Chapter 1

SOME DISTINGUISHED VICTIMS OF THE SCAFFOLD

SOME

DISTINGUISHED VICTIMS

OF THE SCAFFOLD

BY

HORACE BLEACKLEY

_WITH TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS_

LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER, & CO., LTD.
DRYDEN HOUSE, GERRARD STREET, W.
1905

To

JOSEPH GREGO

WHOSE MEMORY IS STORED WITH
PICTURES OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
THESE MODERN IMPRESSIONS FROM
OLD PLATES ARE
OFFERED

PREFACE

No apology is needed, save that which the consciousness of inadequate
work may call forth, from him who writes a history of great criminals.
Since the lives of so many whose crime is their only title to fame
have been included in the _Dictionary of National Biography_, it is
inevitable that some of these old stories shall be re-told. Already
the books of Charles Whibley and J. B. Atlay, as well as the newspaper
sketches of W. W. Hutchings, have advanced this portion of our
bibliography to a large extent. By a judicious selection some rare
human documents and many an entrancing tale may be found in the crimson
pages of the Tyburn Chronicle. The dainty squeamishness that put
Ainsworth into the pillory, not because he had written a clumsy novel,
but because he had dared to weave a romance around the grisly walls of
Newgate, would be out of place in an age that will listen to ballads
of a drunken soldier, and reads our women’s stories of the boudoirs of
Mayfair.

Without a knowledge of the _Newgate Calendar_ it is impossible to be
acquainted with the history of England in the eighteenth century. On
the other hand, to him who knows these volumes, and who has verified
his information in the pages of the Sessions papers and among the
battles of the pamphleteers, the Georgian era is an open book. No
old novel gives a more exact picture of a middle-class household than
the trial of Mary Blandy, nor shows the inner life of those on the
fringe of society more completely than the story of Robert Perreau.
While following the fate of Henry Fauntleroy we enter the newspaper
world of our great-grandfathers. And as we look upon these forgotten
dramas, the most illustrious bear us company. For a time Wordsworth and
Coleridge chat of nothing but the Beauty of Buttermere and rascally
John Hadfield. Dr Johnson thinks wistfully of the charms of sweet Mrs
Rudd. Boswell rides to Tyburn in the same coach as the Rev. Mr Hackman,
or persuades Sir Joshua to witness an execution. Henry Fielding lashes
the cowards who strive to condemn a prisoner unheard. To all who desire
to understand the eighteenth century the _Newgate Calendar_ is as
essential as the _Letters_ of Walpole.

In making a selection from the dozen or more _causes célèbres_ that
stand out in special prominence from the rebellion of ’45 to the death
of George IV. the choice is not difficult. It is apparent that the
stories of Eugene Aram, Dr Dodd, and John Thurtell must be omitted, for
all have been told adequately in recent years. Little that is new or
interesting can be found in the tale of mad Lord Ferrers, except that
he was not hanged with a silken rope. Although the weird tragedy of the
Rev. James Hackman sank more deeply into the popular mind than almost
any other, the history of the brothers Perreau has been preferred,
since Mrs Rudd appears a more attractive personage than the unfortunate
Martha Ray. For similar reasons Wynne Ryland takes the place of Captain
Donellan, and Eliza Fenning, naturally, has been excluded in favour
of the Keswick Impostor. As to the rest, it is obvious--owing to the
omission of the highwayman and those guilty of high treason such as
Colonel Despard--that no more illustrious names can be found in the
_Newgate Calendar_ than Mary Blandy, Joseph Wall, and Henry Fauntleroy.

Each crime, moreover, bears the distinct impress of its epoch. None
other but the dark night that separates a gorgeous sunset from the
brilliant dawn could witness the sombre tragedy at Henley. While the
nation begins its eager life as a young apprentice to trade, Tom Idle
is found among the recreants, and many a sparkling macaroni like
Daniel Perreau prefers to stake his all in Exchange Alley to pursuing
laborious days. Wynne Ryland is dazzled by the birth of a most radiant
springtide when the world becomes clothed in beauty, and man seems to
have stolen the heavenly flame. Then comes the clash of arms and the
strife of worlds, when the red giants are unchained, and the life of
ten thousand men is naught in the policy of a statesman. With the story
of the Maid of Buttermere we perceive again one of the spirits of the
age--vain, ruthless Strephon in dandy attire pursuing his Phyllis,
shallow-pated and simple. And last, the era of Henry Fauntleroy, when
the nation has grown rich, and man must choose between the scarlet of
the Corinthian, and the dull, sober garb of toil--a strange mingling of
black and crimson.

