to leave the farm at\nthe termination of his tenancy, which was the Lady-day following her\nfinal separation from her husband.\n\nShe persuaded her cousin to come and live with her at Asselby, promising\nher if she would do so that she would leave her all her property. The\ncousin, although to do so was extremely inconvenient, and certainly most\nunpleasant, agreed on these terms to do what she wished.\n\nPoor Mr. Nicholson had bought an accordion, which he amused himself in\nthe long evenings with playing. On a summer night he sat out under the\ntrees and practised on his instrument. Nancy was highly exasperated when\nshe heard this. It was done, she concluded, out of malice, to exhibit to\nthe whole parish that he was indifferent to his loss, and could be\nsupremely happy without his wife.\n\n\"And I can be happy too,\" said Nancy, and she launched out in the\nextravagance of an organ. She could not play it, but she could pull out\nall the stops, bang her fist on the notes, and let the roar of the\ninstrument proclaim to the neighbourhood through the open windows that\nshe too was merry.\n\nBut not satisfied with this, she determined to be revenged on her\nhusband by obtaining, if possible, his inhibition. She resolved on\nbringing Mr. Nicholson's intemperance under the notice of the\nArchbishop, yet so ingeniously did she lay her plans, that when the\ninvestigation took place, the part she had taken in it did not\ntranspire.\n\nIt appears that Mr. Nicholson had a dispute with a tenant at Drax about\ngiving up possession of his premises at a certain time, and this tenant\ncalled on Mrs. Nicholson at Asselby, requesting her to be a witness as\nto the time of his entering into possession, when she instigated him to\nwrite to the Archbishop of York and give a full account of Mr.\nNicholson's various acts of intemperance, with a full detail of all the\ncircumstances in his conduct which were likely to degrade him in the\neyes of the Archbishop.\n\nMrs. Nicholson then caused letters to be written to the Archbishop,\ncomplaining that Mr. Nicholson had beat her, and caused her to be turned\naway without a home. This brought about a correspondence between the\nArchbishop and Mrs. Nicholson, but, contrary to her hopes, it ended in\nthe Archbishop advising Mrs. Nicholson to consult a solicitor on the\nsubject.\n\nThe investigation caused Mr. Nicholson's suspension from preaching for\ntwo years, which event gave Mrs. Nicholson great satisfaction. She wrote\nseveral letters to him from Asselby, in some of which she abused him,\nand in others expressed a wish to be again reconciled, but she never\nreceived any reply.\n\nBeing now in comparative tranquillity with all around her, she was at a\nloss for an object on which to employ her ever active brain, when one\nday, as she was reading over the advertisements in the newspaper, she\nsuddenly exclaimed, \"I am tired of doing nothing, and I think it is a\nsin to be idle. To be sure I have what will keep me, and somebody after\nme, but I would rather be employed. I will try to obtain a housekeeper's\nsituation. I know there are many who would be glad to have such a person\nas me, if it was only to take care of things for them.\" It is probable\nthat no one else would be of the same opinion, but from that time she\nsearched the advertisements in the newspapers with an interest truly\nridiculous. Week after week passed, but nothing appeared which was\nlikely to suit her.\n\nAt length an advertisement appeared for a cook and housekeeper wanted\nfor a single gentleman. The address was copied, and a letter written,\ndescribing her as a clergyman's daughter, &c. It was read over several\ntimes by Mrs. Nicholson previous to its being deposited in the\npost-office, and the reply was anxiously looked for. At length it\narrived, when it appeared that the advertiser was a highly respectable\nphysician residing at Thirsk, and he appointed a time for meeting Mrs.\nNicholson at the Railway Hotel at York.\n\nMrs. Nicholson immediately considered herself engaged, and as she\nexpected to leave Asselby for some time, she made great preparations for\nsecuring her apartments and the property they contained, locking and\nmarking every drawer and cupboard, so that she might know if anyone\nmeddled with them during her absence.\n\nShe had then to consider what clothing would be necessary for this\nimportant occasion. She thought it probable that she would be expected\nto dress rather smartly in her new situation, and accordingly packed up\nin a band-box an old-fashioned black silk pelisse, lined in front with\nyellow; a pink muslin gown which she had got soon after her marriage,\nand which was consequently too small for her at this time; her\nnever-failing black stuff gown for occasional use; and a light shawl.\nThese formed her wardrobe and filled the band-box, which was then tied\nup in a large old shawl. She then packed a few articles in a reticule\nbasket covered with a piece of old blue print. This she secured with a\npadlock passed through the lid of the basket and the willows at the top\nwhich were left uncovered by the print.\n\nIn vain her friends tried to persuade her not to take her clothes with\nher, as it was doubtful if she would get the situation. She appeared to\nthink that was impossible, because she was determined to go, let the\nplace be what it might, never seeming to think the other side would\nrefuse. She was then entreated to dress herself as tidily as possible,\nbut she would only go her own way. So she arrayed herself in an old\nprint gown, very much soiled, the indispensable apron, a woollen plaid\nshawl, a cap very much crushed, and a bonnet little better.\n\nThe day appointed for meeting the gentleman at York was wet and stormy,\nbut Mrs. Nicholson resolutely faced the storm, and taking the packet at\nthe ferry, arrived in safety at York. She then set off to walk to the\nhotel, but by the time she reached the end of Skeldergate she was pretty\nwell fatigued with her great bundle and basket, and her shoes were\ncovered with mud, her bonnet blown back off her face, and her hair\nhanging about in disorder.\n\nShe was in this state when she arrived at the hotel, and inquired if Mr.\n---- from Thirsk was there. She was immediately shown into his presence.\nOn entering the room she made a low curtsey, placed her bundle on the\nfloor, and sat down on the nearest chair, almost overcome.\n\nThe gentleman approached from the other end of the room, which was a\nlarge one, and looking at her for about a minute, he inquired, \"Were you\nwanting me?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" she replied. \"I suppose you are Mr. ----, from Thirsk?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said the gentleman.\n\n\"Oh, then,\" said she, \"I am Mrs. Nicholson who wrote to you about your\nsituation as cook and housekeeper.\"\n\nThe gentleman, who appeared rather nervous, immediately replied, \"Oh,\ndear me--you Mrs. Nicholson!--you the person who wrote to me! I\nunderstood----\"\n\nHere his sentence was left unfinished, and he commenced again, \"Oh, my\ngood woman, it must be some mistake. Are you the person who wrote to\nme?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" she replied; \"and I assure you I will take all possible care\nof anything intrusted to me.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" said he, \"you are not at all the kind of person that I\nrequire. I have hitherto had my sister to superintend my house, but she\nis going to travel in Italy, and I want a person qualified to supply her\nplace.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" answered Mrs. Nicholson, \"I can do that. I have been used to\nmanage a family of fifteen, and I am sure I can do all you require.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, no!\" again retorted the gentleman, who began to look upon her\nwith some degree of apprehension. \"I assure you, you are not the sort of\nperson I want. There must have been some mistake, my good woman--you\nreally will not do for me.\" So saying, he retreated towards the other\nend of the room.\n\nMrs. Nicholson began to feel disappointed, but resolved to try again.\nOnce more advancing towards him, she said, \"Well, sir, I am very sorry\nyou think so. However, I have no objections to travel, and if your\nsister should want a companion----\"\n\nHere the gentleman interrupted her, saying, \"My good woman, no such\nthing, I assure you. You really will not do at all. There has evidently\nbeen some mistake, for had I known before, I need not have troubled\nyou.\"\n\n\"Well, indeed,\" said Mrs. Nicholson, \"it has been a great deal of\ntrouble, for I have come all the way on purpose, and have brought my\nclothes with me.\"\n\nThe gentleman involuntarily cast his eyes first at the great bundle and\nthen at the speaker, and observed he was really sorry, though he could\nnot be answerable for her actions, but if she desired, he would order\nher some refreshment.\n\nHowever, she declined, and took her departure, murmuring something\nabout her disappointment and the trouble she had been at.\n\nWeek after week rolled on, and she was still pondering over a situation,\nwhen her attention was again attracted by an advertisement for a\nhousekeeper. Application was made, and an answer duly returned,\ninforming her that her services would be required to manage a large\nestablishment. Her wages would be thirty pounds per annum, and she would\nhave the control of all the female servants, except the lady's maid and\nthe governess. The others she would have power to engage and discharge\nat her own discretion. She was requested to go over immediately to meet\nthe lady and gentleman at their own house.\n\nMrs. Nicholson was delighted with these proposals, and already fancied\nherself at the head of the establishment. She immediately began to\ncalculate how much money she could save out of her wages, and the\nvarious perquisites which she considered would be within her reach, and\nshe then rejoiced that she had not obtained the old bachelor's situation\nat Thirsk.\n\nAs this situation promised to be one of importance, she thought it would\nbe necessary to take most of her smart clothes, but after mature\nconsideration she made up her mind to take precisely the same as she had\ntaken to York. The band-box had not been unpacked since her former\njourney, so that she had only the covered basket to fill, and she was\nthen ready to start.\n\nThe letter she had received directed her to a beautiful mansion near\nSkipton in Craven. As it was necessary to be there as early as possible,\nshe was obliged to travel by rail. When she arrived at the station at\nSkipton, she inquired the way to A----, and after a weary walk, at\nlength reached the entrance to the grounds surrounding the Hall. After\nproceeding a few yards along the avenue, she sat down to arrange her\ndress, and then took a survey of the place. From the spot which she\noccupied she could obtain a slight glimpse of the building. \"Why,\" she\nexclaimed, \"this is much finer than K---- Hall; I shall have a grander\nplace than him.\" After resting a short time she proceeded to a door, and\nslightly tapping at it, retired a few steps. It was speedily opened by a\nfemale domestic, who inquired of Mrs. Nicholson what she wanted. She\nreplied by asking if Mrs. ---- was at home. The girl having answered in\nthe affirmative, she requested her to be so kind as to inform the lady\nthat Mrs. Nicholson had arrived.\n\n\"Oh, certainly,\" replied the girl; and eyeing her from head to foot, she\nasked, \"are you Mrs. Nicholson?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Mrs. Nicholson, \"and I have just arrived by the train.\"\n\nThe girl then invited her to walk in, and she was shown into a small\nsitting-room. In passing along she saw that the house was very\nextensive, and the apartments so numerous and so grand that she would\nnot be able to stop there. She had just made up her mind that the place\nwas too grand for her, when the door opened and a lady entered. Mrs.\nNicholson arose and curtsied, but was full of confusion, and unable to\nutter a word. The lady requested her to sit down, and informed her that\nMrs. ---- would be with her in a few minutes.\n\n\"What,\" answered Mrs. Nicholson, \"are not you Mrs. ----?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" replied she; \"I am her maid.\"\n\n\"I suppose Mrs. ---- is expecting me?\" said Mrs. Nicholson.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" replied the maid; \"she sent the carriage to the railway\nstation to meet the train, and bring you here. But it returned some time\nsince. The groom said he made inquiries, but could not hear of a\npassenger likely to be the new housekeeper.\"\n\nDuring this speech the lady's maid appeared to be examining Mrs.\nNicholson's dress most minutely.\n\nIn a short time the lady herself appeared, and the maid withdrew, but\nMrs. Nicholson had both seen and heard sufficient to prevent her from\nfeeling the least desire to remain. She therefore at once said to the\nlady, \"Oh, ma'am, I am sorry I have come here, for I could never stay in\nthis great place.\"\n\nThe lady replied, \"Well, Mrs. Nicholson, I am sorry likewise, for I was\nreally in hopes I had met with an excellent housekeeper. However, as you\nsee it yourself, I shall be spared the necessity of wounding your\nfeelings.\"\n\nThe lady then repeated what the maid had told her about sending the\ncarriage to the railway station, but Mrs. Nicholson appeared quite\nincapable of entering into conversation. The lady evidently observed her\nconfusion, and behaved with the utmost kindness and condescension. She\nremarked that night was coming on; therefore if Mrs. Nicholson would\nremain till morning, she would give orders for her accommodation.\n\nMrs. Nicholson decided not to remain, and she also declined taking any\nrefreshments, but she expressed a desire to see some of the rooms in the\nHall. The lady readily granted her wish, and showed her through the\nsplendid apartments herself. She again expressed her sorrow that a\nmistake, as she expressed it, had occurred, and Mrs. Nicholson replied\nthat she was sorry too, for the journey had been a great expense to her,\nbut she hoped the lady would give her something towards it.\n\nThe lady smiled at her request, and gave her a few shillings, remarking\nthat she had now paid for advertising for a housekeeper.\n\nMrs. Nicholson humbly thanked her, and took her departure, amidst the\nhalf-suppressed titters of the servants, who had assembled to witness\nher exit.\n\nThese events were seldom referred to afterwards, and Mrs. Nicholson\nthenceforth rested satisfied without seeking another situation, but\ncontinued steadily her usual mode of living and amassing money.\n\nIn the beginning of the year 1850, having heard that Mr. Nicholson was\ndangerously ill, she felt anxious to see him, but first caused the\nquestion to be put to him if he wished to see her, when he expressed the\ngreatest abhorrence at the idea, and declared that he never wished to\nsee her more. He died on the 8th of February following.\n\nAt the invitation of the executors she attended the funeral. She was\ndressed in her never-failing black stuff gown, and a white Tuscan bonnet\nwhich she bought soon after she separated from her husband. The bonnet\nwas trimmed for the funeral with a narrow black gauze ribbon.\n\nMr. Nicholson left a will wherein he provided for his poor old sister\nfor life, with remainder to a niece in Northamptonshire. His household\nfurniture and effects were to be sold. Of course he could not prevent\nMrs. Nicholson from having a life interest in any property referred to\nin the deeds in which her name was inserted.\n\nWhen the sale of the furniture was advertised, Mrs. Nicholson determined\nto go over to Newland and take possession of the house. Her cousin was\ninvited to accompany her. She was much troubled at the thought of the\nsale, for the things had formerly been hers, and she seemed to feel\ngreat pain at parting with them in that way. At length she declared, as\nshe could not keep them herself, she would endeavour to prevent anybody\nelse from enjoying them. She then broke the glass over the clock face,\nand with a penknife cut slits in the carpets and haircloth covering of\nthe sofa. These were not visible at the time of the sale, but would\nundoubtedly appear when brought into use.\n\nThe sale took place on the Saturday, and it was late in the evening when\nit was concluded. Several friends invited Mrs. Nicholson to their homes,\nbut she refused to leave the house. Two bedsteads and a crimson sofa\nwere left, which the purchasers could not conveniently remove that\nevening, and which Mrs. Nicholson gladly allowed to remain, as they were\nlikely to be useful to her. She had previously observed a large bundle\nin the garden, which had evidently been overlooked by the auctioneer and\nhis assistants. This she contrived to conceal in the cellar until all\nthe company had retired, when she brought it forth, and found it to\ncontain an excellent pair of blankets and a good quilt, which enabled\nthe pair to make their quarters rather more comfortable. She also found\nin the cellar a barrel containing a considerable quantity of ale, with\nwhich she nearly filled an old kettle, and having boiled it over a fire\nmade of sticks and old wood, she drank the greater part of the kettleful\nat her supper, and was soon as fast asleep in her new-found blankets,\nlaid on the bare bedstead, as if she had been on a bed of down.\n\nWhen morning arrived, the house, as might be expected, presented a very\ndesolate appearance. The cold was intense, but Mrs. Nicholson resolutely\nrefused every invitation to leave it. She and her cousin found plenty of\nsticks and wood, with which they kept up a tolerable fire, and having\ndrunk some more boiled ale, Nancy commenced a thorough inspection of the\nhouse. She found some old lumber which had not been worth selling, and\nin one of the chambers a good heap of barley. Into this chamber she\nremoved all the lumber, together with all the pots and pans, whether\nbroken or sound, a quantity of doctors' bottles, and every piece of wood\nabout the place which was not then required for their fire.\n\nHaving only a life interest in the house, she determined to remove the\nfixtures. She pulled the shelves out of the cupboard, tore down the\nbanisters at the top of the stairs, took the lock off the parlour door\nand the rollers from the windows, and deposited them in the chamber with\nthe lumber and the barley. When night again drew on she had all arranged\nto her satisfaction. Again she boiled her kettleful of ale, and again\nslept soundly in her blankets as on the previous night.\n\nEarly on Monday morning she deposited in the chamber the blankets, the\nquilt, and the old kettle, and having securely locked the door and\nplaced a private mark upon it that she might know if an entrance had\nbeen attempted, she waited anxiously until the owner of the bedsteads\nand sofa arrived and took them away. She then secured the house by\nnailing down the windows, &c., and taking the path across the fields,\nonce more returned to Asselby.\n\nAlmost immediately after she arrived at home, she was informed by the\nniece whose husband was tenant of the farm, that, owing to the heavy\nrent and other circumstances, their affairs had become embarrassed. Mrs.\nNicholson had always promised to be a friend to them, and they now\noffered to give all up to her, hoping by that means to secure a\ncontinuance of her friendship. But she suddenly took offence at\nsomething or other, and seized upon all they possessed, which was\nimmediately advertised to be sold by auction, and her niece and family\nleft the house the same evening.\n\nThere was then no one left about the premises but herself, and as she\ncould not bear to be alone, she again entreated her cousin to remain\nwith her for a time.\n\nThe sale of her niece's stock and furniture proceeded. At the\nconclusion, the villagers, to whom she had always been an object of\ndislike, made a large straw effigy, and paraded it up and down the\nplace. They then set fire to it in front of her window, and saluted her\nwith songs, hisses, and execrations.\n\nThe sight of the fire thoroughly alarmed her, and throwing open the\nwindow she screamed and swore like a mad woman. She sent for a constable\nand shouted for help. No one appeared to interfere on her behalf, but\nwhen the effigy had ceased burning, the crowd dispersed of their own\naccord.\n\nNancy Nicholson was so offended at having been burnt in effigy that she\ndetermined to leave Asselby, and as she had again a house at liberty at\nDrax, she moved her furniture into it, and persuaded her cousin to\naccompany her.\n\nAbout six weeks after the death of her husband, an elderly gentleman\nbegan to pay his addresses to Mrs. Nicholson. A second suitor speedily\nfollowed, and shortly afterwards a third. This bevy of suitors had a\nwonderful effect on the old lady, and she began to pay great attention\nto her dress and personal appearance. She purchased within one week\nthree new gowns, all of which she had made up with flounces; she got\nalso a new bonnet, and had several caps newly trimmed. She then brought\nfrom her stores several rings, not one of which was gold except her\nmarriage ring, and with these she adorned her fingers. An hour or more\nshe would spend every morning in rubbing her rings, and in oiling and\ndressing her hair, taking great pains to set herself off to the best\nadvantage, assuming all the giddy flirting airs of a girl of sixteen.\nThere is little doubt she would have married a second time, but feared\nparting with her money, and it is thought that none of her suitors were\nparticularly anxious to take her without it.\n\nAbout this time she began to attend the Roman Catholic chapel at Howden,\nand shortly after was received into the Roman Church by baptism; and at\nthat time she certainly appeared to have more devotional feeling than\nshe ever displayed either before or afterwards. But on being applied to\nfor a small donation towards the new church then in course of erection\nat Howden, she speedily withdrew from the Roman communion, remarking\nthat she had a good pew in the parish church, to which she could go\nwithout expense whenever she felt disposed, and she would, too, in spite\nof every one.\n\nMrs. Nicholson could never get a servant to live with her for any length\nof time, her filthy habits being past endurance. She endeavoured to do\nwithout assistance, but finding that impossible, she prevailed on her\ncousin to come once a week to help her to clean up a little. She had her\nbed in the room down-stairs where she lived, and her chambers were not\nswept for months previous to her death. If her cousin offered to clean\nup-stairs, she would reply that it was of no consequence, for no one\nwent up but herself. Her cousin received no payment for her attendance,\nalthough she found her own provisions, relying entirely on Mrs.\nNicholson's oft-repeated promise that she should be rewarded in her\nwill. Her weekly attendance was continued until about the beginning of\nJuly, 1854, when Mrs. Nicholson engaged a daughter of the niece before\nmentioned, to go three times a week. She also found her own provisions,\nbut had wages for her labour. The cousin, at Mrs. Nicholson's request,\nstill went occasionally.\n\nSoon after this Mrs. Nicholson became very ill, but was without medical\nadvice until the 4th of August, making her words good in that respect,\nthat she would never have another doctor until the last extremity. On\nthat day she allowed one to be sent for, and on the following day she\ngave instructions for her will to be made. She bequeathed the farm and\nhouse she occupied, with all her furniture and money in the bank, to the\nniece before mentioned. She left another farm to the cousin in Ireland,\nwho had been defrauded when they separated their land. She left \u00a31500 to\nthe son of a half-cousin by her mother's side, residing in Cumberland.\nBut the great bulk of her property was left to her half-nephew mentioned\nin the account of her visit to Cumberland.\n\nAlthough both the medical gentlemen and the solicitor very kindly urged\nher to remember the cousin who had so constantly attended upon her,\nwithout having hitherto received the slightest recompense or reward for\nher trouble and expense, she refused to leave her anything.\n\nAbout a fortnight before her death she wished for some wine, and sent\nfor a bottle of the best that could be procured. The wine was brought,\nand she was informed the price was four shillings, which caused her\ngreat dissatisfaction. She accused the person who brought it with\nextravagance in paying so much, and with folly in not ascertaining what\nwould be allowed for the bottle when empty.\n\nShe then ordered in a five-gallon barrel of ale, all of which she\nconsumed in the week previous to her death. Hearing from the doctor that\nshe could not live long, she was dreadfully afraid of dying before she\nhad finished the barrel, and so not have had all she could out of her\nmoney. As she had not been accustomed to drink fermented liquors for\nsome years before, there is no doubt she must have been half-stupefied\nwith beer during the last week of her existence.\n\nShe signed her will on Sunday morning, August 6th, 1854, and died the\nevening of the same day.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[20] \"The Life of Mrs Nancy Nicholson, who died August 6th, 1854.\"\nHowden: W. Small. 1855.\n\n[21] The Free Grammar School at Drax, where twelve boys are boarded and\neducated from a fund left for the purpose.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOODEN BELL OF RIPON.\n\n\nNear the railway station at Ripon is a quaint block of old almshouses,\nwith an ancient chapel dedicated to St. Mary Magdalen, of grey stone,\nbacked by a grove of elms. The little chapel contains some curious wood\ncarving, the original stone altar, and a large oak chest in which\nreposes a solitary curiosity--a wooden bell, painted grey-green. The\nchapel is fortunately unrestored, left in its picturesque antiquity to\nmoulder away. Any one who had seen the chapel of Barden Tower some years\nago, and what it has become under the hand of the restorer, will know\nwhat it is to be grateful that a venerable relic of antiquity has not\nbeen furbished up to suit modern taste. That St. Mary Magdalen's would\nhave fallen into bad hands had it been given over to restoration may be\njudged by the hideous new chapel which the authorities have recently\nerected close to the almshouses.\n\nBy that wooden bell in the oak chest hangs a tale.\n\nIn the time of our grandfathers, Dr. W----, was Dean of Ripon, a divine\nof the old port-wine-drinking school.\n\nNow St. Mary Magdalen's chapel was no longer used. By the ancient\nendowment there was to be a resident chaplain and daily service in the\nlittle church, which the inmates of the almshouses were expected to\nattend. But the chaplaincy and its emoluments were usually held by one\nof the canons of the Minster. The stipend went into his pocket; the\nduties were neglected. If the old almsfolk wished to pray to God daily,\nthey might totter three-quarters of a mile up to the Minster.