The gentleman ran after, and, never losing sight of him, passed several courts and gardens, still turning as the spirit winded, till at length they entered into an open barn. Here the pursuer, certain, as he thought, of his prey, shut the door, but when he turned round, what was his amazement, to see the spirit totally disappear.

In great confusion, he called to the servants for more lights. On examining the spot of the spirit's disappearance, he found a trap-door; upon raising which, several mattresses appeared, to break the fall of any headlong adventurer. Therefore, descending, he found the spirit to be no other than the farmer himself. His dress, of a complete bull's hide, had secured him from the pistol-shot; and the horns and tail were not diabolic, but mere natural appendages of the original. The rogue confessed his tricks, and was pardoned, on paying the arrears due for five years, at the old rent of the land.



THE

HAMMERSMITH GHOST.

In the year 1804, the inhabitants of Hammersmith were much alarmed by a nocturnal appearance; which, for a considerable time, eluded detection or discovery. In the course of this unfortunate affair, two innocent persons met with an untimely death; and as this transaction engaged the attention of the public in a high degree, we shall fully relate the particulars of it.

An unknown person made it his diversion to alarm the inhabitants, in January 1804, by assuming the figure of a spectre. This sham ghost has certainly much to answer for. One poor woman, who was far advanced in her pregnancy of a second child, was so much shocked, that she took to her bed, and survived only two days. She had been crossing near the church-yard about ten o'clock at night, when she beheld something, as she described, rise from the tomb-stones. The figure was very tall, and very white! She attempted to run, but the supposed ghost soon overtook her, and, pressing her in his arms, she fainted; in which situation she remained some hours, till discovered by the neighbours, who kindly led her home, when she took to her bed, from which, alas! she never rose. A waggoner belonging to Mr. Russell was also so alarmed, while driving a team of eight horses, which had sixteen passengers at the time, that he took to his heels, and left the waggon, horses, and passengers, in the greatest danger. Neither man, woman, or child, would pass that way for some time; and the report was, that it was the apparition of a man who had cut his throat in that neighbourhood above a year before. Several lay in wait different nights for the ghost; but there were so many bye-lanes, and paths leading to Hammersmith, that he was always sure of being in that which was unguarded, and every night played off his tricks, to the terror of the passengers.

One Francis Smith, doubtless incensed at the unknown person who was in the habit of assuming the supernatural character, and thus frightening the superstitious inhabitants of the village, rashly determined on watching for, and shooting the ghost; when, unfortunately, in Black-Lion Lane, he shot a poor innocent man, Thomas Millwood, a bricklayer, who was in a white dress, the usual habiliment of his occupation. This rash act, having been judged wilful murder by the coroner's inquest, Smith was accordingly committed to gaol, and took his trial at the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey, January 13th, 1804. The jury at first found him guilty of manslaughter; but the crime being deemed murder in the eye of the law, the judge could only receive a verdict of Guilty, or acquittal. He was then found guilty, and received sentence of death, but was afterwards pardoned on condition of being imprisoned one year.



THE

FRIGHTENED CARRIER.

In October 1813, a little before midnight, as one of the carriers between Nottingham and Loughborough, was passing near the village of Rempstone, he was extremely surprised at meeting what he thought was a funeral procession, marching in a most solemn and steady order in the centre of the road. The carrier, with a becoming propriety and decorum, drew his cart to the side of the road, that the mournful cavalcade might pass without any interruption. Very active inquiry was immediately afterwards made in the neighbourhood, but not the least knowledge could be obtained as to where this solemn group had come from, or whither it was going; it was therefore concluded, that some ghostly apparition or other had thought proper to be then exercising its nocturnal avocation. Some days afterwards it was found out, that a person, who lived in the neighbouring village, had been endeavouring to construct a carriage upon such a principle as to go without horses; and, wishing to make his experiment as secret as possible, had chosen that dead hour of the night, for trying his apparatus on the turnpike road; but unluckily meeting with the carrier, he became alarmed for fear of an exposure, and therefore threw a large sheet over the machinery, and passed the cart as silently as possible, to avoid being detected.



THE

CLUB-ROOM GHOST.

At a town in the west of England, was held a club of twenty-four persons, which assembled once a week, to drink punch, smoke tobacco, and talk politics. Like Rubens's Academy at Antwerp, each member had his peculiar chair, and the president's was more exalted than the rest. One of the members had been in a dying state for some time; of course, his chair, while he was absent, remained vacant.

The club being met on their usual night, inquiries were naturally made after their associate. As he lived in the adjoining house, a particular friend went himself to inquire for him, and returned with the dismal tidings, that he could not possibly survive the night. This threw a gloom on the company, and all efforts to turn the conversation from the sad subject before them were ineffectual.

About midnight (the time, by long prescription, appropriated for the walking of spectres), the door opened; and the form, in white, of the dying, or rather of the dead man, walked into the room, and took his seat in the accustomed chair: there he remained in silence, and in silence was he gazed at. The apparition continued a sufficient time in the chair to convince all present of the reality of the vision: at length, he arose, and stalked towards the door, which he opened as if living—went out, and then shut the door after him. After a long pause, some one, at last, had the resolution to say, "If only one of us had seen this, he would not have been believed; but it is impossible that so many persons can be deceived."

The company, by degrees, recovered their speech; and the whole conversation, as may be imagined, was upon the dreadful object which had engaged their attention. They broke up, and went home. In the morning, inquiry was made after their sick friend; it was answered by an account of his death, which happened nearly at the time of his appearing in the club. There could be little doubt before, but now nothing could be more certain, than the reality of the apparition, which had been seen by so many persons together.

It is needless to say, that such a story spread over the country, and found credit, even from infidels; for, in this case, all reasoning became superfluous, when opposed to a plain fact, attested by three-and-twenty witnesses. To assert the doctrine of the fixed laws of nature, was ridiculous, when there were so many people of credit to prove that they might be unfixed. Years rolled on; the story ceased to engage attention, and it was forgotten, unless when occasionally produced to silence an unbeliever.

One of the club was an apothecary. In the course of his practice, he was called to an old woman, whose profession was attending on sick persons. She told him, that she could leave the world with a quiet conscience, but for one thing which lay on her mind. "Do not you remember Mr. ——, whose ghost has been so much talked of? I was his nurse. The night he died, I left the room for something that was wanted. I am sure I had not been absent long; but, at my return, I found the bed without my patient. He was delirious; and I feared that he had thrown himself out of the window. I was so frightened that I had no power to stir; but, after some time, to my great astonishment, he entered the room shivering, and his teeth chattering—laid down on the bed, and died. Considering myself as the cause of his death, I kept this a secret, for fear of what might be done to me. Though I could contradict all the story of the ghost, I dared not do it. I knew, by what had happened, that it was he himself who had been in the club-room (perhaps recollecting, in his delirium, that it was the night of meeting): but I hope God and the poor gentleman's friends will forgive me, and then I shall die contented."



THE

LUNATIC APPARITION.

The celebrated historian De Thou had a very singular adventure at Saumer, in the year 1598. One night, having retired to rest, very much fatigued, while he was enjoying a sound sleep, he felt a very extraordinary weight upon his feet, which, having made him turn suddenly, fell down and awakened him. At first he imagined that it had been only a dream: but, hearing soon after some noise in the chamber, he drew aside the curtains, and saw, by the help of the moon (which at that time shone very bright), a large white figure walking up and down; and, at the same time, observed upon a chair some rags, which he thought belonged to thieves who had come to rob him. The figure then approaching his bed, he had the courage to ask it what it was. "I am," said it, "the Queen of Heaven." Had such a figure appeared to any credulous ignorant man in the dead of night, and made such a speech, would he not have trembled with fear, and have frightened the whole neighbourhood with a marvellous description of it? But De Thou had too much understanding to be so imposed upon. Upon hearing the words which dropped from the figure, he immediately concluded that it was some mad woman, got up, called his servants, and ordered them to turn her out of doors; after which he returned to bed, and fell asleep. Next morning he found that he had not been deceived in his conjecture; and that, having forgot to shut his door, this female figure had escaped from her keepers, and entered his apartment. The brave Schomberg, to whom De Thou related this adventure, some days after, confessed, that in such a case he should not have shewn so much courage. The King also, who was informed of it by Schomberg, made the same acknowledgment.



SUPPOSED

SUPERNATURAL APPEARANCE.

Some few years since, before ghosts and spectres were commonly introduced among us by means of the pantomimes and novels of the day, a gentleman of a philosophical turn of mind, who was hardy enough to deny the existence of any thing supernatural, happened to pay a visit at an old house in Gloucestershire, whose unfortunate owner had just become a bankrupt, with a view to offer such assistance and consolation as he could bestow: when, in one rainy dull evening in the month of March, the family being seated by the kitchen fire-side, the conversation turned on supernatural appearances. The philosopher was endeavouring to convince his auditors of the folly and absurdity of such opinions, with rather an unbecoming levity, when the wife left the party and went up stairs; but had hardly quitted the kitchen three minutes, before a dreadful noise was heard, mingled with horrid screams. The poor maid changed countenance, and her red hair stood erect, in every direction; the husband trembled in his chair; and the philosopher began to look serious. At last, the husband rose from his seat, and ascended the stairs in search of his wife, when a second dreadful scream was heard: the maid mustered resolution to follow her master, and a third scream ensued. The philosopher, who was not quite at ease, now thought it high time for him to set out in search of a cause: when, arriving at the landing-place, he found the maid in a fit; the master lying flat, with his face upon the floor, which was stained with blood; and, on advancing a little farther, the mistress in nearly the same condition. To the latter the philosopher paid immediate attention; and, finding she had only swooned away, brought her in his arms down stairs, and placed her on the floor of the kitchen. The pump was at hand, and he had the presence of mind to run to it to get some water in a glass; but what was his astonishment, when he found that he pumped only copious streams of blood! which extraordinary appearance, joined to the other circumstances, made the unbeliever tremble in every limb: a sudden perspiration overspread the surface of his skin; and the supernatural possessed his imagination in all its true colours of dread and horror. Again and again he repeated his efforts; and, again and again, threw away the loathsome contents of the glass.