In order to avoid an interruption of the narrative which a footnote
must always cause, the editorial comments have been placed in the
bibliography at the end of each monograph, to which those who differ
from the author are requested to refer. Although the addition of the
lists of authorities has robbed the book of due proportion, the fact
that the useful adage “when found make a note of” has been observed
will, it is hoped, cause the loss to be balanced by the gain.

The author wishes to acknowledge his obligations to Mr John Arthur
for his kindness in verifying references in the British Museum; to Mr
Isaac Edwards of Bolton for similar help; to the editors of the _Henley
Advertiser_, the _Carlisle Journal_, and the _Tiverton Gazette_ for
access to the files of their newspapers; to the rectors of Henley,
Feltham, Mottram, St Sepulchre’s, Holborn, and St Martin’s, Ludgate,
for permission to consult the church register; to Mr Richard Greenup of
Caldbeck for information concerning the Beauty of Buttermere; and to
Mrs Bleackley for the list of Wynne Ryland’s engravings.

CONTENTS

PAGE

THE LOVE PHILTRE. The Case of Mary Blandy, 1751-1752 1

A Bibliography of the Blandy Case 35

THE UNFORTUNATE BROTHERS. The Case of Robert and Daniel
Perreau and Margaret Caroline Rudd, 1775-1776 39

A Bibliography of the Perreau Case 70

THE KING’S ENGRAVER. The Case of William Wynne Ryland,
1783 74

A Bibliography of the Ryland Case 107

A List of William Wynne Ryland’s Engravings 110

A SOP TO CERBERUS. The Case of Governor Wall, 1782-1802 112

A Bibliography of the Wall Case 144

THE KESWICK IMPOSTOR. The Case of John Hadfield, 1802-1803 146

A Bibliography of the Hadfield Case 175

A FAMOUS FORGERY. The Case of Henry Fauntleroy, 1824--

Part I. The Criminal and his Crime 178

Part II. Some Details of the Forgeries 207

Fauntleroy and the Newspapers 220

Notes on the Fauntleroy Case 224

INDEX 227

ILLUSTRATIONS

1. The Execution of the Idle Apprentice at Tyburn,
_by Hogarth_ _Frontispiece_

PAGE

2. Mary Blandy. _Mezzotint by T. Ryley after L. Wilson_ _to face_ 1

3. The Divinity School, Oxford, where Miss Blandy was
tried ” 23

4. The Execution of Miss Blandy. _From an engraving
by John Cole_ 35

5. Messrs Robert and Daniel Perreau in the Dock ” 39

6. Margaret Caroline Rudd. _Line engraving by G.
Sibelius after D. Dodd_ ” 47

7. Mrs Margaret Rudd in the Dock. _Drawn and
engraved by G. Bartolozzi_ ” 61

8. William Wynne Ryland. _Drawn and engraved
by P. Falconet_ ” 74

9. His Majesty King George III. _Line engraving by
W. W. Ryland after Allan Ramsay_ ” 84

10. Charles Rogers. _Mezzotint by W. W. Ryland after
Sir Joshua Reynolds_ ” 87

11. General Stanwix’s Daughter. _Stipple engraving by
W. W. Ryland after Angelica Kauffman_ (an
example of the famous ‘red-chalk’ manner) ” 90

12. Angelica Kauffman. _Stipple engraving by T. Burke
after Sir Joshua Reynolds_ ” 110

13. Governor Wall. _An etching by J. Chapman_ ” 112

14. John Hadfield. _Etched by J. Chapman_ ” 146

15. The Beauty of Buttermere. _Coloured engraving
after John Smith_ ” 152

16. Mary of Buttermere. _Stipple engraving by Mackenzie
from a drawing by W. M. Bennet_ ” 158

17. Mary of Buttermere. _Etched by James Gillray_ ” 173

18. Henry Fauntleroy. _From a sketch by “A. V.”_ ” 178

19. James Harmer. _Line engraving by T. Wright from
a drawing by A. Wivell_ ” 192

20. Fauntleroy’s Trial at the Old Bailey. _By W. Read_ ” 195

21. Catnach’s Broadside of Fauntleroy’s Execution ” 204

Some Distinguished Victims of the Scaffold

THE LOVE PHILTRE

THE CASE OF MARY BLANDY, 1751-2

“Who hath not heard of Blandy’s fatal fame,
Deplored her fate, and sorrowed o’er her shame?”

--_Henley_, a poem, 1827.