\n\nDean W----, took on himself the chaplaincy; that is, he appropriated to\nthe stocking of his cellar the money bequeathed to the almonership of\nthe Magdalen Hospital.\n\nBut his cellar fell low. The Dean wanted money; his credit with the\nwine-merchants was as low as his cellar. How was money to be raised?\n\nOne day he had the bell of the Magdalen Chapel removed from the gable in\nwhich it had hung for many centuries, and had hung silent for many\nyears.\n\nThe bell was supposed to have gone to the founders; and the money paid\nfor it to the wine-merchant; anyhow, soon after, a hamper of fine old\ncrusted port arrived at the Deanery.\n\nBut Ripon people, though long-suffering, could not quite endure the\n\"robbing of churches.\" Murmurs were heard; the Dean was remonstrated\nwith. He puffed out, turning as red as a turkey-cock--\n\n\"Well, well! the bell shall go back again.\"\n\nAnd sure enough next week the bell was seen once more hanging in the\ngable of St. Mary Magdalen's chapel as of yore.\n\nThe Ripon people were content. The bell was never rung, but to that they\nwere accustomed. Who cared whether the old goodies in the hospital were\nministered to or not? It was no affair of theirs if the founder's wishes\nwere set at nought, and the walls of the Magdalen never sounded with the\nvoice of prayer.\n\nBut next spring, as on many a former one, the swallows built their nests\namong the eaves, and found a place about the altar of God's deserted\nhouse, as they had done in the days of the Psalmist. When nesting-time\ncame, some boys began climbing about the roofs in quest of eggs.\n\nOne of them, seeing a rope dangling from the bell, caught it and began\nto pull, when, to his amazement, the bell uttered no sound. He crept\nunder it. There was no clapper; and what was more, it hardly looked\nhollow. His curiosity was excited, and he climbed up to it, and\ndiscovered that the bell was only a piece of deal turned, and painted\nthe colour of bell metal!\n\nThe story sounded further than ever had the old bell; and for very shame\nthe Dean was obliged to take it down, and hide it in the chest of the\nMagdalen chapel.\n\nAutumn came round. The Dean had notable espalliers in his garden. His\ntrees were too attractive to the urchins of Ripon to escape visits. This\nhighly incensed the Dean; and one night, hearing the boys at his\napple-trees, he rushed, stick in hand, upon them. One he caught by the\nscruff of his neck. The others fled over the wall.\n\n\"Oh, you young ruffian! you audacious young scoundrel!\" roared the Dean;\n\"where do you think thieves will go to hereafter? What do you think will\nhappen to them here?\"\n\n\"Please, sir! please, sir!----\"\n\n\"Hold your wicked tongue, you rascal!\" thundered the Dean, whistling his\ncudgel round his head, \"I shall thrash you unmercifully now, and lock\nyou up in the black-hole to-night, and take you to the magistrate\nto-morrow, and have you sent to prison. And then, if you go on with your\nstealing, sir! you will go--there!\" And the Dean progged with his stick\nin the direction of the centre of the globe.\n\nThen he shook the boy furiously--\"one, two,\" bang came the stick down.\n\n\"Please, mercy, Mr. Dean; spare me!\"\n\n\"Spare you, sir! no--three.\"\n\n\"But, please, Mr. Dean, _my father made the wooden bell for you_.\"\n\n\"Go along, you rascal,\" gasped the Dean, relaxing his hold, and rushing\nback into his house.\n\n\nIn 1877 the Dean of Ripon (Dr. Freemantle) wrote to me relative to this\nmatter:--\"My attention has been directed to an anecdote told by you in\nyour book called 'Yorkshire Oddities' of the late Dean W----. I have\nmade it my business to ascertain the correctness of the story, as it has\nexcited a good deal of feeling in the minds of some of the old residents\nhere. We have found a bell which was sent from the Deanery at least 40\nyears ago, and which has been in the crypt of the Cathedral ever since.\nIt is exactly the same size as the wooden bell, which we have recovered\nfrom a heap of cinders.\" So Dean W---- did not sell the bell after all!\n\n\n\n\nOLD JOHN MEALY-FACE.\n\n\nOld John M----[22], a character in his way, and a celebrity in his very\nlittle circle, was born in the parish of Topcliffe, near Thirsk, on\nFebruary 20th, 1784.\n\nHe was thrice married. His first and second wives I did not know; the\nthird he married March 29th, 1838. She was afflicted with paralysis of\nher legs during a great part of her later life. She was a charming old\nwoman--religious, amiable, and a general favourite with her neighbours.\n\nOld John had sharp features, an eagle nose, and a prominent chin. He\nwore drab corduroy breeches and blue stockings. He shaved all the hair\noff his face. The nickname he bore in the village, where he resided on\nhis small farm, was \"Mealy-Face.\" He obtained it by this means: John was\na close-fisted old man, who stinted himself, and his wife above all, in\nevery possible way, for he dearly loved money. He did not allow his wife\nenough food, and she, poor thing, was wont, when he was out for the day\nat market or at fair, to bake herself a loaf from which she could cut a\nhunch when hungry.\n\nHer husband found this out, and was very wroth. When he went to market\nhe pressed his face down in the flour at the top of the bin, and on his\nreturn put his face back in the depressions, to make sure that the flour\nhad not been disturbed.\n\nThe old man was not without dry humour. The story is told of him that a\nclergyman called on him one day to say he was about to leave his\npresent sphere of work, \"the Lord having called him to work in another\nvineyard.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Old Mealy-Face, \"I lay you get a better wage.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the clergyman, \"it is a better living by a hundred\na-year.\"\n\n\"Heh! I thowt seah (so),\" said John, dryly; \"else the Lord mud ha'\ncalled while (till) he'd been hoarse, and ye'd niver ha' heeard.\"\n\nAn excursionist met him on Whitson Scar, on the Hambledons. The\ntraveller had come there from Thirsk, hoping to see the glorious view\nstretching to Pendle Hill, in Lancashire. But a fog came on and obscured\nthe scene. The gentleman coming upon John, who had been to Helmsley on\nsome business or other, accosted him in an off-hand manner:\n\n\"Hey, gaffer! there's a fine view from here, ain't there, on fine days?\"\n\n\"Aye, sur, it might be worse.\"\n\n\"One can see a long way, I'm told.\"\n\n\"I reckon one may if one's got eyes.\"\n\n\"Now tell me, gaffer, can one see as far as America, do you think?\"\n\n\"One can see a deel furder,\" answered John\n\n\"You don't mean to say so?\"\n\n\"Eh, but I do. One can see t' moon from Whitston on a moonshiny neet.\"\n\nOld John had a famous pear-tree in his garden. Two years running his\npears were stolen, and no doubt were sold in Thirsk market, without John\nbeing a penny the richer. The old man grimly awaited the thief as the\nfruit ripened in the following autumn, sitting nightly in his window,\ngun in hand.\n\nOne dark night, just before market-day, he heard some one at his tree.\nHe took careful aim at the spot whence the sound proceeded, fired, and a\nscream told him his bullet had taken effect. In fact, he had hit the\nthief in the thigh; but the ball had fortunately penetrated the flesh,\nand broken no bone.\n\nThe pear-stealer was caught, and on the first opportunity brought before\nthe magistrates at Thirsk. The presiding magistrate--I think it was Sir\nJohn Galway, but am not certain--deemed it advisable to caution John\nM---- against too free a use of his gun.\n\n\"You know, my good friend, that a gun loaded with a bullet might have\nkilled the man who stole your pears.\"\n\n\"Ah, it might, and it would, but t' gun snecked (kicked) as I were\nblazin' wi' it.\"\n\n\"If the gun had not 'snecked,' as you call it, the bullet would probably\nhave gone into the poor fellow's heart and killed him dead.\"\n\n\"I'll tak' care it deean't sneck again,\" said Old John, who had no\nscruples against shooting a pear-stealer.\n\nWhilst in the parish of Topcliffe I am constrained to relate an anecdote\nillustrative of Yorkshire shrewdness, though unconnected with\nMealy-Face.\n\nAn old woman--Molly Jakes, we will call her--died, or was thought to\nhave died, and was buried by the parish. A few days after the funeral\nthe vicar was talking to the sexton, when the latter said, drawing the\nback of his hand across his nose, \"Ye thowt old Molly Jakes were deead,\nsur?\"\n\n\"Dead, dead! bless my soul! of course she was.\"\n\n\"Well, mebbe she is neah (now).\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Speak, for heaven's sake!\"\n\n\"Nay, sur, it's nowt! Only I thowt efter I'd thrown the mould in as I\nheeard her movin' and grum'ling under t' greand (ground).\"\n\n\"You dug her up at once, of course, man?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the sexton, \"I know two o' that,\" casting a knowing look at\nthe parson. \"T' parish paid one burying: who was to pay me for digging\nher up and putting her in ageean, if she died once maire? Besides,\" said\nthe sexton, drawing his hand back again across his nose, \"Old Molly cost\nt' parish hef-a-croon a week when she war wick (alive). Noo she's felted\n(hidden) under t' greeand, she costs nowt. If I'd dug her up and she\nlived ever seah (so) long, what would ha' t' rate-payers 'a said teah\n(to) me?\"\n\nJohn M----, once, when I was in his house, told me a curious tale about\nhimself. He was riding one night to Thirsk, when he suddenly saw passing\nhim a radiant boy on a white horse. There was no sound of footfall as he\ndrew nigh. Old John was first aware of the approach of the mysterious\nrider by seeing the shadow of himself and his horse flung before him on\nthe high-road. Thinking there might be a carriage with lamps, he was not\nalarmed till by the shortening of the shadow he knew that the light must\nbe near him, and then he was surprised to hear no sound. He thereupon\nturned in his saddle, and at the same moment the radiant boy passed him.\nHe was a child of about eleven, with a bright, fresh face.\n\n\"Had he any clothes on, and, if so, what were they like?\" I asked. But\nJohn was unable to tell me. His astonishment was so great that he took\nno notice of particulars.\n\nThe boy rode on till he came to a gate which led into a field. He\nstooped as if to open the gate, rode through, and all was instantly\ndark.\n\n\"I'm an owd customer,\" said John when he presented himself to be married\nthe third time; \"soa, vicar, I hope ye'll do t' job cheap. Strike off\ntwo-thirds, as it's the third wife.\"\n\nJohn Mealy-Face died at the age of eighty-four, and was buried at\nTopcliffe on November 5th, 1868.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[22] I suppress the name, as the old man died but lately.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOGGART OF HELLEN-POT.\n\nA TALE OF THE YORKSHIRE MOORS.[23]\n\n\nI took the opportunity last autumn, just before the break-up of the\nweather, of shaking off the dust of shoddy-mills, and getting a whiff of\nair, unadulterated with smoke, in a run among the Yorkshire moors for\nthe better part of a week. I spent the first night at Bolton, and slept\nsoundly, after a ramble through the beautiful Wharfedale, and an\nexamination of the Strid, where the river gushes through a rift in the\nrock so narrow that it is supposed possible to stride across it, though\nI never heard of any man venturesome enough to make the attempt. A\nfriend accompanied me, a Mr. Keene, and on the following day we ascended\nthe valley of the Wharfe to Arncliffe, visiting on the way the\npicturesque ruin called Barden Tower, and the magnificent hanging crags\nat Kilnsea.\n\nAt Arncliffe, a quaint moor village, my companion fell lame, and was\nunable to accompany me next day on a mapless ramble in search of\nwhatsoever was picturesque and wild. It was a glorious day, the sky pure\nand blue, the air elastic, the heather and fern twinkling with dew. It\nwas really very hard for poor Keene to spend ten hours alone in a dismal\nlittle country inn, without either a book or a newspaper, whilst I was\nbrushing through the heather, scrambling limestone scaurs, and exploring\nravines, inhaling at every breath life and health and ozone. But it\nserved him right. What was the fellow thinking of when he put on a pair\nof new boots for his walking expedition? He looked wistfully after me\nout of the parlour window, and called to me to be back for a dinner-tea\nat seven, adding that he hoped his feet would be better in the\nafternoon, and then he would stroll to meet me.\n\nLeaving Arncliffe, and noticing a bright, fretful little stream, dashing\nthrough a broken and beautiful cleft in the hills, I took a sheep-track\nabove it, and determined on following its course. In a few minutes I\nseemed to have left civilisation behind me entirely. The great expanse\nof moorland which opened before, the utter absence of all signs of\ncultivation, the wild rocky pile of the Hard Flask on one side and of\nFountains Fell on the other, gave the scene a savage grandeur which one\nhardly expects to find in England. The little beck moaned far away below\nme out of sight, the wind soughed pleasantly among the heather, and the\ncurlew, which I constantly started, rose with a melancholy pipe and flew\naway to the grey scaurs on the side of Fountains Fell.\n\nBeing of the geological persuasion, I usually carry about with me a\nhammer and a small sack or pouch, which I sling round my neck, for the\nconveyance of specimens. I revelled in these limestone hills, spending\nhour after hour chipping off fragments of rock, and breaking them up to\nextract the fossils. I hardly knew whither I rambled, but I certainly\ngot into Silverdale, for I lunched on my bread and cheese with Penigent\ntowering above me on the west, and beyond it rose the glorious pile of\nIngleborough. I ascended Penigent, the height of which is 2270 feet, and\nwatched the sunset from the top. Then I followed the precedent of the\nillustrious King of France who, having marched to the top of a hill,\nmarched down again. But I was quite out in my geography. Now, with the\nmap before me, I see that my ideas as to the direction in which\nArncliffe lay were entirely wrong. My walk during the day had been of\nsuch a zig-zag nature that I had lost my compass points, and had made no\nlandmarks. The consequence naturally was, that I descended Penigent on\nthe wrong side, and then instinctively perceiving I was in the wrong, I\ndid a foolish thing--I struck off from my line of course at right\nangles. It would have been better for me to have retraced my steps up\nthe mountain-side, and taken bearings again whilst there was still a\nlittle light; but instead of doing so, I involved myself more and more\nin confusion, and at last, as it became dark, I was utterly ignorant of\nwhere I was, and which was the direction in which my face was turned.\n\nUnder such circumstances a man is tempted to allow himself to be that\nwhich in a brighter hour he would repudiate--a fool. I remember mentally\nexpressing my conviction that I was an idiot, and indignantly asking\nmyself how I could have thought of setting out on a walk in an unknown\ncountry without map or compass? My exasperation with self was by no\nmeans allayed when I tripped over a stone and fell my length in a sludgy\npatch of swamp. At the same time I became conscious of a growing pain in\nmy vitals, and was sensible of a vacuum in that region of the body which\nis situated beneath the lower buttons of the waistcoat; and a vacuum is\nwhat nature is well known to abhor. There was a dinner-tea spread for me\nin the inn at Arncliffe: chickens and ham I knew had been promised;\ntrout I naturally anticipated would prove part of the fare in a famous\nfishing district; veal cutlets perhaps, and mashed potatoes. Heavens!\nand I not there. I know I groaned at the thought, for the sound as it\nissued from my lips startled me. As I walked on with drooping head,\nthose veal cutlets and mashed potatoes rose up before me tauntingly. I\nam a man of resolution, and finding that the vision only aggravated\nmatters, I beat the veal cutlets down; yet, when they vanished, a new\nphantom rose to distress me. During the day I had examined on the slopes\nof Coska, Fountains, and Penigent several of those curious pots which\nare peculiar to the Yorkshire limestone moors. These pots, as they are\ncalled, are natural wells, hideous circular gaping holes opening\nperpendicularly into the bowels of the mountain. In rainy weather the\ntiny rills which descend the fells precipitate themselves into these\nblack gulfs and disappear. Far down at the bottom of the mountain the\nstreams bubble out again from low-browed caverns. Some of these pots are\nmany hundred feet deep; some are supposed by the vulgar to be\nunfathomable, for certainly their bottoms have not been sounded yet, and\na stone dropped falls and falls, each rebound becoming fainter, but the\near catches no final splash.\n\nNow, the number of these frightful holes I had stumbled upon during the\nday made me fear lest in the darkness I should come upon one, and tumble\ndown it without hope of ever coming up alive, or indeed of my bones\nreceiving Christian burial. It was now in vain for me to endeavour to\nrevive the dream of veal cutlets in order to obliterate the hideous\nimage of these pots; the pots maintained the day, and haunted me\ntill--till I suddenly became conscious of some one walking rapidly after\nme, endeavouring apparently to overtake me. The conviction came upon me\nwith relief, and I stood still, eagerly awaiting the individual,\nexpecting at length to be put in the right direction. The stars gave\nlight enough for me to discern the figure as that of a man, but I could\nscarcely discover more. His walk was strange, a wriggle and duck\naccompanying each step, the reason being, as I ascertained on his coming\nalongside of me, that he was a cripple in both legs.\n\n\"Good evening, friend,\" said I; \"I'm a stranger lost on the moor: can\nyou direct me towards Arncliffe?\"\n\n\"On, on with me,\" was the answer, and the hand was waved as though\npointing forward.\n\n\"Dark night this,\" I said.\n\n\"Darker below,\" he muttered, as though to himself; \"darker, darker,\ndarker.\"\n\n\"Shall we have a bit of moon, think you, presently?\"\n\nHe made no answer, and I turned to look at him.\n\nThere was something in the way he walked which made me uneasy. When he\ntook a step with his right foot he worked his body round facing me, and\nthen his head jogged on to his left shoulder and reclined upon it. When\nhe stepped out with his left foot his body revolved so that his back was\npresented to me, and the head was jerked on to the right shoulder. I\nnoticed that he never held his head upright; sometimes it dropped on his\nbreast, and once I saw it drop backwards. The impression forced itself\non me that just thus would a man walk who had his neck and legs broken,\nif by any means the possibility were afforded him to attempt a\npromenade.\n\n\"How far to Arncliffe?\" I asked, but he vouchsafed no answer. I tried\nanother question or two, but could obtain no reply. I lost my temper,\nand laid my hand on his shoulder to draw his attention to what I was\ninquiring, but with a wriggle he glided from under my hand, and hobbled\non before me.\n\nI had no resource but to follow him. He kept ahead of me, and seemed\ndetermined not to enter into conversation; yet I offered him\nhalf-a-crown if he would give me the information I desired to obtain.\n\nI was puzzled with my strange companion, and felt somewhat uneasy. I\nfelt that he was a bit \"uncanny,\" both in his appearance and in his\nmanner.\n\nPresently we came near water, as I judged by the sound, which was that\nof a beck murmuring among stones. On went my conductor, following the\nwater-course, and so rapidly that I had difficulty in keeping up with\nhim. When he leaped on a stone or scrambled up a turf-hummock, so as to\nstand against the horizon, where a feeble light still lingered, I could\ndistinguish the horrible contortions of his body, and the sight\ninvariably heightened my uneasiness.\n\nSuddenly I missed him!\n\nI called--but there was no reply! I stood still and listened, but heard\nnothing save the bubbling of the stream, and, far, far away, the to-whoo\nof an owl.\n\nNoiselessly a bat fluttered past me, coming instantaneously out of the\nblackness of the night, and vanishing back into it as instantaneously.\n\n\"I say, you fellow!\" hallooed I to the vanishing guide.\n\n\"You fellow!\" answered the scaurs of Penigent, in a lower key.\n\n\"To-whoo,\" faintly called the owl.\n\n\"What do you mean by deserting me like this?\" I roared.\n\n\"Like this,\" muttered the echo. \"To-whoo,\" responded the owl.\n\n\"I must follow the beck,\" I said; \"that will lead me to the river, and\nthe river will guide me to some habitation of living man.\"\n\n\"Living man,\" growled the echo. \"To-whoo,\" sang the owl.\n\nI stumbled over the water-worn stones, and splashed into water. My\nankles were scarified, my shins bruised; I narrowly escaped breaking my\nbones as I fell again and again. I did not dare leave the stream, lest I\nshould lose my way.\n\nThen a nightjar began to hiss from among the rocks, and the stream to\ndash along more wildly. The banks rose higher, and I seemed to be\nwalking through a railway cutting. I looked up, and saw the rugged\noutline of rock and furze on the eastern bank, and on top of a huge\nblock stood a distorted human figure. It was that of my strange\ncompanion.\n\nDown the slope he came with wriggle and jump; he came straight towards\nme, spread out his arms--in a moment they were clasped round me, and I\nwas lifted from my feet. I was so astonished that I made no resistance\nat first, and it was only after he had taken a dozen steps with me, and\nI heard the splash of the beck falling into what must be a pot, and saw\nthe black yawning hole open before me, and felt the man bending as\nthough about to leap down it with me in his arms, that I tore my right\narm loose, and caught at a young rowan-tree which leaned over the gulf.\n\nAt the same moment there flashed before my eyes the light of a lanthorn,\nthe flame small and yellow, yet sufficient to illumine the face of the\nbearer--a young woman, the countenance wondrously beautiful, but full of\nwoe unutterable.\n\nThe lanthorn passed across the open mouth of the pot. The moment it\nbecame visible the arms which held me were unclasped, and I saw the man\nsink down the abyss, with the light reflected from his upturned face. He\nwent down it, not with a whizz as a falling stone, but slowly as a man\nmight sink in water. Thus I was well able to observe his blanched face\nand wide dilated eyes fixed with horror on the lanthorn flame.\n\nHaving recovered my feet, naturally my first impulse was to run up the\nbank, and get as far as possible from the ugly well into which I might\nhave been precipitated. My next was to look round for the young woman\nwho bore the light. I could see the lanthorn at some little distance,\nbut I could not distinguish the bearer.\n\nI called to her; she lifted the light till her hand came within its\nradiance. The small white hand beckoned me to follow.\n\nI ran to catch her up, but the faster I pursued, the swifter glided the\nflame before me. Evidently the bearer did not desire to be overtaken.\nWhen I stopped, she stopped; when I advanced, she moved onwards; always\nkeeping the same distance ahead of me. So we must have proceeded for a\ncouple of miles, when suddenly the light went out, and at the same\ninstant I became conscious of a small farm-house lying before me.\n\nIn less time than it takes me to write this I had entered the enclosure\nwhich surrounded it, and had rapped hastily at the door. A gaunt\nmoorland farmer opened it, and looked at me with surprise.\n\n\"Can you let me have shelter for a little while, and then a guide to\nArncliffe?\" I asked. \"I have lost my way, and have met with a strange\nadventure, which has somewhat shaken my nerves.\"\n\n\"Sit here; come here; sit thee down there,\" he said, pointing to the\ningle corner with the stem of his pipe, and then closing and bolting the\ndoor, he stalked over to the opposite corner and sat down on a\nrocking-chair. He eyed me musingly, and smoked steadily without making\nany remark. After having puffed away for ten minutes, he shouted at the\ntop of his voice:\n\n\"Gi'e him a glass of ale, lass.\"\n\n\"A'm boune to, lad,\" replied a voice from the back-kitchen: and looking\nover my shoulder, I noticed that there was a woman in the little lean-to\nback room, \"fettling up\" by the light of a rush-candle.\n\n\"Thou'rt none boune to Arncliffe to-neet?\" said the man, slowly\nwithdrawing his pipe from his mouth.\n\n\"I am, if you will direct me,\" I replied, \"for I have a friend there\nwho is expecting me, and who will be sorely put out at my non-appearance\nearlier.\"\n\n\"Humph!\"\n\nHe smoked for ten minutes more, and then said:\n\n\"And what brought thee this road?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" I replied; and then proceeded to relate what had\nhappened to me. As soon as I mentioned the strange companion I had met\nwith--\n\n\"It's t' Boggart, lass!\" called the farmer to his wife, \"he's gotten\nagait misleading folk again.\"\n\nWhen I spoke of the flash of light before which the man had quailed, and\nwhich had revealed the face of a woman, pale and sad, bending over it--\n\n\"Weel done, Peggy!\" roared the farmer; \"'tis no but Peggy wi' t'\nlanthorn, lass,\"--again to his wife.\n\n\"She's a good 'un,\" responded the lady from the kitchen.\n\n\"Who are the Boggart and Peggy?\" I asked; \"they seem to be intimate\nacquaintances of yours.\"\n\nThe great Yorkshireman did not answer, but whiffed away, with his dreamy\neyes fixed on the fire.\n\n\"So t' Boggart thowt to ha' hugged thee down Pothoile!\" Then he laughed.\n\"I reckon,\" mused he again, \"I reckon he were a bit flayed to see Peggy\ncome anent him that road!\"\n\n\"I wish,\" said I, \"that you would tell me all about him and her.\"\n\n\"So I will, lad, bi'm bye, if thou'rt boune to Arncliffe to-neet.\" He\nlooked up at me. \"We can gi' thee a bed if thou likes: it's no but a\npoor one, but it's none so bad--eh, lass?\" The last two words were\nshouted to his wife.\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" she replied from the kitchen.\n\n\"Thank you very kindly,\" said I; \"if it were not for my friend at\nArncliffe, I would accept your offer with alacrity; but as it happens, I\n_must_ return there to-night.\"\n\n\"Gi'e us a leet, lass!\" called the man, knocking the ashes from his\npipe, rising, and taking down a lanthorn.\n\nThe good woman lighted the candle for him, and the great Yorkshireman\nshut the lanthorn door, took up his cap, and said to me--\n\n\"Now, if thou'rt boune to come, come on.