James II. bequeathed his heart to be buried in the Church of the Convent Dames de St. Marie, at Chaillot, whence it was afterwards removed to the chapel of the English Benedictines in the Faubourg St. Jacques. And the heart of Mary Beatrice, his wife, was also bequeathed to the Monastery of Chaillot, in perpetuity, "to be placed in the tribune beside those of her late husband, King James, and the Princess, their daughter." Dr. Richard Rawlinson, the well known antiquary bequeathed his heart to St. John's College, Oxford; and Edward, Lord Windsor, of Bradenham, Bucks, who died at Spa in the year 1754, directed that his body should be buried in the "Cathedral church of the noble city of Liege, with a convenient tomb to his memory, but his heart to be enclosed in lead and sent to England, there to be buried in the chapel of Bradenham, under his father's tomb, in token of a true Englishman."
Paul Whitehead, who died in the year 1774, left his heart to his friend Lord le Despencer, to be deposited in his mausoleum at West Wycombe. Lord le Despencer accepted the bequest, and on the 16th May, 1775, the heart, after being wrapped in lead and placed in a marble urn, was carried with much ceremony to its resting place. Preceding the bier bearing the urn, "a grenadier marched in full uniform, nine grenadiers two deep, the odd one last; two German flute players, two surpliced choristers with notes pinned to their backs, two more flute players, eleven singing men in surplices, two French horn players, two bassoon players, six fifers, and four drummers with muffled drums. Lord le Despencer, as chief mourner, followed the bier, in his uniform as Colonel of the Bucks Militia, and was succeeded by nine officers of the same corps, two fifers, two drummers, and twenty soldiers with their firelocks reversed. The Dead March in "Saul" was played, the church bell tolled, and cannons were discharged every three and a half minutes." On arriving at the mausoleum, another hour was spent by the procession in going round and round it, singing funeral dirges, after which the urn containing the heart was carried inside, and placed upon a pedestal bearing the name of Paul Whitehead, and these lines:
Unhallowed hands, this urn forbear; No gems, no Orient spoil, Lie here concealed; but what's more rare, A heart that knew no guile.
But in the year 1829 some unhallowed hand stole the urn, and the whereabouts of Whitehead's heart remains a mystery to the present day. In recent times an interesting case of heart burial was that of Lord Byron, whose heart was enclosed in a silver urn and placed at Newstead Abbey in the family vault; and another was that of the poet, Shelley, whose body, according to Italian custom after drowning, was burnt to ashes. But the heart would not consume, and so was deposited in the English burying ground at Rome.
It is worthy, too, of note that heart burial prevailed to a very large extent on the Continent. To mention a few cases, the heart of Philip, King of Navarre, was buried in the Jacobin's Church, Paris, and that of Philip, King of France, at the convent of the Carthusians at Bourgfontaines, in Valois. The heart of Henri II., King of France, was enshrined in an urn of gilt bronze in the Celestins, Paris; that of Henri III., according to Camden, was enclosed in a small tomb, and Henri IV.'s heart was buried in the College of the Jesuits at La Fleche. Heart burial, again, was practised at the deaths of Louis IX., XII., XIII., and XIV., and in the last instance was the occasion of an imposing ceremony. "The heart of this great monarch," writes Miss Hartshorne, "was carried to the Convent of the Jesuits. A procession was arranged by the Cardinal de Rohan, and, surrounded by flaming torches and escorted by a company of the Royal Guards, the heart arrived at the convent, where it was received by the rector, who pronounced over it an eloquent and striking discourse."
The heart of Marie de Medicis, who built the magnificent palace of the Luxembourg, was interred at the Church of the Jesuits, in Paris; and that of Maria Theresa, wife of Louis XIV., was deposited in a silver case in the monastery of Val de Grace. The body of Gustavus Adolphus, the illustrious monarch who fell in the field of Lutzen, was embalmed, and his heart received sepulchre at Stockholm; and, as is well known, the heart of Cardinal Mazarin was, by his own desire, sent to the Church of the Theatins. And Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV., directed in her will that her body should be buried at St. Denis near to her husband, "of glorious memory," but her heart she bequeathed to Val de Grace; and she also decreed that it should be drawn out through her side without making any further opening than was absolutely necessary. Instances such as these show the prevalence of the custom of heart burial in bygone times, a further proof of which may be gathered from the innumerable effigies or brasses in which a heart holds a prominent place.
 See Timbs' "Abbeys, Castles, and Ancient Halls of England," i., p. 300; and "Enshrined Hearts of Warriors and Illustrious People," by Emily Sophia Hartshorne, 1861.
ROMANCE OF WEALTH.
The unsunn'd heaps Of miser's treasure. MILTON.
Stories of lost or unclaimed property have always possessed a fascinating charm, but, unfortunately, the links for proving the rightful ownership break off generally at the point where its history seems on the verge of being unravelled. At the same time, however romantic and improbable some of the announcements relating to such treasure-hoards may seem, there is no doubt that many a poor family, at the present day, would be possessed of great wealth if it could only gain a clue to the whereabouts of money rightfully its own.
The legal identification, too, of such property when discovered has frequently precluded its successfully being claimed by those really entitled to enjoy it, and few persons are aware of the enormous amount of unclaimed money—amounting to some millions—which lies dormant, although continually made public in the "agony columns" of the Times and other daily newspapers. It should be also remembered that wealth of this kind is carefully preserved in all kinds of places; bankers' cellars, for instance, containing some of the most curious unclaimed deposits, many of them being of rare intrinsic value, whilst others are of great romantic interest.
Thus, not many years ago, there was accidentally discovered in the vaults of the Bank of England a large chest of some considerable age, which, on being removed from its resting place, almost fell to pieces. On the contents of this old chest being examined, some massive plate of the time of Charles II. was brought to light, of very beautiful and chaste workmanship. Nor was this all, for much to the surprise of the explorers, a bundle of love letters, written during the period of the Restoration, was found carefully packed away with the plate. On search being made by the directors of the bank in their books, the surviving heir of the original depositor was ascertained, to whom the plate and packet of love letters were handed over.
Many similar cases might be quoted, for in most of our bank cellars are hoarded away family treasures, which for some inexplicable reason have never been claimed. Some, again, of our old jewellers' shops have had strange deposits in their cellars, the history and whereabouts of their owners having baffled the most searching and minute inquiries. As an illustration, may be given an instance which occurred some years back in connection with a jeweller's shop near Soho. It seems that an old lady lodged for a few weeks over the said shop, and, on leaving for the Continent, left behind her, for safety's sake, several boxes of plate to be taken care of until further notice. But years passed by and no tidings of the lady reached the jeweller, although from time to time the most careful inquiries were instituted. At last, however, it transpired that she had died somewhat suddenly, but, as no record was found amongst her papers relating to the boxes of plate, a lengthened litigation arose as to the rightful claimant of the property.
Occasionally, through domestic differences, homes are broken up and the members dispersed, some perhaps going abroad. In many cases, such persons it may be are not only lost sight of for years, but are never heard of again, and hence, when they become entitled to money, large sums are frequently spent in advertising for their whereabouts, and oftentimes with no satisfactory results. Indeed, advertisements for missing relatives are, it is said, yearly on the increase, and considerable sums of money cannot be touched owing to the uncertainty as to whether persons of this description are alive or dead. An interesting instance occurred in the year 1882, when Sir James Hannen had the following case brought before him: "Counsel applied on behalf of Augustus Alexander de Niceville for letters of administration to the property of his father, supposed to be dead, as he had not been heard of since the year 1831, and who, if alive, would be 105 years old. In early life he held a commission in the French army, but in the year 1826 he came to this country and settled in Devonshire. On the breaking out of the French Revolution he returned with his wife to France, but his wife came back to England, and corresponded with her husband till the year 1831, when she ceased to hear from him. In spite of every means employed for tracing his whereabouts, nothing was ever heard of him, his wife dying in the year 1875. Affidavits in support of these facts having been read, the application was granted."
Then there are the well-known unclaimed funds in Chancery, concerning which so much interest attaches. It may not be generally known what a mine of wealth these dormant funds constitute, amounting to many millions; indeed, the Royal Courts of Justice have been mainly built with the surplus interest of this money, and occasionally large sums from this fund have been borrowed to enable the Chancellor of the Exchequer to carry through his financial operations. By an Act passed in the year 1865, facilities are afforded to apply L1,000,000 from funds standing in the books of the Bank of England to an account thus designated: "Account of securities purchased with surplus interest arising from securities carried to the account of moneys placed out for the benefit and better security of the suitors of the Court of Chancery." Not so very long ago the subject was discussed in Parliament, when it was urged that, as the Government were trustees of these funds, something should be done, as far as possible, by publicity, to adopt measures whereby the true owners might become claimants if they had but the knowledge of their rights.
Another reason for money remaining unclaimed for a number of years, is through missing wills. Hence many a family forfeits its claim to certain property on account of the testator's last wishes not being forthcoming. Thackeray makes one of his plots hang in a most ingenious way upon a missing will, which is discovered eventually in the sword-box of a family coach, and various curious instances are on record of wills having been discovered years after the testator's death in the most out-of-the-way and unlikely hiding places. In some cases, also, through a particular clause in a will being peculiarly or doubtfully worded, heirs have been deprived of what was really due to them, a goodly part of the property having been squandered and wasted in prolonged legal expenses.