During the reign of George II.--when the gallant Young Pretender was
leading Jenny Cameron toward Derby, and flabby, gin-besotted England,
dismayed by a rabble of half-famished Highlanders, was ready to take
its thrashing lying-down--a prosperous attorney, named Francis Blandy,
was living at Henley-upon-Thames. For nine years he had held the post
of town clerk, and was reckoned a person of skill in his profession.
A dour, needle-witted man of law, whose social position was more
considerable than his means or his lineage, old Mr Blandy, like others
wiser than himself, had a foible. His pride was just great enough to
make him a tuft-hunter. In those times, a solicitor in a country town
had many chances of meeting his betters on equal terms, and when the
attorney of Henley pretended that he had saved the large sum of ten
thousand pounds, county society esteemed him at his supposed value.
There lived with him--in an old-world home surrounded by gardens and
close to the bridge on the London road--his wife and daughter, an only
child, who at this period was twenty-five years of age.

Mrs Blandy, as consequential an old dame as ever flaunted _sacque_
or nodded her little bugle over a dish of tea, seems to have spent
a weary existence in wringing from her tight-fisted lord the funds
to support the small frivolities which her social ambition deemed
essential to their prestige. A feminine mind seldom appreciates the
reputation without the utility of wealth, and the lawyer’s wife had
strong opinions with regard to the propriety of living up to their
ten-thousand-pound celebrity. While he was content with the barren
honour that came to him by reason of the reputed _dot_ which his
daughter one day must enjoy--pluming himself, no doubt, that his Molly
had as good a chance of winning a coronet as the penniless daughter of
an Irish squireen--his lady, with more worldly wisdom, knew the value
of an occasional jaunt to town, and was fully alive to the chances of
rout or assembly hard-by at Reading. Thus in the pretty little home
near the beautiful reach of river, domestic storms--sad object-lesson
to an only child--raged frequently over the parental truck and barter
at the booths of Vanity Fair.

Though not a beauty--for the smallpox, that stole the bloom from the
cheeks of many a sparkling belle in hoop and brocade, had set its seal
upon her face--the portrait of Mary Blandy shows that she was comely.
Still, it is a picture in which there is a full contrast between the
light and shadows. Those fine glistening black eyes of hers--like the
beam of sunshine that illumines a sombre chamber--made one forget the
absence of winsome charm in her features; yet their radiance appeared
to come through dark unfathomable depths rather than as the reflection
of an unclouded soul. With warmth all blood may glow, with softness
every heart can beat, but some, like hers, must be compelled by
reciprocal power. Such, in her empty home, was not possible. Even the
love and devotion of her parents gave merely a portion of their own
essence. From a greedy father she acquired the sacred lust, and learnt
from infancy to dream, with morbid longing, of her future dower; while
her mother encouraged a hunger for vain and giddy pleasure, teaching
unwittingly that these must be bought at the expense of peace, or by
the sacrifice of truth. To a girl of wit and intelligence in whose
heart nature had not sown the seeds of kindness, these lessons came as
a crop of tares upon a fruitful soil. But, as in the case of all women,
there was one hope of salvation. Indeed, since the passion of her soul
cried out with imperious command that she should fulfil the destiny
of her sex, the love of husband and children would have found her a
strong but pliable material that could be fashioned into more gentle
form. Without such influence she was one of those to whom womanhood
was insufferable--a mortal shape where lay encaged one of the fiercest
demons of discontent.

Molly Blandy did not lack admirers. Being pleasant and vivacious--while
her powers of attraction were enhanced by the rumour of her
fortune--not a few of the beaux in the fashionable world of Bath, and
county society at Reading, gave homage and made her their toast. In
the eyes of her parents it was imperative that a suitor should be able
to offer to their daughter a station of life befitting an heiress.
On this account two worthy swains, who were agreeable to the maiden
but could not provide the expected dower, received a quick dismissal.
Although there was nothing exorbitant in the ambition of the attorney
and his dame, it is clear that the girl learnt an evil lesson from
these mercenary transactions. Still, her crosses in love do not seem
to have sunk very deeply into her heart, but henceforth her conduct
lost a little of its maidenly reserve. The freedom of the coquette
took the place of the earnestness and sincerity that had been the
mark of her ardent nature, and her conduct towards the officers of
the regiment stationed at Henley was deemed too forward. However, the
father, whose reception into military circles no doubt made the desired
impression upon his mayor and aldermen, was well satisfied that his
daughter should be on familiar terms with her soldier friends. Even
when she became betrothed to a captain of no great fortune, he offered
small objection on account of the position of the young man. Yet,
although the prospect of a son-in-law who held the king’s commission
had satisfied his vanity, the old lawyer, who foolishly had allowed
the world to believe him richer than he was, could not, or (as he
pretended) would not, provide a sufficient dowry. Thus the engagement
promised to be a long one. Fate, however, decided otherwise. Very
soon her suitor was ordered abroad on active service, and the hope of
marriage faded away for the third time.