\"\n\nI rose and followed him. He led the way, and as we walked towards\nArncliffe he told me the following tale:--\n\n\"Some hundred years ago there lived a young woman in a cottage near\nKettlewell. A strange man came into the neighbourhood, gained her\naffections, and married her. They settled at the little farm in which my\nguide now resided. They had not lived a twelvemonth together before the\nconstables entered the house one evening, and took the man up on the\ncharge of bigamy. He had a wife and family living at Bolton, in\nLancashire. As they were carrying him off, he broke from them and fled\nover the moors, and was never retaken. By some it was supposed that he\nhad escaped to America, but by others that he had fallen into one of the\npots and had perished. His poor second wife, heart-broken, wandered all\nthat night searching for him, and was found dead on the side of Penigent\nnext morning. And they say,\" added my guide, in a low voice, \"that she\nseeks him still; and when she's gotten him she'll tak' him before the\nthrone of God to be sentenced for having ruined her happiness, and been\nthe cause of her death. That's why he's so flayed (afraid) of meeting\nwi' she, and sma' blame to him.\"\n\n\"So you think the wretched man perished in one of the pots?\"\n\n\"I reckon he did. And he'll never have rest till his bones are laid i'\nt' churchyard, and that'll never be.\"\n\n\"Farmer,\" said I, after a pause, \"have you plenty of rope about your\nhouse?\"\n\nHe grunted an assent.\n\n\"Then I will descend the pot to-morrow.\"\n\nI am sorry to state here that my companion was so completely thrown off\nhis balance by this announcement that he swore.\n\n\"Shall you have time to assist me?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'm none particular thronged,\" he replied.\n\n\"Some additional help will be needed,\" I continued; \"if you have a\nworkman or two disposed to earn a day's wage by being useful to me, bid\nthem be ready with all that is requisite at the mouth of the pot\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"Ay! if we can addle us a bit brass that road,\" responded the farmer,\n\"we're t' chaps for thee. But I reckon thou'rt no but making gam' of\nme.\"\n\n\"I am not, indeed,\" I replied; \"get plenty of rope ready, and a stout\npole laid across the mouth of the hole, and I will go down to-morrow.\"\n\nI was as good as my word. Keene accompanied me next day to the little\nfarm, and there we found half-a-dozen men with ropes and windlass ready\nto assist in the exploit.\n\nAs the sun was shining, I felt no fear whatever, and I laughed and\nchatted whilst a belt was strapped round my waist, another under my\narms, and the cord passed beneath them. Before descending I took up my\ngeological bag and slung it round my neck; I also picked up my hammer.\n\n\"You may be sure I shall find some magnificent stalactites down there,\"\nsaid I.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" asked Keene.\n\nI sat on the edge of the gulf under the mountain ash to which I had\nclung for life the night before. I directed my eyes downwards, and saw\nthe little stream lose itself in spray after a leap or two. How awfully\nblack the abyss seemed! \"Now, then!\" I slipped down, and the windlass\nwas slowly unwound. Click, click, click! I heard each sound of the\ncrank as it descended. The air about me was cold and damp. Beautiful\nferns and mosses flourished on every ledge; presently, however, I got\nbeyond the fern zone. I was in darkness. The spray of the falling stream\nwas so finely comminuted that it was more like mist than spray. The\nwalls of the pot were green with lichen, and now I was below the region\nof mosses. Here, on a little patch of moist _Marchanta polymorpha_, I\nfound a poor butterfly, the common meadow brown. It had probably\nfluttered some way down the chasm in the giddiness of the moment, its\nwings had been clogged with spray, and it had been carried lower and\nlower till at last it had alighted, dripping and chilled, without hope\nof seeing sunlight again, on a small ledge covered with lichen. I\nrescued the poor insect, and put it inside my hat. I began to swing like\na pendulum, and at one time had some difficulty in preventing myself\nfrom striking the rocky sides.\n\nI could not see the walls now; I could not hear the click of the\nwindlass. All below was perfectly black; not a sign of a bottom; but\nwhite terraces, covered with stalagmite, gleamed up round the well-like\nribs, catching a little light from above. With my hammer I broke off a\nlarge mass of deposit formed by the droppings of water largely\nimpregnated with lime. It whizzed down, but still I heard no final\nsplash. I shouted--only faintly, as the pressure on my lungs from the\nbelt prevented my using my voice to its full extent--but the whole well\nseemed alive with echoes. I tried to turn my head and look up at the\nsky, but I was unable. The darkness and chill began to tell upon me, and\nan agonising cramp contracted my legs. However I managed to place my\nfeet upon a ledge, and to stand up. Those working the windlass, feeling\nthat the strain was off the rope, let out no more. When the cramp left\nme, I cast myself off again, and dropped below the ledge. After a while\nI began to hear a sound of falling water, and in a few minutes passed an\nopening in the side of the pit, out of which gushed an underground\nstream, and precipitated itself down the chasm.\n\nNow I became conscious of a broad ledge of rock, extending considerably\nout into the well, and contracting its size; something lay upon\nit--fragments of broken stalactites and stalagmites, I fancied--what\nthey were I could not distinguish, especially as at the same moment that\nI saw them I perceived something black rising towards me. In one second\nI saw the face of the Boggart flash up at me full of hideous triumph,\nand I felt the grip of his arms about my waist. Next moment I lost all\nconsciousness.\n\n\nWhen I came to myself I was lying in the sunshine on the slope above the\npot--Hellen or Hull-pot is its name--with Keene and the farmer bending\nanxiously over me.\n\n\"I'm all right,\" said I, in a low voice; and in a couple of minutes I\nwas sufficiently recovered to sit up.\n\nI took off my hat, and away flew the butterfly I had rescued, oblivious\nof the hours of darkness and misery it had passed through.\n\n\"Did you reach the bottom?\" asked Keene. I shook my head.\n\n\"We let out all the rope we had,\" said my friend, \"and then we pulled up\nagain, and found you at the end in a dead faint. I see you have not been\nidle,\" he added, lifting my geological bag. \"Full of stalactites, I\nsuppose,\" and as he shook it the contents rattled.\n\n\"No,\" said I, \"I put nothing into it.\"\n\n\"Then how comes it filled?\" he asked. \"Why, halloo! what have we here?\"\nand he emptied out of it a heap of human bones and a shattered skull.\n_How_ they got into the sack I shall never know. The remains were very\nold, and were encrusted with stalagmite. They lie now in Horton\nchurchyard. I believe the Boggart has not been seen since.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor a considerable time during our walk from Malham Tarn to Settle I had\nbeen silent. Keene could endure it no longer, and at last exclaimed,\n\"Really this is intolerable! You have been in a brown study for the last\nhalf-hour without speaking a word. A penny for your thoughts!\"\n\n\"To tell you the truth,\" I replied, \"I have been thinking over what\nmight have happened if you had fallen lame at Arncliffe, _if_ I had gone\non a geological walk without you, and had lost my way on Penigent, and\nhad fallen in with a Boggart, who tried to precipitate me down a pot,\nand if I had been rescued by an _ignus fatuus_, and had finally\ndescended the pot and brought up the Boggart's bones!\"\n\nMr. Keene stared at me with amazement. I then related to him what I have\njust related to you, good reader, and I concluded with the observation:\n\"All this, you know, _might_ have happened, but unfortunately it\n_didn't_. You have had my thoughts, so hand me your penny.\"\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[23] Contributed by me to _Once a Week_, March, 1867.\n\n\n\n\nJONATHAN MARTIN,\n\nTHE INCENDIARY OF YORK MINSTER.[24]\n\n\nJonathan Martin was not a native of Yorkshire, but as it was in\nYorkshire that he lived part of his time, and as his name is inseparably\nconnected with the glorious Minster at York, which he partially burnt,\nhe claims our notice in this volume.\n\nHe was born, according to his own account, at Hexham, in Northumberland,\nin 1782, of poor but honest parents, and by them, at a suitable age, was\nput apprentice to a tanner. He appears to have served his apprenticeship\nwith steadiness, and on its expiration, when he was in his twenty-second\nyear, he removed to London, intending to travel. Soon after his arrival\nin the metropolis, as he was one day viewing the Monument, a man\naccosted him, and inquired if he wanted a situation. Martin told him he\nwished to go abroad, on which the man replied that he could suit him\nexactly, as a gentleman of his acquaintance had a son on board a frigate\non the Indian station, who wanted a person of Martin's description, and\nwould give him thirty-two shillings per month, besides his chance of\nprize-money.\n\nMartin eagerly accepted this offer. But he soon found that he was in\nthe hands of a press-gang; and he was sent to the Nore, where he was\nplaced on board the Hercules, 74 guns, which formed a part of the\nexpedition against Copenhagen in 1804 under Lord Nelson. After the\nsurrender of the Danish fleet he was drafted into one of the prizes, an\n84-gun ship, which, with a squadron of seven other vessels, was ordered\nto proceed to Lisbon to blockade the Russian fleet in the Tagus, in\norder to prevent it from falling into the hands of the French. These\nships were taken by the British, and were brought to England.\n\nThe next affair Martin mentions in his biography as having been engaged\nin was in assisting to bring off the troops from Corunna in January,\n1809. He says, setting sail from Vigo Bay--\n\n\"We reached Corunna in one day, and then approached the shore: the\nnumerous carcases of dead horses, all floating in the bay, showed us the\ntoil our army had suffered. We could plainly see the French and English\ncamps from our ships, each occupying a hill very near the other. We made\nevery exertion to get close in, to cover the embarkation of our troops,\nwho were sadly annoyed by the fire from the French artillery on the\nheights. Our ships replied to the French as well as the heavy sea then\nsetting would allow. By great exertion the whole embarkation was\ncompleted. They then directed their batteries against our transports,\nwho had to slip their cables, and stand out of the reach of their guns.\nDuring this scene of confusion and terror several boats were sunk by the\nfire of the enemy and some by the violence of the sea. Our vessels\npresented an awful spectacle, from the number and condition of the\nwounded, who occupied our cockpit, cable tier, and every spare place on\nboard, and whose misery was rendered greater by the tempest which\narose, and prevented that attention being paid to them which their\nsituation required: a great number perished solely on this account.\nDuring the gale five transports were lost, from which only few lives\ncould be saved, owing to the state of the weather and the rocky nature\nof the coast.\"\n\nHaving landed the wounded men in England, the ship on board which Martin\nwas sailed for Lisbon. Of his adventures at sea Martin tells several\nremarkable incidents; but they are many of them connected with dreams,\nand if not wilful falsehoods, are most probably misrepresentations. Of\nsuch probably is what he relates as occurring whilst he was at Lisbon.\nHe says that whilst in the Tagus the whole crew went on shore except\nhimself, a young negro, and the captain's wife and daughter. The black,\nknowing the captain had a quantity of gold in his chest, proposed to\nMartin to murder the ladies, and take a boat and escape with it--to\nIndia, Martin says. To this he refused to accede, and ultimately\nsucceeded in persuading the Indian (African?) to abandon his dreadful\nintention. About this time, he says--\n\n\"I began to see my lost and ruined state as a sinner, and to cry to God\nfor mercy and salvation, hoping He would spare me to return to my native\nland, when I would join myself to the people of God. But alas! my vows,\noften repeated, were as often broken. Notwithstanding, the Lord heard my\nprayers, and restored me to my parents as safe and well as when I left\nthem. My deliverance from on board a man-of-war was extraordinary, but\nthe Lord having given me favour in the sight of the whole crew, when all\nhands were piped to breakfast, a boat appointed for the purpose was\nbrought under our bows, and the soldiers formed a circle on the\nforecastle of the ship, to prevent the sentry seeing what was going\nforward; I dropped into the boat and got ashore, and remained in safety\nat the waterman's house until our ship sailed. I entered on board a\ntransport going to Egypt for corn for our troops then lying at Messina.\nWhen I arrived in Egypt, I was filled with delight on beholding the\nplace where our blessed Lord took refuge from the rage of Herod; and\nwhere the wisdom of Joseph (directed by Almighty God) saved the land of\nEgypt and his own father's house from the effects of the seven years'\nfamine, of which I had so often read. A wide range of buildings was\npointed out to me by the Turks, which they said formerly held the grain\npreserved by Joseph. Reflecting on these things, led me to review my\nmis-spent life, and to see how often God had preserved me in many\ndangers, and how ill I had requited Him; so that my thoughts troubled me\nsore, and I resolved anew to amend my life. I began to be comforted by\nreflecting that He preserved me for wise purposes, and that I should\nlive to praise Him. Blessed be the name of the Lord, I was not\ndisappointed.\"\n\nA Mr. Nicoll, a native of Peterhead, who was formerly in the navy, and\nwas a messmate with Martin in two vessels, of which one was the\n\"Hercules,\" says--\n\n\"I remember Martin well, and sailed with him first about 1803. He was\nalways skittish. We used to say that he was fitter for a parson than a\nsailor; nicknamed him Parson Saxe. He was often sulky and idle. He did\nnot pray much, but was inclined to argue on religious subjects; he said\nhe had a light that we had not, and that he held meetings in his dreams.\nHe told extraordinary and unaccountable tales; but,\" said Mr. Nicoll,\n\"they have gone from me, as I treated them as fudge and palaver.\" Mr.\nNicoll adds that Martin was jolly as any at one time, and would drink\nand dance and be merry as the rest; at another time he would weep\nbitterly. Some were angry with him, others ridiculed him; \"but I,\" said\nMr. Nicoll, \"thought him more rogue than fool. I remember his saying\nthat a book was shot from his hands at Cadiz, and that he considered it\na warning from heaven. Some one told him he should have been otherwise\nemployed than in reading at such a time; in reply to which he abused the\nperson who rebuked him. It was my opinion that he shammed a good deal\nfor a sulk. He was particularly fond of viewing and conversing about the\ncelestial bodies, but had a dread of any one pointing to a star,[25] and\nwould not believe that they were other worlds; and, indeed, grew quite\nangry at such an assertion. I have often said such things as a scot\n(jest), to draw him on, and he has abused me. He was hale enough, but\nused to complain of weakness, and, as I thought, sham sick.\"\n\nA Greenwich pensioner, who served with him, says:--\"I knew Jonathan\ntwenty-three years ago and upwards; he was a good sailor, but had fits\nof melancholy, and then would talk of dying and a future state. I have\noften told him that our days were fixed, and he blamed me for saying so.\nI remember somebody larking in the top, and he, Martin, fell, catching\nthe hair of the sailor in his way; he actually tore off a portion of his\nscalp; he saved himself by clinging to the cross-trees. He quarrelled\nwith and fought a man named Dobson, who died in Greenwich Hospital some\nyears since. They sat across a bench and fought. Martin was beaten. He\nwas laughed into this quarrel.\"\n\nMartin gives the following account of his escape:--\n\n\"Being on the main yard, and losing my balance, I found myself falling;\nthere seemed nothing to save me from being dashed to pieces. The loose\nend of the tracing line, about an inch thick, was hanging near me. I got\nit round my left hand, and grasping it with my right, the swing of the\nrope, together with my weight, threw me overboard, and I remained\nsuspended by my arm, within a few feet of the sea, until my shipmates\ncame to my assistance; and I praised God that I received no material\ninjury, except my arm being a little wrenched by my weight. Again,\nfalling by accident out of a gun-port, my shipmates succeeded in\nrescuing me when not able to help myself. And being on the\ntop-gallant-yard, the topping-lift broke, and the end I was on went down\nlike the end of a beam. In my fall I grappled with the backstay, and\nbrought myself up, and landed on the cross-trees. Thus the Almighty\npreserved me from death when there was no other hope--the height from\nthe deck being about eighty feet.\"\n\nHe relates also the following circumstance, which was corroborated by a\nGreenwich pensioner:--\n\n\"After I was appointed to the gunners' crew, when on our voyage to\nCadiz, the gunners' yeoman, who had charge of the stores and all the\npowder, shot himself through the head in the store-room, where there\nwere upwards of five hundred barrels of gunpowder, and joining the place\nwhere all our oakum and old ropes lay. When the report of the pistol was\nheard in that place, the consternation became general throughout the\nship's company, as an explosion was to be dreaded. Some were for making\nto the boats; others, more desperate, were for leaping overboard,\nexpecting the ship to blow up every moment. In the midst of the panic\nproduced, I and four of my shipmates ran below, rushed into the\nstore-room amidst the smoke, and soon extinguished the little fire\nproduced by the wadding of the pistol, and then we discovered the body\nof the unfortunate man lying bleeding, his brains literally strewed over\nthe floor. Thus did God put in our hearts to risk our lives, and by\nthat means save our ship's company, six hundred in number, from an awful\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Martin,\" says one of the Greenwich pensioners, \"went with a boat's crew\nto get water. In crossing some buoys he fell in; the accident was not\nperceived, but we at length missed him; when we got him out he was all\nbut gone. He said we had conspired against him, but God had delivered\nhim. I remember this, for Dobson threatened to thrash him if he repeated\nit. Martin was punished for drunkenness, and bore it in a very cowardly\nmanner. When he was in the mortar-boat he sang psalms, but when we were\nafterwards very near wrecked, he was as cool or cooler than any one on\nboard. He fell overboard whilst assisting in hooking a shark, but was\npicked up almost immediately. He got hurt in falling, and would never\nassist in the hooking again. We had many sick and dying aboard, and the\nsharks often followed in our wake: we burnt bricks and covered them with\ntarpauling, &c., fixing a hook in the brick; this the fish would\nswallow. Martin was very active in this, until his accident. After that\nhe said, 'The Lord was vexed at the guile.' He hated the Catholics.\"\n\nAnother pensioner, who corroborated a portion of the foregoing, added:\n\"Martin was much noticed by the officers; but he told them many\nfalsehoods, and at last was generally disliked. He was at one time in\nsuch favour with his superiors, that two men were punished for cutting\nthe slings of his hammock whilst he was asleep, which is generally\npassed over as a joke; but he pretended to have been hurt with the fall.\nWhen angered, he would swear as much as anyone, and sometimes\nimmediately afterwards would cry and pray. His dreams and stories would\nhave filled a book. I saw him years afterwards at Portsmouth. Never\nknew that he had deserted; he was continually amongst the crews of the\nKing's ships. Went to London with him, and he talked a good deal about\nreligion when at Portsmouth, but lived very loosely in London.[26]\nMartin told me a variety of his adventures--that he was nearly murdered\nby the Algerines, &c., &c., but that he was marvellously delivered, and\nthat God had told him in his dreams to quit the sea. He had a good deal\nof prize-money to receive, but there was a delay in his getting it. The\nday he was to have it finally, he was to meet me at Rotherhithe; he\nnever came, and from that time (1810) I never saw nor heard of him.\"\n\nMartin does not tell us how long he remained in the transport service;\nbut when he was paid off, he proceeded to Newcastle to visit his\nparents, probably in 1810; and then went to work with Mr. Page, a farmer\nat Norton, in Durham.\n\n\"Here,\" he observes, \"commenced that series of trials which almost\nobliterated the remembrance of my former difficulties, and which, were\nthey not well-known to many now living, might appear to border on\nromance.\" In reading his life, however, we can find no traces of\n\"trials\" which were not brought upon himself; and there is very little\nof the \"romantic\" about them. A few months after his residence at Norton\nhe married, and became the father of a son.\n\n\"I had him baptised Richard,\" he says. \"I was deterred from giving him\nmy own name on account of the sins of my youth, as I conceived if I did,\nthe Lord might take him away.\" Not long after, he dreamed that his\nmother came to see him, and told him he would be hanged; and his dream\nproduced a strong impression upon his mind.\n\nHis thoughts became more directed than before to religious matters, but\nnot without \"manifold backslidings,\" as he himself confessed.\n\nAt Yarm, in Yorkshire, four miles from Norton, where he lived, was a\nMethodist chapel, and he used to attend church at Norton in the morning,\nand chapel at Yarm in the evening. One Sunday morning he received the\nHoly Communion in the church at Norton, and in the evening he was at a\nlove-feast at the Wesleyan chapel.[27] This was his first formal\nreception into full membership with the Methodist body. He had obtained,\nas he calls it, \"perfect liberty.\" He was converted, a new being,\nemancipated from obedience to the law, being justified by faith only.\n\nHe now began to feel strongly against the Church of England, which\ntaught the necessity of obedience to the moral law even to those who\nwalked in the Spirit. The laxity of the clergy in going to parties,\nballs, and plays, offended him.\n\n\"I knew also that I was not authorised by law to interfere with the\nEstablishment. I betook myself to fasting and prayer, earnestly seeking\ndirection of the Lord how I should proceed in this matter. I dreamed on\nFriday night that a man held out to me a piece of honeycomb, of which I\ndid eat, and felt refreshed, and concluded this a gift divine. I felt\ngreatly encouraged. On Saturday I gave away most of my working clothes\namong my shopmates, having fully resolved to confess my Lord and Saviour\nthe next day before the congregation; not doubting but the step I was\nabout to take would lead me into trouble. I spent that night chiefly in\nprayer, for strength to perform the task I had undertaken--of warning\npeople of their dangerous state by their carnal security; the necessity\nof repentance and regeneration, by the operation of the Spirit; and\nfinally of their having the witness of the Holy Ghost that their sins\nwere blotted out through faith in a crucified Saviour.\"\n\nHe accordingly entered the church with the clerk early in the morning,\nand whilst the latter went to ring the bell, Martin secreted himself in\nthe pulpit, and remained hidden there till the end of the prayers, when\nhe suddenly stood up, and gave forth as his text, St. Mark iv. 21-23,\nand began to preach, with violent gesticulations. He was at once removed\nby the churchwardens and constable, but was allowed to remain in the\nchurch, though dislodged from the pulpit.\n\nAbout this time he was favoured, or deluded, with the following\nvision:--\n\n\n     \"I dreamed that I was called to the city gates of London, and\n     beheld the inhabitants tearing each other's flesh in the most\n     horrible manner, and I heard a voice speak to me--'In one day this\n     city shall be burnt to the ground.' And I was taken by the Spirit\n     to the banks of a river, and I commenced digging the earth, and\n     cast up several sharp-edged weapons, in particular a large axe,\n     stained with human blood. I took hold of it, and that instant there\n     appeared, as I thought, St. James, and I struck off his head at one\n     blow, and awoke out of my sleep. This strange concern opprest me\n     in the spirit, and I said, 'This is no other than Popery and\n     persecution are intending to come forward amongst true Christians.\n     Oh! England, beware of Popery!'\"\n\n\nMartin now began to write letters to the clergy and other members of the\nChurch, \"entreating them, as they valued their souls, to amend their\nlives, and flee to the blood of sprinkling for mercy and pardon.\" His\nconduct seems to have been so improper, so marked by a \"zeal not\naccording to knowledge,\" that he was expelled the Methodist Society; and\nhe complains that his religious friends were afraid to own him--he was\nleft alone in the world; and, to add to his troubles, he lost his\nemployment. He then went to Whitby and worked for a few weeks, but soon\nreturned to Norton, and from thence went to Bishop Auckland, where he\nobtained employment; and determined once more to attempt exhorting the\npeople in the church. He was, however, taken out by a constable; and\nthen he began that practice which he appears never afterwards to have\nabandoned, of posting papers on the church doors, as a warning to the\nclergy and congregation. The following is a copy of one of these\nsingular productions:--\n\n\n     \"Oh! hear the word of the Lord, you clergymen, for the mighty sword\n     is expanded over your guilty heads; now shall you come to a\n     complete dissolution; now shall your candlesticks be completely\n     overthrown; now shall your blindness come to the light, and your\n     shame before all the people, for the Lord will not suffer you to\n     deceive the work of His hands any longer. Oh! prepare yourselves to\n     meet your God, you double-hearted sinners; cry aloud for mercy, and\n     now shall my God make bare His arm and conquer the devil, your\n     great master, for the monster of hell shall be completely\n     overthrown, and you and him shall not deceive the nations any\n     longer, for now shall God be worshipped in spirit and truth; now\n     you shall and must throw away your little books you carry into the\n     pulpits to deceive the people with; you now preach for wine and\n     gluttonous living, and not for precious souls--will you not get\n     your portion with the rich man in hell if you do not repent and\n     find mercy?