Then, again, it is universally acknowledged that there is an immense quantity of money, and other valuables, concealed in the earth. In olden days, the householder was the guardian of his own money, and so had to conceal it as his ingenuity could devise. Accordingly large sums of money were frequently buried underground, and in excavating old houses, treasures of various kinds are oftentimes found underneath the floors. The custom of making the earth a stronghold, and confiding to its safe-keeping deposits of money, prevailed until a comparatively recent period, and was only natural, when it is remembered how, in consequence of civil commotions, many a home was likely to be robbed of its most valuable belongings. Hence every precaution was taken, a circumstance which accounts for the cunning secretal of rich and costly relics in old buildings. According to an entry given by Pepys in his "Diary," a large amount was supposed to be buried in his day, and he gives an amusing account of the hiding of his own money by his wife and father when the Dutch fleet was supposed to be in the Medway. Times of trouble, therefore, will account for many of the treasures which were so carefully secreted in olden times. Many years ago, as the foundations of some old houses in Exeter were being removed, a large collection of silver coins was discovered—the money found dating from the time of Henry VIII. to Charles I., or the Commonwealth—and it has been suggested that the disturbed state of affairs in the middle of the 17th century led to this mode of securing treasure.
This will account in some measure for the traditions of the existence of large sums of hidden money associated with some of our old family mansions. An amusing story is related by Thomas of Walsingham, which dates as far back as the 14th century. A certain Saracen physician came to Earl Warren to ask permission to kill a dragon which had its den at Bromfield, near Ludlow, and committed great ravages in the earl's lands. The dragon was overcome; but it transpired that a large treasure lay hid in its den. Thereupon some men of Herefordshire went by night to dig for the gold, and had just succeeded in reaching it when the retainers of the Earl of Warren, having learnt what was going on, captured them and took possession of the hoard for the earl. A legend of this kind was long connected with Hulme Hall, formerly a seat of a branch of the Prestwich family. It seems that during the civil wars its then owner, Sir Thomas Prestwich, was very much impoverished by fines and sequestrations, so that he was forced to sell the mansion and estate to Sir Oswald Mosley. On more than one occasion his mother had induced him to advance large sums of money to Charles I. and his adherents, under the assurance that she had hidden treasures which would amply repay him. This hoard was generally supposed to have been hidden, either in the hall itself, or in the grounds adjoining, and it was said to be protected by spells and incantations, known only to the lady dowager herself. Time passed on, and the old lady became every day more infirm, and at last she was struck down with apoplexy before she could either practise the requisite incantations, or inform her son where the treasure was secreted. After her burial, diligent search was made, but to no effect; and Sir Thomas Prestwich went down to the grave in comparative poverty. Since that period fortune-tellers and astrologers have tried their powers to discover the whereabouts of this hidden hoard, and, although they have been unsuccessful, it is still believed that one day their labours will be rewarded, and that the demons who guard the money will be forced to give up their charge. Some years ago the hall and estate were sold to the Duke of Bridgewater, and, the site having been required for other purposes, the hall was pulled down, but no money was discovered.
In Ireland, there are few old ruins in and about which excavations have not been made in the expectation of discovering hidden wealth, and in some instances the consequence of this belief has been the destruction of the building, which has been actually undermined. About three miles south of Cork, near the village of Douglas, is a hill called Castle Treasure, where a "cross of gold" was supposed to be concealed; and the discovery, some years ago, of a rudely-formed clay urn and two or three brazen implements attracted for some time crowds to the spot.
But such stories are not confined to any special locality, and there is, in most parts of England, a popular belief that vast treasures are hidden beneath the old ruins of many houses, and that supernatural obstacles always prevent their being discovered. Indeed, Scotland has numerous legends of this kind, some of which, as Mr. Chambers has pointed out, have been incorporated into its popular rhymes. Thus, on a certain farm in the parish of Lesmahagow, from time immemorial there existed a tradition that underneath a very large stone was secreted a vast treasure in the shape of a kettleful, a bootful, and a bull-hide full "of gold, all of which have been designated 'Katie Neevie's hoord,'" having given rise to the following adage:
Between Dillerhill and Crossford There lies Katie Neevie's hoord.
And at Fardell, anciently the seat of Sir Walter Raleigh's family, in the courtyard formerly stood an inscribed bilingual stone of the Roman British period; the stone is now in the British Museum. The tradition current in the neighbourhood makes the inscription refer to a treasure buried by Sir Walter Raleigh, and hence the local rhyme:
Between this stone and Fardell Hall Lies as much money as the devil can haul.
A curious incident happened in Ireland about the commencement of the last century. The Bishop of Derry being at dinner, there came in an old Irish harper, and sang an ancient song to his harp. The Bishop, not being acquainted with Irish, was at a loss to understand the meaning of the song, but on inquiry he ascertained the substance of it to be this—that in a certain spot a man of gigantic stature lay buried, and that over his breast and back were plates of pure gold, and on his fingers rings of gold so large that an ordinary man might creep through them. The spot was so exactly described that two persons actually went in quest of the garden treasure. After they had dug for some time, they discovered two thin pieces of gold, circular, and more than two inches in diameter. But when they renewed their excavations on the following morning they found nothing more. The song of the harper has been identified as "Moiva Borb," and the lines which suggested the remarkable discovery have been translated thus:
In earth, beside the loud cascade, The son of Sora's king we laid; And on each finger placed a ring Of gold, by mandate of our king.
The loud cascade was the well-known waterfall at Ballyshannon, known as "The Salmon Leap" now.
It was also a common occurrence for a miser to hide away his hoards underground, and before he had an opportunity of making known their whereabouts he died, without his heirs being put in the necessary possession of the information regarding that part of the earth wherein he had kept secreted his wealth. At different times, in old houses have been discovered misers' hoards, and which, but for some accident, would have remained buried in their forgotten resting-place. This will frequently account for money being found in the most eccentric nooks, an illustration of which happened a few years ago in Paris, when a miser died, leaving behind him, as was supposed, money to the value of sixty pounds. After some months had passed by, the claimant to the property made his appearance, and, on the miser's apartments being thoroughly searched, no small astonishment was caused by the discovery of the large sum of thirty-two thousand pounds. It may be noted that in former years our forefathers were extremely fond of hiding away their money for safety, making use of the chimney, or the wainscot or skirting-board. There it frequently remained; and such depositories of the family wealth were occasionally, from death and other causes, completely forgotten. In one of Hogarth's well-known pictures, the young spendthrift, who has just come into his inheritance, is being measured by a fashionable tailor, when, from behind the panels which the builders are ripping down, is seen falling a perfect shower of golden money.
There can be no doubt that there is many an old house in this country which, if thoroughly ransacked, would be found to contain treasures of the most valuable and costly kind. Some years ago, for example, a collection of pictures was discovered at Merton College, Oxford, hidden away between the ceiling and the roof; and missing deeds have from time to time been discovered located in all sorts of mysterious nooks. In a set of rooms in Magdalen College, too, which had been originally occupied by one of the Fellows, and had subsequently been abandoned and devoted to lumber, was unearthed a strong wooden box, containing, together with some valuable articles of silver plate, a beautiful loving-cup, with a cover of pure gold. When, also, the Vicarage house of Ormesby, in Yorkshire, required reparation, some stonework had to be removed in order to carry out the necessary alterations, in the course of which a small box was found, measuring about a foot square, which had been embedded in the wall. The box, when opened, was full of angels, angelets, and nobles. Some of the money was of the reign of Edward IV., some of Henry VI., and some, too, of the reigns of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It has been suggested that when Henry VIII. dissolved the lesser monasteries, the monks of Guisboro' Priory, which was only about six miles off, fearing the worst, fled with their treasures, and, with the craft and cunning peculiar to their order, buried a portion of them in the walls of the parsonage house of Ormesby.
To quote another case, Dunsford, in his "Memories of Tiverton" (1790), p. 285, speaking of the village of Chettiscombe, says that in the middle of the 16th century, in the north part of this village was "a chapel entire, dedicated to St. Mary. The walls and roof are still whole, and served some years past for a dwelling-house, but is now uninhabited." It appears that not only was there some superstition attaching to this building, which accounted for its untenanted condition, but certain money was supposed to be hidden away, to discover which every attempt had hitherto been in vain. "It was therefore proposed," says the author, "that some person should lodge in the chapel for a night to obtain preternatural information respecting it. Two persons at length complied with the request to do so, and, aided by strong beer, approached about nine o'clock the hallowed walls. They trembled exceedingly at the sudden appearance of a white owl that flew from a broken window with the message that considerable wealth lay in certain fields, that if they would diligently dig there, they would undoubtedly find it." They quickly attended to this piece of information, and employed a body of workmen who, before long, succeeded in bringing to light the missing money.
A similar tradition was associated with Bransil Castle, a stronghold of great antiquity, situated in a romantic position about two miles from the Herefordshire Beacon. The story goes that the ghost of Lord Beauchamp, who died in Italy, could never rest until his bones were delivered to the right heir of Bransil Castle. Accordingly, they were sent from Italy enclosed in a small box, and were for a considerable time in the possession of Mr. Sheldon, of Abberton. The tradition further states that the old Castle of Bransil was moated round, and in that moat a black crow, presumed to be an infernal spirit, sat to guard a chest of money, till discovered by the rightful owner. The chest could never be moved without the mover being in possession of the bones of Lord Beauchamp.
Such stories of hidden wealth being watched over by phantom beings are not uncommon, and remind us of those anecdotes of treasures concealed at the bottom of wells, guarded over by the "white ladies." In Shropshire, there is an old buried well of this kind, at the bottom of which a large hoard has long been supposed to lie hidden, or as a local rhyme expresses it:
Near the brook of Bell There is a well Which is richer than any man can tell.