In the summer of 1746, while no doubt she was sighing for her soldier
across the seas, the man destined to work the tragic mischief of her
life appeared on the scene. William Henry Cranstoun, a younger son
of the fifth Lord Cranstoun, a Scottish baron, was a lieutenant of
marines, who, since his regiment had suffered severely during the late
Jacobite rebellion, had come to Henley on a recruiting expedition. At
first his attentions to Miss Blandy bore no fruit, but he returned the
following summer, and while staying with his grand-uncle, General Lord
Mark Kerr, who was an acquaintance of the lawyer and his family, he
found that Mary was off with the old love and willing to welcome him
as the new. All were amazed that the fastidious girl should forsake
her gallant captain for this little sprig from North Britain--an
undersized spindleshanks, built after Beau Diddapper pattern--in whose
weak eyes and pock-fretten features love must vainly seek her mirror.
Still greater was the astonishment when ten-thousand-pound Blandy,
swollen with importance, began to babble of “my Lord of Crailing,”
and the little bugle cap of his dame quivered with pride as she told
her gossips of “my Lady Cranstoun, my daughter’s new mamma.” For it
was common knowledge that the small Scot was the fifth son of a needy
house, with little more than his pay to support his many vicious and
extravagant habits. Such details seem to have been overlooked by the
vain parents in their delight at the honour and glory of an alliance
with a family of title. In the late autumn of 1747 they invited their
prospective son-in-law to their home, where, as no one was fonder of
free quarters, he remained for six months. But the cruel fate that
presided over the destinies of the unfortunate Mary intervened once
more. Honest Lord Mark Kerr (whose prowess as a duellist is chronicled
in many a page), perceiving the intentions of his unscrupulous
relative, made haste to give his lawyer friend the startling news that
Cranstoun was a married man.

This information was correct. Yet, although wedded since the year
before the rebellion, the vicious little Scot was seeking to put away
the charming lady who was his wife and the mother of his child. Plain
enough were the motives. A visit to England had taught him that the
title which courtesy permitted him to bear was a commercial asset
that, south of the Tweed, would enable him to sell himself in a better
market. As one of his biographers tells us, “he saw young sparklers
every day running off with rich prizes,” for the chapels of Wilkinson
and Keith were always ready to assist the abductor of an heiress.
Indeed, before his arrival at Henley, he had almost succeeded in
capturing the daughter of a Leicestershire squire, when the father, who
suddenly learnt his past history, sent him about his business. Still,
he persisted in his attempts to get the Scotch marriage annulled, and
his chances seemed favourable. Most of the relatives of his wife, who
had espoused the losing side in the late rebellion, were fled in exile
to France or Flanders. Moreover, she belonged to the Catholic Church,
which at that time in stern Presbyterian Scotland had fallen upon evil
days. Believing that she was alone and friendless, and relying, no
doubt, upon the sectarian prejudices of the law courts, he set forth
the base lie that he had promised to marry her only on condition she
became Protestant. His explanation to the Blandys, in answer to Lord
Mark’s imputation, was the same as his defence before the Scottish
Commissaries. The lady was his mistress, not his wife!

Miss Blandy took the same view of the case that Sophy Western did under
similar circumstances. Human nature was little different in those days,
but men wore their hearts on their sleeve instead of exhibiting them
only in the Courts, and women preferred to be deemed complacent rather
than stupid. Doubtless old lawyer Blandy grunted many Saxon sarcasms
at the expense of Scotch jurisprudence, and trembled lest son-in-law
Diddapper had been entangled beyond redemption. Still, father, mother,
and daughter believed the word of their guest, waiting anxiously for
the result of the litigation that was to make him a free man. During
the year 1748 the Commissaries at Edinburgh decided that Captain
Cranstoun and the ill-used Miss Murray were man and wife. Then the
latter, being aware of the flirtation at Henley, wrote to warn Miss
Blandy, and provided her with a copy of the Court’s decree. Great
was the consternation at the house on the London road. Visions of
tea-gossip over the best set of china in the long parlour at Crailing
with my Lady Cranstoun vanished from the old mother’s eyes, while the
town clerk forgot his dreams of the baby whose two grand-fathers were
himself and a live lord. Nevertheless, the young Scotsman protested
that the marriage was invalid, declared that he would appeal to the
highest tribunal, and swore eternal fidelity to his Mary. Alas, she
trusted him! Within the sombre depths of her soul there dwelt a fierce
resolve to make this man her own. In her sight he was no graceless
creature from the barrack-room, but with a great impersonal love she
sought in him merely the fulfilment of her destiny.