\n\n     \"JONATHAN MARTIN,\n\n     \"Your sincere friend.\"\n\n\nMartin continued for some time attending church, and disturbing the\nservice by his groans and exclamations of assent to, or dissent from,\nwhat was enunciated from the pulpit. At Bishop Auckland one day he heard\nthe preacher declare that no man could be absolutely certain that his\nsins were forgiven, and his happiness hereafter was assured, till he had\nput off mortality, and his eyes were opened in the light of eternity.\nThis was too much for Martin to bear. He says:--\n\n\"The bitterness of my soul constrained me to call out--'Thou hast no\nbusiness in that pulpit, thou whitened sepulchre, thou deceiver of the\npeople, how canst thou escape the damnation of hell?' I was determined\nto address the people on the following Sunday, and tell them the state\nthey must be in under such a ministry, and of the justness of that God\nwho will judge the world in righteousness. John Bunyan admonished his\nhearers to an upright and strict life, being assured if this were\nneglected they were void of religion, and Popery would again spread\nthrough England. Like poor John Bunyan, I was pulled out of the place as\nsoon as I began to speak. The clergyman employed an attorney to write\nagainst me, and I was apprehended as a vagabond; and they wanted my\nmaster to swear that I was deranged. My master objected thereto, stating\nthat I had been with him seven months, and had been a faithful servant.\nHe inquired of my master and several neighbours at Norton if they were\nnot afraid of me, but was answered in the negative.\"\n\nMartin mentions here that his wife had become a great enemy to him since\nhe joined the Methodists; that she wanted him to leave them, and vowed\nto God that, unless he deserted them, she would disown him as a husband;\nand \"from that period to the day of her death, eight years, she kept her\nword, but his firmness was not shaken.\"\n\n\"About this time the Bishop (I think of Lincoln) was to hold a\nconfirmation at Stockton, for the Bishop of Durham. I had heard that he\nwas a good man, and that numbers attended his visitation. I was glad to\nhear so good a report of him, and concluded that if he were really so\ngood a man and so eminent a Christian, he would not fear death, and\nresolved to try his faith by pretending to shoot him. I had been in\nNewcastle to see my brother, and recollecting he had an old pistol, I\nasked and obtained it, and brought it home with me. On my arrival, my\nwife, observing the pistol, inquired what I wanted with it. I replied\nwith a smile that I got it to shoot the Bishop. I laid it down\ncarelessly, determined, if she should remove it, and I should receive no\nencouragement by a dream, I would proceed no further in the matter. When\nI got up in the morning the pistol was not to be found, and there, as I\nthought, the matter dropped; but some officious person hearing of it,\ntold the clergyman of Norton, and he laid a complaint before the\nmagistrate against me. A vestry meeting was then called, to which I was\nsummoned. My previous interference with the church was urged against me,\nand so much was I tormented with questions on the subject, before I went\nto the vestry, and while there, that I was considerably agitated and off\nmy guard. However, the reverend gentleman was little better tempered\nthan myself, and showed a degree of rancour that I did not expect. I\nwas asked if I had a pistol to shoot the Bishop with; to which I\nreplied, 'that I did not mean to injure the man, although I considered\nthey all deserved shooting, being blind leaders of the blind;\nconsequently both must fall into the ditch.' I was then suffered to\ndepart, but was next day taken into custody, and brought before the\nmeeting of justices at Stockton, and examined very harshly. They asked\nme, if I had found the pistol, would I really have shot the Bishop? I\nreplied, 'It depended upon circumstances--I would ask him some questions\nout of the Creed, and if he did not answer me satisfactorily as to his\nconversion, and the evidence of the Spirit, he must be branded as a\ndeceiver of the people.' For this I was sentenced to be confined in a\nmad-house for life, but glory be to God, they could not keep me an hour\nlonger than my Lord and Saviour thought fit. I felt as happy under this\ntrial, in the assurance of Jesus' love, as if I had been going to a\npalace.\"\n\nHe was at first confined in a lunatic asylum at West Auckland, but was\nafterwards removed to a similar establishment at Gateshead. His\nafflictions then and subsequently he relates thus:--\n\n\"I had not for a long time seen my wife and child, as during the time I\nwas so rigorously confined they had been denied admittance. My poor wife\nhad long been labouring under heavy affliction, having a cancer in her\nbreast When I began to work they were allowed to come and see me, and my\nwife at parting said--'Farewell, Jonathan, look to Jesus; pray for me;\nmay God bless you; my strength is fast failing, and I feel that I shall\nnot be able to come any more.' She spoke prophetically, for we met no\nmore. A short time after, she took to her bed, from which she never\nrose. My readers may judge of my grief to think that my poor wife was\na-dying, at no great distance, and when she requested to see me, even in\ncustody and in chains, the keeper was so unfeeling as to refuse her\ndying request. She afterwards sent my son (little more than seven years\nold), hoping that his youth, innocence, and distress might soften their\nhearts, but his appeal was unheeded. She sent him again with her dying\nlove to me, and the keeper's wife shut the door in his face, and the\nchild was suffered to return weeping to his mother. His supplication, as\nI afterwards heard, would have melted any heart, crying, 'What will\nbecome of me? My mother is dying, and my father is shut up in a\nmad-house, where I am not so much as allowed to see him.'\"\n\nIt must be remembered that Martin's account of things is not to be\ntrusted in all particulars. At the same time it is certain that asylums\nwere not conducted at that period with humanity and judgment.\n\nMrs. Orton, the keeper's wife alluded to, was examined at the trial of\nMartin, ten years later. She said: \"When Martin was with me I thought\nhim a really insane person. He would sit on the floor with two\ncross-sticks as if he was fiddling, either singing hymns or whistling.\nHe called his sticks an imitation of David's harp. I have known him fast\nfour days--and say it was God Almighty's orders--in imitation of Christ\nfasting forty days on the Mount. He was often under restraint, and was\nbad to manage.\"\n\nHe succeeded in making his escape from the asylum[28] on the 17th of\nJune, 1820, but was caught at Norton and brought back. On the 1st of\nJuly, 1820, he made his escape again by rubbing the rivets of his irons\nwith freestone, which he managed to secrete in his room. He broke\nthrough the ceiling, got into a garret, and escaped through the tiles\nupon the roof. He thence descended cautiously and safely to the ground;\nand thus ended his captivity of three years.\n\nWith great difficulty--still with the rings of his chains on his\nankles--he reached the house of Mr. Kell, an intimate friend, of the\nsame way of thinking, at Cadlaw Hill. Mr. Kell freed him from the\nremains of his fetters--\"the degrading emblem of slavery,\" as Jonathan\ntermed them. Mr. Kell was a distant relation of Martin on his mother's\nside; and he remained there a fortnight, till his strength was\nrecruited, when he left him, designing to proceed to an uncle's, a\ndistance of sixteen miles, to assist him to get in his hay harvest.\nHowever, before he reached his uncle's house, he was met by his cousin,\nwho told him that Orton, the keeper, with a constable, had been there in\nsearch of him: he therefore escaped as fast as he could to Glasgow,\nwhere another uncle resided; and he reached it in safety. From Glasgow\nhe went to Edinburgh; and was in that city at the rejoicings on account\nof the coronation of George IV. Martin stopped at Edinburgh only one\nday, being anxious to see his wife; and on returning to Norton he found\nhis wife still alive, but in the last stage.\n\nAfter remaining three weeks with his friend Mr. Kell, he determined to\ngo to London to be near his brothers, one of whom was the celebrated\nimaginative painter so well known by his wonderful pictures, \"The Eve of\nthe Deluge,\" \"The Plains of Heaven,\" &c.\n\nHis friend having furnished him with money, he left Darlington for\nLondon on the 1st of August, 1820, exactly a month after he had made his\nescape. He went, however, no farther than Boroughbridge, where, on\nSeptember 8th, he received a letter informing him of his wife's death,\nand of his having had his house robbed of money and goods to the amount\nof \u00a324. He gives a pitiable account of the last illness and the distress\nof his poor wife:--\n\n\"I learned afterwards that my dear wife had to go through great\ntribulation. There was a woman allowed one shilling and sixpence per\nweek to wait on her, but she always locked her in at night, without any\nattendant but the poor child to wait on his wretched mother; until my\nsister, hearing of their condition, came and took him away with her. So\ngreatly neglected was he, that there was none to cut the bread for him;\nand when my sister came to see them he had the loaf picked out, as if\neaten by mice, not being able to cut it himself. In this pitiable\ncondition my poor boy sat up several nights with his mother, to hold the\ndrink to her when she became too weak to do it for herself.\"\n\nHe then went to Hull, where he began to preach to his mates in the\ntannery where he worked. \"I was moved to speak to them of their drunken\nlives, what would be the consequence if they did not repent. One or two\nof them, more wicked than the rest, got above me with a bucket of\nbullock's blood, which they heaved over me; but that did not move me\nfrom my stand: then they tried water. Then the devil put it into their\nminds to heave wet skins in my face, and that did not make me quit my\nstand until the hour was up.\"\n\nNotwithstanding these checks, which in Jonathan's description strongly\nremind the reader of the sufferings of Mawworm, he continued his\nexhortations in and out of the shop, and if we are to believe his own\naccount, two hundred persons were converted by him.\n\nFrom Hull he was driven by this treatment by his carnally-minded\nshopmates, and went to Norton, where his old master, Mr. Page, having\nobtained the consent of the magistrates that Martin should not be again\nconsigned to the asylum, employed him as a tanner. But he soon after (in\n1822) removed to Darlington, where he also worked at his trade, and\nspent his evenings in preaching to and praying with those who would hear\nhim. He boasts that through his labours in seven weeks \"two hundred\nprecious souls were set at liberty.\" He remained at Darlington\napparently till 1827, and here he pretends to have had some remarkable\nvisions.\n\n\"I should inform my readers how I was taken to the seaside in a vision,\nand beheld a countless army of men arising from the waves. As I stood\ngazing thereon a man advanced towards me, and said, 'Where shall we find\nbread for so great a multitude?' He quickly answered, 'Where they can.'\nThey then advanced with great fury, and covered, as it were, the whole\nearth, and I thought England fled before them. This dream made great\nimpression on my mind after I came to Darlington, and I determined to\nmake known the things that will befall England, unless we all turn to\nthe Lord with full purpose of heart, for I dreamed of a great battle\nbetween Newcastle and Sunderland; and again, that the son of Buonaparte\ncame and conversed with me, and having a musket, said he would shoot\nthrough the door of an Englishman. He tried three times, and the third\nwas successful.\n\n\"I then left him, and was soon overtaken by some baggage waggons; all\nthe French fired their muskets in the air. I was taken prisoner, and\nthey shut me up with the Word of God and a Wesley hymn-book in my hand.\nIn the prison the sun shone upon me with all its splendour, and I\nrejoiced to see the mercy of God towards me.\"\n\nHe then bursts out into the following denunciation against clergymen:--\n\n\"Deceive not yourselves, oh, you clergymen, for my dream has been\ndoubled, for you will have to fly to the mountains to hide yourselves\nfrom your enemies, for the son of Buonaparte has a second time appeared\nto me. The first time he stood before me, he stood with a firelock in\nhis hand, and said to me, I will shoot through the door of an\nEnglishman. The first time he tried to present, but he was too weak, but\nwilling to avenge the death of his father, though but a child. The\nsecond time he levelled the firelock, but could not stand the force of\npowder. The third time he levelled and fired, and hit his mark, and\nsaid, I will shoot through the door of an Englishman. The second dream\nwas like unto the first: he broke through the door, and demolished the\nhouse before me with great dexterity and art. The youth appeared before\nme with a beautiful countenance, with a light complexion, and light\ncurled hair; and as he passed before me through the door, I held out my\nhand, and he shook hands with me. I have the honour of shaking hands\nwith the son of Buonaparte, though I have not seen his father, and he\nvanished out of my sight. He came from Denmark to reside in England. O\nEngland! prepare for war, and to meet a hot reception; for as you\nsurprised the Danes at Copenhagen, so will the son of Buonaparte\nsurprise you and reign in England, and come off victoriously. The thing\nis certain, and will come to pass. You must not think the time long, for\nthe youth will soon be ready to act the part of his father, and do\nvaliantly; for he shall be a scourge to the wicked clergymen of\nEngland.\"\n\nAt Darlington he was wont to declare that Prayer-books had been the\nmeans of sending many souls to hell. He then wore a coat and boots of\nseal-skin, with the hairy side outwards. Afterwards he procured an ass,\nwhich he rode upon, to be more like Christ; and he used to preach to a\nsociety of Oddfellows at the High Cross at Darlington. His son Richard\nhe put with a pedlar Jew, as his assistant; and when remonstrated with,\nsaid that his reason was that little Dick might labour at the conversion\nof the Jews. He was a good workman.\n\n\"I came to Lincoln on one Saturday in September, 1827, and on the\nfollowing Sunday went to view the Cathedral, as I was a stranger in the\ntown. I heard the voice of singing close by the Cathedral; I drew near,\nand as I stood listening, a young man, a Methodist, opened the door and\ninvited me in. Three violent young men (for piety), Sunday-school\nteachers, pressed me hard to join them to assist them in instructing the\nrising generation, and pray that God would give a blessing to their\nlabours. I told them I would as well as God would teach me. We had not\nbeen long together before the Lord put it in our minds to hold a short\nprayer-meeting, that God would own our feeble efforts, and bless the\nchildren. Whilst I was at prayer it was impressed on my mind to pray\nthat the Lord would fill the large Cathedral full of converted\nclergymen, and that He would distribute them amongst all the churches of\nGreat Britain, that blind guides and the devil might not deceive the\npeople any longer. I was fervent in prayer, and that prayer disturbed\nthe devil out of his den. A public-house being next door, the landlady\nand her company came into the room whilst I was on my knees, the\nlandlady afraid of losing her company, and, as it were, hell broke loose\nupon me. The devil fiercely attacked me, but I stood to my arms: the\npowers of the bottomless pit could not make me rise from my knees until\nI had prayed for my enemies; then I arose and gave out a hymn to\nconclude the meeting. When the landlady could not turn us out, then she\nengaged her wicked company to attack me. They surrounded me, and flew\nupon me like fiery serpents from hell, gnashing their teeth, and crying\nout: 'Out with him, head first! Break his neck over the stones!' But I\nalighted on my feet, and the devil was conquered.\"\n\nAt Lincoln, where Martin worked for a man named Weatherall, he compiled\nand printed his biography; two editions were soon disposed of, and he\nprinted a third edition in 1828, of five thousand copies. A friend and\nfellow-believer wrote his biography from his dictation, and it underwent\nsome sort of supervision, for Martin was wholly ignorant of spelling,\nand had little idea of constructing a grammatical sentence.\n\nBy hawking his little book about the country, and by quartering\noccasionally in the houses of those who were willing to extend their\nhospitality to him on account of his gifts of prayer and the Word, he\ncontrived to make a decent living. He frequented the Methodist chapel at\nLincoln, and received his card of membership from the minister there. In\n1828 he got acquainted with a young woman, twenty years his junior,\nnamed Maria Hodson, who lived at Boston. Martin visited her there, and\nthey were married in Boston parish church. Shortly after the marriage\nthey came together to York, on the day after Christmas-day, 1828, and\nobtained lodgings in the house of a shoemaker named William Lawn, No.\n60, Aldwark.\n\nDuring his stay in York he employed himself in vending his books, and\nwas well known in the city from wearing a glazed, broad-brimmed,\nlow-crowned hat, and a singular black leather cape, which came down to\nhis elbows, with a square patch of fur sewn on the back, and extending\nfrom one corner to the other. At York he attended the Methodist meeting,\nbut sometimes was with the Primitives, or Ranters. When he had any\nvacant time, he spent it in reading either the Bible or his hymn-book.\nOn Sunday afternoon he was wont to go to the Minster, and on the 6th of\nJanuary the following letter was found tied to one of the iron gates of\nthe Minster choir; it was fastened by a shoemaker's waxed thread, but\nwas not directed. A verger, however, took it down and gave it to one of\nthe canons or minor canons, who, however, thought it too absurd to\ndeserve notice. The following is a verbatim copy of it:--\n\n\n     \"York, Janrey the 5-- 1829.\n\n     \"Hear the word of Lord, Oh you Dark and Lost Clergymen.\n\n     \"Repent and cry for marcey for know is the day of vangens and your\n     Cumplet Destruction is at Hand for the Lord will not sufer you and\n     the Deveal and your blind Hellish Docktren to dseve the works of\n     His Hands no longer.\n\n     \"Oh, you Desevears will not milleons of the mighty and Rich men of\n     the Earth have to Curs the Day that ever they gat under your blind\n     Docktren know to be a shamd of your selvs and wepe for your Bottls\n     of Wine and your downey Beds will be taken away from you I warn you\n     to repent in the name of Jesuse and believe he is able on Earth to\n     forgeve Sines, for there is no repenting in the greave Oh you blind\n     Gydes are you not like the man that bilt his Hous upon the Sands\n     when the Thunder starmes of Gods Heavey vangens lites upon your\n     Gildrys Heads a way gos your sandey Foundaytons and you to the\n     deepest pet of Hell re Serve the Curses of millions that your blind\n     Doctrens has Decevd and to reseve Gods Heve Curs and the Ward\n     pronounst Depart you Carsit blind Gides in to the Hotist plase of\n     Hell to be tormented with the Deveal and all his Eanguls for Ever\n     and Ever\n\n     \"Jona. Martin, a frind of the Sun of Boneypart Must Conclude By\n     warning you again Oh Repent repent He will soon be able to act\n\n                   \"the part of his Father\n     \"Derect for Jonathan Martin\n       \"Aldwark No. 60\"\n\n\nAnother epistle was also found, on Wednesday, the 21st of January, by a\nsailor from Hull, who being at York, visited the Cathedral in company\nwith his wife. When walking along the western aisle he saw on the ground\nnear a pillar, a small packet, which he had the curiosity to open. It\nwas tied with a shoemaker's waxed thread, covered with old matting, and\ncontained a stone, round which was wrapped a pamphlet, entitled \"The\nLife of Jonathan Martin.\" He also found in the parcel a letter, sealed\nwith cobbler's wax, and addressed to the Clergy of York. He read and\nexhibited both the letter and pamphlet at the house where he was\nstopping, but they were thought of no consequence. Fortunately,\nunimportant as they were considered, he did not destroy them. The letter\nwas couched in the same strain as that already given.\n\nIn other MSS. dropped in or near the Minster, and bearing the signature\nof \"M.,\" the following expressions were found:--\n\n\"Your great churches and minsters will fall down on your guilty heads;\"\nbut no sort of suspicion was entertained that anyone was wicked or mad\nenough to cherish the determination of destroying one of the finest\nexisting specimens of the munificence and piety of our ancestors;\ntherefore no precautionary measures were taken.\n\nOn the 27th of January, Martin left York with his wife, stating that\nthey were going to Leeds to reside, and his luggage was sent off\naccordingly to that place. They arrived in Leeds on the 28th, and Martin\nremained there till the Saturday following. They lodged at the house of\nJohn Quin, No. 6, Brick Street. His conduct is described as having been\nmost orderly and decorous. He attended worship at a chapel of the\nPrimitive Methodists one evening; his conversation was cheerful and\nperfectly rational; he appeared to be kind and affectionate to his wife,\nand spent the time while he was in the house chiefly in singing hymns,\nreading the Scriptures, and conversing on sacred subjects. The principal\npart of Thursday and Friday he was engaged in vending his pamphlet. When\nhe left Quin's house on Saturday morning, between nine and ten o' clock,\nhe seemed perfectly tranquil, and said he was going to fulfil an\nappointment that he had in the neighbourhood of Tadcaster, and that he\nshould return to his wife at Leeds on Monday by dinner-time. Instead of\nstopping at Tadcaster, he came back to York, and went to his old\nlodgings in Aldwark. He told Mr. and Mrs. Lawn that he and his wife had\nbeen no further than Tadcaster, and that he was going to stop in that\nneighbourhood for the purpose of hawking books. He asked if he could\nsleep there that night, and on being answered in the affirmative, he\ntook possession of the room he had before occupied. In the afternoon he\nwent out and was observed perambulating the Minster-yard, and taking\nspecial note of the building. His attention appeared particularly\ndirected to the western towers. He returned to Mr. Lawn's in the\nevening, and remained till eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, when he\nwent out--and returned no more.\n\nThis wretched incendiary had then, no doubt, laid all his plans for the\ndestruction of the Minster; a project which, to judge from his\nsubsequent communications to Mr. Wilson, a local preacher at the\nWesleyan Methodist Connexion at Hexham, he seems to have entertained for\nsome time. The motives which prompted him to attempt the destruction of\nthis beautiful church were the fanatical antipathy he entertained\ntowards the clergy of the Church, whom he condemned as \"blind\nguides\"--to whom, however, he said he felt no ill-will, malice, or\npersonal hostility, but he was sorry for them, as he believed they were\nleading the higher ranks in society astray; and the destruction of the\nMinster, he was of opinion, \"was for the glory of God, the good of the\npeople of England generally, and for the good of the inhabitants of York\nin particular, as when the Cathedral was destroyed they would be\ncompelled to disperse themselves to other places of worship, where they\nwould hear the Gospel preached.\" When he had fully made up his mind on\nthe subject, he began to apprehend opposition from his wife; and he told\nMr. Wilson that he adopted the following extraordinary mode of\nneutralising it:--\"He took the ring from her finger whilst she slept,\nand though she manifested much concern at the loss of her ring, he\nallowed her to vent her feelings in unavailing regrets, until he thought\nher sufficiently moulded to his purpose. He then exacted a vow from her\nthat she was to keep his secret, and he would restore her ring. This\nbeing agreed to, he told her his intention, on which she seemed greatly\ndisturbed, and they went to Leeds.\"\n\nAfter Martin left his lodgings on Sunday morning he went to the Minster\nand heard the sermon. In the afternoon he repaired there again, and\nentered the south transept as soon as the doors were open. He walked\nabout till after the service began; and the sexton (Job Knowles) noticed\nhim passing several times as he was ringing the bell for prayers. Before\nhe entered the Minster in the afternoon he had provided himself with a\n\"razor with a white haft, the back of which he used instead of a steel;\na flint, tinder, matches, and a penny candle cut in two.\" This, however,\nsoon burnt out, and he replaced it with one of the wax candles which had\nbeen used in the Minster the previous evening. During service he\nconcealed himself behind a tomb--probably Archbishop Grinfield's, in the\nnorth transept--muttering to himself as the organ played, \"Buzz,\nbuzz--I'll teach thee to stop thy buzzing.\" There he remained till all\nthe people had left. He then quitted his place of concealment and walked\nabout, looking where he could best make the fire. The ringers were in\nthe belfry in the evening, and from behind a column he watched them go\nout. And here it may be remarked that very important consequences often\nresult from apparent accidents. If the ringers had locked the door of\nthe belfry after them, in all probability he could not have made his\nescape from the Minster, but would have been compelled to remain till\nthe doors were opened in the morning; when mingling with the crowd, in\nthe hurry and confusion, he might not have been noticed, and the\ncalamity would always have been ascribed to accident.\n\nAfter the ringers left, Martin went into the belfry and struck a light.