In the South of Scotland it is the popular belief that vast treasures have for many a year past been concealed beneath the ruins of Hermitage Castle; but, as they are supposed to be in the keeping of the Evil One, they are considered beyond redemption. At different times various efforts have been made to dig for them, yet "somehow the elements always on such occasions contrived to produce an immense storm of thunder and lightning, and deterred the adventurers from proceeding, otherwise, of course the money would long ago have been found." And to give another of these strange family legends, may be quoted one told of Stokesay Castle, Shropshire. It seems that many years ago all the country in the neighbourhood of Stokesay belonged to two giants, who lived the one upon View Edge, and the other at Norton Camp. The story commonly current is that "they kept all their money locked up in a big oak chest in the vaults under Stokesay Castle, and when either of them wanted any of it he just took the key and got some. But one day one of them wanted the key, and the other had got it, so he shouted to him to throw it over as they had been in the habit of doing, and he went to throw it, but somehow he made a mistake and threw too short, and dropped the key into the moat down by the Castle, where it has remained ever since. And the chest of treasure stands in the vaults still, but no one can approach it, for there is a big raven always sitting on the top of it, and he won't allow anybody to try and break it open, so no one will ever be able to get the giants' treasure until the key is found, and many say it never will be found, let folks try as much as they please."
Amongst further reasons for the hiding away of money, may be noticed eccentricity of character, or mental delusion, a singular instance of which occurred some years ago. It appears that whilst some workmen were grubbing up certain tree at Tufnell Park, near Highgate, they came upon two jars, containing nearly four hundred pounds in gold. This they divided, and shortly afterwards, when the lord of the manor claimed the whole as treasure trove, the real owner suddenly made his appearance. In the course of inquiry, it transpired that he was a brassfounder, living at Clerkenwell, and having been about nine months before under a temporary delusion, he one night secreted the jars in a field at Tufnell Park. On proving the truth of his statement, the money was refunded to him.
 "Journal of the Archaeological Association," 1859, Vol. xv., p. 104.
 "Shropshire Folklore" (Miss Jackson), 7, 8.
"As the unthought-on accident is guilty Of what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows." "Winter's Tale," Act iv., Sc. 3.
Pascal, one day, remarked that if Cleopatra's nose had been shorter the whole face of the world would probably have been changed. The same idea may be applied to the unforeseen advantages produced by accidents, some of which have occasionally had not a little to do with determining the future position in life of many eminent men. Prevented from pursuing the sphere in this world they had intended, compulsory leisure compelled them to adopt some hobby as a recreation, in which, unconsciously, their real genius lay.
Thus David Allan, popularly known as the "Scottish Hogarth," owed his fame and success in life to an accident. When a boy, having burnt his foot, he amused the monotony of his leisure hours by drawing on the floor with a piece of chalk—a mode of passing his time which soon obtained an extraordinary fascination for him. On returning to school, he drew a caricature of his schoolmaster punishing a pupil, which caused him to be summarily expelled. But, despite this punishment, his success as an artist was decided, the caricature being considered so clever that he was sent to Glasgow to study art, where he was apprenticed in 1755 to Robert Foulis, a famous painter, who with his brother Andrew had secretly established an academy of arts in that city. Their kindness to him he was afterwards able to return when their fortunes were reversed.
If Sir Walter Scott had not sprained his foot in running round the room when a child, the world would probably have had none of those works which have made his name immortal. When his son intimated a desire to enter the army, Sir Walter Scott wrote to Southey, "I have no title to combat a choice which would have been my own, had not my lameness prevented." In the same way, the effects of a fall when about a year old rendered Talleyrand lame for life, and being, on this account, unfit for a military career, he was obliged to renounce his birthright in favour of his second brother. But what seemed an obstacle to his future success was the very reverse, for, turning his attention to politics and books, he eventually became one of the leading diplomatists of his day. Again, Josiah Wedgwood was seized in his boyhood with an attack of smallpox, which was followed by a disease in the right knee, some years afterwards necessitating the amputation of the affected limb. But, as Mr. Gladstone, in his address on Wedgwood's life and work delivered at Burslem, Oct. 26th, 1863, remarked, the disease from which he suffered was, no doubt, the cause of his subsequent greatness, for "it prevented him from growing up to be the active, vigorous English workman, but it put upon him considering whether, as he could not be that, he might not be something else, and something greater. It drove him to meditate upon the laws and secrets of his art."
Flamsteed was an astronomer by accident. Being removed from school on account of his health, it appears that a cold caught in the summer of 1660 while bathing, which produced a rheumatic affection of the joints, accompanied by other ailments. He became unable to walk to school, and he finally left in May, 1662. His self-training now began, and Sacroborco's "De Sphaera" was lent to him, with the perusal of which he was so pleased that he forthwith commenced a course of astronomic studies. Accordingly, he constructed a rude quadrant and calculated a table of the sun's altitudes, pursuing his studies, as he said himself, "under the discouragement of friends, the want of health, and all other instructors, except his better genius."
Alluding to accidents as sometimes developing greatness, Mr. Smiles remarks that Pope's satire was in a measure the outcome of his deformity; and Lord Byron's club foot, he adds, "had probably not a little to do with determining his destiny as a poet. Had not his mind been embittered, and made morbid by his deformity, he might never have written a line. But his misshapen foot stimulated his mind, roused his ardour, threw him upon his own resources, and we know with what result."
Again, in numerous other ways, it has been remarked, accidents have taken a lucky turn, and, if not being the road to fortune, have had equally important results. The story is told of a young officer in the army of General Wolfe who was supposed to be dying of an abscess in the lungs. He was absent from his regiment on sick leave, but resolved to join it when a battle was expected, "for," said he, "since I am given over I had better be doing my duty, and my life's being shortened a few days matters not." He received a shot which pierced the abscess and made an opening for the discharge, the result being that he recovered and lived to eighty years of age.
Brunel, the celebrated engineer, had a curious accident, which might have forfeited his life. While one day playing with his children and astonishing them by passing a half sovereign through his mouth out at his ear, he unfortunately swallowed the coin, which dropped into his windpipe. Brunel regarded the mischief caused by the accident as purely mechanical; a foreign body had got into his breathing apparatus, and must be removed, if at all, by some mechanical expedient. But he was equal to the emergency, and had an apparatus constructed which had the effect of relieving him of the coin. In after days he used to tell how, when his body was inverted, and he heard the gold piece strike against his upper front teeth, was, perhaps, the most exquisite moment in his whole life, the half sovereign having been in his windpipe for not less than six weeks.
In the year 1784, William Pitt almost fell the victim to the folly of a festive meeting, for he was nearly accidentally shot as a highwayman. Returning late at night on horseback from Wimbledon to Addiscombe, together with Lord Thurlow, he found the turnpike gate between Tooting and Streatham thrown open. Both passed through it, regardless of the threats of the turnpike man, who, taking the two for highwaymen, discharged the contents of his blunderbuss at their backs; but, happily, no injury was done, and Pitt had the good fortune to escape from what might have been a very serious, if not fatal, accident. Foote, too, met with a bad accident on horseback, which, at the time, seemed a lasting obstacle to his career as an actor. Whilst riding with the Duke of York and some other noblemen, he was thrown from his horse and his leg broken, so that an amputation became necessary. In consequence of this accident, the Duke of York obtained for him the patent of the Haymarket Theatre for his life; but he continued to perform his former characters with no less agility and spirit than he had done before to the most crowded houses. Similarly, on one occasion—a very important one—Charles James Matthews was nearly prevented making his first appearance on the stage through being thrown from his horse, but, to quote his own words, "the excitement of the evening dominated all other feelings, and I walked for the time as well as ever."
Some men, again, have owed their success to the accidents of others. A notable instance was that of Baron Ward, the well-known minister of the Duke of Parma. After working some time as a stable-boy in Howden, he went to London, where he had the good luck to come to the Duke of Parma's assistance after a fall from his horse in Rotten Row. The Duke took him back to Lucca as his groom, and ere long Ward made the ducal stud the envy of Italy. He soon rose to a higher position, and became the minister and confidential friend of the Duke of Parma, with whom he escaped in the year 1848 to Dresden, and for whom he succeeded in recovering Parma and Placenza. Indeed, Lord Palmerston once remarked, "Baron Ward was one of the most remarkable men I ever met with."
It was through witnessing an accident that Sir Astley Cooper made up his final decision to take up surgery as his profession. A young man, having been run over by a cart, was in danger of dying from loss of blood, when young Cooper lost no time in tying his handkerchief about the wounded limb so as to stop the hemorrhage. It was this incident which assured him of his taste for surgery. In the same way, the story is quoted of the eminent French surgeon, Ambrose Pare. It is stated that he was acting as stable-boy to an abbe at Laval when a surgical operation was about to be performed on one of the brethren of the monastery. On being called in to assist, Ambrose Pare not only proved so useful, but was so fascinated with the operation that he made up his mind to devote his life to the study and practice of surgery. Instances of this kind might be enumerated, being of frequent occurrence in biographical literature, and showing to what unforeseen circumstances men have occasionally owed their greatness.
A romance which, had it lacked corroborative evidence, would have seemed highly improbable, is told of the two Countesses of Kellie. In the latter half of the last century, Mr Gordon, the proprietor of Ardoch Castle—situated upon a high rock, overlooking the sea—was one evening aroused by the firing of a gun evidently from a vessel in distress near the shore. Hastening down to the beach, with the servants of the Castle, it was evident that the distressed vessel had gone down, as the floating spars but too clearly indicated. After looking out in vain for some time, in the hope of recovering some of the passengers—either dead or alive—he found a sort of crib, which had been washed ashore, containing a live infant. The little creature proved to be a female child, but beyond the fact that its wrappings pointed to its being the offspring of persons in no mean condition, there was no trace as to who these were.
The little foundling was brought up with Mr. Gordon's own daughters, and when she had attained to womanhood, by an inexplicable coincidence, a storm similar to that just mentioned occurred. An alarm-gun was fired, and this time Mr. Gordon had the satisfaction of receiving a shipwrecked party, whom he at once made his guests at the Castle. Amongst them was one gentleman passenger, who after a comfortable night spent in the Castle, was surprised at breakfast by the entrance of a troop of blooming girls, the daughters of his host, as he understood, but one of whom specially attracted his attention.