“In her first passion, woman loves her lover:
In all the others, all she loves is love.”

At this time Cranstoun’s fortunes were in a parlous state. More than
half of his slender patrimony had been sequestered for the maintenance
of his wife and child, and shortly after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle,
his regiment being disbanded, he was left on half-pay. Still, he did
not waver in his purpose to win the heiress of Henley.

On the 30th of September 1749, the poor frivolous old head, which
had sported its cap so bravely amidst the worries of pretentious
poverty, lay still upon the pillow, and Mary Blandy looked upon the
face of her dead mother. It was the turning-point in her career. While
his wife was alive, the old lawyer had never lost all faith in his
would-be son-in-law during the two years that he had been affianced
to his daughter, in spite of the rude shocks which had staggered his
credulity. Cranstoun had been allowed to sponge on him for another six
months in the previous summer, and had pursued his womenfolk when they
paid a visit to Mary’s uncle, Serjeant Stevens, of Doctors’ Commons.
However, soon after the death of his wife the patience of Mr Blandy,
who must have perceived that the case of the pretender was hopeless,
seems to have become worn out. All idea of the baron’s grandchild faded
from his mind; the blear-eyed lover was forbidden the house, and for
nearly twelve months did not meet his trusting sweetheart.

Although a woman of her intelligence must have perceived that, but
for some untoward event, her relationship with her betrothed could
never be one of honour, her fidelity remained unshaken. Having passed
her thirtieth birthday, the dreadful stigma of spinsterhood was
fast falling upon her. If the methods of analogy are of any avail,
it is clear that she had become a creature of lust--not the lust
of sensuality, but that far more insatiable greed, the craving for
conquest, possession, the attainment of the unattainable, calling
forth not one but all the emotions of body and soul. A sacrifice of
honour--a paltry thing in the face of such mighty passion--would have
been no victory, for such in itself was powerless to accomplish the
essential metamorphosis of her life. In mutual existence with a lover
and slave the destiny of this rare woman alone could be achieved. Thus
came the harvest of the tempest. It was not the criminal negligence
of the father in encouraging for nearly three years the pretensions
of a suitor, who--so a trustworthy gentleman had told him--was a
married man, that had planted the seeds of storm. Nor did the filial
love of the daughter begin to fade and wither because she had been
taught that the affections, like anything which has a price, should
be subject to barter and exchange. Deeper far lay the roots of the
malignant disease--growing as a portion of her being--a part and
principle of life itself. Environment and education merely had
inclined into its stunted form the twig, which could never bear fruit
unless grafted upon a new stalk! And while the sombre girl brooded over
her strange impersonal passion, there rang in her ears the voice of
demon-conscience, unceasingly--a taunting, frightful whisper, “When the
old man is in his grave you shall be happy.”

The esteem of posterity for the eighteenth century, to which belong
so many noble lives and great minds, has been influenced by the
well-deserved censure bestowed upon a particular epoch. The year 1750
marks a period of transition when all the worst characteristics of the
Georgian era were predominant. For nearly a quarter of a century the
scornful glance that the boorish little king threw at any book had been
reflected in the national taste for literature. Art had hobbled along
bravely on the crutches of caricature, tolerated on account of its
deformity, and not for its worth. The drama, which had drifted to the
lowest ebb in the days of Rich and Heidegger, was just rising from its
mudbank, under the leadership of Garrick, with the turn of the tide.
Religion, outside the pale of Methodism, was as dead as the influence
of the Church of England and its plurality divines. The prostitution
of the marriage laws in the Fleet and Savoy had grown to be a menace
to the social fabric. London reeked of gin; and although the business
of Jack Ketch has been seldom more flourishing, property, until
magistrate Fielding came forward, was never less secure from the thief
and highwayman. Our second George, who flaunted his mistresses before
the public gaze, was a worthy leader of a coarse and vicious society.
Female dress took its form from the vulgarity of the times, and was
never uglier and more indecent simultaneously. Not only was the ‘modern
fine lady,’ who wept when a handsome thief was hung, a common type, but
the Boobys and Bellastons were fashionable women of the day, quite as
much alive as Elizabeth Chudleigh or Caroline Fitzroy. Such was the age
of Miss Blandy, and she proved a worthy daughter of it.