Had the story stopped here, what would not superstition have made of it? But the philosopher, who was still pumping, now found the water grew paler; and, at last, pure water filled the vessel. Overjoyed at this observation, he threw the limpid stream in the face of the mistress, whose recovery was assisted by the appearance of her husband and Betty.

The mystery, when explained, turned out to be simply this—The good housewife, when she knew that a docket had been struck against her husband, had taken care to conceal some of her choice cherry brandy, from the rapacious gripe of the messenger to the Commissioners of Bankrupts, on some shelves in a closet up stairs, which also contained, agreeably to the ancient architecture of the building, the trunk of the pump below; and, in trying to move the jars, to get at a drop for the party at the kitchen fire, the shelf gave way with a tremendous crash; the jars were broken into an hundred pieces; the rich juice descended in torrents down the trunk of the pump, and filled, with its ruby current, the sucker beneath; and this was the self-same fluid which the philosopher, in his fright, had so madly thrown away. The wife had swooned at the accident; the husband, in his haste, had fallen on his nose, which ran with blood; and the maid's legs, in her hurry, coming in contact with her fallen master's ribs, she, like "vaulting ambition," overleaped herself, and fell on the other side.

Often has this story been told, by one who knew the philosopher, with great effect, till the last act, or denouement; when disappointment was mostly visible in the looks of his auditors, at finding there was actually nothing supernatural in the affair, and no ghost.



THE

APPARITION INVESTIGATED.

In a village in one of the midland counties of Scotland, lived a widow, distinguished among her neighbours for decency of manners, integrity, and respect for religion. She affirmed that, for several nights together, she had heard a supernatural voice exclaiming aloud, Murder! Murder! This was immediately reported through the neighbourhood: all were alarmed, and looked around them with solicitude for the detection of the murder which they supposed to have been committed; and it was not long till a discovery seemed actually to be made. It was reported, that a gentleman, who had relations at no great distance, and had been residing in the West Indies, had lately arrived with a considerable fortune; that he had lodged at an inn about three miles off; and that he had afterwards been seen entering a house in the village where the widow lived, from which he had never returned. It was next affirmed, that a tradesman, passing the church-yard about twelve at midnight, had seen four men carry a dead corpse into that cemetery.

These three facts being joined together, seemed perfectly to agree, and to confirm one another; and all believed some horrible murder had been committed. The relations of the gentleman thought they were called upon to make inquiry into the truth of these allegations: they accordingly came first to the church-yard, where, in company with the sexton, they examined all the graves with great care, in order to discover whether any of them had lately been dug, or had the appearance of containing more than one coffin. But this search was to no purpose, for no alteration had been made upon the graves. It was next reported, that the murdered man had been buried in a plantation about a mile distant from the village. As the alarm was now very general, a number of the inhabitants proposed, of their own accord, to explore it. They accordingly spread themselves over the wood, and searched it with care; but no grave, or new-dug earth, was found.

The matter did not rest here. The person who was said to have seen four men carry a dead corpse into the church-yard at midnight, was summoned to appear before a meeting of the justices of the peace. Upon examination, he denied any knowledge of the affair; but referred the court to another person, from whom he had received his information. This person was examined, and the result was the same as the former. In short, one person had heard it from another, who had received it from a third, who had heard it from a fourth; but it had received a little embellishment from every person who repeated it: it turned out to be the same with Smollett's story of the three black crows, which somebody was said to have vomited.

Upon inquiry at the inn, where it was said the West-India gentleman had lodged, no such gentleman had been seen there; and it was found afterwards, he had never left the West Indies.

Still, however, the veracity of the widow was not disputed; and some dark and secret transaction was suspected. But the whole affair was at length explained, by discovering that she was somewhat deranged by melancholy; and the cries which she at first imagined she had heard, were afterwards imitated by some roguish person, who was highly amused with spreading terror among the credulous.



THE

BENIGHTED TRAVELLER,

AND

HAUNTED ROOM.

A gentleman was benighted, while travelling alone, in a remote part of the highlands of Scotland, and was compelled to ask shelter for the evening at a small lonely hut. When he was conducted to his bed-room, the landlady observed, with mysterious reluctance, that he would find the window very insecure. On examination, part of the wall appeared to have been broken down, to enlarge the opening.

After some inquiry, he was told, that a pedlar, who had lodged in the room a short time before, had committed suicide, and was found hanging behind the door in the morning. According to the superstition of the country, it was deemed improper to remove the body through the door of the house; and to convey it through the window was impossible, without removing part of the wall. Some hints were dropped, that the room had been subsequently haunted by the poor man's spirit.

The gentleman laid his arms, properly prepared against intrusion of any kind, by the bed-side, and retired to rest, not without some degree of apprehension. He was visited, in a dream, by a frightful apparition; and, awaking in agony, found himself sitting up in bed, with a pistol grasped in his right hand. On casting a fearful glance round the room, he discovered, by the moonlight, a corpse, dressed in a shroud, reared erect against the wall, close by the window. With much difficulty, he summoned up resolution to approach the dismal object, the features of which, and the minutest parts of its funereal apparel, he perceived distinctly: he passed one hand over it, felt nothing, and staggered back to the bed. After a long interval, and much reasoning with himself, he renewed his investigation, and at length discovered that the object of his terror was produced by the moonbeams forming a long bright image through the broken window, on which his fancy, impressed by his dream, had pictured, with mischievous accuracy, the lineaments of a body prepared for interment. Powerful associations of terror, in this instance, had excited the recollected images with uncommon force and effect.



THE

HAUNTED BEACH,

OR

Power of Conscience on a Murderer.

BY MRS. ROBINSON.

Upon a lonely desert beach, Where the white foam was scatter'd, A little shed uprear'd its head, Though lofty barks were shatter'd. The sea-weeds gath'ring near the door, A sombre path display'd; And, all around, the deaf'ning roar Re-echo'd on the chalky shore, By the green billows made.

Above, a jutting cliff was seen, Where sea-birds hover'd craving; And, all around, the craggs were bound With weeds—for ever waving. And, here and there, a cavern wide Its shad'wy jaws display'd; And near the sands, at ebb of tide, A shiver'd mast was seen to ride, Where the green billows stray'd.

And often, while the moaning wind Stole o'er the summer ocean, The moonlight scene was all serene, The waters scarce in motion; Then, while the smoothly slanting sand The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade, The Fisherman beheld a band Of spectres, gliding hand in hand, Where the green billows play'd.

And pale their faces were as snow, And sullenly they wandered; And to the skies, with hollow eyes, They look'd, as though they ponder'd. And sometimes, from their hammock shroud, They dismal howlings made, And while the blast blew strong and loud The clear moon marked the ghastly crowd, Where the green billows play'd!

And then, above the haunted hut, The curlews screaming hover'd; And the low door, with furious roar, The frothy breakers cover'd. For in the Fisherman's lone shed, A murder'd man was laid, With ten wide gashes in his head; And deep was made his sandy bed, Where the green billows play'd.

A shipwreck'd mariner was he, Doom'd from his home to sever, Who swore to be, thro' wind and sea, Firm and undaunted ever; And when the waves resistless roll'd, About his arm he made A packet rich of Spanish gold, And, like a British sailor bold, Plung'd where the billows play'd!

The spectre band, his messmates brave, Sunk in the yawning ocean, While to the mast he lash'd him fast, And brav'd the storm's commotion: The winter moon upon the sand A silv'ry carpet made, And mark'd the sailor reach the land, And mark'd his murd'rer wash his hand, Where the green billows play'd.

And, since that hour, the Fisherman Has toil'd and toil'd in vain; For all the night the moony light Gleams on the spectred main! And when the skies are veil'd in gloom, The murd'rer's liquid way Bounds o'er the deeply yawning tomb, And flashing fires the sands illume, Where the green billows play!

Full thirty years his task has been, Day after day, more weary; For Heav'n design'd his guilty mind Should dwell on prospects dreary. Bound by a strong and mystic chain, He has not pow'r to stray; But, destin'd mis'ry to sustain, He wastes, in solitude and pain, A loathsome life away.



THE

SUBTERRANEAN TRAVELLER;

OR

GHOST AND NO GHOST.

The following record is copied verbatim from an old newspaper—The Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer.

"Bedlam, January 18, 1719.

"It is not long since one of the female inhabitants of these frantic territories gave the following occasion for a very pleasing entertainment. Some bricklayers happened to be at work here, to repair and clean the passage leading to the common sewer; who going to dinner, and leaving the ladder which descended to it, standing, the said unfortunate inhabitant had a sort of an odd notion, that the workmen had been prying into the secrets of the lower world, and therefore (nobody seeing her) she went down the ladder which led into the common sewer; and, in that subterraneous cavern, finding none to control or stop her passage, she travelled, with great pleasure and curiosity, till she came to Tokenhouse Yard, which is near half a mile. There it happened that a couple of young females, coming to the vault, heard a noise below, crying, 'Who the plague are ye? What d'ye make that noise for? What, is the devil in ye?' Upon which, away flew the women, not staying to look behind them; and coming half-frightened into the house, said, the devil was in the vault. Accordingly, more company going, they still heard the same noise. Upon which they called out, and asked, 'Who's there? What are ye?' 'The Devil,' replied the traveller below. 'How came you there?' said they. 'Nay, how the devil know I?' answered the mad-woman. 'Why don't you bring me a candle, that I may find my way?' Finding it certain to be a human voice, they feared somebody might accidentally have fallen in, and therefore they immediately went to work, to deliver the poor wretch from her suffocating thraldom, and found her a lamentable spectacle; so that they began to question her how she came there, and where she lived. She answered that she was going to Hell, but had lost her way; that there were several in her company, who had got thither, and the gate was shut upon them; that she had lost her way, but should overtake them by and by. These wild expressions made some of them fancy she was a mad-woman; and, after some consideration, they resolved to bring her hither; when she was presently owned, and the people that brought her let us into the story: but her head still runs on her journey, and she talks of little else."