"Is this young lady your daughter, too?" he inquired of Mr. Gordon.
"No," replied his host, "but she is as dear to me as if she were."
He then related her history, to which the stranger listened with eager interest, and at its close he not a little surprised Mr. Gordon by remarking that he "had reason to believe that the young lady was his own niece." He then gave a detailed account of his sister's return from India, corresponding to the time of the shipwreck, and added, "she is now an orphan, but if I am not mistaken in my supposition, she is entitled to a handsome provision which her father bequeathed to her in the hope of her yet being found."
Before many days had elapsed, sufficient evidence was forthcoming to prove that by this strange, but lucky, accident of the shipwreck, the long lost niece was found. The young heiress keenly felt leaving the old castle, but to soften the wrench it was arranged that one of the Misses Gordon should accompany her to Gottenburg, where her uncle had long been settled as a merchant.
The sequel of this romance, as it is pointed out in the "Book of Days," is equally astonishing. It seems that among the Scotch merchants settled in the Swedish port, was Mr. Thomas Erskine—a younger son of a younger brother of Sir William Erskine, of Cambo, in Fife—an offshoot of the family of the Earl of Kellie—to whom Miss Anne Gordon was married in the year 1771. A younger brother, named Methven, ten years later married Joanna, a sister of Miss Gordon. It was never contemplated that these two brothers would ever come near to the peerage of their family—there being at one time seventeen persons between them and the family titles; but in the year 1797 the baronet of Cambo became Earl of Kellie, and two years later the title came to the husband of Anne Gordon. In short, "these two daughters of Mr. Gordon, of Ardoch, became in succession Countesses of Kellie in consequence of the incident of the shipwrecked foundling, whom their father's humanity had rescued from the waves."
 See "Dictionary of National Biography," xix., 242.
 "The Two Countesses of Kellie," ii. 41, 42.
What dreadful havoc in the human breast The passions make, when, unconfined and mad, They burst, unguided by the mental eye, The light of reason, which, in various ways, Points them to good, or turns them back from ill! THOMSON.
The annals of some of our old and respected families have occasionally been sadly stained "by hideous exhibitions of cruelty and lust," in certain instances the result of an unscrupulous disregard of moral duty and of a vindictive fierceness in avenging injury. It has been oftentimes remarked that few tragedies which the brain of the novelist has depicted have surpassed in their unnatural and horrible details those enacted in real life, for
When headstrong passion gets the reins of reason, The force of Nature, like too strong a gale, For want of ballast, oversets the vessel.
Love, indeed, which has been proverbially said to lead to as much evil as any impulse that agitates the human bosom, must be held responsible for only too many of those crimes which from time to time outrage society, for, as the authors of "Guesses at Truth" have remarked, "jealousy is said to be the offspring of love, yet, unless the parent make haste to strangle the child, the child will not rest till it has poisoned the parent." Thus, a tragedy which made the Castle of Corstorphine the scene of a terrible crime and scandal in the year 1679, may be said to have originated in an unhallowed passion.
George, first Lord Forrester, having no male issue, made an arrangement whereby his son-in-law, James Baillie, was to succeed him as second Lord Forrester and proprietor of the estate of Corstorphine. Just four years after this compact was made, Lord Forrester died, and James Baillie, a young man of twenty-five, succeeded to the title and property. But this arrangement did not meet with the approval of Lord Forrester's daughters, who regarded it as a manifest injustice that the honours of their ancient family should devolve on an alien—a feeling of dissatisfaction which was more particularly nourished by the third daughter, Lady Hamilton, whose husband was far from wealthy.
It so happened that Lady Hamilton had a daughter, Christian, who was noted for her rare beauty and high spirit. But, unfortunately, she was a girl of strong passion, which, added to her self-will, caused her, when she had barely arrived at a marriageable age, to engage herself to one James Nimmo, the son of an Edinburgh merchant. Before many weeks had elapsed, the young couple were married, and the handsome young wife was settled in her new home in Edinburgh. Time wore on, the novelty of marriage died away, and as Mrs. Nimmo dwelt on her mercantile surroundings, she recognised more and more what an ill-assorted match she had made, and in her excitable mind, "she cursed the bond which connected her with a man whose social position she despised, and whose occupations she scorned." The report, however, of her uncommon beauty, could not fail to reach the ears of young Lord Forrester, who on the score of relationship was often attracted to Mrs. Nimmo's house. At first he was received with coldness, but, by flattering and appealing to her vanity, he gradually "accomplished the ruin of this unhappy young woman," and made her the victim of his licentious and unprincipled designs.
But no long time had elapsed when this shameful intrigue became the subject of common talk, and public indignation took the side of the injured woman, when Lord Forrester, after getting tired of her, "was so cruel and base as to speak of her openly in the most opprobrious manner," even alluding to her criminal connection with him. In so doing, however, he had not taken into consideration the violent character of the woman he had wronged, nor thought he of her jealousy, wounded pride, and despair. In his haste, also, to rid himself of the woman who no longer fascinated him, he paid no heed to the passion that was lurking in her inflamed bosom, nor counted on her spretae injuria formae.
On the other hand, whilst he was forgetting the past in his orgies, Mrs. Nimmo—whose love for him was turned to the bitterest hate—was hourly reproaching him, and at last the fatal moment arrived when she felt bound to proceed to Corstorphine Castle, and confront her evil-doer. At the time, Lord Forrester was drinking at the village tavern, and, when the infuriated woman demanded to see him, he was flushed with claret, and himself in no amiable mood. The altercation, naturally, "soon became violent, bitter reproaches were uttered on the one side, and contemptuous sneers on the other." Goaded to frenzy, the unhappy woman stabbed her paramour to the heart, killing him instantly.
When taken before the sheriff of Edinburgh, she confessed her crime, and, although she told the court in the most pathetic manner how basely she had been wronged by one who should have supported rather than ruined her, sentence of death was passed upon her. She managed, writes Sir Bernard Burke, to postpone the execution of her sentence by declaring that she was with child by her seducer, and during her imprisonment succeeded in escaping in the disguise of a young man. But she was captured, and on the 12th November, 1679, paid the penalty of her rash act, appearing at her execution attired in deep mourning, covered with a large veil.
Radcliffe to this day possesses the tradition of a terrible tragedy of which there are several versions. It appears that one Sir William de Radclyffe had a very beautiful daughter whose mother died in giving her birth. After a time he married again, and the step-mother, actuated by feeling of jealousy, conceived a violent hatred to the girl, which ere long prompted her to be guilty of the most insane cruelty. One day, runs the story, when Sir William was out hunting, she sent the unsuspecting girl into the kitchen with a message to the cook that he was to dress the white doe. But the cook professing ignorance of the particular white doe he was to dress, asserted, to the young lady's intense horror, that he had received orders to kill her, which there and then he did, afterwards making her into a pie.
On Sir William's return from hunting, he made inquiries for his daughter, but his wife informed him that she had taken the opportunity in his absence of going into a nunnery. Suspicious, however, of the truth of her story—for her jealous hatred of his daughter had not escaped his notice—he flew into a passion, and demanded in the most peremptory manner where his daughter was, whereupon the scullion boy denounced the step-mother, and warned Sir William against eating the pie.
The whole truth was soon revealed, and the diabolic wickedness of Lady William did not pass unpunished, for she was burnt, and the cook was condemned to stand in boiling lead. A ballad in the Pepys' collection, entitled, "The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-mother's Cruelty," records this horrible barbarity; and in a Lancashire ballad, called "Fair Ellen of Radcliffe", it is thus graphically told:—
She straighte into the kitchen went, Her message for to tell; And then she spied the master cook, Who did with malice swell.
"Nowe, master cooke, it must be soe, Do that which I thee tell; You needs must dress the milk-white doe, You which do knowe full well."
Then straight his cruel, bloody hands, He on the ladye laid, Who, quivering and ghastly, stands While thus to her he sayd:
"Thou art the doe that I must dress; See here! behold, my knife! For it is pointed, presentli To rid thee of thy life."
O then, cryed out the scullion boye, As loud as loud might be, "O save her life, good master cook, And make your pyes of me."
The tradition adds that Sir William was not unmindful of the scullion boy's heroic conduct, for he made him heir to his possessions.
Another cruel case of woman's jealousy, which, happily, was not so disastrous in its result as the former, relates to Maria, daughter of the Hon. Alexander Mackenzie, second son of Kenneth, Earl of Seaforth, who was Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline. Report goes that between this young lady, who was one of the greatest beauties about the Court, and a Mr. Price, an admired man about town, there subsisted a strong attachment. Unfortunately for Miss Mackenzie, Mr. Price was an especial favourite of the celebrated Countess of Deloraine, who, to get rid of her rival in beauty, poisoned her.
But this crime was discovered in time, antidotes were administered with success, and the girl's life was saved; although her lovely complexion is said to have been ruined, ever after continuing of a lemon tint. Queen Caroline, desirous of shielding the Countess of Deloraine from the consequences of her act, persuaded "the poisoned beauty" to appear, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, at a supper, given either by the Countess of Deloraine or where she was to be present. Accordingly, on the night arranged, some excitement was caused by the arrival of Miss Mackenzie, for as she entered the room, someone exclaimed, "How entirely changed!"
But Mr. Price, who was seated by Lady Deloraine remarked, "In my eyes she is more beautiful than ever," and it only remains to add that they were married next morning.
Like jealousy, thwarted love has often been cause of the most unnatural crimes, and a tragic story is told of the untimely death of Mr Blandy, of Henley, in Oxfordshire, who, by practice as an attorney, had accumulated a large fortune. He had an only child, Mary, who was regarded as an heiress, and consequently had suitors many. On one occasion, it happened that William Cranstoun, brother of Lord Cranstoun, being upon a recruiting party in Oxfordshire, and hearing of Miss Blandy's "great expectations," found an opportunity of introducing himself to the family.