\nA gentleman who was passing the Minster about half-past eight o'clock,\nsaw a light in the belfry at that time; but as the ringers had been\nthere, he thought they were about ringing again, and took no notice of\nthe circumstance. Two persons who were confined in Peter Prison also saw\na light in the belfry after nine o'clock. At this time the incendiary\nwas busy preparing his means of escape. He cut about ninety feet off the\nrope attached to the prayer-bell, which passed through a hole in the\nfloor of the belfry into the aisle below, and having pulled it up, he\nformed it into a ladder by doubling it and tying knots at regular\ndistances. After he had worked some time, he put out his light, and\nfinished his ladder in the dark. When this was completed he left the\nbelfry, and having climbed over the iron gates which separate the nave\nfrom the north-east aisle, he used the rope-ladder to get over the gate\nleading from that aisle into the choir, which is usually kept fast. He\nthen struck a light the second time, and with the razor cut three yards\nof gold fringe, two gold tassels, &c., from the pulpit, and the crimson\nvelvet curtains from the dean's and precentor's seats at the bottom of\nthe choir, and those from the archbishop's throne. He also took a small\nBible, and as he expected to be taken and imprisoned, he brought away\nthe Bible that it might be a comfort to him in his confinement. He then\npiled the cushions and Prayer-books in two heaps, on each side near the\ncarved work, and set them on fire by introducing matches among them.\n\nHaving done this, he set about making his escape. He had brought with\nhim a pair of shoemaker's pincers, which Mr. Lawn had left in the room\nwhere he slept on Saturday night, and having tied one end of his rope to\nthe machine used for cleaning the Minster, he dragged it under the\nwindow in the west aisle of the north transept, which he broke with the\npincers; and having seen that one of the piles (that by the archbishop's\nthrone) to which he had set fire was burning briskly, he descended, and\nleft the Cathedral a little after three o'clock in the morning of the\n2nd of February, taking with him the articles before mentioned, and also\nsome purple silk--a part of one of the robes of the clergy.\n\nDuring the time he was in the Minster he says he felt no fear, but was,\n\"on the contrary, quite happy; sometimes he prayed, and sometimes he\npraised God, because, as he said, He had strengthened him to do so good\na work!\"\n\nThe incendiary had left the Minster several hours before the fire was\ndiscovered. The patrol left the Minster-yard about half-past two\no'clock, before he had made his escape, and they saw no indications of\nanything unusual when they left. About four o'clock a man going past saw\na light in the Minster, but he thought the workmen were preparing a\nvault, and unfortunately passed on without endeavouring to ascertain\nwhat was really the cause of so unusual an occurrence as a light burning\nin the sacred edifice at that early hour.\n\nAt five o'clock a series of reports, resembling repeated explosions,\nwere heard. The parties who heard them wondered what they meant, but\nnever thought of tracing them to their source. The discovery at last\ntook place in the following singular manner:--A lad named Swinbank, one\nof the younger choristers, whose duty it was to go and practise at the\nMinster early every morning, went as usual a little before seven o'clock\non the morning of the 2nd of February. He found the doors were not open,\nand began to slide on a piece of ice in the Minster-yard to amuse\nhimself. Whilst so doing he fell on his back, and before he recovered\nhimself from that position he saw smoke issuing from the roof of the\nMinster. Alarmed at the sight, he went to Job Knowles, the sexton, for\nthe keys. On his return he found the doors had been opened by some of\nthe workmen, and Mr. Scott, the builder, entered the building at the\nsouth door, but had scarcely got in when he was compelled to retreat--so\ndense was the smoke that respiration was impossible. A gentleman with\ndifficulty then made his way to the organ screen; but was compelled to\nretreat to avoid suffocation. By the vestry-door, however, access was\nobtained to the choir--the gates from the vestry, and also those leading\nfrom the aisle into the choir, being fortunately open. The fire, which\noriginated at one end of the stalls, had consumed the whole row, with\nall their tabernacle work; and about half-an-hour after it was first\ndiscovered, the flames had spread to the stalls on the other side. One\nof the Minster engines was kept in the vestry, and this was immediately\nplaced in the aisle, where it played on the place where the\ncommunion-plate was kept, and around which the flames were raging with\ngreat intensity: the tabernacle screen was in this spot burnt to the\nground, and the plate was melted into one mass. As soon as this engine\nwas got to work, several individuals succeeded in carrying out the whole\nof the cushions and books from the north side of the choir; the cushions\nand part of the hangings of the Cathedral were also saved, as was the\ncurious old chair which stood within the rails. The next effort was to\nremove the brass eagle or lectern. This was effected with great\ndifficulty, owing to its weight, by the few persons who had the courage\nto brave the suffocating effects of the smoke. They were driven back\nthree times before they succeeded in carrying off the upper part of the\neagle, which was taken into the vestry; the other portion was afterwards\ncarried out at a door on the chapter-house side. All this was the work\nof a few minutes; and at this time (perhaps about a quarter after\nseven), the organ screen, the north side of the choir, and the roof,\nwere to all appearance untouched by the fire. At this period, if a few\nfiremen had been present who understood their business, this part of the\nchurch might have been saved. Shortly after, however, the flames spread\nround the south-west corner of the choir and reached the organ; and when\nthis noble instrument caught fire, an appalling noise--occasioned by the\naction of the air in the pipes upon the flames--resounded through the\nbuilding, and struck with awe all who heard it.\n\nWhilst this was passing in the interior of the building, the alarm had\nbeen spread through the city by the ringing of the bells of St.\nMichael-le-Belfry, and the Yorkshire Insurance Company's engine was soon\non the spot. It was placed at the south door, and the pipes were carried\ninto the Minster, and directed over the organ upon the fire which was\nthen raging in the choir. The city engines arrived soon after, and were\nstationed at different parts of the building. An express was sent to the\nbarracks, and the barrack engine arrived about eight o'clock. Major\nClark and several officers accompanied it with a file of the 7th Dragoon\nGuards, who were of great use in facilitating the operations of the\npersons employed in extinguishing the flames.\n\nAbout ten minutes before eight o'clock another engine was brought into\nthe Minster; but the roof having caught fire from the organ--the flames\nfrom the latter igniting some of the bosses of the groining, which were\nof maple-wood--the melted lead and pieces of burning timber began to\nfall so rapidly that the men were compelled to abandon their positions,\nand the engine was stationed further off, in the nave, whence it\ncontinued to play over the screen upon the burning ruins in the choir\nfor several hours. Previous to the removal of this engine, an attempt\nwas made by two or three gentlemen to cut down the great gates leading\nfrom the choir into the north-east aisle, with a view to cut off the\ncommunication with the altar: the molten lead and burning rafters,\nhowever, fell about them so rapidly that they were obliged to desist.\n\nBy eight o'clock, or a little later, the organ--one scarce equalled for\ntone and power by any instrument in the world--was totally consumed,\ntogether with the valuable collection of music which was deposited in\nthe organ loft; and much of which, being in manuscript, could not be\nreplaced.\n\nBy the exertions of Mr. Plows, stone-mason, a number of men were about\nthis time got upon the roof of the side aisle; by means of ropes,\nbuckets and the pipe of an engine were hoisted up, and from this\nelevation a torrent of water was discharged upon the flames beneath. A\nnumber of men were also employed in cutting away the roof towards the\neast window, who continued their exertions as long as they were\npracticable. About a quarter past eight o'clock the flames burst through\nthe roof, near the lantern tower, and the spectacle from the exterior\nwas awful and impressive in the extreme, whilst the effect of the scene\nin the interior was magnificent beyond description. Immediately in front\nof the screen which divides the nave from the choir, the engine already\nalluded to was playing directly upon the fire, but with little effect,\nowing to the magnitude of the space over which the flames had spread\nthemselves. From the screen to the altar the vast area had the\nappearance of an ignited furnace; and the men who were employed in\nworking the engines, and in various other ways endeavouring to stop the\nprogress of the flames, resembled beings of another world rather than\ninhabitants of this material globe. Their voices, as they shouted to\ntheir comrades for \"water\" or for more assistance, fell in harsh and\ndiscordant tones on the ear; they moved enveloped in an atmosphere so\ndense that it was scarcely possible to breathe in it, partially\nillumined by the flames and partly by the rays of the sun, which now\nstreamed in through the painted windows, producing altogether an effect\nindescribably beautiful and grand. A number of bats and other birds,\nburnt out of their retreats, were now seen flitting about, unable to\nfind an outlet, and many perished in the flames.\n\nAbout half-past eight o'clock an express was sent by Archdeacon Markham\nto the Mayor of Leeds, informing him that the Minster was on fire, and\nrequesting that two of the largest engines belonging to that town might\nbe sent off immediately. This was shortly followed by another express\nfrom Mr. Newman, the actuary of the Yorkshire Fire Office, requesting\nthat two more engines might be immediately forwarded to York. At this\nperiod serious fears were entertained that the fire would extend over\nthe whole of this immense fabric; the flames were rapidly gaining ground\nat the east end, and the engines had not the least effect in allaying\ntheir progress. The lantern tower, and the whole of the roof of the nave\nappeared to be saturated with smoke, which also poured out of the\nwindows of the western towers. The knotted rope having been discovered\nby which Martin made his escape, and not satisfactorily accounted for,\nand its being rumoured that a bunch of matches had also been found which\nhad been lighted at both ends, the opinion that the fire was not caused\nby the gas, or by candles being left in the organ-loft or in the\nclergymen's robing-room, which had at first been entertained, began to\ngive way to the idea that this was the work of an incendiary; and when\nthe smoke was seen issuing from the places we have mentioned, it was at\nonce said that a train had been laid, and that it was breaking out in\ndifferent places. This, providentially, was not the case; the smoke\npenetrating the roof, &c., was merely occasioned by the denseness of the\nvolume of vapour collected in the church before the doors were opened,\nand which at last found vent in that manner; and the fire never extended\nbeyond the lantern tower.\n\nAt ten minutes past nine a portion of the burning roof fell in with a\ntremendous crash. For an instant the whole area was illuminated, and the\nnext moment a volume of smoke and ashes was sent forth which involved\nfor a short time everything in darkness and obscurity. From that time\ntill half-past ten portions of the roof kept falling in, till from the\nlantern tower to the east window the blue vault of heaven was the only\ncanopy. The molten lead from the roof during this period poured down in\ntorrents.\n\nSoon after ten o'clock an engine arrived from Escrick Park, near York,\nthe seat of Paul Beilby Thompson, Esq., M.P. That no time might be\nlost, that gentleman's beautiful grey carriage horses were yoked to his\nengine, and it was driven into the city with the utmost promptitude.\nAbout half-past ten another engine arrived from Tadcaster, and was\nimmediately got to work. One of these engines was brought to the east\nend, and played into the choir through an aperture made in the lower\ndepartment of the window; another also played for a short time through\nthe farthest window at the north-east end.\n\nAs great alarm was felt lest the east end of the Minster should fall, a\npart of the staff of the 2nd West York Militia was placed to prevent the\npublic from passing in that direction; the inmates of the opposite\nhouses had previously removed their families. Providentially, however,\nthis alarm turned out to be unfounded. This fine window--the largest, we\nbelieve, in England, if not in the world--was only very partially\ninjured.\n\nThe floor of the choir was strewed with fierce-burning timbers, and\nresembled a liquid lake of fire; it was heated completely through, and\nthe vaults below glowed with a radiance that occasioned a general cry\nfrom those who could get near, of \"The vaults are on fire.\" But the heat\nnow began sensibly to abate, owing partly to the quantity of water\npoured upon the burning timbers which covered the floor of the choir and\nthe Lady's Chapel behind the altar screen, and partly to the removal of\nthe burning rubbish from the bases of the pillars, which latter being of\nlimestone, were very much injured by the action of the fire. The rafters\nof the roof, and other immense pieces of timber, were converted\nliterally into charcoal, and were removed to the nave and into the\nMinster-yard.\n\nAbout noon the fears of the fire spreading any farther were removed; but\nthe engines continued to play for hours after upon the mass of fire and\nflame on the floor of the church. Great efforts were also made to save\nthe beautiful screen which divides the nave from the choir, and this was\neffected, for that ornament of the Minster was only very slightly\ninjured.\n\nAbout two o'clock the engine of the Norwich Union Company, with the\nrequisite number of men, arrived from Leeds. They had been barely two\nhours on the road, and in less than three minutes after the engine\nstopped in the Minster-yard it was at work. Two other engines arrived\nfrom Leeds shortly after. A fourth arrived about four o'clock.\n\nWhen the fire was so far got under that no fears were apprehended of its\nextending beyond the choir and chancel, several parties were admitted\ninto the nave to view the spectacle. Some ladies were amongst them, one\nof whom was heard to exclaim, on viewing the awfully splendid yet\ndistressing scene, \"What a subject for Martin!\" alluding to the\ncelebrated painter. Little did she then think that Martin's brother had\noccasioned this terrible conflagration.\n\nThe crowds of people who flocked to the scene of this calamity continued\nto increase all the afternoon, and it was found necessary to place\nconstables at the Minster doors, to prevent the influx of persons\ndesirous of seeing the state of the edifice; many arrived from a\nconsiderable distance, and it was quite impossible that more intense\nfeelings of anxiety and distress could have been evinced than were\ndisplayed by the inhabitants of York, who from their infant days had\nbeen accustomed to consider the Minster as their boast and glory.\n\nA great-aunt of mine has often described to me the overwhelming\nsensation it caused. Her father, a man of remarkable self-restraint,\nwept like a child. The feeling in many a home was as if some accident\nhad befallen and carried off a dearly-loved relation.\n\nThere was gloom that day on every countenance, and in the early part of\nthe day a sort of stupor appeared to pervade all ranks; people were\novercome by the greatness of the unexpected calamity, and seemed\nscarcely to know whether to consider as real the events which were\npassing around them, or whether they were under the influence of a\ndream.\n\nDuring the whole of the afternoon the workmen and others were busily\nemployed in removing the fallen rafters and other rubbish from the\nchoir. Most of these were carried out into the Minster-yard, which was\nthickly strewed from the south door to the vestry with the fragments of\nthe roof, blackened and reduced to charcoal. Within the nave a\ndetachment of the Dragoon Guards was drawn up to prevent intrusion\nthere, and a guard of the staff of the 2nd West York was mounted for the\nsame purpose, as well as to secure the ornamental portions of that part\nof the structure from damage. The floor of the nave was strewn with\nfragments of the roof which had been brought from the choir; and against\none of the pillars lay the remains of the organ--a few fragments of the\ngilt pipes and a portion of the iron work. A dense mass of smoke still\nrose from the embers, on which several of the engines continued to play\nduring the night. The fire was not totally extinguished when the shades\nof evening drew on, for occasionally a fitful flash of lambent flame was\nseen struggling with the gloom, but was quickly extinguished by the\nwater from the engines directed to the spot.\n\nDuring the evening the silence which reigned around, only broken at\nintervals by the tread of the sentinels or the occasional remarks of a\npassenger, formed a striking contrast to the bustle and confusion which\nhad prevailed during the day. About ten o'clock men were observed with\nlanterns visiting every part of the roof, to see that all was safe; and\nthe night was passed without any further alarm.\n\nA word as to the extent of injury which the sacred building sustained.\nThe roof of the central aisle, which was of exquisite workmanship, was\nentirely destroyed from the lantern tower to the east window; this roof\noccupied a space of 131 feet in length by 45 in breadth, and was 99 in\nheight from the floor of the choir. In the interior, from the organ\nscreen to the altar screen, all the beautiful tabernacle work, the\nstalls, galleries, bishop's throne, pulpit, &c., were entirely consumed.\nThe altar screen was so much injured that it was obliged to be taken\ndown. Of the monuments, several were damaged either from the effect of\nthe fire or the falling of the timbers of the roof.\n\nIt is impossible to conclude this part of the subject without alluding\nto the remarkable circumstance that one of the lessons appointed to be\nread on the Sunday after this calamity at the evening service was the\n64th chapter of Isaiah, being the Church's prayer to God. It was\nsingularly applicable to the fire which destroyed the Cathedral; one\nverse especially--\"Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers\npraised Thee, is burned with fire: and all our pleasant things are laid\nwaste.\" Few in the congregations assembled in the numerous churches of\nYork on the Sunday evening heard it unmoved. Another thing, thought to\nbe a coincidence, but which is certainly a very remote one, was that the\nCathedral was fired by Martin on Candlemas Day, using one of the\nwax-candles employed in the choir during evensong.\n\nVarious reports as to the origin of the fire circulated in York. Some\nsupposed it originated from the gas, others attributed it to the candles\nleft alight in the organ loft or in the vestry of the clergy. But others\nsuspected it was the work of an incendiary, and they were confirmed in\nthis belief by finding the knotted rope which had been left by Martin,\nand was discovered early in the morning.\n\nOn Monday evening a committee of inquiry was formed, consisting of\nclergy and gentlemen. They met at the Residence; and the vergers,\nworkmen, and other individuals connected with the Minster, underwent a\nrigorous examination. The investigation was continued on Tuesday and\nWednesday, and the strictest secrecy was observed in the proceedings; in\nthe course of which it was ascertained that the rope was cut from the\none which is attached to the prayer-bell, and that not with a knife, but\nby being chafed with a sharp stone. It was also ascertained that the\nwindow was opened from the interior; and a bunch of matches, burnt at\nboth ends, was found among the rubbish, and afterwards a pair of\nshoemaker's pincers. The matches were found under the rubbish of the\nburnt organ; the pincers on the stool of the window out of which the\nknotted rope was suspended. The fact was also proved that several\nanonymous letters had been sent to the vergers; and also that the\nparcel, with the letter and pamphlet before alluded to, had been found\nin the Minster by a person from Hull. A gentleman was despatched to Hull\nto obtain possession of these documents; but in the meantime they had\nfallen into the hands of Mr. Isaac Wilson, of that place, who with great\npromptitude came to York and laid them before the committee.\n\nMr. Pardoe, the active police officer of York, was employed to ascertain\nto whom the shoemaker's pincers belonged, and they were owned by Mr.\nLawn, at whose house Martin had lodged. Other circumstances formed a\nchain of evidence so complete and conclusive as to leave no doubt that\nJonathan Martin was the incendiary, and hand-bills were issued on\nThursday offering a reward for his apprehension. Pardoe had been\ndespatched to Leeds in pursuit the previous day, with a warrant from\nArchdeacon Markham, which on his arrival was instantly backed by the\nMayor of the borough. For the rest of the day and during the night\nPardoe and the whole force of the police were employed in endeavouring\nto find a clue to the retreat of the incendiary. They were not\nsuccessful; but on Thursday morning his wife was taken into custody\nwhile vending the \"History of his Life.\" When discovered by the\nofficers, she expressed her surprise at the charge against her husband;\nand after admitting that he left that town on Saturday morning, said\nthat she understood, on his departure, he was going into the\nneighbourhood of Tadcaster; that she had not heard of him since; and\nthat she had experienced great uneasiness at his long absence. She added\nthat his place of concealment, or anything further connected with the\naffair, was totally unknown to her. She was kept in custody at Leeds, in\nher own house, in the charge of two constables, who obtained possession\nof all Martin's books and papers.\n\nOn Thursday morning information was received which caused an express to\nbe sent off to the neighbourhood of Pontefract, where an active and\ndiligent search was commenced. A clue was obtained, which led to the\nbelief that the incendiary had passed through Pontefract on the road to\nWakefield. The Mayor of Pontefract ordered the police of that town to\nafford every assistance to the gentlemen in pursuit, and he was traced\nto Polston toll-gate. From the information there obtained it was\nsupposed he had taken the direction to Heath; and the pursuit was\nimmediately followed up in that direction, and continued through most of\nFriday. It was reported in the evening about seven o'clock that Martin\nhad been captured about five miles from Bedale, and would be brought\ninto York by the Carlisle Express coach. The coach was half-an-hour\nbeyond its time, and the streets were filled with crowds of anxious\nspectators, who waited in the expectation that the incendiary would\narrive by it. Many persons went out of Micklegate Bar, and ran alongside\nof the coach till it stopped in Coney Street. It was then found that the\nreport was an erroneous one, for Martin was not there; nor was it true\nthat he had been captured.\n\nOn Saturday morning it was ascertained that the police had been on a\nwrong scent, as Martin had proceeded to the north instead of to the\nwest; and about half-past nine o'clock that morning an express was\nreceived stating that he had been arrested the previous evening near\nHexham. The following are the particulars of his flight and capture:\n\nMartin left the Minster, as has been stated, a little after three\no'clock in the morning. He proceeded to Easingwold and got a pint of\nale; from thence to Thirsk, at which place he arrived at eleven o'clock;\nfrom Thirsk he went to Northallerton, where he arrived about three\no'clock in the afternoon in a state of apparent fatigue. He remained\ntill evening with a brother in-law who resided there, and expressed\ngreat anxiety to get on to Hexham to see a friend. At nine that evening\nhe left Northallerton in a coal cart, in which he travelled all night\ntill he arrived at Joft-hill pit, near West Auckland, on the Watling\nStreet road. The next morning he proceeded to Alensford, on the Derwent,\nwhere he slept on the Tuesday evening. He left Alensford about eight\no'clock on the Wednesday morning, and stopped at the Riding Mill, where\nhe had a pint of ale; from thence he proceeded to Corbridge, where he\narrived about twelve o'clock, and had half-a-pint of ale; and then went\nto Cadlaw Hill to his friend Mr. Kell, where he arrived about two the\nsame afternoon, being the same place where he sought refuge when he\nescaped from the asylum at Gateshead. Martin remained there till eleven\no'clock on Friday morning, and during his stay he expressed a great\nanxiety to see newspapers.\n\nThe handbills giving a description of Martin's person, and offering a\nreward for his apprehension, were circulated in all parts of the North;\nand one of them fell into the hands of Mr. Stainthorpe, a sheriff's\nofficer, of Newcastle, who knew him. Mr. S., on Friday, the 6th, having\nto go to Corbridge, heard that Martin had returned home, but did not at\nthat time know there was any charge against him. Returning to Hexham,\nwhere he kept a public-house, Mr. S. found the handbill lying on the\ntable; and he immediately saddled his pony and set off to Mr. Kell's,\nwhere he felt satisfied he would find him. The house, called Cadlaw\nHill, is situated between Stagshaw Bank and Hexham, on the north side of\nthe Tyne. It is a house situated by itself, and had Martin not been well\nknown in the neighbourhood, it might have afforded concealment for some\ntime. On alighting he inquired of a young woman who was standing at the\ndoor if Jonathan Martin had got home. The family, it would seem, were\nnot aware of the crime he had committed, as the bailiff was readily\nanswered in the affirmative. On receiving this information he bolted in,\nand found Mr. Kell and Martin sitting together, the latter engaged in\nreading a hymn-book. They both rose on his entrance, and he, accosting\nMartin, asked, \"Is not your name Jonathan Martin?\" He immediately\nreplied, \"Yes, it is.\" On which Mr. Stainthorpe said, \"You are my\nprisoner.\" Martin displayed very little emotion, nor did he even ask why\nhe was made a prisoner. Mr. Kell was greatly surprised, and asked Mr.\nStainthorpe what Martin was charged with. He replied he was not at\nliberty to tell him; but that he should require his assistance to convey\nthe prisoner to Hexham, on reaching which place he would give him every\ninformation necessary. Mr. Kell readily agreed, and the prisoner as\nreadily seemed disposed to take the road. The first question he asked\nMr. Stainthorpe was, \"Do you belong to York?\" Mr. Stainthorpe replied in\nthe negative, and cautioned him not to say anything that might criminate\nhimself. On their coming in sight of Hexham, from which Cadlaw Hill is\ndistant nearly four miles, Martin, pointing to Highside House, two miles\nfrom Hexham, said, \"Yonder is the house in which I was born;\" and seeing\nthe church of Hexham, he exclaimed, \"That is a fine old church. Did the\nCatholics build that too?