THE MILKMAN

AND

CHURCH-YARD GHOST.

A man much addicted to the heinous sin of drunkenness, in coming home late one winter's night, had to cross Stepney church-yard; where, close to the foot path, a deep grave had been opened the day before. He, being very drunk, staggered into the grave; it was a great mercy he did not break his neck, or any of his limbs; but, as it rained hard all night, and the grave was so deep that he could not got out, he had but an uncomfortable bed. For some hours nobody passed by; till, shortly after the clock had struck four, a milkman, who had been to the cow-house for his milk, came by, and said to himself, "I wonder what o'clock it is." The man in the grave hallooed out, "Just gone four." The milkman seeing nobody, immediately conceived a ghost from one of the graves had answered him, and took to his heels with such rapidity, that when he reached an ale-house he was ready to faint; and, what added to his trouble, in running, he so jumbled his pails as to spill great part of his milk. The people who heard his relation, believed it must have been a ghost that had answered him. The tale went round, and would have been credited, perhaps, till now, had not the drunkard, sitting one day in the very alehouse the milkman had stopped at, on hearing the story repeated, with a hearty laugh acknowledged himself to be the ghost, and that he had much enjoyed the jumbling of the man's pails, as he ran away, and the loss which it occasioned him.



THE

FAKENHAM GHOST.

The lawns were dry in Euston Park; (Here truth inspires my tale) The lonely footpath, still and dark, Led over hill and dale.

Benighted was an ancient dame, And fearful haste she made To gain the vale of Fakenham, And hail its willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops, But follow'd faster still; And echo'd to the darksome copse That whisper'd on the hill.

Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hush'd, Bespoke a peopled shade; And many a wing the foliage brush'd, And hov'ring circuits made.

The dappled herd of grazing deer, That sought the shades by day, Now started from her path with fear, And gave the stranger way.

Darker it grew; and darker fears Came o'er her troubled mind; When, now, a short quick step she hears Come patting close behind.

She turn'd; it stopt!—nought could she see Upon the gloomy plain! But, as she strove the sprite to flee, She heard the same again.

Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame: For, where the path was bare, The trotting ghost kept on the same! She mutter'd many a pray'r.

Yet once again, amidst her fright She tried what sight could do; When through the cheating glooms of night, A monster stood in view.

Regardless of whate'er she felt, It follow'd down the plain! She own'd her sins, and down she knelt, And said her pray'rs again.

Then on she sped; and hope grew strong, The white park-gate in view, Which, pushing hard, so long it swung, That ghost and all past through.

Loud fell the gate against the post, Her heart-strings like to crack, For much she fear'd the grisly ghost Would leap upon her back.

Still on, pat, pat, the goblin went, As it had done before; Her strength and resolution spent, She fainted at the door.

Out came her husband, much surpris'd, Out came her daughter dear; Good-natur'd souls, all unadvis'd Of what they had to fear.

The candle's gleam pierc'd through the night, Some short space o'er the green; And there the little trotting sprite Distinctly might be seen.

An ass's foal had lost its dam Within the spacious park, And, simple as the playful lamb, Had follow'd in the dark.

No goblin he, nor imp of sin, No crimes he'd ever known. They took the shaggy stranger in, And rear'd him as their own.

His little hoofs would rattle round Upon the cottage floor; The matron learn'd to love the sound, That frighten'd her before.

A favourite the ghost became, And 'twas his fate to thrive; And long he liv'd, and spread his fame, And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the vale, And some conviction too; Each thought some other goblin tale Perhaps was just as true.



THE

UNFORTUNATE PRIEST,

AND

DEAD BODY.

In a province of Prussia, a man being dead, was carried, as is customary, into the church, the evening previous to the day of his interment. It is usual to place the corpse in an open coffin; and a priest, attended only by a boy of the choir, remains all night praying by the side of the dead body, and on the following day the friends of the deceased come to close up the coffin, and inter the corpse. On this occasion, after the evening service had been performed, every one retired from the church: and the priest, with the young chorister, withdrew to supper; but soon returned, and the former commenced the usual prayers. What was his astonishment, when he beheld the dead body rise from the coffin, and advance towards him. Terrified in the extreme, the priest flew to the font; and, conjuring the corpse to return to its proper station, showered holy water on him in abundance. But the obstinate and evil-minded spirit, disregarding the power of holy water, seized the unfortunate priest, threw him to the ground, and soon, by repeated blows, left him extended, without life, on the pavement. Having committed this act of barbarity, he appeared to return quietly to his coffin. On the following morning, the persons who came to prepare for the funeral, found the priest murdered, and the corpse, as before, in the coffin. Nothing could throw any light on this extraordinary event but the testimony of the boy, who had concealed himself on the first movement of the dead body, and who persisted in declaring, that he saw from his hiding-place the priest killed by the corpse. Conjecture, and endeavours to discover the truth, were alike vain, tormenting, and fruitless. Many resources were tried; for it was not every one that submitted themselves to the belief of a dead body rising to kill a priest, and then quietly resigning itself to the place of its consignment. Many years afterwards, a malefactor, condemned to death for various crimes, and brought to the torture, confessed, that having (for some unknown reason) conceived an implacable hatred against the priest in question, he had formed the design of thus avenging himself. Having found means to remain in the church, he seized the moment of the priest's retiring to supper, withdrew the dead body from the coffin, and placed himself in its stead, in the shroud and other appurtenances. After executing the murder of the priest, he returned the corpse to its place, and got unperceived out of the church, when the friends of the deceased came in the morning to attend the funeral.



THE

VIGIL OF SAINT MARK,

OR

FATAL SUPERSTITION.

Rebecca was the fairest maid That on the Danube's borders play'd; And many a handsome nobleman For her in tilt and tourney ran: While she, in secret, wished to see What youth her husband was to be.

Rebecca heard the gossips say, "Alone, from dusk till midnight, stay Within the church-porch drear and dark, Upon the Vigil of St. Mark; And, lovely maiden, you shall see What youth your husband is to be."

Rebecca, when the night grew dark, Upon the Vigil of St. Mark, Observ'd by Paul, a roguish scout, Who guess'd the task she went about, Stepp'd to St. Stephen's church to see What youth her husband was to be.

Rebecca heard the screech-owl cry, And saw the black-bat round her fly; She sat till, wild with fear at last, Her blood grew cold, her pulse beat fast; And yet, rash maid, she stopp'd to see What youth her husband was to be.

Rebecca heard the midnight chime Ring out the yawning peal of time, When shrouded Paul, unlucky knave! Rose, like a spectre from the grave, And cried—"Fair maiden, come with me, For I your bridegroom am to be."

Rebecca turned her head aside, Sent forth a horrid shriek—and died; While Paul confess'd himself in vain Rebecca never spoke again. Ah! little, hapless girl, did she Think Death her bridegroom was to be.

Rebecca, may thy story long Instruct the giddy and the young! Fright not, fond youths, the timid fair: And you, too, gentle maids, beware; Nor seek, by dreadful arts, to see What youths your husbands are to be.



THE

FLOATING WONDER,

OR

FEMALE SPECTRE.

The bridge over the river Usk, near Caerleon, in Wales, is formed of wood, and very curiously constructed, the tide rising occasionally to the almost incredible height of fifty or sixty feet. The boards which compose the flooring of this bridge being designedly loose, in order to float with the tide, when it exceeds a certain height, are prevented from escaping only by little pegs at the end of them; which mode of fastening does not afford a very safe footing for the traveller, and some awkward accidents have been known to arise from this cause. The following singular adventure occurred about twenty years since to a female of the neighbourhood, as she was passing it at night.

The heroine in question was a Mrs. Williams, who had been to spend a cheerful evening at a neighbour's house on the eastern side of the river, and was returning home at a decent hour. The night being extremely dark, she had provided herself with a lanthorn and candle, by the assistance of which she found her way to the bridge, and had already passed part of the dangerous structure, when she unfortunately trod on a plank that had by some accident lost the tenons originally fixed to the ends of it, and had slipped from its proper situation; the faithless board yielded to the weight of the good lady, who was rather corpulent, and carried her through the flooring, with her candle and lanthorn, into the river. Fortunately, at the moment of falling, she was standing in such a position, as gave her a seat on the plank similar to that of a horseman on his nag. It may be easily imagined, that Mrs. Williams must have been dreadfully alarmed at this change of situation, as well as the difference of element. Blessed, however, with great presence of mind, and a patient endurance of evil, the good lady was not overwhelmed by her fall, but steadily maintained her seat on the board; taking care, at the same time, to preserve her candle lighted, rightly supposing it would serve as a guide to any one who might be able or willing to assist her. Thus bestriding the plank, our heroine was hurried down the river towards Newport, the bridge of which, she trusted, would stop her progress, or that she might alarm the inhabitants with her cries. In both her hopes, however, she was disappointed: the rapidity of a spring tide sent her through the arch with the velocity of an arrow discharged from a bow, and the good people of the town had long been wrapped in slumber. Thus situated, her prospect became each moment more desperate; her candle was nearly extinguished! and every limb so benumbed with cold, that she had the greatest difficulty in keeping her saddle. Already she had reached the mouth of the Usk, and was on the point of encountering the turbulent waves of the British Channel, when the master of a fishing-boat, who was returning from his nightly toils, discovered the gleaming of her taper, and bearing her calls for assistance, though he at first thought her a witch, yet ventured to approach this floating wonder, and happily succeeded in rescuing Mrs. Williams from a watery grave, and bringing her in safety to the shore in his boat.