The Captain's attentions, however, to Miss Blandy met with the strong disapproval of her father, for he had ascertained that this suitor for his daughter's hand had been privately married in Scotland. But against this objection Captain Cranstoun replied that he hoped to get this marriage speedily set aside by a decree of the Supreme Court of Session. And when the Court refused to annul the marriage, Mr. Blandy absolutely refused to allow his daughter to have any further communications with so dishonourable a man; a resolution to which he remained inexorable.
Intrigue between the two was the result, for it seems that Miss Blandy's affection for this profligate man—almost double her age—was violent. As might be expected, Captain Cranstoun not only worked upon her feelings, but imposed on her credulity. He sent her from Scotland a pretended love powder, which he enjoined her to administer to her father, in order to gain his affection and procure his consent. This injunction she did not carry out, on account of a frightful dream, in which she saw her father fall from a precipice into the ocean. Thereupon the Captain wrote a second time, and told her in words somewhat enigmatical, but easily understood by her, his design.
Horrible to relate, the wicked girl was so elated with the idea of removing her father, that she was heard to exclaim before the servants, "who would not send an old fellow to hell for thirty thousand pounds?"
The fatal die was cast. The deadly powder was mixed and given to him in a cup of tea, after drinking which he soon began to swell enormously.
"What have you given me, Mary?" asked the unhappy dying man. "You have murdered me; of this I was warned, but, alas! I thought it was a false alarm. O, fly; take care of the Captain!"
Thus Mr. Blandy died of poison, but his daughter was captured whilst attempting to escape, and was conveyed to Oxford Castle, where she was imprisoned till the assizes, when she was tried for parricide, was found guilty, and executed. Captain Cranstoun managed to effect his escape, and went abroad, where he died soon afterwards in a deplorable state of mind, brought about by remorse for the evil and misery he had caused.
Almost equally tragic was the fatal passion of Sir William Kyte, forming another strange domestic drama in real life. Possessed of considerable fortune, and of ancient family, Sir William was deemed a very desirable match, and when he offered his hand to a young lady of noble rank, and of great beauty, he was at once accepted. The marriage for the first few years turned out happily, but the crisis came when Sir William was nominated, at a contested election, to represent the borough of Warwick, in which county lay the bulk of his estate. After the election was over, Lady Kyte, by way of recompensing a zealous partisan of her husband, took an innkeeper's daughter, Molly Jones, for her maid; "a tall, genteel girl, with a fine complexion, and seemingly very modest and innocent." But before many months had elapsed, Sir William was attracted by the girl, and, eventually, became so infatuated by her charms, that, casting aside all restraints of shame or fear, he agreed to a separation between his wife and himself. Accordingly, Sir William left Lady Kyte, with the two younger children, in possession of the mansion-house in Warwickshire, and retired with his mistress and his two eldest sons to a farmhouse on the Cotswold hills. Charmed with the situation, he was soon tempted to build a handsome house here, to which were added two large side-fronts, for no better reason than that Molly Jones, one day, happened to say, "What is a Kite without wings." But the expense of completing this establishment, amounting to at least L10,000, soon involved Sir William in financial difficulties, which caused him to drown his worries in drink.
At this juncture, Molly Jones, forgetting her own past, was injudicious enough to engage a fresh coloured country girl—who was scarcely twenty—as dairymaid, for whom Sir William quickly conceived an amorous regard. Actuated by jealousy or disgust, Molly Jones threatened to leave Sir William, a resolution which she soon carried out, retiring to Cambden, a neighbouring market town, where she was reduced to keep a small sewing school as a means of livelihood. Although left to carry on his intrigue undisturbed, Sir William soon became a victim to gloomy reflections, feeling at times that he had not only cruelly wronged a good wife, but had been deserted by the very woman for whose sake he had brought this trouble and disgrace upon his family. Tormented by these conflicting passions, he occasionally worked himself up into such a state of frenzy that even his new favourite was terrified, and had run away. It was when almost maddened with the thought of his evil past that he formed that fatal resolve which was a hideous ending to "the dreadful consequence of a licentious passion not checked in its infancy." One October evening, as a housemaid was on the stairs, suddenly "the lobby was all in a cloud of smoke." She gave the alarm, and on the door being forced open whence the smoke proceeded, it was discovered that Sir William had set fire to a large heap of fine linen, piled up in the middle of the room. From an adjoining room, where Sir William had made his escape, the flames burst out with such fury that all were glad to make their escape out of the house, the greater part of which was in a few hours burnt to the ground—no other remains of its master being found next morning but the hip-bone, and bones of the back.
A case which, at the time, created considerable sensation was the murder of Thynne of Longleat by a jealous antagonist. The eleventh Duke of Northumberland left an only daughter, whose career, it has been said, "might match that of the most erratic or adventurous of her race." Before she was sixteen years old, she had been twice a widow, and three times a wife. At the age of thirteen, she was married to the only son of the Duke of Newcastle, a lad of her own age, who died in a few months. Her second husband was Thynne of Longleat, "Tom of Ten Thousand," but the tie was abruptly severed by the bullet of an assassin, set on by the notorious Count Konigsmark, who had been a suitor for her hand, and was desirous of another chance. After his death, the young widow, who was surrounded by a host of admirers, married the Duke of Somerset, and she seems to have made him a fitting mate, for when his second wife, a Finch, tapped him familiarly on the shoulder, or, according to another version, seated herself on his knee, he exclaimed indignantly:
"My first wife was a Percy, and she never thought of taking such a liberty."
It may be added that one of the most remarkable incidents in this celebrated beauty's life was when by dint of tears and supplications she prevented Queen Anne from making Swift a bishop, out of revenge for the "Windsor prophecy," in which she was ridiculed for the redness of her hair, and upbraided as having been privy to the brutal murder of her second husband. "It was doubted," says Scott, "which imputation she accounted the more cruel insult, especially since the first charge was undoubted, and the second arose only from the malice of the poet."
Another tragedy of a similar kind was the murder of William Mountford, the player. Captain Richard Hill had conceived a violent passion for Mrs. Bracegirdle, the beautiful actress, and is said to have offered her his hand, and to have been refused. At last his passion became ungovernable, and he determined to carry her off by force. To carry out his purpose, he induced his friend Lord Mohun to assist him in the attempt. According to one account, "he dodged the fair actress for a whole day at the theatre, stationed a coach near the Horseshoe Tavern, in Drury Lane, to carry her off in, and hired six soldiers to force her into it. As the beautiful actress came down Drury Lane, at ten o'clock at night, accompanied by her mother and brother, and escorted by her friend Mr. Page, one of the soldiers seized her in his arms, and endeavoured to force her into the coach. But the lady's scream attracted a crowd, and Captain Hill, finding his endeavours ineffectual, bid the soldiers let her go. Disappointed in their object, Lord Mohun and Captain Hill vowed vengeance; and Mrs. Bracegirdle on reaching home sent her servant to Mr. Mountford's house to take care of himself, warning him against Lord Mohun and Captain Hill, "who she feared, had no good intention toward him, and did wait for him in the street." It appears that Mountford had already heard of the attempt to carry off Mrs. Bracegirdle, and hearing that Lord Mohun and Captain Hill were in the street, did not shrink from approaching them."
The account says that he addressed Lord Mohun, and told him how sorry he was to find him in the company of such a pitiful fellow as Captain Hill, whereupon, it is said, "the captain came forth and said he would justify himself, and went towards the middle of the street, and Mr. Mountford followed him and drew." The end of the quarrel was that Mountford fell with a terrible wound, of which he died on the following day, declaring in his last moments that Captain Hill ran him through the body before he could draw his sword. Captain Hill, it seems, owed Mountford a deadly grudge, having attributed his rejection by Mrs. Bracegirdle to her love for him—an unlikely passion, it is thought, as Mountford was a married man, with a good-looking wife of his own, afterwards Mrs. Verbruggen, and a celebrated actress.
Oulton House, Suffolk, long known as the "Haunted House," acquired its ill-omened name from a tragic occurrence traditionally said to have happened many years ago, and the peasantry in the neighbourhood affirm that at midnight a wild huntsman, with his hounds, accompanied by a lady carrying a poisoned cup, is occasionally seen. The story is that, in the reign of George II., a squire, returning unexpectedly home from the chase, discovered his wife with an officer, one of his guests, in too familiar a friendship. High words followed, and the indignant husband, provoked by the cool manner in which the officer treated the matter, struck him, whereupon the guilty lover drew his sword and drove it through the squire's heart, the faithless wife and her paramour afterwards making their escape.
Some years afterwards, runs the tale, the Squire's daughter, who had been left behind in the hasty departure, having grown to womanhood, was affianced to a youthful farmer of the neighbourhood. But on their bridal eve, as they were sitting together talking over the new life they were about to enter, "a carriage, black and sombre as a hearse, with closely drawn curtains, and attended by servants clad in sable liveries, drew up to the door." The young girl was seized by masked men, carried off in the carriage to her unnatural mother, while her betrothed was stabbed as he vainly endeavoured to rescue her. A grave is pointed out in the cemetery at Namur, as that in which was laid the body of the unhappy girl, poisoned, it is alleged, by her unscrupulous and wicked mother. It is not surprising, we are told, that the locality was supposed to be haunted by the wretched woman—both as wife and mother equally criminal.