\" On the way Martin asked if any York papers\ncame to Hexham. And also he said to Mr. Stainthorpe, \"Am I advertised in\nthe Newcastle papers?\" On being told he was, and also that he was\ncharged with burning York Cathedral, he readily said _he had done it_;\nand he added, \"As soon as I knew I was advertised, I intended to tell\neverything.\" On reaching the House of Correction, Martin's bundle was\nopened, when it was found to contain part of the valuable crimson\nfringe, &c., which he said he had cut away from the pulpit, or some part\nof the Minster, a small Bible which he had brought away at the same\ntime, and a piece or two of the painted glass of the Minster. An old\nrazor was found in his pocket, with which he said he cut the crimson\nfringe, &c., and with which also he struck the fatal light by which he\nwas able to fire the Minster. There were found also seven copies of his\nLife, but only one penny of money. He appeared up to the moment of his\napprehension to have been profoundly ignorant of the extent of the\ninjury he had occasioned; but on a gentleman telling him he had totally\ndestroyed the Cathedral, his countenance brightened, and the news seemed\nto exhilarate him. He exclaimed, seemingly pleased, \"Have I?\" After he\nwas lodged in the House of Correction an express was sent off to York\nwith the intelligence.\n\nIt was whilst he was in the House of Correction at Hexham that Mr.\nWilson (of whom mention has been made) visited him, in company with Mr.\nStainthorpe. Mr. Wilson asked him whether his desire to see the\nnewspapers at Cadlaw Hill arose from an anxiety for self-preservation.\nHe replied, \"None whatever;\" but as he was ignorant what effects had\nbeen produced by the fires he had kindled, he was anxious to know; on\nwhich Mr. Stainthorpe said the damage was estimated at \u00a3100,000. He\ncoolly said, \"If it were not for the glory of God, if that could be\npromoted, \u00a3200,000 would not have been too much, and that in his opinion\nit would have been well if all the Minster had gone together, as the\nworship carried on in it was idolatrous and superstitious.\" He declared\nthat he was quite happy and fully resigned to his situation, and \"would\ngive himself up into the hands of the Lord.\"\n\nSuch had been the demonstration of popular feeling shown by the persons\ncollected at different times to wait the coaches coming in when Martin\nwas expected, that the magistrates very prudently arranged that he\nshould arrive in York early on Monday morning, and that the examination\nshould take place immediately on his arrival. It was as near as possible\nhalf-past three o'clock when Mr. Newstead and Pardoe arrived with their\nprisoner in a post-chaise at the Session House in the Minster-yard. He\nwas taken into the room occupied by Harrison, the keeper of Peter\nPrison, where he seated himself on a chair with his hands clasped, his\nfeet elevated on the fender, and his eyes closed. Mr. Pardoe asked him\nif his feet were cold; to which he replied \"Yes\"; and this was the only\nword he spoke till the examination commenced. He was dressed in a blue\ncoat and trousers, with a drab great-coat. He had by no means the\nappearance of a \"stout man,\" as described in the bill; but the person\nwhere he lodged said he had fallen away very much in that short period.\n\nIt was half-past four o'clock when everything was arranged for\nexamination. The magistrates took their seats on the bench, and Martin\nwas placed at the bar; the warrant under which he was apprehended was\nread over to him, and the depositions of witnesses were also read.\n\nIt is unnecessary here to give the evidence either on this occasion or\nat the subsequent trial. On being asked what he had to say for himself,\nhe made the following confession in a firm tone of voice:--\n\n\"The reason that I set fire to the Cathedral was on account of two\nparticular dreams. In the first dream I dreamed that a man stood by me\nwith a bow and a sheath of arrows. He shot an arrow, and the arrow stuck\nin the Minster door. I then wished to shoot, and the man presented me\nthe bow, and I took an arrow from the sheath and shot, and it struck on\na stone and I lost it. In the second dream I dreamed that a cloud came\ndown on the Cathedral, and came over to the house where I slept, and it\nmade the whole house tremble. Then I woke; and I thought it was the hand\nof God pointing out that I was to set fire to the Cathedral. And those\nthings which were found on me I took lest any one should be blamed\nwrongfully. I took them to bear witness against myself; I cut the\nhangings from the throne, or cathedra, or whatever you call it, and tore\ndown the curtains.\"\n\nHere he stopped rather abruptly, and being asked whether he had anything\nmore to say, he replied, \"No.\"\n\nDuring the whole of the proceedings Martin appeared perfectly calm, and\nstood with his eyes closed nearly the whole of the time, his head\ninclining over the right shoulder.\n\nHis committal was then made out, and signed by Mr. Dickens, the\nchairman, and the Rev. D. R. Currer, and he was removed to the City\nGaol, and given into the custody of Mr. Kilby, to remain till the\nAssizes.\n\nAfter Martin was committed to the charge of the gaoler on the morning\nof the 9th of February, he breakfasted and went to bed. His sleep was\nsound and tranquil, and he awoke much refreshed and in good spirits.\n\nStrangers were not admitted to see him. Next day he appeared greatly\ndepressed, and was very anxious to avoid public observation. He attended\nprayers in the chapel during the morning. The next day, however, he\nrefused to attend the chapel. Subsequently he was visited by the Rev. G.\nCoopland, the chaplain, in his day-room, who found that so deeply rooted\nwas his aversion to the Liturgy of the Church of England as to leave him\nno reason to doubt that a forced attendance during the chapel service\nwould be much more likely to prove injurious than beneficial to his own\nmind. Besides, he thought it not at all improbable that were he\ncompelled to attend, he might consider it his duty to interrupt the\nservice, and publicly to protest against a mode of worship which he\ndeemed unscriptural. Under these circumstances his attendance at chapel\nwas not enforced. He frequently prayed and sang hymns, and when the\norder was relaxed by which strangers were prohibited from seeing him, he\nentered very freely into conversation with them. He still pretended to\nbe favoured with extraordinary visions. On one occasion he said he\ndreamed that two angels appeared to him in prison, one of whom told him\nto apply his lips to the tip of his wings, which he did, when he was\nimmediately conveyed beyond the walls of his prison.\n\nHis brother arrived in York about ten days before the Assizes commenced,\nto make preparations for his defence. The defence intended to be set up\nwas insanity; and a number of witnesses were collected with a view to\nsupport this plea. Dr. Wake, at the request of his brother, visited him\non Friday, the 20th. Up to this period his conduct had been extremely\nmild, and his feelings composed; but a little change had been observed\nfor a day or two previous, and that night, about twelve o'clock, he\nattempted to make his escape. He slept in what was called the Hospital\nRoom--a room in which there were two beds, a person who was appointed as\nhis guard sleeping in one of them, and Martin in the other. The guard\nfell asleep about half-past eleven o'clock, and was soon after awoke by\na knocking, apparently outside the room. Not apprehending anything, he\nwent to sleep again; and Martin, having torn his bed-rug into lengths,\ntied them together, and formed a rope about nine yards long. He fastened\nthis round his ankles, and having on only his shirt and his drawers, he\nascended the chimney. An iron grate which was fixed in near the top\nprevented him, however, from getting to the outside of the prison, and\nhe was obliged to descend again. He then placed his sooty shirt under\nthe bed, swept the soot into the same place, and put on his flannel\ndress, and retired to bed. The attendant, on awaking about two o'clock,\nfound him up, but he soon lay down again; and both rose at half-past six\no'clock. Almost as soon as the door was opened Martin bolted out, and\nwent into the yard. His attendant, alarmed, followed him, and found him\nwashing himself. The state of the room and of his person, together with\ntwo bricks being laid in the fire-place, proved the fact that an escape\nhad been attempted. Indeed, when charged with it, he did not deny it. He\nsaid, if he had been a smaller person he should have effected his\nescape; but that it was the \"will of God\" he should make the attempt,\nand be frustrated.\n\nOf course, after this, a closer watch was kept upon the actions of the\nprisoner.\n\nOn Monday, March 23rd, he was brought before Mr. Justice Bayley at the\nGuildhall, and true bills were found against him for arson and\nsacrilege. He is described during the examination at the Guildhall as\nhaving been perfectly placid, and as having smiled occasionally.\n\nWhen the Court adjourned for rest and refreshment to the Mansion House\nduring the proceedings, he engaged in conversation with the parties near\nhim, and laughed at their observations. A lady said to him--\"In\ndestroying that beautiful pile of buildings you inflicted no real\npunishment on its clergy.\"\n\nMartin laughed, and answered--\"Eh, but it may mak' them stand and\nconsider their ways. All those who are really converted will think I've\ndone reight enuff.\"\n\nThe trumpets soon after sounded, heralding the approach of the judge.\nThe prisoner said--\"Hark, how the watchman cries. Oh! attend to the\nsound.\" The crowd was so dense in the hall that it was with difficulty a\npassage could be made for his lordship. Martin laughed, and observed to\nMr. Kilby, \"They'll have t' ould man down.\" A gentleman asked him if he\nwas not afraid. He said, \"No, not at all.\"\n\nThe populace entirely filled the hall and part of the yard; and Jonathan\nturned his face towards them, frequently laughing, and talking to those\nwith whom he came immediately in contact. He said he \"believed he was\nthe most righteous man in court\"; adding, \"I have made as much noise as\nBuonaparte ever did. I think this is a very throng day.\" He then turned\nround to the counsel and reporters, and said, \"I keep them very busy; I\nhave given them all a job. I'll put their hands in by-and-bye.\" When the\njudge returned he said, \"Here's t' ould man coming again.\" He seemed\nquite pleased at being the object of such universal interest, and\nrepeatedly laughed at the attempts of the people to get a sight of him.\n\nThe trial of Jonathan Martin took place in the Crown Court of York\nCastle before Mr. Baron Hullock, on Monday, March 30. The Court was\ncrowded. When placed at the bar, and the first charge, that of having\nfeloniously set fire to the Cathedral Church of St. Peter's, York, had\nbeen read to Martin by the clerk of arraigns, and he had been asked the\nusual question whether he were \"guilty or not guilty,\" he placed himself\nin a theatrical attitude, and said, \"It was not me, my lord, but my God\ndid it. It is quite common to Him to punish to the third and fourth\ngeneration, and to show mercy to all that fear Him and keep His\ncommandments.\"\n\nA plea of \"Not guilty\" was entered.\n\nThe second indictment was then read over to him, charging him with\nfeloniously stealing a quantity of crimson velvet and gold fringe and\ntwo gold tassels, the property of the Dean and Chapter of the Cathedral\nand Metropolitical Church of York. He was asked whether he was guilty or\nnot guilty. Throwing out his left hand, he replied--\n\n\"My God gave me that for my hire. The Lord gave the silk to mak' a robe,\nlike David the King, and the velvet to mak' a cap, and the tassels I\ntook from the pulpit to hang down over my right and left ear.\"\n\nTHE CLERK OF INDICTMENTS.--\"Are you guilty or not guilty?\"\n\nMARTIN.--\"I had it given me for my hire.\"\n\nThis was taken as a plea of \"Not guilty;\" and Mr. Baron Hullock\naddressing him, said, \"You will be tried to-morrow morning at nine\no'clock.\" He bowed, and said, \"Very well, my lord;\" and was removed from\nthe bar.\n\nThe crier of the Court then announced, at the desire of the judge, that\nthe trial of Jonathan Martin would not take place till Tuesday morning\nat nine o'clock.\n\nOn Tuesday, March 31st, the Court was as crowded as on the preceding\nday, and great confusion was the result; this seemed to cause Martin\nmuch amusement, and he laughed repeatedly at the struggles of the crowd\nat the door, and leaped on a seat to observe it.\n\nAfter the hearing of the evidence, the substance of which has been\nincorporated in the narrative, Jonathan Martin was called upon for his\ndefence. Martin, who had become very listless during the examination,\nseemed at this moment full of animation, and in a very vehement manner\nuttered in broad Northern dialect the following words in his defence:--\n\n\"The first impression that I had was by two particular dreams, sir; and\nafter I had written five letters to warn the clergy. I think the last I\nwrote was a very severe one. I believe I wrote in it all the curses of\nthe Scripture to warn them, and likewise signed my name to every letter,\nand the place I lodged at, No. 60, Aldgate. I never received any\nletters, which I was anxious to have from these clergymen, to speak to\nthem by mouth, but there was found none among them that dared to answer\nme. I prayed to the Lord what I was to do. The next night I dreamt that\na wonderful thick cloud came from heaven and rested upon the Minster.\"\n[Here the prisoner gave a long account of his dream, mentioned above,\nand about the cloud resting over the house.] He continued:--\"The house\nwas so shook that it awoke me from sleep. I was astonished, and began to\nask the Lord what it meant. I felt a voice inwardly speak that the Lord\nhad chosen me to destroy the Cathedral for the wrong that was doing by\nthe clergy in going to plays, and balls, and card-tables, and dinners.\nDifferent things impressed my mind that the Lord had chosen me, because\nthe house shook and trembled. I thought it resembled the pillar of\nsmoke, and fulfilled the prophecy of Joel, that God would pour out His\nSpirit upon all flesh, and the old men should see visions, and the young\nmen dream dreams, and that there should be signs in the heavens, blood\nand fire, and vapour and smoke. I thought that I should be fulfilling\nthe word of God, and it was so impressed on my mind I had no rest night\nor day; for I found the Lord had determined to have me to show this\npeople a warning to flee from the wrath to come. I was rather at a loss,\nand astonished about my wife lest she should attack me, for I could not\ndo it without being all night from her. After I had considered a while\nand got everything in order, I began to think it was impossible for me\nto do it, as if I was away without my wife knowing where, she might\nconceive I was about the Cathedral, and come and put me out. Therefore I\nthought of this, to take my wife's ring off her finger, and tie her over\nto this concern, which I did, as I have mentioned before, and the\ncircumstance of my wife's keeping the vow. After I told her the\ncircumstance she was much grieved, and strove to get me away to Leeds,\nto get me from the purpose I had informed her of. We went to Leeds and\nstayed a few days there, but I could get no rest to my mind till I had\naccomplished the deed. I was obliged to take leave of her on the\nSaturday morning. I had a severe contest between flesh and blood. It was\na sair contest, especially when she asked what was to become of her, and\nof my child Richard I had at school at Lincoln. I thought she would have\nnailed me to the spot; but after a moment a passage of Scripture struck\nmy ears, and it cried out like a whisper, 'What thou doest, do quickly.'\nI heard another--'He that loveth father or mother more than me is not\nworthy of me.' And I heard a third whisper--'Even thine own life.' I\ntore myself from her arms. I said--'Lord, not my will, but thine be\ndone.' I then felt the love of God in my heart. I thought I would go to\nTadcaster, and took twenty books with me. When I got them the Spirit\ntold me to go forward. I had no money to keep me over the Sunday. I had\nonly fourpence-halfpenny.\" The prisoner then gave a minute detail of his\nproceedings, and the different expedients resorted to in order to set\nfire to the building, which he described as having been a work of great\nlabour and difficulty. He said, at the evening service he was \"very much\nvexed at hearing them sing the prayers and amens; he thought the prayer\nof the heart came from the heart, and that they had no call for\nprayer-books.\" He observed--\"The organ then made such a buzzing noise, I\nthought, 'Thou shalt buzz no more--I'll have thee down to-night.' Well,\"\nhe continued, \"they were all going out, and I lay me down aside of the\nbishop, round by the pillar.\" [The prisoner concealed himself behind a\ntomb.] \"I lay here till all went out. I thought I heard the people\ncoming down from ringing the bells; they all went out, and then it was\nso dark that I could not see my hand. Well, I left the bishop, and came\nout and fell upon my knees, and asked the Lord what I was to do first,\nand he said--'Get thy way up into the belfry and cut a rope;' and I had\nnever been there, and I went round and round; I had a sort of a guess of\nthe place from hearing the men, as I thought, come down. Then the Spirit\nsaid, 'Strike a light.' And I then struck a light with a flint and razor\nthat I had got, and some tinder that I had brought from my landlord's. I\nsaw there were plenty of ropes: then I cut one, and then another; but I\nhad no idea they were so long, and I kept draw, draw, and the rope came\nup till I daresay I had near 100 feet. I have been a sailor, and thought\nto myself, this will make a man-rope, a sort of scaling-rope, and I tied\nknots in it. Aye, this is it, I know it well enough (pointing to the\nrope which lay upon the table). So I went down to the body of the\nCathedral, and bethought me how I should go inside. I thought if I did\nso, by throwing the rope over the organ, I might set it _ganging_, and\nthat would spoil the job. So I made an end of the rope fast, and went\nhand-over-hand over the gates, and got down on the other side, and fell\non my knees, and prayed to the Lord, and He told me that do what I would\nthey would take me. Then I asked the Lord what I was to do with the\nvelvet, and He told me,\" (the prisoner here repeated what he had before\nstated in his plea about the robe, cap, and tassels.) \"The fringe, I\nthought, would do for my hairy jacket that I have at Lincoln. I have a\nvery good sealskin one there; I wish I had it with me, that I might show\nit you. Then I got all ready. Glory to God! I never felt so happy; but I\nhad a hard night's work of it, particularly with a hungry belly. Well, I\ngot a bit of wax-candle, and I set fire to one heap, and with the\nmatches I set fire to the other. I then tied up the things that the Lord\nhad given me for my hire in this very handkerchief that I have in my\nhand.\" He then observed that he had \"hard work\" while engaged in making\nhis preparations; \"but,\" said he, \"I had a glorious time of it; and many\na time I called 'Glory be to God' in a way which I wonder they did not\nhear on the outside.\" He left the pincers, he said, because the old man\nwith whom he lodged could not afford to lose them, and he knew he would\nget them again. He thought it a work of merit to burn prayer-books and\nmusic-books, but not to burn the Word of God, and he appeared to regret\nthat he could not save the large Bible by getting it over the gates and\nputting it outside. He detailed the particulars of his journey to the\nNorth; and described himself as having, from his arrival at York till he\nreached Northallerton, had very little food, but \"t' Lord refreshed my\nsoul on t' road wi' t' snow upon t' ground.\" He then went on with his\nstory till he reached Mr. Kell's house, and \"t' Hexham man came, tapped\nme on t' shoulder, and took me to t' lock-up.\" He concluded, after\nspeaking twenty minutes--\"I am almost tired of talking, but I will\nefterwards tell ye a bit more.\"\n\nA minute or two after, he said to the reporters--\"An' you have been\nwriting down what I said--I think I talked o'er fast for thee!\" He then\nespied one of his publications, and said--\"I see the'se gotten one of my\nbukes. I wrote mysen at different times, and have sold 10,000 copies.\"\n\nThe defence set up for the prisoner by Mr. Brougham, acting for Jonathan\nMartin's brother, was that Jonathan had perpetrated the deed when in an\nunsound state of mind. The jury returned the verdict--\"We are of opinion\nthat he set fire to the Cathedral, being at the time insane, or of\nunsound mind.\"\n\nBaron Hulloch:--\"Then your verdict must be _not guilty_ on the ground of\ninsanity; and the prisoner must remain in close custody during his\nMajesty's pleasure.\"\n\nMartin was highly irritated at the line of defence adopted by Mr.\nBrougham; but that some suspicion of his lunacy was entertained by\nhimself at an early period appears from his own words in his\nautobiography, written before he set fire to York Minster:--\"The devil\nsuggested to me that the people would think me mad. My wife endeavoured\nto comfort me, as she feared for my head.\"\n\nAfter the sentence he was handcuffed and conveyed into the Castle. He\nmade no observation, but was evidently disappointed and dejected at the\nresult. For some days after this Martin seemed rather despondent, but he\nsoon resumed his activity, pacing up and down at the rate of five miles\nan hour, and at an average of twenty miles per day. He asked some one\nhe knew, who visited him, after his son, who was at school at Lincoln,\nand said--\"I'm thinking that God ha' used me varry badly.\"\n\nHe was removed from York Castle to St. Luke's Hospital in London, where\nhis conduct is described as having been generally rational. He seldom\nspoke on the subject of his crime. Towards his brother he entertained\nthe bitterest enmity for having had him proved insane. But he consoled\nhimself in his confinement with the thought, \"The Lord will take His own\ntime to deliver me, and that will not be long, for He has a great work\nwhich cannot be done without me.\"\n\nWhen he heard of the death of Baron Hulloch, before whom he was tried,\nand which took place the same year, he seemed much agitated, walked\nabout a while, as if talking to himself, but made no observation. It\ntranspired afterwards that he looked on this as a signal instance of the\nLord punishing one of his enemies.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] Authorities for this memoir:--\"A Full and Authentic Report of the\nTrial of Jonathan Martin for setting fire to York Minster; with an\nAccount of the Life of the Lunatic.\" York: Bellerby, 1829. His own Life,\nwritten by himself, 1828, 1829. \"York Castle in the Nineteenth Century;\nbeing an Account of the Principal Offences Committed in Yorkshire from\nthe year 1800.\" By L. T. Rede. Leeds, 1829.\n\n[25] In Yorkshire this prejudice exists strongly. A Yorkshireman once\npulled down my hand as I pointed to the Great Bear, saying that if I\npointed to a star I should be struck dead--it was a sin.\n\n[26] Neither Mr. Nicoll nor the other pensioner assert that Martin was\nguilty of a loose life. Perhaps this was only on the occasion of his\nvisiting London with the sailor who mentions it. Mr. Nicoll says Martin\nwas a moral man.\n\n[27] As an instance of Martin's carelessness of expression, I may say\nthat he relates in his own biography that he attended the love-feast at\nYarm half-an-hour after Communion at the church at Norton. Yarm is four\nmiles from Norton. This mistake arose from the Life being written from\nhis dictation by a second, who wrote half-an-hour per afternoon.\n\n[28] Nicholson, the keeper of the Gateshead Asylum before the Ortons,\nsaid at the trial: \"Martin was under my care eleven or twelve months. He\nconversed very rationally. I should not have thought him fit for a\nlunatic asylum.\"\n\n\n\n\nBROTHER JUCUNDUS.\n\n\nAt York were two religious houses--St. Mary's Abbey and St. Leonard's\nPriory--so close together that their walls abutted. The magnificent\nruins of St. Mary's Abbey Church, the heavy fragments of the Priory\nChurch of St. Leonard's, now stand in the gardens of the Botanical\nSociety, and resound no longer to the sound of psalmody, but to the\nstrains of the band playing marches, waltzes, and overtures.\n\nAt the close of the fifteenth century, before the Dissolution was\nthought of, there lived, and fasted, and prayed in St. Leonard's Priory\na fat monk named Brother Jucundus. He had not been long in the house. He\nhad joined the order in a fit of headache and remorse, after heavy\npotations on the occasion of the installation of a new Lord Mayor, and\nit is possible--probable, I suspect--that he somewhat regretted his\nprecipitancy. Yet there was no escape. The irrevocable vows were on him;\nfor life he was bound to eat only vegetables and bread, drink very small\nbeer, and sleep only six hours in the night.\n\nConvivial songs floated through his mind when he ought to have been\nchanting the Psalms of David, and the flavour of old sack rose upon his\npalate when he looked dolefully down at dinner-time into his mug of\n\"swipes.\"\n\nA year passed. The full paunch of Brother Jucundus began to subside; his\nfat cheeks to fall flabby, like the dewlaps of a cow; a dispirited\nexpression took the place of the watery twinkle which had once animated\nhis eye.\n\nCome what might, Brother Jucundus felt he must have a fling. He should\ndie without it. Just one jolification in the twelvemonth, and then he\nwould put up for the rest of the year with beans and cabbage, small beer\nand matins before dawn.\n\nYork fair approached. York fair! of all that is ravishing! The shows of\ndancing dogs, the whirli-go-rounds, the giantesses and dwarfs, the\n\"spice\" stalls, the drinking-booths! To York fair he must, he would go,\nif condemned to a bean and a thimbleful of water for fasting dinner ever\nafter.\n\nAnd go he did. He managed it in this way:--After dinner the whole\ncommunity took an hour's sleep. As they rose at midnight and dined at\nmid-day, this was very necessary, and the Priory was silent, save for\nsnores, from one o'clock to two. At half-past one Brother Jucundus stole\nto the porter's lodge, found the porter asleep in his chair--so took\npossession of his keys; went to the Prior's apartment; the Prior was\nasleep; pocketed a crown from his money-box, and left the Priory.\n\nAt two o'clock the community awoke. The porter missed his keys. The\nPrior missed the crown. All the monks were summoned into the\nchapter-house, and all missed Brother Jucundus.