Thus was the life of a fellow-creature preserved by a poor fisherman's courage, in not being daunted by what he at first conceived a mysterious light proceeding from some sprite or hobgoblin; but, from duly examining into causes, proved himself both a hero and friend.



POOR MARY,

THE MAID OF THE INN.

Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly fix'd eyes Seem a heart overcharg'd to express? She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; She never complains, but her silence implies The composure of settled distress.

No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek; Cold and hunger awake not her care: Through her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare; and her cheek Has the deathly pale hue of despair.

Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, Poor Mary the maniac has been! The trav'ller remembers, who journey'd this way, No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, As Mary the Maid of the Inn.

Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight, As she welcom'd them in with a smile: Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the abbey at night, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.

She lov'd; and young Richard had settled the day, And she hoped to be happy for life: But Richard was idle and worthless; and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say, That she was too good for his wife.

'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, And, smoking in silence with tranquil delight, They listen'd to hear the wind roar.

"'Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire-side, To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the abbey!" his comrade replied, "Methinks, a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about.

"I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head; And could fancy I saw, half-persuaded by fear, Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, For this wind might awaken the dead!"

"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "That Mary would venture there now." "Then wager and lose!" with a sneer, he replied, "I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, And faint if she saw a white cow."

"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaim'd with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the elder that glows in the aisle."

With fearless good humour did Mary comply, And her way to the abbey she bent; The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, She shiver'd with cold as she went.

O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, Where the abbey rose dim on the sight. Through the gate-way she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.

All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howl'd dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she past, And arriv'd in the innermost ruin at last, Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle.

Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near, And hastily gather'd the bough; When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear— She paus'd, and she listen'd all eager to hear, And her heart panted fearfully now.

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, She listen'd—nought else could she hear; The wind ceas'd; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a white column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there: That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear.

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! Again the rough wind hurried by— It blew off the hat of the one,[C] and, behold, Even close to the foot of poor Mary it roll'd— She felt, and expected to die.

"Curse the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay, come on, and first hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the abbey she flies.

She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, She gaz'd horribly eager around: Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound.

Ere yet her cold lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view—[D] Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, oh! God! what cold horror then thrill'd through her heart, When the name of her Richard she knew.

Where the old abbey stands on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen: Not far from the road it engages the eye, The trav'ller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

SOUTHEY'S POEMS.

FOOTNOTES:

[C] The hat of one of the ruffians.

[D] She knew it to be Richard's hat.



GILES THE SHEPHERD,

AND SPECTRE.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Giles, ere he sleeps, his little flock must tell. From the fire-side with many a shrug he hies, Glad if the full-orb'd moon salute his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And down a narrow lane, well known by day, With all his speed pursues his sounding way, In thought still half absorb'd, and chill'd with cold, When, lo! an object frightful to behold, A grisly spectre, cloth'd in silver grey, Around whose feet the waving shadows play, Stands in his path! He stops, and not a breath Heaves from his heart, that sinks almost to death. Loud the owl hallooes o'er his head unseen; All else is silence, dismally serene: Some prompt ejaculation, whisper'd low, Yet bears him up against the threat'ning foe; And thus poor Giles, though half inclin'd to fly, Mutters his doubts, and strains his stedfast eye. "'Tis not my crimes thou com'st here to reprove; No murders stain my soul, no perjur'd love: If thou'rt indeed what here thou seem'st to be, Thy dreadful mission cannot reach to me. By parents taught still to mistrust mine eyes, Still to approach each object of surprise, Lest fancy's formful vision should deceive In moonlight paths, or glooms of falling eve, 'Tis then's the moment when my mind should try To scan the motionless deformity; But oh, the fearful task!—yet well I know An aged ash, with many a spreading bough, (Beneath whose leaves I've found a summer's bow'r, Beneath whose trunk I've weather'd many a show'r) Stands singly down this solitary way, But far beyond where now my footsteps stay. 'Tis true, thus far I've come with heedless haste; No reck'ning kept, no passing objects trac'd: And can I then have reach'd that very tree? Or is its rev'rend form assum'd by thee?" The happy thought alleviates his pain; He creeps another step; then stops again; Till slowly as his noiseless feet drew near, Its perfect lineaments at once appear; Its crown of shiv'ring ivy whispering peace, And its white bark that fronts the moon's pale face. Now, while his blood mounts upward, now he knows The solid gain that from conviction flows; And strengthen'd confidence shall hence fulfil (With conscious innocence, more valued still) The dreariest task that winter nights can bring, By church-yard dark, or grove, or fairy ring; Still buoying up the timid mind of youth, Till loit'ring reason hoists the scale of truth. With those blest guardians, Giles his course pursues, Till numbering his heavy-sided ewes, Surrounding stilness tranquillize his breast, And shape the dreams that wait his hours of rest.

BLOOMFIELD'S Farmer's Boy.



A

MAN WITH HIS HEAD ON FIRE,

AND COVERED WITH BLOOD.

The following singular adventure is related by a military captain.

"I was coming home one night on horseback, from a visit I had been making to a number of the neighbouring villages, where I had quartered my recruits. It happened there had fallen a deal of rain that day, since noon, and during all the evening, which had broken up the roads, and it was raining still with equal violence; but, being forced to join my company next morning, I set out, provided with a lanthorn, having to pass a strait defile between two mountains. I had cleared it, when a gust of wind took off my hat, and carried it so far, that I despaired of getting it again, and therefore gave the matter up. By great good fortune, I had with me my red cloak. I covered my head and shoulders with it, leaving nothing but a little hole to see my way, and breathe through; and, for fear the wind should take a fancy to my cloak, as well as my hat, I passed my right arm round my body to secure it: so that, riding on in this position, you may easily conceive my lanthorn, which I held in my right hand, was under my left shoulder. At the entrance of a village on a hill, I met three travellers, who no sooner saw me than they ran away as fast as possible. For my part, I went on upon the gallop; and when I came into the town, alighted at an inn, where I designed to rest myself a little. Soon after, who should enter, but my three poltroons, as pale as death itself. They told the landlord and his people, trembling as they spoke, that in the road they had encountered a great figure of a man all over blood, whose head was like a flame of fire, and to increase the wonder, placed beneath his shoulder. He was mounted on a dreadful horse, said they, quite black behind, and grey before; which, notwithstanding it was lame, he spurred and whipped right up the mountain with extraordinary swiftness. Here they ended their relation. They had taken care to spread the alarm as they were flying from this wondrous apparition, and the people had come with them to the inn in such a drove, that upwards of an hundred were all squeezed together, opening both their mouths and ears at this tremendous story. To make up in some sort for my dismal journey, I resolved to laugh a little, and be merry at their cost, intending to cure them of such fright, by shewing them their folly in the present instance. With this view, I got upon my horse again, behind the inn, and went round about till I had rode the distance of a mile or thereabouts; when, turning, I disposed of my accoutrements, that is to say, my cloak and lanthorn, as before, and on I came upon a gallop towards the inn. You should have seen the frighted mob of peasants, how they hid their faces at the sight, and got into the passage. There was no one but the host had courage to remain, and keep his eye upon me. I was now before the door, on which I shifted the position of my lanthorn, let my cloak drop down upon my shoulders, and appeared the figure he had seen me by his kitchen fire. It was not without real difficulty, we could bring the simple people who had crowded in for safety from their terror: the three travellers, in particular, as the first impression was still strong within them, they could not credit what they saw. We finished by a hearty laugh at their expence, and by drinking to the man whose head was like a flame of fire, and placed beneath his shoulder."



THE

INNOCENT DEVIL,

OR

AGREEABLE DISAPPOINTMENT.

The following story is extracted from a letter I received, some time since, from a friend, on the subject of apparitions.

"Returning, one evening in the summer, to my apartments, at a short distance from town, I was invited by my landlady, a brisk young widow, to partake of un petit souper, as she termed it. The invitation, of course, I accepted; and, after a pleasant repast, the cloth being removed, various conversation ensued, and the terminating subject was ghosts and hobgoblins. After my attention had been greatly excited by many dreadful recitals, I thought I perceived something black glide swiftly by my feet. My back at that time being towards the door, I instantly turned round; and, perceiving the same to be shut, I fancied my fear to be only a chimaera arising from the subject we had been conversing on. I therefore replenished my glass; and the subject of spectres was again renewed. In the midst of the discourse, when I was all attention to some dreadful tale, I felt something gently brush the bottom of my chair; when, on looking down, I beheld the most hideous black figure imagination can conceive. It was a monster on all fours, with cloven feet, horns on its head, and a long tail trailing after it as it moved along. My terror, I will acknowledge, was so great, that I instantly jumped up as high as the table, and loudly vociferated, 'Lord have mercy upon me! what is it?' My friendly hostess now begged me to sit down and be a little calm, and she would explain to me the cause of my alarm. The figure having again disappeared, the lady of the ceremonies thus addressed me—'I beg your pardon, Sir, for the fright I have thus occasioned you. It is only a little joke I have been playing off, merely to see whether you were proof against supernatural appearances. A friend of mine having been to a masqued ball in a domino, I prepared the stratagem, by making a head-piece to the dress, with horns, false legs, cloven feet, and a tail. I then instructed my servant, who was by agreement to be in the adjoining room, on hearing a certain part of my story, to open the door as softly as possible, and to make her entre, in this habiliment. This she attempted before the plot was sufficiently ripe, when you turned round towards the door, and she retreated. The second attempt too effectually succeeded; for which I again ask your pardon, and am extremely sorry, though luckily it has had no bad effect. But I will never, while I live, again be induced to act so foolishly.'—"



THE

SPECTRE OF THE BROKEN.