Family romance, once more, has many a dark page recording how despairing love has ended in self-destruction. At the beginning of the present century, a sad catastrophe befell the Shuckburghs of Shuckburgh Hall. It appears the Bedfordshire Militia were stationed near Upper Shuckburgh, and the officers were in the habit of visiting the Hall, whose hospitable owner, Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh, received them with every mark of cordiality. His daughter, then about twenty years of age, was a young lady of no ordinary attractions, and her fascinations soon produced their natural effect on one of the officers, Lieutenant Sharp, who became deeply attached to her. But as soon as Sir Stewkley became aware of this love affair, he gave it his decided disapproval. Lieutenant Sharp was forbidden the house, and Miss Shuckburgh resolved to smother her love in deference to her father's wishes. It was accordingly decided between the young people that their intimacy should cease, and that the letters which had passed between them should be returned. An arrangement was, therefore, made that the lady should leave the packet for Lieutenant Sharp in the summer-house in the garden on a specified evening, and that on the following morning she should find the packet intended for her in the same place. The sad engagement was kept, and having left her packet in the evening, Miss Shuckburgh set out on the following morning to find her own. A servant, it is said, who saw her in the garden, was curious to know what could have brought her out at so early an hour. He followed her unobserved, and on drawing near to the summer-house, "he heard the voices of the lieutenant and of the lady in earnest dispute. The officer was loud and impassioned, the lady firm but unconsenting. Immediately was heard the report of a pistol, and the fall of a body—another report and fall. Guessing the tragic truth, the servant raised an alarm, and the two lovers were found lying dead in their own blood." It is generally supposed that this terrible act of self-destruction was the result of mutual agreement—the outcome of passion and despair.
"Since that hour," writes Howitt, "every object, about the place which could suggest to the memory this fatal event, has been changed or removed. The summer-house has been razed to the ground; the disposition of the garden itself altered; but," he adds, "such tragic passages in human life become part and parcel of the scene where they occur—they become the topic of the winter fireside. They last while passions and affections, youth and beauty last. They fix themselves into the soil, and the very rock on which it lies, and though the house was razed from the spot, and its park and pleasaunces turned into ploughed fields, it would still be said for ages: Here stood Shuckburgh Hall, and here fell the young and lovely Miss Shuckburgh by the hand of her despairing lover."
And to conclude with a romance in brief, some forty or fifty years ago, in the far north of England a girl was on the eve of being married. Her wedding dress was ordered, the guests were bidden. But, it is said that at the eleventh hour, in a fit of passion and paltry jealousy, she resented some fancied want of devotion in her lover.
He was single-minded, loyal, and altogether of finer stuff than herself; but she was a wretched slave to such old stock phrases as delicacy, family pride, and the like, and so he was allowed to go, for she came of people who looked upon unforgiveness as a virtue.
Accordingly the discarded lover exchanged into a regiment under orders for Afghanistan. At the time, our troops were engaged there in hot fighting. The lad fell, and hidden on his breast was found a locket which his sweetheart had once given him. It came back to her through a brother officer, who had known something of his sad story, with a stain on it—a stain of his blood. When that painful relic silently told her of the devotion which she had so unjustly and basely wronged, there came, in the familiar lines:
A mist and a weeping rain, And life was never the same again.
That stain marked every day of a lonely life throughout forty years or more.
 "Vicissitudes of Families," 1863, III. Ser., 202-203.
"Abbey Vows," The, 56-58.
Abingdon, John, Secret Room built by, at Hendlip Hall, 91-93.
Abrams, Disappearance of a Jew named, 251, 252.
Accidents, Lucky, 279-288.
Adolphus, Gustavus, Burial of, 262.
Ainsworth and Cuckfield Place, 180, 181.
Alexander III., Banquet of, 73-75.
Alfred, Prince, Death of, 79, 80.
Allan David, the Painter, 279, 280.
Anne of Austria, Heart of, 262.
Anne of Burton Agnes Hall, Skull of, 40-43.
Antoinette, M., and the Chevalier D'Eon, 220.
Armscott Manor, Secret Room at, 95, 96.
Arrowsmith, Father, Hand of, 158-160.
Arundell, Sir John, 12, 13.
Aubrey's "Miscellanies," 132, 133.
"Awd Nance" of Burton Agnes Hall, 40-43.
Baillie, James, 290-292.
Baker, Sir Richard, 110-112.
Baker, Sir Richard, and the Murder of Edward II., 89.
Baliol, John, The Heart of, 256.
Ballafletcher, Estate of, 201, 202.
Ballyshannon, Waterfall at, 272.
Bandini, The Sisters, 137-140.
Bank of England, Discovery in the Vaults of the, 264.
Banquets, Strange, 69-87.
Banshee, The, 193.
Barcroft Hall; the Idiot's Curse, 9, 10.
Baring-Gould, Rev. S., Story by, 156, 157.
Barn Hall, Tradition of, 165, 166.
Barritt, Thomas, and the Wardley Hall Skull, 39, 40.
Baydoyle Bank's Tragedy, The, 115.
"Bearded Watt," The, 68.
Beauchamp, Lord, Ghost of, 275, 276.
Belgrade, Bombardment of, Vow made by the Servians at, 68.
Benedick, Vow of, 51.
Berkeley Castle, Walpole and, 88, 89.
Bernard, Samuel, "Address to the Deil," 173.
Bernshaw Tower, Lady Sybil of, 168-170.
Berry Pomeroy Castle, Spectre at, 197.
Betsy, the Doctress (Russell), 222-224.
Bettiscombe, Screaming Skull at, 29-32.
Bisham Abbey, Spirit of Lady Russell at, 122, 123.
Bistmorton Court, Secret Room at, 97.
Blackwell, Murder at, 114, 115
Blandy, Miss, 296, 297.
Blandy, Mr., of Henley, Poisoning of, 296, 297
Blenkinsopp Castle, Romantic Story of, 60-62.
Blood Stains, Indelible, 114-134.
"Bloody Baker," 110-112.
"Bloody Chamber," The, 118, 119
"Bloody Footstep," Legend of the, 115-117.
Bodach Glass, The, 193-195.
Boleyn, Anne, Monument to, 254, 255.
Bolle, Sir John, Story of, 215, 216.
Boscobel House, Secret Chambers at, 97.
Bourne, Mr. John, 205, 206.
Bracegirdle, Mrs., the Actress, 301-303.
Bradshaigh, Sir William, 246-248.
Bramshill, A Chest at, 235.
Bransie Castle, Tradition associated with, 275, 276.
Brent Pelham Church, 166.
Brereton Family, The, 181.
Bromfield, Story of a Dragon at, 268, 269.
Bromley, Sir Henry, 92.
Broughton Castle, Room at, 90, 91.
Brown, Mrs., and the Death of Robert Perceval, 151, 152.
Browne, Sir Anthony, and Cowdray Castle, 19-21.
Bruce, Robert, The Heart of, 257-258.
Brunel, the Engineer, 282, 283.
Bryn Hall, "Dead Hand" at, 157-160.
Buckland Abbey, Sir F. Drake and, 170-173.
"Buckland Shag," Spectre of the, 124-126.
Bulgaden Hall, Tale of, 71-73.
Burdett, Mr. Sedley, 20.
Burke, Sir Bernard, and Bulgaden Hall, 73; and Sir Robert Scott of Thirlestane, 78; and Capt. Cayley, 148; and Cecil, Earl of Exeter, 219; and Draycot, 141; and Gordon Castle, 182; and Mrs. Nimmo, 292.
Burnaby, Col. Fred., Incident of the Carlist Rising, 212, 213
Burton Agnes Hall, "Awd Nance" of, 40-43.
Byron, Lord, and Skull at Newstead Abbey, 44, 45; Club Foot of, 282; and the Spectre of Newstead Abbey, 196; The Heart of, at Newstead Abbey, 260.
Calverley Hall, Blood Stains at, 120, 121.
Calverley, Walter, 120, 121.
Cambuskenneth Abbey, Destruction of, 15.
Canning, Elizabeth, Disappearance of, 239-241.
Carbery, Baron, Tale of, 71-73.
Carew, B.M., A Companion of Russell, 223.
Carlist Rising in 1874, Incident of the, 212, 213.
Caroline, Queen, and the Countess of Deloraine, 295.
Carr, Earl of Somerset, 18, 19.
Castle Dalhousie, Death Omen, 181.
Castle Treasure, near Cork, 270.
Castlereagh, Lord, and the "Radiant Boy" Spectre, 196.
Cathcart, Lady, Strange Disappearance of, 236-238.
Cayley, Capt. John and Mrs. Macfarlane, 148, 149.
Cecil, Earl of Exeter, 217-220.
Chancery, Unclaimed Funds in, 266, 267.
Charles I., Bernini's Bust of, 133, 134.
Charles II., at the Trent Manor House, 96; at Boscobel House, 97.
Chartley, Park at, 187-189.
Chattan, Clan of, 6-9.
Chettiscombe, Village of, 274, 275.
Chiappini, L., Daughter of, 136-140.
Chilton Cantels, Skull in a Farmhouse in, 34.
"Claimant," The, 23.
Clayton Old Hall, The "Bloody Chamber" at, 118.
Clifford, Lord, the "Shepherd Lad," 224-227.
Clifford, Wild Henry, 227.
Clifton, Family of, Death Omen of, 187.
Closeburn Castle, Lake at, 183-185.
"Coalstoun Pear," The, 199-201.
Coleridge, Sir John, Strange Romance recorded by, 241-243.
Compacts with the Devil, 162-179.
Condover Hall, Blood Stain at, 118.
Congreve and Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, 86.
Cook, Kraster, Myles Phillipson and, 35-37.
Cooper, Sir Astley, 285.
Cope, Sir John, 235.
Corbet, Legend of the House of, 75, 76.
Corby Castle, "Radiant Boy" Spectre of, 196.
Cornish Belief re St. Denis' Blood, 127.
Corstophine, Castle of, Tragedy at, 290-293.
Cortachy Castle, 189, 190.
Cothele, Blood Stains at, 119.