In the late summer of 1750 the fickle attorney, who had become weary
of opposition, consented to withdraw the sentence of banishment he
had pronounced against his daughter’s lover. Possibly he fancied that
there was a chance, after all, of the Scotch lieutenant’s success in
the curious law-courts of the North, and perhaps a present of salmon,
received from Lady Cranstoun, appeared to him as a favourable augury.
Consequently the needy fortune-hunter, who was only too ready to return
to his free quarters, paid another lengthy visit to Henley. As the
weeks passed, it was evident that the temper of the host and father,
whose senile humours were swayed by gravel and heartburn, could not
support the new ménage. Fearful lest the devotion of his Molly had
caused her to lose all regard for her fair fame, wroth that the clumsy
little soldier should have disturbed the peace of his household, the
old man received every mention of “the tiresome affair in Scotland”
with sneers and gibes. Vanished was the flunkey-optimism that had led
him to welcome once more the pertinacious slip of Scottish baronage.
Naught would have appeased him but prompt evidence that the suitor was
free to lead his daughter to the altar. Nothing could be plainer than
that the querulous widower had lost all confidence in his unwelcome
guest.

The faithful lovers were filled with dismay. A few strokes of the pen
might rob them for ever of their ten thousand pounds. Their wishes
were the same, their minds worked as one. A deep, cruel soul-blot,
transmitted perhaps by some cut-throat borderer through the blood
of generations, would have led William Cranstoun to commit, without
scruple, the vilest of crimes. Those base attempts to put away his
wife, and to cast the stigma of bastardy upon his child, added to his
endeavour to entrap one heiress after another into a bigamous marriage,
make him guilty of offences less only than murder. In his present
position he had cause for desperation. Yet, although utterly broken in
fortune, there was a rich treasure at his hand if he dared to seize
it. Were her father dead, Molly Blandy, whether as wife or mistress,
would be his--body, soul, and wealth. Within the veins of the woman
a like heart-stain spread its poison. All the lawless passion of her
nature cried out against her parent’s rule, which, to her mind, was
seeking to banish what had become more precious than her life. Knowing
that her own fierce will had its mate in his, she believed that his
obduracy could not be conquered, and she lived in dread lest she should
be disinherited. And all this time, day after day, the demon-tempter
whispered, “When the old man is in his grave you shall be happy.”

Which of the guilty pair was the first to suggest the heartless crime
it is impossible to ascertain, but there is evidence, apart from Miss
Blandy’s statement, that Cranstoun was the leading spirit. Possibly,
nay probably, the deed was never mentioned in brutal plainness in so
many words. The history of crime affords many indications that the
blackest criminals are obliged to soothe a neurotic conscience with
the anodyne of make-belief. It is quite credible that the two spoke of
the projected murder from the first (as indeed Miss Blandy explained
it later) as an attempt to conciliate the old lawyer by administering
a supernatural love philtre, having magical qualities like Oberon’s
flower in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_, which would make him consent to
their marriage. Presently a reign of mystic terror seemed to invade the
little house in the London road. With fear ever present in her eyes,
the figure of the sombre woman glided from room to room, whispering
to the frightened servants ghostly tales of things supernatural--of
unearthly music that she had heard during the misty autumn nights, of
noises that had awakened her from sleep, of the ghastly apparitions
that had appeared to her lover. And to all these stories she had
but one dismal interpretation--saying it had come to her from a
wizard-woman in Scotland--they were signs and tokens that her father
would die within a year! Those who heard her listened and trembled,
and the words sank deep into their memory. So the winter crept on;
but while all slunk through the house with bated breath, shrinking at
each mysterious sound, the old man, doomed by the sorceress, remained
unsuspicious of what was going on around him.

Not long before Christmas, to the great relief of his churlish host,
the little Scotsman’s clumsy legs passed through the front door for
the last time, and he set out for his brother’s seat at Crailing in
the shire of Roxburgh. Yet, though his lengthy visit had come to an
end, his spirit remained to rule the brain of the woman who loved
him. Early in the year 1751 she received a box, containing a present
from Cranstoun, a set of table linen, and some ‘Scotch pebbles.’
Lawyer Blandy viewed the stones with suspicious eyes, for he hated all
things beyond the Cheviot Hills, but did not make any comment.