The following observations on that singular phenomenon called the Spectre of the Broken, in Germany, is related by Monsieur J. L. Jordan, in the following words.

"In the course of my repeated tours through the Harz (mountains in Germany), I ascended the Broken twelve times: but I had the good fortune only twice (both times about Whitsuntide) to see that atmospheric phenomenon called the Spectre of the Broken, which appears to me so worthy of particular attention, as it must, no doubt, be observed on other high mountains, which have a situation favourable for producing it. The first time I was deceived by this extraordinary phenomenon, I had clambered up to the summit of the Broken very early in the morning, in order to wait for the inexpressibly beautiful view of the sun rising in the east. The heavens were already streaked with red; the sun was just appearing above the horizon in full majesty; and the most perfect serenity prevailed throughout the surrounding country; when the other Harz mountains in the south-west, towards the Worm mountains, &c. lying under the Broken, began to be covered by thick clouds. Ascending at that moment the granite rocks called the Tempelskanzel, there appeared before me, though at a great distance, towards the Worm mountains and the Auchtermanshohe, the gigantic figure of a man, as if standing on a large pedestal. But scarcely had I discovered it, when it began to disappear; the clouds sunk down speedily, and expanded; and I saw the phenomenon no more. The second time, however, I saw this spectre somewhat more distinctly, a little below the summit of the Broken, and near the Heinnichshohe, as I was looking at the sun-rising, about four o'clock in the morning. The weather was rather tempestuous; the sky towards the level country was pretty clear; but the Harz mountains had attracted several thick clouds which had been hovering round them, and which, beginning on the Broken, confined the prospect. In these clouds, soon after the rising of the sun, I saw my own shadow, of a monstrous size, move itself, for a couple of seconds, in the clouds; and the phenomenon disappeared. It is impossible to see this phenomenon, except when the sun is at such an altitude as to throw his rays upon the body in an horizontal direction; for if he is higher, the shadow is thrown rather under the body than before it.

"In the month of September, last year, as I was making a tour through the Harz with a very agreeable party, and ascended the Broken, I found an excellent account and explanation of this phenomenon, as seen by M. Haue on the 23d of May 1797, in his diary of an excursion to that mountain; I shall therefore take the liberty of transcribing it.

"'After having been here for the thirtieth time,' says M. Haue; 'and, besides other objects of my attention, having procured information respecting the above-mentioned atmospheric phenomenon, I was at length so fortunate as to have the pleasure of seeing it; and, perhaps, my description may afford satisfaction to others who visit the Broken through curiosity. The sun rose about four o'clock; and, the atmosphere being quite serene towards the east, his rays could pass without any obstruction over the Heinnichshohe. In the south-west, however, towards the Auchtermaunshohe, a brisk west wind carried before it their transparent vapours, which were not yet condensed into thick heavy clouds. About a quarter past four I went towards the inn, and looked round to see whether the atmosphere would permit me to have a free prospect to the south-west; when I observed, at a very great distance, towards the Auchtermaunshohe, a human figure, of a monstrous size. A violent gust of wind having almost carried away my hat, I clapped my hand to it by moving my arm towards my head, and the colossal figure did the same. The pleasure which I felt on this discovery can hardly be described; for I had already walked many a weary step in the hope of seeing this shadowy image, without being able to satisfy my curiosity. I immediately made another movement by bending my body, and the colossal figure before me repeated it. I was desirous of doing the same thing once more; but my colossus had vanished. I remained in the same position, waiting to see whether it would return; and, in a few minutes, it again made its appearance in the Auchtermaunshohe. I paid my respects to it a second time, and it did the same to me. I then called the landlord of the Broken; and, having both taken the same position which I had taken alone, we looked towards the Auchtermaunshohe, but saw nothing. We had not, however, stood long, when two such colossal figures were formed over the above eminence, which repeated our compliment, by bending their bodies as we did; after which they vanished. We retained our position, kept our eyes fixed upon the same spot; and, in a little time, the two figures again stood before us, and were joined by a third. Every movement that we made by bending our bodies, these figures imitated; but with this difference, that the phenomenon was sometimes weak and faint, sometimes strong and well-defined. Having thus had an opportunity of discovering the whole secret of this phenomenon, I can give the following information to such of my readers as may be desirous of seeing it themselves. When the rising sun (and, according to analogy, the case will be the same at the setting sun) throws his rays over the Broken upon the body of a man standing opposite to fine light clouds floating around or hovering past him, he needs only fix his eye stedfastly upon them, and in all probability he will see the singular spectacle of his own shadow extending to the length of five or six hundred feet, at the distance of about two miles from him. This is one of the most agreeable phenomena I have ever had an opportunity of remarking on the great observations of Germany.'—"



SIR HUGH ACKLAND.

The following remarkable fact shews the necessity of minutely examining people after death, prior to interment, and of not giving way to ridiculous fears about supernatural appearances.

The late Sir Hugh Ackland, of Devonshire, apparently died of a fever, and was laid out as dead. The nurse, with two of the footmen, sat up with the corpse; and Lady Ackland sent them a bottle of brandy to drink in the night. One of the servants, being an arch rogue, told the other, that his master dearly loved brandy when he was alive; "and," says he, "I am resolved he shall drink one glass with us now he is dead." The fellow, accordingly, poured out a bumper of brandy, and forced it down his throat. A gurgling immediately ensued, and a violent motion of the neck and upper part of the breast. The other footman and the nurse were so terrified, that they ran down stairs; and the brandy genius, hastening away with rather too much speed, tumbled down stairs head foremost. The noise of the fall, and his cries, alarmed a young gentleman who slept in the house that night; who got up, and went to the room where the corpse lay, and, to his great surprise, saw Sir Hugh sitting upright. He called the servants; Sir Hugh was put into a warm bed, and the physician and apothecary sent for. These gentlemen, in a few weeks, perfectly restored their patient to health, and he lived several years afterwards.

The above story is well known to the Devonshire people; as in most companies Sir Hugh used to tell this strange circumstance, and talk of his resurrection by his brandy footman, to whom (when he really died) he left a handsome annuity.



AN

AGREEABLE EXPLANATION.

A gentleman of undoubted veracity relates the following story.

"When I was a young man, I took up my residence at a lodging-house, which was occupied by several families. On taking possession of my apartments, I agreed with the old lady of the house, who had two children, to accommodate me with a key to the street-door, to prevent unnecessary trouble to the servant or family, as I should very frequently stay out late in the evening. This was agreed to; and, by way of making things more agreeable, I had always a light left burning for me on the staircase, which was opposite to the outer door. This arrangement being made, things continued very comfortable for some months; till, one night, or rather morning, returning and opening the door as usual, I thought I heard a faint scream—I paused for a few seconds. The cry of 'Murder!' now feebly succeeded. I hesitated how to act, when the cry of 'Murder!' was again more loudly vociferated. This very much alarmed me; and, instead of going forward, I instantly re-opened the street-door, and was in the act of calling the watch, when a tall spare figure, at least six feet high, in a complete white dress, and pointed cap, with a candle in its hand, appeared before me. This unexpected encounter completed my astonishment, and I was about to speak, when the phantom (which proved to be my good old landlady) thus addressed me—'I hope, Sir, I have not alarmed you; but, just before you came to the door, I had a most frightful dream. I thought robbers had broken into my house, and, not content with plunder, had murdered my children, and were about to destroy me; when the noise you made on opening the door increased my agony of mind; and, before I was sufficiently sensible, I screamed out Murder! as you must have heard.' This explanation having taken place, the poor woman retired, and was for several days after extremely ill; and I was not a little pleased myself at finding what I at first supposed a supernatural encounter thus terminate, without having recourse to a divine exorcist."



THE

SOMERSETSHIRE DEMONIAC.

On the 13th of June 1788, George Lukins, of Yatton, in Somersetshire, was exorcised in the Temple Church at Bristol, and delivered from the possession of seven devils by the efforts of seven clergymen.

Lukins was first attacked by a kind of epileptic fit, when he was going about acting Christmas plays, or mummeries: this he ascribed to a blow given by an invisible hand. He was afterwards seized by fits; during which he declared with a roaring voice that he was the devil, and sung different songs in a variety of keys. The fits always began and ended with a strong agitation of the right hand; he frequently uttered dreadful execrations during the fits: and the whole duration of this disorder was eighteen years.

At length, viz. in June 1788, he declared, that he was possessed by seven devils, and could only be freed by the prayers, in faith, of seven clergymen. Accordingly, the requisite number was summoned, and the patient sung, swore, laughed, barked, and treated the company with a ludicrous parody on the Te Deum. These astonishing symptoms resisted both hymns and prayers, till a small, faint voice admonished the ministers to adjure. The spirits, after some murmuring, yielded to the adjuration; and the happy patient returned thanks for his wonderful cure. It is remarkable, that, during this solemn mockery, the fiend swore, by his infernal den, that he would not quit his patient; an oath, I believe, no where to be found but in the Pilgrim's Progress, from whence Lukins probably got it.