"Couleur Isabelle" Dresses, Origin of, 46, 47.
Cowdenknowes, Curse of the House of, 25.
Cowdray Castle, 19, 20.
Cows at Chartley Park, 187-189
Cranbrook, Sir R. Baker at, 110-112.
Cranstoun, Capt., 296, 297.
Crawford, Earl of, 99.
"Crawls," The, Estate named, 22.
Creslow Manor House, Mysterious Room at, 105, 106.
Crichton Chancellor, Banquet given by, 80, 81.
Cuckfield Place, 180, 181.
Cullen, Viscount, Marriage Feast of, 69-71.
Cunliffes, The, of Billington, 105
Curious Secrets, 135-153.
Curses: M'Alister Family, 2-5; The Curse of Moy, 6-9; Idiot's Curse, 9, 10; Quaker's Curse, 10-12; A Shepherd's Curse on Sir J. Arundell, 12, 13; Curse on the Family of Mar, 14-17; On Sherborne Castle, 17-19; On Cowdray Castle, 19, 20; The Curse of Furvie, 23; Of Ettrick Hall, 24, 25; On the Earl of Home, 25; Of Edmund, King of the East Angles, 26; On Capt. Molloy, 26, 27; The Midwife's Curse, 27, 28.
Dalrymple, Janet, 52-56.
Dalzell, Gen., 85, 86.
Danby Hall, Secret Room at, 98.
Danesfield, Withered Hand at, 161.
Darrells, The, of Littlecote House, 106-108.
Dauntesey, Eustace, Story of, 173-176.
Dead Hand, The, 154-161.
Death Omens, 180-191.
Deloraine, Countess of, 295.
D'Eon, Chevalier, in Woman's Attire, 220-222.
Derwentwater, Lord, Execution of, 130, 131.
Despencer, Lord le, 259, 260.
Devil Compacts, 162-179.
"Devil upon Dun" Public House, Story of the, 163, 164.
"Dickie," Skull called, at Tunstead, 33, 34.
Dickens, Chas., Original of Miss Havisham, 50, 51.
Dilston Groves, Ghost of the, 131
Disappearances, Extraordinary, 229-252.
Disguise, Romance of, 208-228.
Dobells, Seat of the, 97.
Doggett, Wm., Suicide of, 121.
Don Carlos, Col. Fred. Burnaby and, 212, 213.
Doughty, Sir Edward, 23; Vow made by, 64.
Douglas, Sir James, and the Heart of Robert Bruce, 257, 258.
Douglas, Earl of, at Sir A. Livingstone's Banquet, 80, 81.
Downes, Roger, of Wardley Hall, 37-40.
Dragon at Bromfield, Story of, 268, 269.
Drake, Sir Francis, Befriended by the Devil, 170-173.
Draycot, Walter Long of, 141-144.
Drinking Glass in possession of Sir George Musgrave, 202, 203.
Drummer, Mysterious, at Cortachy Castle, 189, 190.
Duckett, Justice, 11-12.
Dunbar, David, and Jane Dalrymple, 53-56.
Dundas, Laird named, Lord Hopetoun and, 84, 85.
Eagle's Crag, Lady Sybil and the, 168-170.
"Earl Beardie," 99.
Eastbury House, Blood Stains at, 121.
Easterton Ghost, The, 123, 124.
East Lavington, Mysterious Crime at, 123, 124.
Eccentric Vows, 46-68.
Eden Hall, Tradition relating to, 202, 203.
Edgewell Oak, Tradition, 181.
Edgeworth, Col., 67.
Edinburgh, Mysterious Crime at; Sir Walter Scott and, 108-110.
Edmund, King of the East Angles, 25, 26.
Edward, Lord Bruce, Heart of, 254
Edward, Lord Windsor, The Body of, 259.
Edward the Confessor and Earl Godwin, 79, 80.
Edward I., The Heart of, 256, 257.
Edward II., The Murder of, 88, 89.
Eleanor, Duchess of Buckingham, 255.
Ellesmere, Countess of, and the Wardley Hall Skull, 40.
Elizabeth, Queen, and Sir Henry Lee, 47, 48.
Erskine, Mr. Thomas, 287.
Erskine of Mar, The, 16.
Ettrick Hall, Curse of, 24, 25.
Evans, Right Hon. George, Tale of, 71-73.
Evelyn's "Diary," and Ham House, Weybridge, 95.
Exeter, Coins found in, 268.
Extraordinary Disappearances, 229-252.
Family Death Omens, 180-198.
Fanshaw, Lady, Strange Spectre of, 192.
Fardell, Stone at, 271.
Fatal Curses, 1-28.
Fatal Passion, 289-307.
Ferguson, Agnes, Disappearance of, 235, 236.
"Field of Forty Footsteps," Tale of the, 128, 129.
Fielding, Beau, and Robert Perceval, 150, 151.
Flamsteed, the Astronomer, 281.
Foote, Accident to, 283.
Forrester, First Lord, 290, 291.
Foulis, Mr. Robert, 280.
Fox, George, at Armscott Manor, 96.
Freke, Sir Ralph, Daughter of, 71-73.
Furness Abbey, Romance of, 56-58.
Furvie, Curse of, 23.
Galeazzo of Mantua, Ball given by, 49.
Garnet, Father, 91, 93.
Garnett, Dr. Richard, and Skull at Bottiscombe, 30-32.
Garrick, David, and Agnes Ferguson, 235, 236.
Garswood, "Dead Hand" at, 160.
Gascoyne, Sir Crisp, 240.
Gladstone, Mr., Address on Wedgwood's Life, 281.
Glamis Castle, Tradition relating to, 98-103.
Goblet in possession of Colonel Wilks, 201, 202.
Godwin, Earl, Edward the Confessor and, 79, 80.
Goodere, Sir John, Murder of, 82, 83.
Gordon, Mr., of Ardoch Castle, Daughters of, 285-288.
Gordon Castle, Tree at, 182.
Grayrigg Hall, 11, 12.
Grey, Dr. Z., and Bust of Charles I., 133, 134.
Guisboro' Priory, The Monks of, 274.
Gunpowder Conspirators, The, at Hendlip Hall, 92, 93.
Gunwalloe Parish Church, Tradition relating to, 64, 65.
Haddon Hall, "Dorothy Vernon's Door" at, 213-215.
Haigh Hall, Romance associated with, 246-248.
Hale, Sir Matthew, in Disguise, 227, 228.
Ham House, Weybridge, Secret Rooms at, 95.
Hand, The Dead, 154-161.
Hannen, Sir James, and the case of de Niceville, 265
Hapton Tower, 168, 169.
Harper, Story of an old Irish, 271, 272.
Harpham Hall, 41, 42.
Harrington, Sir John, 18.
Hastings Priory, Skulls from, 32.
Havisham, Miss, The original of, 50, 51.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, and the Legend of "The Bloody Footsteps," 115, 116.
Heart Burial on the Continent, 260.
Hearts, Honoured, 253-262.
Helston, Mother, a Lancashire witch, 169.
Hendlip Hall, Secret Room at, 91-93.
Herbert, Sir Richard, at the Battle of Edgcot Field, 5, 6.
Hermitage Castle, Story of, 166; Treasures Hidden in, 270, 271, 276.
Hidden Money and Treasure, Traditions re, 268-278.
Hill, Captain R., 301-303.
Hoby, Sir Thomas, 123.
Holland House, Room at, 120.
Holyrood Palace, Blood Stains on floor of, 117.
Home of Cowdenknowes, Family of, 25.
Honoured Hearts, 253-262.
Hopetoun, Earl, and Laird named Dundas, 84, 85.
Horndon-on-the-Hill Church, 254, 255.
Howe, Mr., Strange Disappearance of, 244-246.
Howe, Lord, and "John Taylor," 211.
Howgill, Francis, a Noted Quaker, 10-12.
Hoxne, Tradition at, 26.
Hulme Hall, Legend connected with, 269, 270.
Hume's "History of the House of Douglas," 81.
Hungerford, Vault of the, 256.
Idiot's Curse, The, 9, 10.
Indelible Blood Stains, 114-134.
Indre, M'Alister, Curse of, 2-5.
Ingatestone Hall, Strange Room at, 94.
"Ingoldsby Legends," Dead Hand mentioned in, 160, 161.
Iron Chest in Ireland, Story of an, 205, 206.
Isabella, Countess of Northampton, 256.
Isabella Eugenia, of the Netherlands, 46, 47.
Isabella, Queen, 49.
Ithon, John de, Story of, 178, 179.
James II., The Heart of, 259.
Jerratt, Lady, Ghost Story of, 119, 120.
Joan, Queen of Naples, 49.
Johnson, Dr., Conversations with a Man in Woman's attire, 224.
Joinville, Count Louis, 138-140.
Jones, Molly, Sir Wm. Kyte and, 298-300.
"Katie Neevie's Hoard," 271.
Kellie, The two Countesses of, 285-288.
Kempenfeldt, Admiral, 182.
Kersal Hall, Romantic Story of, 173-176.
Kilburn Priory, Legend connected with, 126, 127.
Kirdford, Piece of Ground at, 128.
Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, Family of, 183-185.
Knevett, Lord, Murder of, 118.
Konigsmark, Count, 300.
Kyte, Sir Wm., and Molly Jones, 298-300.
Lally, John, A Piper, 77, 78.
Lecky, Mr., and Devil Compacts in the Fourteenth Century, 163.
Lee, Sir Henry, Queen Elizabeth and, 47, 48.
Leech, John, Strange Story of, 175, 176.
Lefanu, Mrs., Story of "The Banshee," 193.
Legend of the Robber's Grave, 129, 130.
Leigh, Lord, Charge of Murder against, 152, 153.
Lincoln Cathedral, Blood Stains at, 118, 119.
