ONE of the most curious cases of diablerie, real or pretended, that occurred in England during the seventeenth century, was that of the "Drummer of Tedworth," which is given at great length in Glanvil's book, and of which the following outline preserves all that is essential. Early in the year 1661, Mr. John Mompesson, of Tedworth, in the county of Wilts, had taken away a drum and a forged pass, or licence to beg, from a vagabond who went drumming and begging up and down the country there with. About a month after, Mr. Mompesson had occasion to make a journey to London; and while he was preparing for the road, the drum, which had hitherto been in the custody of the bailiff of the neighbouring town of Ludgarshall, was sent by that functionary to Mr. Mompesson's house at Tedworth. On returning from his journey, Mr. Mompesson was told by his wife that she and all the family had been alarmed, during his absence, by noises in the night, which they supposed to have been made by thieves trying to break into the house. Three nights after his return, the noises were heard again — a great knocking at the doors, and on the outside of the house — a description of racket alarming enough, but very unlikely to be made by thieves. With all searching, Mr. Mompesson could not discover the cause of the noise, which removed from place to place as he followed it, and at last, after much thumping and drumming on the top of the house, went off by degrees into the air.

      This was repeated five nights running, and then there was an intermission of three nights; and at the same intervals it continued to come and go for a month. Up to this time it had been outside of the house, but now it came into the room in which the drum was, and was heard four or five nights in turn, within half-an-hour after they were in bed, continuing about two hours. It began with a "hurling" in the air over the house, and ended with the beating of a drum, like that of the breaking up of a guard. In this room it continued two months.

      Mrs. Mompesson now lying-in, there was no noise for three weeks — at the end of which interval, however, it returned with greater violence than before, vexing, in particular, the youngest children, by beating upon their bedsteads. Among other tattoos, it was fond of beating a favourite cavalier movement of the time, called "Roundheads and Cuckolds," which would lead one to hope that it was not altogether a bad spirit after all; but this might be for a blind.

      One of Mr. Mompesson's servants was bold enough to play with it, the two shoving a board one to the other, and so back and forward, at least twenty times together, which was seen by a room full of people. Mr. Mompesson, however, forbid his servant any farther familiarities with a being of so equivocal a nature; and as, on that particular morning, it left a sulphureous smell behind it, which was extremely offensive, it is quite probable that the servant felt no inclination for a second bout of play with the frolicsome invisible.

      At night the minister, one Mr. Cragg, came to the house, and prayed at the children's bedside, where it was then making a horrible din. During prayer it removed to the cock-loft, but came down again as soon as Mr. Cragg was off his knees; and then, in sight of the company, the chairs "walkt" about the room of themselves, the children's "shooes" were hurled over their heads, and every loose thing moved about the chamber.

      It was observed that no dog about the house ever barked at the noise, although it was loud enough to awaken the people in the village at some distance. The servants, as well as the children, were sometimes lifted up in their beds, and let down again. One day Mr. Mompesson's mother had said she would like it well, if the thing would leave them some money, to make amends for all the trouble it caused them; and the following night there was heard a great jingling and clinking of money all over the house.

      On Christmas eve, a little before day, it threw the latch of the door at a little boy as he was getting out of bed, and hit him on a sore place on his heel, probably a kibe. The night after Christmas day, it threw the old gentlewoman's clothes about the room, and hid her bible in the ashes. After this, it took to plaguing a servant of Mr. Mompesson's (not him that had played with it, but another), who was "a stout fellow, and of sober conversation;" but he found that when he struck at it with his sword, it left him. The same thing was observed on several occasions, that it avoided a sword; and its noise was always silenced in a moment, if a sword was pointed at the place where it seemed to be.

      About the beginning of January, 1662, a singing was heard in the chimney before it came down; and one night, about this time, lights were seen in the house, which seemed blue and glimmering, and caused great stiffness in the eyes of those who beheld them. A noise was also heard frequently, as if some one were going about in silk, and sometimes half-a-dozen persons seemed to be walking about together.

      During the time of the knocking, when many were present, a gentleman of the company said, "Satan, if the drummer set thee to work, give three knocks and no more," which it did very distinctly, and stopped. Then the gentleman knocked, to see if it would answer him as it was wont, but it did not. For further confirmation, he bid it, if it were the drummer, give five knocks, and no more that night; which it did, and for the rest of the night left the house at peace.

      On Saturday night, the 10th of January, a smith of the village, lying with Mr. Mompesson's man John, they heard a noise in the room, as if one had been shoeing a horse; and something came, as it were, with a pair of pincers, "snipping" at the smith's nose almost all the night.

      It did not often speak; sometimes, however, it cried, "A witch, a witch!" and once repeated this at least a hundred times in a breath. On one occasion, the room was filled with "a bloomy noisome smell." One night they strewed ashes over the chamber, and in the morning they found in one place "the resemblance of a great claw;" in another a similar claw, but smaller; in another some letters, which they could make nothing of, besides many circles and scratches in the ashes.

      The report of these circumstances penetrated into every part of England, and Mr. Mompesson's house was thronged with a succession of curious visitors. Among the rest, Mr. Glanvil came. This gentleman, hearing the knocking at his bedroom door at night, said, "In the name of God, who is it, and what do you want?" To which a voice answered, "Nothing with you."