Very soon after, the first relation of this story was published, a person well acquainted with Lukins, took the trouble of undeceiving the public, with regard to his pretended disorder, in a plain, sensible, narrative of his conduct. He asserts, that Lukins's first seizure was nothing else than a fit of drunkenness; that he always foretold his fits, and remained sensible during their continuance. That he frequently saw Lukins in his fits; in every one of which, except in singing, he performed not more than most active young people can easily do. That he was detected in an imposture with respect to the clenching of his hands. That after money had been collected for him, he got very suddenly well. That he never had any fits while he was at St. George's Hospital, in London; nor when visitors were excluded from his lodgings by desire of the author of the narrative: and that he was particularly careful never to hurt himself by his exertions during the paroxysm.

Is it for the credit of this philosophical age, that so bungling an imposture should deceive seven clergymen into a public act of exorcism? This would not have passed even on the authors of the Malleus Maleficarum; for they required signs of supernatural agency, such as the suspension of the possessed in the air without any visible support, or the use of different languages, unknown to the demoniac in his natural state.



THE MANIAC,

OR

FATAL EFFECTS OF WANTON MISCHIEF.

Some years ago, a very intelligent, handsome, and promising youth, whose names is Henry Pargeter Lewis, the son of a respectable attorney, in the town of Dudley, was placed for a probationary time, previously to an intended apprenticeship, with a surgeon and apothecary of the name of Powell, in the immediate neighbourhood of one of our great public schools. He had not been there long, before one of the scholars, who lodged at the surgeon's, in league with the servant-boy of the house, devised the following stratagem to frighten him. One night, during an absence of the master, the servant-boy concealed himself under the bed of Henry, before the latter retired to rest, and remained there till the hour of midnight; when, on a preconcerted signal of three raps at the chamber door, it suddenly opened, and in stalked the school-boy, habited in a white sheet, with his face horribly disguised, and bearing a lighted candle in his hand; the servant-boy, at the same moment, heaving up the bed under Henry with his back. How long this was acted is not known: it was done long enough, however, completely to dethrone the reason of the unfortunate youth; who, it is supposed, immediately covered himself with the bed-clothes, and so continued till the morning. On his not rising at the usual time, some one of the family went to call him; and, not answering, except by incoherent cries, was discovered in the state just described.

The melancholy tidings of his situation were conveyed to his friends, on his removal to them; the facts having been disclosed, partly by the confession of the servant-boy, and partly by the unfortunate youth himself, during the few lucid intervals which occurred in the course of the first year after his misfortune.

His father and mother were then living, but they are now both dead: and the little property they left to support him is now nearly exhausted, together with a small subscription which was also raised to furnish him with necessaries, and to remunerate a person to take care of him. He is perfectly harmless and gentle, being rather in a state of idiotcy than insanity; seldom betraying any symptoms of violent emotion, except occasionally about midnight (the time of his unhappy disaster), when, full of indescribable terror, he exclaims, "Oh! they are coming! they are coming!" All hope of recovery is at an end; more than twenty years having elapsed since the catastrophe happened.

It is sincerely hoped that this pitiable case may prove a warning to inconsiderate youth; by showing them what dreadful effects may follow such wanton acts of mischief.



EXTRAORDINARY

DOUBLE DREAM,

Without any Corresponding Event.

The late Reverend Mr. Joseph Wilkins, a dissenting clergyman, at Weymouth, in Dorsetshire, had the following remarkable dream, which is copied verbatim from a short account of his life.

"One night, soon after I was in bed, I fell asleep, and dreamed I was going to London. I thought it would not be much out of my way to go through Gloucestershire, and call upon my friends there. Accordingly, I set out; but remember nothing that happened by the way, till I came to my father's house, when I went to the fore door and tried to open it, but found it fast; then I went to our back door, which I opened and went in: but finding all the family were in bed, I went across the rooms only, and walked up stairs, entered the room where my father and mother were in bed, and as I passed by the side of the bed in which my father lay, I found him asleep, or thought he was so; then I went to the other side, and as I just turned the foot of the bed, I found my mother awake, to whom I said these words, 'Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye;' upon which she answered me in a fright—'O! dear son, thee art dead!' with which I awoke, and took no notice of it more than a common dream, only it appeared to me very perfect, as sometimes dreams will. But, in a few days after, as soon as a letter could reach me, I received one by the post from my father; upon the receipt of which I was a little surprised, and concluded something extraordinary must have happened, as it was but a little before I had had a letter from my friends, and all were well: but, upon opening it, I was still more surprised; for my father addressed me as though I was dead, desiring me, if alive, or whose ever hands the letter might fall into, to write immediately. But, if the letter found me living, they concluded I should not live long, and gave this as a reason for their fears—That on such a night (naming it), after they were in bed, my father asleep and my mother awake, she heard somebody try to open the fore door, but finding it fast, he went to the back door, which he opened, and came in, and went directly through the room up stairs, and she perfectly knew it to be my step, come to her bed-side, and spoke to her these words, 'Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye,' upon which she answered in a fright, 'O! dear son, thee art dead!' (which were the very circumstances and words of my dream); but she heard nothing more, she saw nothing (neither did I in my dream, as it was all dark). Upon this she awoke my father, and told him what had passed, but he endeavoured to appease her, persuading her it was only a dream; but she insisted on it, it was no dream, for that she was as perfectly awake as ever, and had not had the least inclination to sleep since she had been in bed (from which I am apt to think it was at the very same instant with my dream, though the distance between us was about one hundred miles, but of this I cannot speak positively). This affair happened whilst I was at the academy at Ottery, in the county of Devon, and I believe in the year 1754; and at this distance every circumstance is very fresh in my mind. I have since had frequent opportunities of talking over the affair with my mother, and the whole circumstance was as fresh upon her mind as it was upon mine. I have often thought that her sensation as to this matter was stronger than mine; and, what some may think strange, I cannot remember any thing remarkable happened thereon; and that this is only a plain simple narrative of matter of fact."

The above relation must convince credulous people how necessary it is, not to place implicit confidence in dreams, or suffer them to make too great an impression on the mind, as they are most frequently merely the result of our waking thoughts.



REMARKABLE INSTANCES

OF THE

POWER OF VISION.

A shepherd upon one of the mountains in Cumberland, was suddenly enveloped with a thick fog or mist, through which every object appeared so greatly increased in magnitude, that he no longer knew where he was. In this state of confusion he wandered in search of some unknown object, from which he might direct his future steps. Chance, at last, brought this lost shepherd within sight of what he supposed to be a very large mansion, which he did not remember ever to have seen before; but, on his entering this visionary castle, to inquire his way home, he found it inhabited by his own family. It was nothing more than his own cottage. But his organs of sight had so far misled his mental faculties, that some little time elapsed before he could be convinced that he saw real objects. Instances of the same kind of illusion, though not to the same degree, are not unfrequent in those mountainous regions.

From these effects of vision, it is evident that the pupil and the picture of an object within the eye, increase at the same time.

* * * * *

The writer of the above account was passing the Frith of Forth, at Queensferry, near Edinburgh, one morning when it was extremely foggy. Though the water is only two miles broad, the boat did not get within sight of the southern shore till it approached very near it. He then saw, to his great surprise, a large perpendicular rock, where he knew the shore was low and almost flat. As the boat advanced a little nearer, the rock seemed to split perpendicularly into portions, which separated at a little distance from one another. He next saw these perpendicular divisions move; and, upon approaching a little nearer, found it was a number of people, standing on the beach, waiting the arrival of the ferry-boat.

* * * * *

The following extract of a letter, from a gentleman of undoubted veracity, is another curious instance of the property of vision:—

"When I was a young man, I was, like others, fond of sporting, and seldom liked to miss a day, if I could any way go out. From my own house I set out on foot, and pursued my diversion on a foggy day; and, after I had been out some time, the fog or mist increased to so great a degree, that, however familiar the hedges, trees, &c. were to me, I lost myself, insomuch that I did not know whether I was going to or from home. In a field where I then was, I suddenly discovered what I imagined was a well known hedge-row, interspersed with pollard trees, &c. under which I purposed to proceed homewards; but, to my great surprise, upon approaching this appearance, I discovered a row of the plants known by the name of rag, and by the vulgar, canker weed, growing on a mere balk, dividing ploughed fields: the whole height of both could not exceed three feet, or three feet and a half. It struck me so forcibly that I shall never forget it; this too in a field which I knew as well as any man, could know a field."



THE

PHILOSOPHER GASSENDI,

AND THE

HAUNTED BED-ROOM.

In one of the letters of this celebrated philosopher, he says, that he was consulted by his friend and patron the Count d'Alais, governor of Provence, on a phenomenon that haunted his bed-chamber while he was at Marseilles on some business relative to his office. The Count tells Gassendi, that, for several successive nights, as soon as the candle was taken away, he and his Countess saw a luminous spectre, sometimes of an oval, and sometimes of a triangular form; that it always disappeared when light came into the room; that he had often struck at it, but could discover nothing solid. Gassendi, as a natural philosopher, endeavoured to account for it; sometimes attributing it to some defect of vision, or to some dampness of the room, insinuating that perhaps it might be sent from Heaven to him, to give him a warning in due time of something that should happen. The spectre still continued its visits all the time that he staid at Marseilles; and some years afterwards, on their return to Aix, the Countess d'Alais confessed to her husband, that she played him this trick, by means of one of her women placed under the bed with a phial of phosphorus, with an intention to frighten him away from Marseilles, a place in which she very much disliked to live.



THE

GHOST ON SHIP-BOARD.

A gentleman of high respectability in the navy relates the following story.