Lincolnshire, Strange Disappearance at a Marriage in 1750, 230.
Lindsays, The, 101.
Littlecote House, Mysterious Crime at, 106-108.
Livingstone, Sir A., Banquet given by, 80, 81.
Long, Walter, of Draycot, 141-144.
Long, Sir Walter, Story of his Widow, 206, 207.
Louis XIV., Burial of Heart of, 261.
Lovat, Lord, Story of, 206.
Lovel, Lord, Disappearance of his Bride, 234.
Lovell, Lord, The Mysterious Death of, 89, 90.
"Luck of Muncaster," The, 203-205.
Lucky Accidents, 279-288.
Lynton Castle, Tradition relating to, 62-64.
Mab's Cross, near Wigan, 248.
M'Alister Family, Curse of the, 2-5.
McClean, Family of, 195.
Macfarlane, Mrs., Secret relating to, 146-149.
Mackenzie, Maria, 295.
Macleod, Dr. Norman, Anecdote told by, 66, 67.
Magdalene College, Oxford, Cup found at, 274.
Maguire, Col., and Lady Cathcart, 236-238.
Malsanger, House at, 234, 235.
Manners, John, and Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall, 214, 215.
Manor House at Darlington, 119.
Mansfield, Lord Chief Justice, and the Chevalier D'Eon, 221.
Mar, The Earl of, 14-17.
Market Parsonage, Mysterious crime at, 123, 124.
Marlborough, Duchess of, and Congreve, 86.
Marsh, George, the martyr, 116.
Marwell Old Hall, Traditions re, 234.
Mary Queen of Scots at Chartley Park, 189.
Matthews, C.J., the actor, 284.
Mazarin, Cardinal, Heart of, 262.
Medicis, Marie de, Heart of, 261.
Medicis, Queen Catherine de, Story of, 177, 178.
Merton College, Oxford, Pictures discovered at, 273.
Mertoun, Stephen de, Murder committed by, 126, 127.
Middleton Family in Yorkshire, 197.
Midwife's Curse, The, 27, 28.
Millbanke, Miss, Lord Byron and, 196, 197.
Mills, Anne, the female sailor, 209.
Misers' Hoards, 272, 273.
Missing Wills, 267.
"Mistletoe Bough," The (song), 234.
Modena, The Duke of, 85, 86.
Mohun, Lord, 301, 302.
"Moiva Borb" (song), 272.
Molloy, Captain, of H.M.S. "Caesar," 26, 27.
Montagues, The, and Sherborne Castle, 18; and Cowdray Castle, 19.
Montgomery Church Walls, Tale of, 129, 130.
Morley, Sir Oswald, 269.
Mountford, Wm., Murder of, 301-303.
Moy, The Curse of, 6-9.
Muncaster Castle, Room at, 203-205.
Musgrave, Sir George, 202, 203.
Mysterious Rooms, 88-113.
Newborough, Lady, Romantic Story relating to, 136-140.
Netherall, Secret Room at, 98.
Newstead Abbey, Skull at, 44, 45; Spectre of, 196; Lord Byron's Heart at, 260.
Niceville A.A. de, 265, 266.
Nimmo, Mrs., 290-293.
Northam Tower, Spectre at, 119.
Northumberland, Duke of, The Eleventh Daughter of the, 300, 301.
Nugent, Lord, "Memorials of Hampden," 90, 91.
Ogilvies, The, 101.
Omens, Family Death, 180-198.
Ormesby, Treasure found at the Vicarage House of, 274.
Osbaldeston Hall, Tradition relating to, 83, 84.
Oulton House, Tragedy at, 303.
Overbury, Sir Thomas, Murder of, 19.
Owls, The Family of Arundel of Wardour and, 185.
Oxenham Family, Death Warning of the, 185-187.
Page, Murderer of a Jew named Abrams, 251, 252.
Pare, Ambrose, the Surgeon, 285.
Parma, Duke of, and Baron Ward, 284.
Passion, Fatal, 289-307.
Payne, Col. Stephen, Curse on, 27, 28.
Pear, The Coalstoun, 199-201.
Pembroke, Earl of, at the Battle of Edgcot Fields, 5, 6.
Pennington, Sir John, 204.
Perceval, Robert, Strange Death of, 150-152.
Phillipson, Myles, 35-37.
Pitt, Wm., Accident to, 283.
Plaish Hall, Legendary Tale connected with, 132.
Poe, Edgar A., "Masque of the Red Death," 73-75.
Political Vows, 68.
Pope's Satire, 282.
Possessions, Weird, 199-207.
Poyntz, Mr. Stephen, 21.
Prestwich, Sir Thomas, 269, 270.
Price, Mr., 295.
Prophecy relating to Cowdray Castle, 19, 20.
Pudsey, Bishop, 119.
Quaker's Curse, The, 10-12.
Radcliffe, Tragedy at, 293, 294.
Radclyffe, Sir Wm. de, 293, 294.
"Radiant Boy" of Corby Castle, 196.
Raffles, Dr., Amusing Story in the Life of, 233, 234.
Raleigh, Sir Walter, and Sherborne Castle, 18, 19; Seat at Fardell, 271.
Rawlinson, Dr. R., The Heart of, 259.
Richard I., The Heart of, 258.
Rizzio, Murder of, 117.
Robinson, Nicholas, Disappearance of, 241-243.
Roby's "Traditions of Lancashire:" The "Dead Hand" at Bryn Hall, 157, 158; and the "Luck of Muncaster," 204, 205.
Roderham, Robert de, Story of, 178, 179.
Romance of Wealth, 263-278.
"Rookwood Hall," Ainsworth's, 180, 181.
Rooms, Mysterious, 88-113.
Roslin, the Lords of, Traditions regarding, 190, 191.
Royal George, Sinking of the, 182.
Rushen Castle, Secret Room at, 103-105.
Rushton, The Duke's Room at, 70.
Russell, of Streatham, in Women's attire, 222-224.
Russell, Lady, of Bisham Abbey, 122, 123.
Rutherford, Lord, and Janet Dalrymple, 52-56.
St. Antony, Church of, in Cornwall, Tradition Relating to, 64.
St. Denis' Blood, Belief relating to, 127.
St. Foix, Account of Ceremonial after the Death of a King of France, 86, 87.
St. Louis, Queen of, Vow by the, 65.
St. Michael's Mount, Sir J. Arundell and, 13.
Samlesbury Hall, Vow Relating to, 58-60.
Scarborough, Second Earl of, Death of, 144-146.
Scotland, Legends re Hidden Treasures in, 270, 271, 276.
Scott, Sir Robert, of Thirlestane, Second wife of, 77, 78.
Scott, Sir Walter, Vow by an Ancestor of, Accident to, 68, 280; and the Mysterious Crime at Littlecote House, 108; at Edinburgh, 108-110; and the Murder of Rizzio, 117; and the Clan of Tweedie, 249.
Scott, Sir Walter, "Antiquary," 155.
Scott, Sir Walter, "Peveril of the Peak," 149, 195.
Scott, Sir Walter, "Tales of a Grandfather," 117.
Scott, Sir Walter, "The Betrothed," 248.
Scott, Sir Walter, "The Bride of Lammermoor," 55, 56.
Scott, Sir Walter, and "The Curse of Moy," 6-9.
Scott, Sir Walter, "Waverley," The Bodach Glass in, 193-195.
"Scottish Hogarth," The, 279, 280.
Screaming Skulls, 29-45.
Secrets, Curious, 135-153.
Sedgley, Vow made by a Parishioner of, 66, 67.
Servian Patriots, The, 68.
Sharp, Lieut., 304-306.
Shelley, The Poet, Heart of, 260, 261.
"Shepherd Lad," Lord Clifford as the, 224-227.
Sherborne Castle, Curse of, 17-19.
Sheriff-Muir, Battle of, 5, 15.
Shonkes, Piers, Tomb of, 166.
Shropshire, Buried Well in, 276.
Shuckburgh Hall, Tragedy at, 304-306.
Sikes, Wirt, Anecdote of a Skull, 43, 44.
Simpson, Christopher, Murder of, 115.
Skull, The Screaming, 29-45.
Skull House, near Turton Tower, Bolton, 34, 35.
Smithell's Hall, 115, 116.
Soulis, Lord, Compact with the Devil, 166-168.
Southey, Anecdote recorded by, 96.
Southey and "The Brothers' Steps," 128, 129.
Southey's "Thalaba, the Destroyer," 154, 155.
Southworth, Sir John, Daughter of, 58-60.
Spectre, Lady Fanshaw's strange, 192.
Spectre of the "Buckland Shag," 124-126.
Stair, Lord, Daughter of the first, 52-56.
Stamer, Col., Daughter of, 71-73
Stoke d'Abernon, Monument in the Church of, 56.
Stokesay Castle, Treasure at, 277.
Stoneleigh Abbey, 152, 153.
Strathmore, Lord, of Glamis Castle, 98-103.
Street Place, Old House called, 97.
Swans of Closeburn, The, 184, 185.
"Sweet Heart Abbey," 256.
Swinton, Sir John, 146-149.
Sybil, Lady, and the Eagle's Crag, 168-170.
Talbot, Mary Anne as "John Taylor," sailor, 209-212.
Talleyrand, Accident to, 280.
"Taylor, John," alias Mary Anne Talbot, 209-212.
Thirlestone, Lady, 77-78.
Thomas the Rhymer, 75.
Thorpe Hall, The "Green Lady" of, 215, 216.
Thrale, Mr., of Streatham Park, 223, 224.
Thynne, Sir Egremont, 141-144.
Thynne of Longleat, Murder of, 300.
Tichborne, Sir Henry, 21.
Tichborne, Lady Mabelle, 21-23.
Tichborne Trial, The Great, 21-23, 64.