\n\nAfter long deliberation it was decided that two sedate and trusty\nbrothers should be sent out in quest of him.\n\nIt was a bright, sunny afternoon. Jucundus had enjoyed himself\namazingly. The amount of gingerbread horses and men he had consumed was\nprodigious. He had seen \"The Spotted Boy\" and \"The Bearded Woman;\" he\nhad gone round in the whirligig on the back of a wooden horse; he had\nshot for nuts at a mark, and won his pocket full, which he cracked every\nnow and then, and washed down with a draft of really good ale. And now,\njust now, he was going up in the boat of a great see-saw, with a\nfoaming tankard in his hand, his jolly red face illumined with glee, and\nhis ample throat thundering forth--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o,\n     Up, up, up we go-o-o;\"\n\n\nwhen his sweet jubilee was cut short by the sight of two monks from his\nPriory, with grim faces, making their way towards the see-saw.\n\nBrother Jucundus tried to scramble out, and in so doing tumbled down. He\nwas picked up. Either his libations, or the fall, or disinclination to\nreturn to St. Leonard's weakened his legs, and he tottered so much that\nthe reverend fathers were obliged to put him in a wheelbarrow and roll\nhim to the Priory gate. At the entrance stood the Prior with a brow of\nthunder.\n\nBrother Jucundus looked pleasantly up in his face from out of his\nconveyance, smiled benignantly, and piped--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o,\n     Up, up, up we go-o-o.\"\n\n\nThe chapter was still sitting, stern and threatening.\n\nThe helpless monk was trundled in his barrow into the midst of the\nassembled fathers, to be tried and sentenced.\n\nHe had been caught, _flagrante delicto_, in a see-saw, drunk, riotous,\nand incapable. Nevertheless, Brother Jucundus was not disposed to view\nhis case unfavourably. He looked round on the chapter with an\naffectionate glance from out of his watery eye, and the kindest, most\nwinsome smile on his ruddy cheeks.\n\nHe was asked at once for his defence. He murmured, with a hiccup--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o.\"\n\n\nThe sentence was unanimous, and unfalteringly given. He was to be\nwalled alive into a niche in the Priory cellar. The execution was to be\ncarried into effect immediately.\n\nAs he was helped down the cellar stairs, some glimmer of his situation\ncame in on the mind of Jucundus, and he sadly trolled out--\n\n\n     \"Down, down, down we go-o-o.\"\n\n\nA convenient niche was soon found. A cruse of water and a loaf of bread,\nwith cruel mockery, were placed in the recess. The ready hands of\nzealous monks mixed the mortar, brought the bricks, and in a quarter of\nan hour Brother Jucundus was firmly walled in to his living grave.\n\nNow for the first time did the extreme inconvenience of his position\nbreak upon the unfortunate monk. In the wheelbarrow he had been able to\nsit; here he was walled upright. It was cramping, intolerable. He\nkicked, he pressed backwards with all his might; and suddenly, with a\ncrash, the wall behind him gave way, and he rolled backwards over a heap\nof fallen bricks into a cellar.\n\nThe shock brought him completely to his senses. Where was he? Now he saw\nthe gravity of his offence--the terrible fate that had been prepared for\nhim. Escape was fortunately open to him. He ran up the cellar stairs,\nand found himself in the Abbey of St. Mary's. The cellars of the two\nmonasteries had adjoined; a wall alone had divided them. He had tumbled\nout of St. Leonard's into St. Mary's.\n\nSt. Mary's Abbey belonged to the severe Cistercian Order. Complete\nsilence was one of the rules of the society. Except on Easter day, no\nmonk might speak; on Easter day every one talked, and nobody listened.\nWhen Brother Jucundus accordingly appeared in the cloisters, no monk\nturned to look at him, or asked him \"how the saints he had come there?\"\nbut swept by him like a ghost. Jucundus made himself as much at home as\nwas possible. He took his place at table, ate and drank what was set\nbefore him, occupied a pallet in the common dormitory, lifted his voice\nin concert with the others in the Abbey choir, and nobody meddled with\nhim. The monks, if they thought about him at all--and it was against\ntheir rules to think of anything but their own spiritual\naffairs--thought he was a new monk just joined in the usual accepted\nmanner.\n\nA twelvemonth passed. It had been dull in St. Leonard's; it was duller\nin St. Mary's. The day came round on which York fair was held, the day,\nthat happy day, which had ended so dolorously.\n\nNow the day before York fair the office of cellarer fell vacant in St.\nMary's Abbey by the death of the monk who had presided over the wine and\nbeer. The Abbot by a happy inspiration committed the keys to Brother\nJucundus. Here was an opportunity! If York fair might not be enjoyed in\nthe market-place and the Pavement, he would at least commemorate it in\nthe Abbey cellar.\n\nOn York fair day, accordingly, Brother Jucundus, after having seen all\nhis fellow monks safe in bed, stole down the stone steps into the vault\nwhere were the barrels, with a tankard in his one hand and a lantern in\nthe other.\n\nSt. Mary's Abbey was often called upon to receive noble, even royal\nguests, and entertain them nobly and royally. It therefore contained\nbarrels of very prime wine and very strong audit ale. Brother Jucundus\nwent along the range of barrels trying one tipple after another. There\nis nothing so dangerous as mixing your drink, and this the reverend\nbrother discovered at last, for he sat down, unable to proceed further,\nby the best cask of Malmsey, and turning the tap, filled his tankard.\n\nNext day at noon the Cistercians assembled in the refectory for their\nfrugal repast, dinner and breakfast in one: and as they had been up\nsince midnight, and had eaten and drunk nothing for twelve hours, were\ntolerably hungry and dry. But the mugs were empty. At the Abbot's table\neven was neither wine nor beer. The silent fraternity bore with this\nsome time, but at last even the rules of the Order could not keep them\nperfectly silent. They shuffled with their feet, growled and grunted\ndiscontentedly. At last the Abbot, in a voice of thunder, shouted--\n\n\"I want my beer!\" and the example of the head becoming infectious,\n\"Beer, beer, beer! we all want our beer!\" resounded from every part of\nthe refectory.\n\n\"Where was the cellarer?\" Nobody knew. At last two brothers were\ncommissioned to go to the cellar and fetch ale. They presently returned\nwith awe-struck countenances, beckoned to the Abbot to follow them, and\nled the way along the cloisters down the cellar stairs. Curiosity,\nthough against the rule, was infectious, and all the monks crept _en\nqueue_ after the Abbot. When they reached the vault a shocking sight\npresented itself to their eyes. Brother Jucundus lay with his head\nagainst the butt of Malmsey, flourishing his tankard over his head, and\nfeebly, incoherently, trolling forth--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o,\n     Up, up, up we go-o-o.\"\n\n\nIt was too flagrant an offence to be passed over. A chapter of the Order\nwas at once constituted in the cellar itself. All the monks were\npresent. Unanimously it was decided that after solemn excommunication\nwith bell, book, and candle, the guilty brother should be walled up\nalive on the scene of his crime in that very cellar.\n\nThe awful scene of excommunication was proceeded with. It took some\ntime, and during the ceremony Brother Jucundus gradually resumed\nconsciousness--the fumes of Malmsey slowly evaporated. A convenient\nrecess was found, where a heap of crumbling bricks lay prostrate. It was\nthe identical nook out of which a year and a day before Brother Jucundus\nhad escaped into the Cistercian Order and Abbey of St. Mary.\n\nInto this niche therefore he was built. His terrible position had not,\nhowever, as yet forced itself on the monk's brain; he still tasted\nMalmsey, still was his heart buoyant, and with swelling lungs he roared\nforth his song--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o,\n     Up, up, up we go-o-o.\"\n\n\nNow, it happened that the clocks in St. Leonard's and St. Mary's\ndiffered by a quarter of an hour. That of St. Leonard's was slower than\nthat of St. Mary's. Consequently it was only just dinner-time in St.\nLeonard's Priory, and the cellarer, pitcher in hand, had just descended\nthe stairs, and was filling his vessel with small beer, when he heard\nclose to his ear, from behind the wall, a stentorian voice thunder\nforth--\n\n\n     \"In dulce jubilo-o-o,\n     Up, up, up we go-o-o.\"\n\n\nThe voice, the strain, the words were those of Brother Jucundus, who a\nyear and a day before had been immured at that very spot.\n\nDown went the pitcher, and away fled the monk--amazement, admiration in\nhis countenance, \"A miracle! a miracle!\" in his mouth--to the monks,\njust issuing from the church and the recitation of Sext and the office\nfor the dead around the body of their Prior, lately deceased, and that\nday to be buried.\n\nThe whole community rolled like a tidal wave down the cellar-stairs, and\nstood with breathless awe in a circle about the spot where twelve months\nand a day before they had walled in Brother Jucundus.\n\nIt was a miracle--there could be no doubt of it. Eager hands tore down\nthe wall, and revealed the reverend brother, hale and rosy as of yore,\nand at his side a loaf as fresh as when put in, and a pitcher still full\nto the brim.\n\nThere could be no doubt but that this was a special interposition to\nestablish the innocence of the monk, and to indicate to the community\nwho was to be their future Prior.\n\nWith one voice they shouted, \"Jucundus our Prior! Saint Jucundus our\nhead and father!\"\n\nOn the shoulders of the enthusiastic brethren the miraculous monk was\ncarried up-stairs and installed in the Prior's seat in the\nchapter-house.\n\nUnder him St. Leonard's jogged along very pleasantly, and he did much in\nhis long rule of the monastery for its discipline and good order, if not\nto justify, at least to excuse the dissolution which fell on it\nimmediately after his death.\n\n\n\n\nMARY BATEMAN,\n\nWITCH AND MURDERESS.\n\n\nMary Harker was the daughter of a small farmer at Aisenby, in the parish\nof Topcliffe, near Thirsk, where she was born in 1768. From an early age\nshe exhibited great quickness, which, instead of taking a direct course\nand developing into intelligence, was warped into low cunning.\n\nShe received, for one in her situation, a good education--was taught to\nread, and write, and cypher. But she very early showed a want of moral\nprinciple, very possibly because it was never instilled into her by her\nparents, and her first petty thefts having been pardoned or laughed at,\nshe grew bolder, and what had been occasional grew to be frequent, and\nmatured into a habit of peculation. Her father sent her into service at\nthe age of thirteen, in Thirsk, and for a while she either concealed or\ndid not yield to her propensity for theft. At all events, if she did\npilfer, she was neither suspected nor discovered.\n\nAt the age of twenty she left Thirsk for York, and after a year's\nsojourn in that city, was detected in an attempt at robbery, and ran\naway to Leeds, where, in 1788, she worked as a mantua-maker; but as her\nknowledge of dressmaking was imperfect--she had only acquired it during\nher twelvemonth at York, where her mistress had been a dressmaker--she\nwas able to work for the lower classes alone. She lived in Leeds for\nfour years, following this occupation and occasionally telling fortunes.\nHer professed calling admirably served to introduce dupes to her, and\nthe servant-girls for whom she worked not infrequently introduced her to\ntheir young mistresses.\n\nIn the year 1792 she married an honest, hard-working man named John\nBateman, who had made her acquaintance only three weeks previously. This\nman, there is no reason for believing, was, at first at all events, an\naccomplice in, or acquainted with, the crimes committed subsequently by\nhis wife, though afterwards it is scarcely possible to exculpate him\nfrom connivance in them.\n\nShe now began openly to profess fortune-telling, the removal of spells,\nthe power of controlling the future, &c., in which, however, she did not\nact in her own name, but as the deputy of Mrs. Moore, whom she\nrepresented as a person endowed with the supernatural powers belonging\nto the seventh child of a seventh child.\n\nWhether such a person existed or not was never ascertained, but it is\ncertain that Mary Bateman, at the outset of her career, had some\naccomplice, and she was from her youth fond of associating with gipsies\nand other vagrants, from whom she learned the art she afterwards\npractised.\n\nThe Batemans lodged in High Court Lane, Leeds, and she stole from a\nfellow-lodger a silver watch, a spoon of the same metal, and two\nguineas. The theft was discovered, and she was made to restore what she\nhad taken, but she was not prosecuted.\n\nSeveral charges of obtaining silk goods under various names of persons\nwith whom she was acquainted were made and substantiated at this time,\nbut the shopkeepers, with mistaken clemency, regarding her as a poor\nmilliner, forgave her.\n\nA poor man, a neighbour, who earned his living and supported his family\nwith the assistance of a horse and cart, sickened and died, leaving a\nwidow and four children, the eldest a boy about fifteen years of age.\nThe widow, who was only stepmother of the children, was persuaded by\nMary Bateman that the eldest boy meant to sell all the little property\nhis father had left, and appropriate the money to his own use, to\nprevent which she advised the mother to sell the horse, cart, and\nfurniture as soon as possible, and to quit Yorkshire. This advice the\ninfatuated woman took, turned everything into money, left a share with\nMary for the children, and departed. Mary Bateman appropriated the sum\nentrusted to her, and sent the children to the union.\n\nA gentleman living in Meadow Lane, in Leeds, bought a leg of mutton at\nthe shambles, and requested that it might be sent home immediately.\nMary, ever on the watch for her prey, hastened to the bridge over which\nthe butcher's boy had to pass, and when she saw him approach, made\ntowards him in a great hurry, pretending she was the gentleman's\nservant, scolded the boy for being so long upon the road, and taking the\nmutton by the shank, gave him a slap on the back, telling him she would\ncarry it home herself. It is needless to say that carry it home she did,\nbut not to the gentleman's house. When dinner-time came the joint had\nnot arrived. The gentleman went to his butcher to inquire about the\nneglect, but he was informed that the meat had been sent an hour ago,\nand was taken from the boy by a woman, whom the butcher described, and\nwhom the gentleman recollected to have seen at the stall when he was\nbuying the meat, and whose residence he luckily knew to be in the Old\nAssembly-room Yard, in Kirkgate. He accordingly posted down to her\nhouse, and the first object that presented itself to his eyes on\nentering it was his leg of mutton roasting before Bateman's fire. After\nupbraiding Mary, she agreed to pay for the mutton, and the matter was\nthus compromised.\n\nIn 1793 Bateman took a small house in Well's Yard, and furnished it\ndecently--by what means, unless from the proceeds of her frauds, it is\ndifficult to say, though it is due to the husband to admit that he was\nnever proved to be cognisant of any of her malpractices, and was\nsometimes the victim of them. She once went to his workshop and took\nwith her a letter representing that his father, who was then town-crier\nat Thirsk, was at the point of death.\n\nHer husband instantly set off for that town, and had scarcely entered it\nwhen he heard his father's voice in the market-place announcing an\nauction. He hurried back to Leeds to inform his wife of the hoax that\nhad been practised upon them; but on his return he found his house\nstripped of every article of furniture, which Mary had sold, in all\nprobability to hush up some robbery she had committed.\n\nAfter some time they jointly found means to get fresh furniture, and\nthey took in lodgers, one of whom, a Mr. Dixon, discovered Mary in the\nact of purloining money from his box. She was forced to refund it, and\nmake good several losses that Mr. Dixon had before sustained, but for\nwhich he had not been able to account.\n\nIn the year 1796 a tremendous fire broke out in a large manufactory in\nLeeds, and by the falling of one of the walls many unfortunate people\nlost their lives. This calamity Mary Bateman turned to her own\nadvantage. She went to Miss Maude, a lady known for her charitable\ndisposition, and telling her that the child of a poor woman had fallen a\nvictim, and that she had not linen to lay the child out on, begged she\nwould lend her a pair of sheets. This request was complied with; but the\nsheets, instead of being turned to such a benevolent purpose, were\npledged at a pawnbroker's shop. Three similar instances occurred at the\nsame time, and all the sheets were disposed of in the same way. Nor did\nher frauds on the plea of this calamity end here. She went round the\ntown representing herself as a nurse at the General Infirmary, and\ncollecting all the old linen she could beg to dress the wounds, as she\nsaid, of the patients who had been brought into the infirmary, but in\nreality to dispose of them for herself.\n\nBateman, ashamed of the disgrace caused by his wife's conduct, entered\nthe supplementary militia, but he took with him his plague--his wife.\nAnd here a wide field opened for a woman of her disposition. She\npractised her old arts and learnt fresh ones. Of her exploits while in\nthis situation we have no information; but when she quitted the army\nwith her husband in the year 1796, on their return to Leeds, they took\nup their residence in Marsh Lane, near Timble Bridge. Mary then began to\npractise on a large scale. She herself, as she said, had no skill in\ncasting nativities or reading the stars, but a certain Mrs. Moore was a\nproficient in this art, and to Mrs. Moore she referred all knotty\npoints. It is hardly necessary to say that Mrs. Moore had no existence\nwhatever.\n\nThe first experiment in witchcraft was made upon a Mrs. Greenwood, whom\nshe attempted to persuade that she, Mrs. Greenwood, was in danger of\ncommitting suicide on account of domestic misfortunes, and that the\nskill of Mrs. Moore would be necessary to prevent so dire a catastrophe.\nNext she informed her that her husband, who was then from home, was\ntaken up for some offence, and placed in confinement; that four men had\nbeen set to watch him; and that if four pieces of gold, four pieces of\nleather, four pieces of blotting-paper, and four brass screws were not\nproduced that night, and placed in her hands to give to Mrs. Moore to\n\"screw down\" the guards, her husband would be a dead man before morning.\nIn vain did Mrs. Greenwood plead that she had no pieces of gold; this\ndifficulty Mrs. Bateman proposed to overcome by suggesting to her that\nshe might borrow or steal them; the latter proposal startled her\nintended dupe, and, fortunately for her, she had fortitude enough to\nemancipate herself from the witch's trammels.\n\nThe family of Barzillai Stead, a person who had been unsuccessful in\nbusiness, next became the object of Mary's iniquitous exactions. Upon\nthe husband's fears she contrived to work with so much success, by\nrepresenting the bailiffs to be in continual pursuit of him, that she\nobliged him to enlist, and to share his bounty with her and her\nimaginary wise-woman. Her next object was to arouse the jealousy of the\nwife: this she did by assuring her that it was the intention of\nBarzillai to take with him, when he went to his regiment, a young woman\nout of Vicar Lane, Leeds. In order to prevent this it became necessary\nto \"screw down\" the rival queen; this was to be effected by the agency\nof Mrs. Moore, but Mrs. Moore's screws would never drive without\nmoney--three half-crowns were to be produced for this purpose, and two\npieces of coal; the coals were to be placed at the woman's door in Vicar\nLane; they were then to be laid on the fire--the woman was to be thrown\ninto a sound sleep--the fire was to communicate to her clean clothes,\nwhich had been washed in contemplation of the intended journey, and, the\nclothes being consumed, she could not of course elope without them. The\nmorning after this charm had taken effect, Stead left Leeds to join his\nregiment, and left the imaginary woman of Vicar Lane behind him. Mary\nwas then left at liberty to play off the whole artillery of her frauds\nupon the unsuspecting wife of Stead. To enter into all the expedients\nshe adopted to fleece this poor woman would swell this article to an\ninconvenient length; suffice it to say that she obliged her to sell or\npawn every article in her house that would raise money, and drove her to\nsuch a state of desperation as to lead her victim to attempt suicide.\nWhile Mary Bateman was practising upon this woman, her dupe was\nconfined, and the Leeds Benevolent Society, finding her in a state of\ndestitution, determined to apply a guinea to the relief of her wants.\nThis sum was given to her in three payments of 7s., and out of this\nguinea Mary Bateman had the inhumanity to extort 18s. by persuading the\ncredulous woman that she would \"screw down\" the Benevolent Society, so\nas to force the managers to give her more alms.\n\nThe furniture and clothes were now all gone, and nothing remained but a\nfew tools left by Stead when he went into the army, but even these could\nnot escape the avarice of Mary Bateman, who was never at a loss for\nexpedients to effect her purposes. She persuaded Stead's wife that it\nwas in the power of Mrs. Moore--Mrs. Moore again!--to \"screw down\" all\nthe officers in her husband's regiment, and so to screw them that they\ncould not avoid giving him his discharge; but then money must be raised,\nand how, when nothing remained in the house but the tools? They of\ncourse must be sent to the pawnbroker's and every farthing they fetched\nwas paid to Mary to get her friend Moore to interpose her kind offices\nfor the liberation of the soldier. This charm failed, as the officers\nwere too much for the witch.\n\nMary Bateman next became acquainted with a tradesman's wife of the name\nof Cooper. She persuaded this woman that her husband was about to\nabscond, and take with him all the property he could raise, and that she\nmight not be left quite destitute, Mary prevailed upon her to convey as\nmuch of the furniture as she could out of the house, including an\nexcellent clock, and to lodge all this furniture at Bateman's. There it\ndid not remain long. Mary took it all to the pawnbroker's, got for it\nwhat it would fetch, and left the abused husband and his credulous wife\nto redeem it at their leisure.\n\nBlown upon as the credit of Mrs. Bateman's witchcraft then was, she\nremoved from Timble Bridge to the Black Dog Yard, at the Bank. While she\nlived here one of her hens laid a wonderful egg, remarkable for bearing\nthis inscription--\n\n\n     \"CHRIST IS COMING.\"\n\n\nBut as so singular a phenomenon was not likely to obtain all the credit\nnecessary for carrying into effect her fraudulent intentions unless\nsupported by some kind of proof, she had the ingenuity and cruelty to\ncontrive that two other eggs, bearing similar inscriptions, should be\ndeposited in the nest by the same unfortunate hen. Persons flocked from\nall quarters to see the wonderful eggs, and they who dared to disbelieve\nstood a good chance of being maltreated by the credulous multitude.\nMary's motive for producing those eggs is not well made out, but it is\nsupposed that she had at that time a notion of following the example of\nJoanna Southcote, as she was then in the habit of attending the meetings\nof the sect founded by that extraordinary woman. Mary succeeded in\nrealising no inconsiderable sum by means of these eggs, for she made\nthose who came to see the miracle pay a penny each for the gratification\nof their curiosity.\n\nShortly after, the subject of this narrative contrived to ingratiate\nherself, as she well knew how, into the good graces of a family of the\nname of Kitchin, two maiden ladies of the Quaker persuasion, who kept a\nsmall linen-draper's shop near St. Peter's Square, in Leeds. There is\nevery reason to suppose that she had deluded these unfortunate young\nwomen with some idea of her skill in looking into futurity, or, at\nleast, that some of her friends--a Mrs. Moore or a Miss Blythe\nperhaps--could read their destiny in the stars! For some time Mary was\nthe confidant of the Misses Kitchin. She was frequently at their house;\nshe assisted in their shop; and her interference extended even to their\ndomestic concerns. In the early part of September, 1803, one of the\nyoung women became very ill; Mary Bateman procured for her medicines, as\nshe said, from a country doctor. These medicines, like those\nadministered afterwards to Perigo and his unfortunate wife, were of\npowerful efficacy, and in the course of less than one week Miss Kitchin\ndied. In the meantime her mother, hearing of her dangerous situation,\ncame from Wakefield, and though in good health when she left home, the\nmother as well as the second daughter took the same illness, and in a\nfew days both were laid in the grave, at the side of their ill-fated\nrelation.\n\nPrevious to the death of one of the sisters a female friend of the\nfamily was sent for, and when she arrived the poor sufferer seemed\noppressed with some secret that she wished to communicate, but her\nstrength failing her, she expired without being able to do so.\n\nOnly ten days sufficed to carry off the mother and two sisters. The\ncomplaint of which they died was said to be _cholera_--a complaint, let\nit be remembered, attended by symptoms resembling those produced by\npoison. It did not, however, suit the purposes of Mary Bateman to give\nthe disorder so mild a name. She represented it to be the plague, and\nthe whole neighbourhood shunned the place, and would as soon have\nentered the most infectious wards of a pest-house as this dwelling.\nMary alone, in the face of all danger, was ready to afford her friendly\noffices; and when the persons composing this unfortunate family were\nburied, the door was closed, and a padlock placed upon it.\n\nA physician of eminence in the town, on being called in to visit the\nlast surviving sister, was so strongly impressed with the opinion that\nher sickness and sudden death had been caused by poison, that he\nexamined with much care many of the vessels in the house, inquired if\nany water for poisoning flies had been used, and expressed a wish to\nopen the body; but the family being all dead, and no persons at hand who\nthought themselves authorised to give that permission, the corpse was\ninterred unopened, and with it the opportunity for detection. During the\ntime of the fatal illness in the Misses Kitchin's house, Mary Bateman\nwas unremitting in her attention; she administered their food, and from\nher hands the medicine was conveyed to their lips. Some time after the\ndeath of these ladies their creditors looked over their effects, when it\nwas found that their house and shop had been plundered of almost\neverything they contained: and to add to the embarrassment of their\naffairs, the shop books were missing. The creditors only divided\neightpence in the pound.