"When on a voyage to New York, we had not been four days at sea, before an occurrence of a very singular nature broke in upon our quiet. It was a ghost! One night, when all was still and dark, and the ship rolling at sea before the wind, a man sprung suddenly upon deck in his shirt, his hair erect, his eyes starting from their sockets, and loudly vociferating he had seen a ghost. After his horror had a little subsided, we asked him what he had seen?—he said, the figure of a woman dressed in white, with eyes of flaming fire; that she came to his hammock, and stared him in the face. This we treated as an idle dream, and sent the frantic fellow to his bed. The story became the subject of every one; and the succeeding night produced half a dozen more terrified men to corroborate what had happened the first, and all agreed in the same story, that it was a woman. This rumour daily increasing, at length came to the ears of the captain and officers, who were all equally solicitous to discover the true cause of this terrific report. I placed myself night by night beneath the hammocks to watch its appearance, but all in vain; yet still the appearance was nightly, as usual, and the horrors and fears of the people rather daily increased than diminished. A phantom of this sort rather amused than perplexed my mind; and when I had given over every idea of discovering the cause of this strange circumstance, and the thing began to wear away, I was surprised, one very dark night, as seated under the boats, with a stately figure in white stalking along the deck! The singularity of the event struck my mind that this must be the very identical ghost which had of late so much disturbed the ship's company. I therefore instantly dropped down from the place I was in, to the deck on which it appeared, when it passed me immediately very quickly, turned round, and marched directly forwards. I followed it closely, through the gallery, and out at the head-doors, when the figure instantly disappeared, which very much astonished me. I then leaped upon the forecastle, and asked of the people who were walking there, if such a figure had passed them? They replied, No, with some emotion and pleasure, as I had ever ridiculed all their reports on this subject. However, this night-scene between me and the ghost became the theme of the ensuing day. Nothing particular transpired till twelve o'clock, when, as the people were pricking at the tub for their beef, it was discovered Jack Sutton was missing. The ship's company was directly mustered, and Jack was no where to be found. I then inquired of his messmates the character of the man; and, after a number of interrogatories, one of them said, that poor Sutton used to tell him a number of comical jokes about his walking in his sleep. Now the mystery was unravelled; and this terrific ghost, which had so much alarmed all the sailors, now proved to be the poor unfortunate Jack Sutton, who had walked overboard in his dream."

The first fellow who spread this report, and who shewed such signs of horror, was found on inquiry to be a most flagitious villain, who had murdered a woman, who he believed always haunted him, and the appearance of this sleepwalker confirmed in his mind the ghost of the murdered fair one; for, in such cases, conscience is a busy monitor, and ever active to its own pain and disturbance.



A REMARKABLE STORY

OF

A GHOST,

Thrice called for, as an Evidence, in a Court of Justice.

A farmer, on his return from the market at Southam, in the county of Warwick, was murdered. A man went the next morning to his house, and inquired of the mistress, if her husband came home the evening before; she replied, No, and that she was under the utmost anxiety and terror on that account. "Your terror," added he, "cannot equal mine; for, last night, as I lay in bed quite awake, the apparition of your husband appeared to me, shewed me several ghastly stabs in his body; told me that he had been murdered by such a person (naming the man), and his body thrown into such a marl-pit, which he then particularly described. The alarm was given, the pit searched, the body found, and the wounds answered the description given of them. The man whom the ghost had accused was apprehended, and committed, on a violent suspicion of murder. His trial came on at Warwick, before the Lord Chief Justice Raymond; when the jury would have convicted, as rashly as the magistrate had committed him, had not the judge checked them. He addressed himself to them in words to this purpose—"I think, Gentlemen, you seem inclined to lay more stress on the evidence of an apparition than it will bear. I cannot say that I give much credit to these kind of stories: but, be that as it will, we have no right to follow our own private opinions here. We are now in a court of law, and must determine according to it; and I know of no law now in being, which will admit of the testimony of an apparition: not yet, if it did, doth the ghost appear to give evidence. Crier," said he, "call the ghost." Which was thrice done, to no manner of purpose: it appeared not. "Gentlemen of the Jury," continued the Judge, "the prisoner at the bar, as you have heard by undeniable witnesses, is a man of the most unblemished character; nor has it appeared in the course of the examination, that there was any manner of quarrel or grudge between him and the party deceased. I do believe him to be perfectly innocent; and, as there is no evidence against him, either positive or circumstantial, he must be acquitted. But, from many circumstances which have arisen during the trial, I do strongly suspect that the gentleman who saw the apparition was himself the murderer: in which case he might easily ascertain the pit, the wounds, &c. without any supernatural assistance; and on suspicion, I shall think myself justified in committing him to close custody, till the matter can be fairly inquired into. This was immediately done, and a warrant granted for searching his house; when such strong proofs of guilt appeared against him, that he confessed the murder: for which he was executed.



THE

LADY OF THE BLACK TOWER.

BY MRS. ROBINSON.

"Watch no more the twinkling stars; Watch no more the chalky bourne; Lady, from the holy wars Never will thy love return! Cease to watch, and cease to mourn; Thy lover never will return!

"Watch no more the yellow moon, Peering o'er the mountain's head; Rosy day, returning soon, Will see thy lover pale and dead! Cease to weep, and cease to mourn: Thy lover will no more return.

"Lady, in the holy wars, Fighting for the cross, he died; Low he lies, and many scars Mark his cold and mangled side; In his winding-sheet he lies. Lady, check those rending sighs.

"Hark! the hollow-sounding gale Seems to sweep in murmurs by, Sinking slowly down the vale; Wherefore, gentle lady, sigh? Wherefore moan, and wherefore sigh? Lady, all that live must die.

"Now the stars are fading fast, Swift their brilliant course are run: Soon shall dreary night be past, Soon shall rise the cheering sun! The sun will rise to gladden thee; Lady, lady, cheerful be."

So spake a voice; while, sad and lone, Upon a lofty tow'r reclin'd, A lady sat: the pale moon shone, And sweetly blew the summer wind; Yet still, disconsolate in mind, The lovely lady sat reclin'd.

The lofty tow'r was ivy-clad; And round a dreary forest rose; The midnight bell was tolling sad, 'Twas tolling for a soul's repose. The lady heard the gates unclose, And from her seat in terror rose.

The summer moon shone bright and clear; She saw the castle gates unclose; And now she saw four monks appear, Loud chanting for a soul's repose. Forbear, O lady! look no more: They pass'd—a livid corpse they bore.

They pass'd, and all was silent now; The breeze upon the forest slept; The moon stole o'er the mountain's brow; Again the lady sigh'd and wept. She watch'd the holy fathers go Along the forest path below.

And now the dawn was bright; the dew Upon the yellow heath was seen; The clouds were of a rosy hue, The sunny lustre shone between: The lady to the chapel ran, While the slow matin pray'r began.

And then, once more, the fathers grey She mark'd, employ'd in holy pray'r; Her heart was full, she could not pray, For love and fear were masters there! Ah, lady! thou wilt pray, ere long, To sleep those lonely aisles among!

And now the matin pray'rs were o'er; The barefoot monks, of order grey, Were thronging to the chapel door: When there the lady stopp'd the way; "Tell me," she cried, "whose corpse so pale Last night ye bore along the vale?"

"O lady! question us no more: No corpse did we bear down the dale." The lady sunk upon the floor, Her quiv'ring lip was deathly pale! The barefoot monks now whisper'd, sad, "God grant our lady be not mad!"

The monks departing, one by one, The chapel gates in silence close, When from the altar steps of stone The trembling lady feebly goes; While morning sheds a ruby light, The painted windows glowing bright.

And now she heard a hollow sound; It seem'd to come from graves below; And now again she look'd around, A voice came murm'ring sad and slow And now she heard it feebly cry, "Lady, all that live must die!

"Watch no more from yonder tow'r, Watch no more the star of day! Watch no more the dawning hour, That chases sullen night away! Cease to watch, and cease to mourn; Thy lover will no more return!"

She look'd around, and now she view'd, Clad in a doublet gold and green, A youthful knight: he frowning stood, And noble was his mournful mien; And now he said, with heaving sigh, "Lady, all that live must die."

She rose to quit the altar's stone, She cast a look to heav'n, and sigh'd: When, lo! the youthful knight was gone; And, scowling by the lady's side, With sightless skull and bony hand, She saw a giant spectre stand!

His flowing robe was long and clear, His ribs were white as drifted snow. The lady's heart was chill'd with fear; She rose, but scarce had power to go: The spectre grinn'd a dreadful smile, And walk'd beside her down the aisle.

And now he wav'd his ratt'ling hand; And now they reach'd the chapel door, And there the spectre took his stand; While, rising from the marble floor, A hollow voice was heard to cry, "Lady, all that live must die.

"Watch no more the evening star! Watch no more the glimpse of morn! Never from the holy war, Lady, will thy love return! See this bloody cross; and, see, His bloody scarf he sends to thee!"

And now again the youthful knight Stood smiling by the lady's side! His helmet shone with crimson light, His sword with drops of blood was dy'd: And now a soft and mournful song Stole the chapel aisles among.

Now from the spectre's paley cheek The flesh began to waste away; The vaulted doors were heard to creak, And dark became the summer day! The spectre's eyes were sunk, but he Seem'd with their sockets still to see;

The second bell is heard to ring: Four barefoot monks, of orders grey, Again their holy service sing, And round their chapel altar pray: The lady counted o'er and o'er, And shudder'd while she counted four!

"Oh! fathers, who was he, so gay, That stood beside the chapel door? Oh! tell me, fathers, tell me, pray," The monks replied, "We fathers four: Lady, no other have we seen, Since in this holy place we've been!"

PART SECOND.

Now the merry bugle-horn Through the forest sounded far; When on the lofty tow'r, forlorn, The lady watch'd the evening star; The evening star that seemed to be Rising from the dark'ned sea.

The summer sea was dark and still, The sky was streak'd with lines of gold, The mist rose grey above the hill, And low the clouds of amber roll'd: The lady on the lofty tow'r Watch'd the calm and silent hour.

And while she watch'd, she saw advance A ship, with painted streamers gay: She saw it on the green wave dance, And plunge amid the silver spray; While from the forest's haunts forlorn, Again she heard the bugle horn.

The sails were full; the breezes rose; The billows curl'd along the shore; And now the day began to close— The bugle horn was heard no more. But, rising from the wat'ry way An airy voice was heard to say—

"Watch no more the evening star; Watch no more the billowy sea; Lady, from the holy war, Thy lover hastes to comfort thee: Lady, lady, cease to mourn; Soon thy lover will return."

Now she hastens to the bay; Now the rising storm she hears: Now the sailors smiling say, "Lady, lady, check your fears: Trust us, lady; we will be Your pilots o'er the stormy sea."

Now the little bark she view'd, Moor'd beside the flinty steep; And now, upon the foamy flood, The tranquil breezes seemed to sleep. The moon arose; her silver ray Seem'd on the silent deep to play.

Now music stole across the main: It was a sweet but mournful tone; It came a slow and dulcet strain; It came from where the pale moon shone: And while it pass'd across the sea, More soft and soft it seem'd to be.

Now on the deck the lady stands. The vessel steers across the main; It steers towards the Holy Land, Never to return again: Still the sailors cry, "We'll be Your pilots o'er the stormy sea."

Now she hears a low voice say, "Deeper, deeper, deeper still; Hark! the black'ning billows play; Hark! the waves the vessel fill: Lower, lower, down we go; All is dark and still below."

Now a flash of vivid light On the rolling deep was seen! And now the lady saw the knight, With doublet rich, of gold and green: From the sockets of his eyes, A pale and streaming light she spies.

And now his form transparent stood, Smiling with a ghastly mien: And now the calm and boundless flood Was like the emerald, bright and green; And now 'twas of a troubled hue, While "Deeper, deeper," sang the crew.

Slow advanced the morning light, Slow they plough'd the wavy tide; When, on a cliff of dreadful height, A castle's lofty tow'r they spied: The lady heard the sailor-band Cry, "Lady, this is Holy Land.

"Watch no more the glitt'ring spray; Watch no more the weedy sand; Watch no more the star of day; Lady, this is Holy Land: This castle's lord shall welcome thee; Then, lady, lady, cheerful be!"

Now the castle-gates they pass; Now across the spacious square, Cover'd high with dewy grass, Trembling steals the lady fair: And now the castle's lord was seen, Clad in a doublet gold and green.

He led her through the Gothic hall, With bones and skulls encircled round; "Oh, let not this thy soul appal!" He cried, "for this is holy ground." He led her through the chambers lone, 'Mid many a shriek and many a groan.

Now to the banquet-room they came: Around a table of black stone, She mark'd a faint and vapoury flame; Upon the horrid feast it shone— And there, to close the madd'ning sight, Unnumber'd spectres met the light.

Their teeth were like the brilliant, bright; Their eyes were blue as sapphire clear; Their bones were of a polish'd white; Gigantic did their ribs appear! And now the knight the lady led, And placed her at the table's head!

Just now the lady woke:—for she Had slept upon the lofty tow'r, And dreams of dreadful phantasie Had fill'd the lonely moonlight hour: Her pillow was the turret stone, And on her breast the pale moon shone.

But now a real voice she hears: It was her lover's voice; for he, To calm her bosom's rending fears, That night had cross'd the stormy sea: "I come," said he, "from Palestine, To prove myself, sweet Lady, thine."



INDEX.

Ackland, Sir Hugh, his Extraordinary Resuscitation, Page 208

Agreeable Explanation, 209

Aix-la-Chapelle, Extraordinary Event at, 29

Anatomical Professor, and the Dead Man, 75

Apparitions, Essay on, 13

Apparition, the Castle, 143

Apparition Investigated, 167

B.

Bed-Room, the Haunted, 41

Benighted Traveller, and Haunted Room, 170

Bishop, the Credulous, 116

C.

Carrier, the Frightened, 158

Castle Apparition, 143

Castle, Haunted, 152

Chimney-Sweep, and Drunken Bucks, 80

Church-Yard Encounter, or Heroic Midshipman, 122

Church-Yard Ghost, and Milkman, 178

Club-Room Ghost, 159

Cock-Lane Ghost, 125

College Ghost, or Double Mistake, 150

Couple, the Superstitious, 39

Credulous Bishop, 116

Credulous Peasants, 94

Cripplegate Ghost, 81

D.

Dead Body, and Unfortunate Priest, 183

Dead Man, and Anatomical Professor, 75

Dominican Friar, 29

Double Mistake, or College Ghost, 150

Drunken Bucks, and Chimney Sweep, 80

E.

Essay on Apparitions, &c., 13

Extraordinary Double Dream, 216

F.

Fakenham Ghost, 179

Fatal Superstition, 185

Fatal Effects of Wanton Mischief, 214

Female Fanatic, and Heavenly Visitor, 59

Female Sprites, 64

Floating Wonder, or Female Spectre, 187

Friar, the Dominican, 29

Frightened Carrier, 158

Funeral, the Ideot's, 55

G.

Gassendi, the Philosopher, and Haunted Bed-Room, 222

Giles the Shepherd, and Spectre, 195

Ghost of the Field, or the Twins, 147

Ghost, and no Ghost, 176

Ghost on Ship-Board, 223

Ghostly Adventurer, 119

Ghost, thrice called for, as an Evidence in a Court of Justice, 226

H.

Hammersmith Ghost, 156

Haunted Beach, or Power of Conscience on a Murderer, 172

Haunted Bed-Room, 41

Haunted Bed-Room, and Benighted Traveller, 170

Haunted Castle, 152

Haunted Castle, and Mareschal Saxe, 103

Heavenly Visitor, and Female Fanatic, 59

Heroic Midshipman, or Church-Yard Encounter, 122

Hypochondriac Gentleman, and Jack Ass, 138

I.

Ideot's Funeral, 55

Imagination, Remarkable Instance of the Power of, 45

Innocent Devil, or Agreeable Disappointment, 201

J.

Jealousy, Fatal Effects of, or the Prussian Domino, 66

L.

Lady of the Black Tower, 228

Lunatic Apparition, 162

M.

Maniac; or, Fatal Effects of Wanton Mischief, 214

Man with his Head on Fire, and covered with Blood, 198

Mareschal Saxe, and the Haunted Castle, 103

Mary (Poor), the Maid of the Inn, 190

Midshipman, Heroic, and Church-Yard Encounter, 122

Milkman, and Church-Yard Ghost, 178

N.

Nocturnal Disturber, 95

P.

Peasants, the Credulous, 94

Poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn, 190

Power of Conscience on a Murderer, 172

Priest, the Unfortunate, and Dead Body, 183

Prussian Domino, or Fatal Effects of Jealousy, 66

R.

Resuscitation, Remarkable, 113

Remarkable Effects of the Power of Vision, 219

S.

School-Boy Apparition, 91

Sir Hugh Ackland, 208

Somersetshire Demoniac, 211

Sprites, the Female, 64

Spectre of the Broken, 203

Superstitious Couple, 39

Subterranean Traveller, or Ghost and No Ghost, 176

Supposed Supernatural Appearance, 164

Sweep, and Drunken Bucks, 80

T.

Twin Brothers, or Ghost of the Field, 147

V.

Ventriloquist, 57, 83

Vigil of St. Mark, or Fatal Superstition, 185

Vision, Remarkable Effects of the Power of, 219

W.

Westminster Scholars, and Hackney Coachman, 51

FINIS.



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Transcriber's Note:

The following errors have been corrected:

p. xi: pecant to peccant (upon the peccant part) p. 15: ramble to rumble (solemn rumble) p. 23: adyantage to advantage (turn them to my advantage) p. 31: cieling to ceiling (as high as the ceiling) p. 36: missing "been" added (had been in bed) p. 51: instanly to instantly (They then instantly dressed) p. 53: mercy to mercy's (for mercy's sake) p. 59: Ferronerie to Ferronnerie (Rue de la Ferronnerie) p. 64: Bartholemew to Bartholomew (Bartholomew Close) p. 68: plantive to plaintive (plaintive tone of voice) p. 69: faultering to faltering (his tongue faltering) p. 104: announed to announced (whose visit was announced) p. 104: colon to period (their feelings. But I was) p. 113: Celebres to Celebres (Causes Celebres) p. 130: missing closing bracket added (was heard.)) p. 158: Remnstone to Rempstone (the village of Rempstone) p. 165: accended to ascended (ascended the stairs) p. 177: missing open quote added ('_Who's there? What are ye?_') p. 177: missing close quote added ('_How came you there?_') p. 187: extra "in" removed (Caerleon, in Wales) p. 191: comma to period (They listen'd to hear the wind roar.) p. 205: missing open quote added ("'After having been here for) p. 217: missing close quote added (thee art dead!_') p. 225: missing close quote added (in his dream.") p. 237: missing open quote added ("Deeper, deeper, deeper still;) p. 239: line indented to match others (Her pillow was the turret stone,)

Archaic and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have not been corrected. Inconsistencies between the Index and the rest of the text have also been left as in the original.

As in the original, there are two different stories called "THE VENTRILOQUIST."

Omitted lines of poetry on p. 195 are represented with a line of 23 asterisks in the plain text versions, as in the original. Short lines used as thought breaks on pp. 220 and 221 are represented with a line of 5 asterisks.

In the plain text versions, two superscript t's with a dot below them in the caption of the Frontispiece are represented as plain letter t's, and oe-ligatures have been changed to oe.

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THE END