\n\nTwo young women, then servants in Leeds, had long been in Mary's toils,\nand she had fleeced them pretty handsomely; and not only them, but their\nfriends, for she had prevailed upon one of them to rob her mother of\nseveral articles, and amongst the rest of a large family Bible. When she\nhad got all from them that could be extorted without awakening the\nsuspicions of their friends, she sent both these deluded girls, at\ndifferent times, to seek service in Manchester, cautioning them, if they\nmet, not to speak to each other, on pain of breaking the charm. When\nthey arrived in Manchester, Mary contrived to keep up a correspondence\nwith them, and got from them even the clothes they wore, so that they\nwere almost reduced to a state of nakedness. One day these poor\ndestitute girls met in the streets of Manchester; the meeting being\nquite unexpected, they both burst into tears, and their emotions became\nso violent that further concealment was out of the question. They\nthereupon related to each other their sad history, and by comparing\nnotes, found that they were both the dupes of Mary Bateman. They then\nwrote to Leeds, and laid their case before their friends, who interfered\nin their behalf, and got from the witch part of the property she had so\nwickedly extorted.\n\nThe witch also contrived to ingratiate herself into the good opinion of\nanother young woman, and got from her several sums of money for the\npurpose of curing her of an \"evil wish\" laid upon her by an old\nbeggar-woman whom she had refused to relieve. The cure was to be\neffected by Miss Blythe, to whom a pocket-handkerchief was to be sent.\nIn due course the directions arrived, and Miss Blythe, who, like Mrs.\nMoore, could never put her charms in motion without money, required that\ndifferent sums, amounting in all to five guineas, should be produced,\nand as much wearing apparel as was worth about the same sum; but this\nmoney and these clothes were only to be kept till the evil wish was\nremoved, and then to be restored to the owner. The period fixed for the\nopening of the mysterious bags, in which these articles were deposited,\nhad arrived, when one day a person brought a fruit-pie to the young\nwoman, telling her that her sweetheart had sent it. This pie she tasted,\nand let a fellow-servant partake with her, but though very nice in\nappearance, the taste was hot and offensive; they in consequence\ndesisted from eating it, and the young woman took it down to Mary\nBateman to ask her opinion. Mary affected that she knew nothing herself\nof such things, but she would send it to the sagacious Miss Blythe.\nThis, as the simple girl supposed, was done, and Miss Blythe informed\nher that it was very well she had not eaten much of the pie, for if she\nhad, it would have been her last, as it was \"full of poison!\" Soon after\nthe girl opened the bags, and found that her guineas had turned to\ncopper and her clothes to old rags!\n\nIn the year 1807, Bateman, who, owing to the conduct of Mary, never\nremained long in one place, removed into Meadow Lane. While living in\nthis situation a very extraordinary circumstance occurred, and it is not\nimprobable that Mary was in some way privy to the transaction. A man of\nthe name of Joseph Gosling, a cloth-dresser, had been long out of\nemploy, and his family, which consisted of a wife and four children, was\nreduced to great extremity. One day the whole of the family had been out\nfor some time, when one of the children, a boy about seven years of age,\nreturned, and found on the table a small cake; the mother and other\nchildren soon after returned, and partook of this cake. They immediately\nbecame so sick as to render medical aid necessary. Mr. Atkinson, the\nsurgeon, was then sent for, and by administering emetics saved the lives\nof the family. On analysing the cake it was found to contain a large\nquantity of arsenic. It is impossible to say why or by whom this\npoisonous bread was placed in the situation in which the boy found it,\nand the only reason why it is supposed to have been placed there by Mary\nBateman is the knowledge that poisonous drugs were much in use by her,\nthat human life was in her estimation of little value; and that the\ncries or tricks of the children may have inconvenienced her.\n\nIn the month of April, 1807, Judith Cryer, a poor old washerwoman, and a\nwidow, was occasioned uneasiness by the misconduct of her grandson, a\nboy about eleven years of age. Winifred Bond, a person who had some\ndealings with Mary Bateman, either as her dupe or her agent, recommended\nthe old woman to apply to Mary, as a person who could remove the cause\nof her distress. Judith consented to consult her; Mary soon found out\nthe foible of the poor woman. An inordinate fear about the future fate\nof this darling grandson was the spring in Judith's mind on which the\nwitch found she could play with success. She recommended that an\napplication should be made to Miss Blythe, a lady of her acquaintance,\nwho she said lived at Scarboro', but who, in fact, had no more real\nexistence than the invisible Mrs. Moore. She then undertook to write to\nher dear friend. In a few days an answer was received from this lady,\nwhich shocked Judith beyond description. The letter contained the\nrepresentation of a gallows, with a rope dangling from it. The letter\nalso stated that the grandson would be executed before he attained the\nage of fourteen years, unless the catastrophe was prevented by the old\nwoman raising four guineas, and applying them as Miss Blythe should\ndirect. To raise such a sum seemed as impossible to poor Judith as to\npay the National Debt. At last, however, she contrived to scrape it\ntogether with the utmost difficulty. When raised, it was, as Mary\npretended, to remain unapplied till she received further instructions\nfrom Miss Blythe. The instructions at length arrived, and ordered that\nthree guineas should be put into a leathern bag, and sewed up in\nJudith's bed, where they were to remain untouched till the boy had\nattained the age of fourteen. The former part of these directions were,\nas far as concerned Judith, faithfully complied with--Mary, as she\nthought, deposited the money as directed; but when the witch was\nafterwards apprehended, Judith opened her bed, took out the bag, and\nfound it empty.\n\nMary having embraced the faith of the followers of Joanna Southcote,\ngot introduced to the houses of many of them, and invariably robbed\nthem: sometimes by practising on their fears, and at others by absolute\ntheft.\n\nIn the year 1808, Bateman's family removed to Camp Field, in Water Lane,\nand there Mary met with a new and profitable subject for the exercise of\nher villainous arts. The wife of James Snowden, a neighbour, had a sort\nof presentiment that one of her children would be drowned; but whether\nthis notion proceeded from morbid fancies originating in her own mind,\nor was suggested to her by Mary Bateman, is not known. Mary Bateman\noffered her services, or rather the services of Miss Blythe, to save the\nchild from a watery grave. Miss Blythe was then represented as living at\nThirsk, and a letter was received from her, directing that James\nSnowden's silver watch should be sewed up in the bed by Mary Bateman.\nThis was accordingly done.\n\nNext, money to the amount of twelve guineas was required. Letters were\nreceived from Miss Blythe, directing that this money should also be sewn\nup in the bed, to be restored when the charm had taken effect.\nBy-and-bye it was found necessary to increase the terrors, and in\naddition to the death of the son, Miss Blythe suggested that ill would\nbefall the daughter, unless the family left Leeds, and removed to\nBowling, near Bradford. The bed containing the charms they were allowed\nto take with them, but it was thought expedient to leave a considerable\nportion of their property in the house, and deposit the key with\nBateman.\n\nAt length they expressed a wish to be allowed to rip open the bed and\ntake out the watch and money, but the proper time, they were told, had\nnot yet arrived; and before the property was taken out, the family of\nSnowden was to take a DOSE, which was at that time in preparation for\nthem, and was to have been administered about the end of October, 1808.\nHappily for them this dose was never taken.\n\nAt this juncture, so critical to the family in question, Mary Bateman\nwas apprehended for the frauds committed on William Perigo's family, and\nthe wilful murder of Perigo's wife, by administering poison, of which\nshe had died nearly two years before. This event naturally created a\ngood deal of interest, and a narrative of the transaction was published\nin the _Leeds Mercury_ of the 22nd of October. On the evening of that\nday Snowden was sitting in a public-house at Bradford when the _Mercury_\nwas produced, and the narrative read by some person in the company.\nSnowden heard the relation with violent emotion, and as soon as it was\nfinished, started from his chair and hurried home with all possible\nexpedition. His first care was to give his wife a hasty and confused\nnotion of the imposition that had been practised upon them, and next to\nunrip the folds of the bed; when, instead of watch and money, he\ndiscovered--a coal! He then went to Leeds, and found his house, which he\nhad left in the care of Mary Bateman, plundered of almost everything it\nhad contained, and on a search-warrant being procured, part of the\nproperty was found in Bateman's house.\n\nJohn Bateman, the husband, was in consequence apprehended and committed\nto prison, to take his trial for the offence, either as a principal or\nas an accomplice. At the following Sessions his trial came on, and he\nwas acquitted.\n\nA brother of Mary Bateman, who had deserted from his Majesty's navy, had\ncome with his wife to live in Leeds, and lodged with Bateman. Mary\nfinding that her lodgers were a restraint upon her, determined to be\nquit of them. For this purpose she wrote, or procured to be written, a\nletter to her sister-in-law, stating that her father was on the point\nof death, and summoning her to attend to receive his last blessing. The\naffectionate daughter answered the summons instantly, but when she\narrived at Newcastle, where her father lived, she found him in perfect\nhealth. In the absence of his wife, Mary contrived to persuade her\nbrother that she was inconstant, and was plunging him into debt, and so\nfar succeeded as to induce him to write to his wife and tell her she\nneed not return, for he would not receive her. She did, however, return,\nand convinced him of her innocence; when on examining their trunks it\nwas discovered that Mary had, in the wife's absence, stolen their\nclothes, and disposed of them for what they would bring. This, as might\nbe expected, roused the brother's indignation; but Mary soon got him out\nof the way, for she actually went before the magistrates and lodged an\ninformation against him as a deserter. He was in consequence obliged to\nquit Leeds, and afterwards entered military service. This did not,\nhowever, content Mary. She wrote to his mother, and told her that her\nson had been apprehended as a deserter, and that if she could send \u00a310,\na substitute was ready to go, and would be accepted in his stead. The\nten pounds were sent, and Mary pocketed the money.\n\nOn the 21st of October, 1808, Mary Bateman was apprehended by the Chief\nConstable of Leeds on a charge of fraud, and was, after undergoing\nseveral long examinations before the magistrates of the borough,\ncommitted to York Castle on suspicion of the wilful murder of Rebecca\nPerigo, of Bramley.\n\nA poor family of the name of Perigo, living at Bramley, near Leeds, had\nbeen defrauded by Mary Bateman of money to the amount of nearly \u00a370, and\nof clothes and furniture to a considerable amount. These frauds were\ncommitted under the pretence of engaging Miss Blythe to relieve Mrs.\nPerigo from the effects of an \"evil wish\" under which she was supposed\nto labour. The money was all represented as sewn up in the bed, and was\nto be at the disposal of the Perigos when the spell was broken. But when\nthe appointed time for restoring the property approached, Mary Bateman\nconveyed poison to Perigo and his wife in their food. The woman died,\nbut providentially Perigo recovered, and was able to bring the poisoner\nto justice.\n\nIt is unnecessary to give the particulars of the series of extortions\ncommitted on the Perigos. When nothing more could be extracted from the\nunfortunate people, and Mary saw that the time was come when she must\nrefund or be exposed, the following letter reached her victims,\npurporting to come from Miss Blythe:--\n\n\n     \"My Dear Friends,--\n\n     \"I am sorry to tell you you will take an illness in the month of\n     May next, either one or both, but I think both; but the work of God\n     must have its course. You will escape the chambers of the grave;\n     though you seem to be dead, yet you will live. Your wife must take\n     half a pound of honey down from Bramley to Mary Bateman's at Leeds,\n     and it must remain there till you go down yourself, and she will\n     put in such like stuff as I have sent from Scarboro' to her, and\n     she will put it in when you come down and see her yourself, or it\n     will not do. You must eat pudding for six days, and you must put in\n     such like stuff as I have sent to Mary Bateman from Scarboro', and\n     she will give your wife it, but you must not begin to eat of this\n     pudding while I let you know. If ever you find yourselves sickly at\n     any time, you must take each of you a teaspoonful of this honey. I\n     will remit \u00a320 to you on the 20th day of May, and it will pay a\n     little of what you owe. You must bring this down to Mary\n     Bateman's, and burn it at her house when you come down the next\n     time.\"\n\n\nThe rest shall be told by Perigo himself, as given in his evidence at\nthe trial.\n\nPursuant to the directions in this letter, witness stated that his wife\ntook the honey to Mary Bateman's; that when she returned she brought six\npowders with her. The witness went to Mary Bateman's house, and talked\nto her about the letter he had received, and said it was a queerish\nthing that Miss Blythe should be able to foresee that they should be\nill. Mary explained that she (Miss Blythe) knew everything relating to\nthem, and that if they followed her directions all would be well. Mary\nalso told him that they were to do with the powders each day as they\nwere marked, or it would kill them all. Mrs. Bateman then mixed a powder\nin the honey in his presence, and he took the honey home. On the 5th of\nMay witness received another letter from Miss Blythe, but after reading\nit over one or twice, and copying a few lines from it, he destroyed it.\nHe said the copy he had taken was also destroyed. The witness was then\ndesired to state the contents of this letter, which he recited, as he\ndid all the letters that had been destroyed, from memory, as follows:--\n\n\n     \"My Dear Friends,--\n\n     \"You must begin to eat pudding on the 11th of May, and you must put\n     one of the powders in every day as they are marked, for six days;\n     and you must see it put in yourself every day, or else it will not\n     do. If you find yourself sickly at any time, you must not have no\n     doctor, for it will not do, and you must not let the boy that used\n     to eat with you eat of that pudding for six days; and you must\n     make only just as much as you can eat yourselves; if there is any\n     left it will not do. You must keep the door fast as much as\n     possible, or you will be overcome by some enemy. Now think on and\n     take my directions, or else it will kill us all. About the 25th of\n     May I will come to Leeds, and send for your wife to Mary Bateman's.\n     Your wife will take me by the hand, and say, 'God bless you that I\n     ever found you out.' It has pleased God to send me into the world\n     that I might destroy the works of darkness. I call them the works\n     of darkness because they are dark to you. Now, mind what I say,\n     whatever you do. This letter must be burnt in straw on the hearth\n     by your wife.\"\n\n\nThe witness proceeded to state that in consequence of these directions,\non the 11th of May (Monday) they began to eat of the pudding, a powder\nbeing put in each day as marked on the paper, and that they found no\nparticular taste in the pudding for five days. And that on Saturday the\nwitness was coming to Leeds without seeing the powder put in, when his\nwife reminded him that it was necessary he should see it put in. Witness\nsaid his wife had made the pudding earlier than usual for that purpose.\nWitness saw the powder put in, which was four or five times larger than\nany of the other powders. On his return from Leeds, about twenty minutes\nafter twelve o'clock, his wife had prepared a small cake from some of\nthe dough which was left after making the pudding; this she broke in two\npieces, and he ate one of them. Witness said the cake tasted very keen,\nand observed to his wife if the pudding tasted as bad he would not eat\nit. When the pudding was ready he ate a single mouthful, but it was so\nnauseous that he could eat no more of it; his wife, however, swallowed\nthree or four mouthfuls, but was unable to eat more, and she carried the\npudding into the cellar, and was there seized with the most violent\nvomitings. His wife said this was the illness predicted by Miss Blythe,\nand they should take the honey. Witness took two spoonfuls of it, and\nhis wife took six or seven. This made them worse than before. The\nvomiting continued incessantly for twenty-four hours. His wife would not\nhear of a doctor being sent for, as that was contrary to Miss Blythe's\ndirections, who had assured them that their sickness should not be unto\ndeath, and though they might seem to be dead, yet should they live, for\nthat she was sent to destroy the works of darkness. Witness said a\nviolent heat came out of his mouth, which was very sore, that his lips\nwere black, and that he had a most violent pain in his head, twenty\ntimes worse than a common headache; everything appeared green to him.\nWitness had also a violent complaint in his bowels; he could eat nothing\nfor several days, and began to get better only by hairbreadths. The\nwitness then proceeded to detail the symptoms of his wife, which were\nsimilar to his own, only more violent. Her tongue swelled so that she\ncould not shut her mouth, she was constantly thirsty, entirely lost her\nstrength, and expired on Sunday, the 24th of May. Before she died he\nsent for Mr. Chorley, a surgeon from Leeds, but as she died before his\narrival, a messenger was sent to acquaint him with this circumstance,\nand therefore he did not come. His wife before she died made him promise\nnot to be rash with Mary Bateman, but to wait the appointed time.\nWitness himself went to Mr. Chorley on the day after the death of his\nwife. Mr. Chorley having examined him and heard his account of the\nsymptoms, expressed his opinion that he had received poison into his\nstomach. Witness said that his wife was perfectly well immediately\nbefore eating of the pudding on Saturday. By the directions of Mr.\nChorley, a paste was made of the flour of which their pudding had been\nmade and given to a fowl; but it received no injury, and the witness\nsaid it was alive to this day. A part of the fatal pudding was also\ngiven to a cat, which it poisoned, but the result of this experiment was\ndetailed by another witness.\n\nWitness now went into a detail of transactions subsequent to the death\nof his wife. In the month of June, a short time after that event, the\nwitness went to the prisoner's house, and acquainted her with the death\nof his wife, and told her he was sorry they had not sent for a doctor\nwhen they were sick, but that they had acted according to the directions\nof the letter. Mary Bateman said, \"Perhaps you did not lick up all the\nhoney as directed in the letter;\" and I said, \"No; I am afraid it is\nthat honey that has done our job.\"\n\nAbout the beginning of June, Perigo received a letter to the following\neffect, purporting to be from Miss Blythe:--\n\n\n     \"My Dear Friend,--\n\n     \"I am sorry to tell you that your wife should touch of those things\n     which I ordered her not, and for that reason it has caused her\n     death. It had likened to have killed me at Scarboro' and Mary\n     Bateman at Leeds, and you and all; and for this reason she will\n     rise from the grave, she will stroke your face with her right hand,\n     and you will lose the use of one side, but I will pray for you. I\n     would not have you to go to no doctor, for it will not do. I would\n     have you eat and drink what you like, and you will be better. Now,\n     my dear friend, take my directions, do, and it will be better for\n     you. Pray God bless you. Amen, amen. You must burn this letter\n     immediately after it is read.\"\n\n\nSoon after this, witness was ordered by Mr. Chorley to Buxton, and\nhaving on his return called on the poisoner, she expressed her surprise\nthat he should have gone to a doctor contrary to Miss Blythe's command,\nand said that had she known he had been going to Buxton, she would have\ngiven him a bottle that would have cured him on the road.\n\nWilliam Perigo proceeded to relate that on the 19th of October, 1808, he\nunripped the bed in which all the bags were sewn up, and having opened\nthe whole of them, he found no money whatever. In the bags in which he\nexpected to find guinea-notes, he found only waste paper, and where he\nexpected to find gold, he found only a halfpenny or a farthing. But the\nfour silk bags in which he saw four guinea-notes put, he could not find\nat all, nor could he give any account as to how or where they were gone.\nUpon making this discovery the witness went to Leeds, and saw Mary\nBateman, and said to her, \"I am sorry to think you should use me in this\nmanner;\" to which she replied, \"How?\" He then said, \"I have opened the\nbags, and there is nothing in them but bits of lead, plain paper, bad\nhalfpennies, and bad farthings.\" At which she did not seem at all\nsurprised, but said, \"You have opened them too soon.\" He answered, \"I\nthink it is too late.\" He then said he would come down to her house in\nthe morning with two or three men and have things settled. The prisoner\nbegged that he would not, and said if he would appoint a time and place\nto meet her alone, she would satisfy him. To this the witness consented,\nand the Leeds and Liverpool canal bank, near the bridge, was fixed as\nthe place of meeting.\n\nThe officers of justice arrested Mary Bateman at this meeting.\n\nThe trial was conducted at York before Sir Simon Le Blanc on the 17th\nMarch, 1809; she was found guilty, and condemned to death.\n\nDuring the brief interval between her receiving the sentence of death\nand her execution, the Rev. George Brown took great pains to prevail\nupon her to acknowledge and confess her crime. On his touching upon the\nsubject of the Quaker ladies, whose death had been so sudden and\nmysterious, she seemed perfectly to understand his meaning, but said\nthat she knew nothing about it, as at the time she was confined in\nchildbirth.\n\nThough the prisoner behaved with her usual decorum during the time that\nremained to her, and joined with apparent fervour in the customary\noffices of devotion, she exhibited no compunction for crimes of which\nshe would not acknowledge herself to be guilty. She maintained her\ncaution and mystery to the last. On the day preceding her execution she\nwrote a letter to her husband, in which she enclosed her wedding-ring,\nwith a request that it might be given to her daughter. In this letter\nshe lamented the disgrace she had brought upon her husband and family,\nbut declared her entire innocence of the crime laid to her charge, and\nfor which she was about to suffer, though she acknowledged--what,\nindeed, she could not deny to her husband--that she had been guilty of\nseveral frauds. \"I have made my peace with my God, and am easy in mind.\nTo-morrow will end all here, and the Lord will care for me hereafter.\"\n\nIt will hardly be credited, though it is a certain fact, that this\nunhappy woman was so addicted to fraud that even then she was incapable\nof refraining from her trickery and deception. A young female prisoner\nhad, in her presence, expressed a wish to see her sweetheart. Mary\nBateman took her aside, and said that if she could procure a sum of\nmoney to be made into a charm, and sewed into her stays, the young man\nwould be compelled to visit her. The simple girl complied, and Mary\nBateman having prepared a potent spell, it was bound round the breast\nof the young woman. No sweetheart made his appearance, and the girl's\nconfidence beginning to waver, she unbound the charm to take out her\nmoney, and found that it had vanished.\n\nThe circumstance having been reported to the Governor of York Castle,\nwhere Mary Bateman and the girl were confined, part of the spoil was\nrefunded, and Mary Bateman directed to balance the account by giving to\nthe dupe some of her clothes. Exhortations and remonstrances failed to\nmove her to confess her crimes. At five o'clock on the morning of\nMonday, March 20th, 1809, she was removed from her cell and from her\ninfant child, which lay sleeping on the bed, unconscious of the fate of\nits wretched mother. She stopped and kissed it for the last time, but\nwithout showing any emotion at having to leave it for ever. Every\npossible effort, every religious influence was brought to bear on her to\nmake her confess, but in vain. At twelve o'clock she was led forth to\nexecution. On the scaffold she again denied her guilt, and with this\ndenial on her lips was launched into eternity.\n\nHer body was taken to the General Infirmary at Leeds. Though the hearse\ndid not reach Leeds till midnight, it was met by a considerable number\nof people who were waiting for it. At the Infirmary her body was\nexhibited at the charge of 3d. a head to visitors for the benefit of the\ninstitution. At this rate 2500 individuals were admitted, and upwards of\n\u00a330 was realised. Her body was afterwards dissected, and in compliance\nwith a favourite Yorkshire custom, her skin was tanned and distributed\nin small pieces to various applicants.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n_Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited, Perth._","title":"Yorkshire Oddities, Incidents, and Strange Events","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":132266}