      Mr. Glanvil, however, paid for the indulgence of his curiosity, for the demon, or goblin, or whatever it was, rode one of his horses that same night, and the beast died immediately after his return home.

      Mr. Mompesson once fired a pistol at it, after which drops of blood were found on the spot, and in different places on the stairs. After this it was still for a few nights, but then it came again, and devoted itself to a little child newly taken from nurse. It so scared this child by leaping upon it — horrible Ephialtes! — that for some hours the little creature could not be recovered of the fright; and to make the matter worse, they could have no candle in the room, the demon carrying away all they lighted, burning, up the chimney, or throwing them under the bed. One time it stood at the foot of John's bed, who could not make out its exact shape or features, but saw "a great body with two red and glaring eyes," which, after they had stared at him for some time, disappeared. Sometimes it was heard to pur like a cat, and at other times to pant like a dog. It emptied all kinds of slops and dirty things into the children's beds, or strewed them with ashes; once it put a spike into Mr. Mompesson's bed, and into his mother's a naked knife fixed upright. Besides this, it frequently threw the children out of their beds on the floor. It turned the money black in the pockets of a gentleman who slept in, the house in April, 1663, and on one occasion, it caused one of Mr. Mompesson's horses to take his "hinder leg" into his mouth, so that several men could hardly get it out with a lever.

      Several nights the house was beset with "seven or eight in the shape of men," who, as soon as a gun was fired at them — a measure which Mr. Mompesson appears to have had no scruple about resorting to — "would shuffle away together into an arbour." It is a pity that we are not informed whether anybody ever ventured to follow them into their retreat.

      The matter became so notorious, and occasioned so much controversy, that King Charles II. appointed a commission to inquire into it: singular to say, while the commissioners were in the house, everything was perfectly quiet. A fatality seems to attend royal commissions of inquiry: indeed, how should royalty help blundering in its choice of commissioners? By what miraculous chance should a king, or his minister, not pass by the right man, and fix on the wrong, to inquire into any given subject? Had King Charles's commission had anything to report on, no doubt it would have reported black white, to the great confusion of that and all succeeding ages. Let us be thankful that it went back no foolisher than it came.

      The drummer was tried at the assizes at Salisbury. He had, after his rencontre with Mr. Mompesson, at Ludgarshall, been committed to Gloucester gaol for stealing, and a Wiltshire man coming to see him, he asked what news there was in Wiltshire. The visitor said he knew of none. "No!" said the drummer: "do you not hear of the drumming at a gentleman's house at Tedworth?" "That I do enough," said the other. "Ay," said the drummer, "I have plagued him (or to that purpose), and he shall never be quiet, till he hath made me satisfaction for taking away my drum." Upon information of this, he was tried for a witch at Salisbury, and condemned to transportation — a very inadequate punishment, we think: were there no faggots left in England? On the voyage out he raised storms, and so frightened the sailors, that they came back, and put him ashore. "And 'tis observable," says Mr. Glanvil, "that during all the time of his restraint and absence the house was quiet, but as soon as ever he came back at liberty, the disturbance returned."

      He had been a soldier under Cromwell, and used to talk of "gallant books" he had of an odd fellow, who was counted a wizard. Likely enough, there were so many pets of the devil in Cromwell's army: he that served Old Noll was pretty sure to get his wages from Old Nick.

      There was a Somersetshire man called Compton, who heard of Mr. Mompesson's annoyance, and said he was sure that it was nothing but a rendezvous of witches, and that for a hundred pounds he would undertake to rid the town of all disturbance. Mr. Mompesson did not close with his terms, probably doubting the lawfulness of his means of help. This Compton practised physic, and could show you any one you desired to see, in a mirror. It may be doubted if any doctor in Somersetshire could do the like now.

      Mr. Mompesson, in a letter to Mr. Collins, dated the 8th of August, 1674, writes:—

      "When the drummer was escaped from his exile, which he was sentenced to at Gloucester, for felony, I took him up, and procured his commitment to Salisbury gaol, where I indicted him as a felon, for this supposed witchcraft about my house. When the fellow saw me in earnest, he sent to me from the prison, that he was sorry for my affliction, and if I would procure him leave to come to my house in the nature of a harvest man, he did not question but he should be able to do me good as to that affair. To which I sent answer, I knew he could not do me good in any honest way, and therefore rejected it. The assizes came on, where I indicted him on the statute Primo Jacobi, cap. 12, where you may find, that to feed, imploy, or reward any evil spirit, is felony. And the indictment against him was, that he did quendam malum spiritum negotiare: the grand jury found the bill upon the evidence, but the petty jury acquitted him, but not without some difficulty."

      Webster, in his "Discoverie of Witchcraft," affirms that this whole business of the drummer was an abominable cheat and imposture, and had been discovered so to be. It was even said that Mr. Mompesson and Mr. Glanvil themselves had acknowledged as much. These assertions, however, were entirely without foundation, and were contradicted most positively by both the gentlemen in question. Whatever imposture may have been in the matter was so skilfully contrived that a trace of it never came to light. The account of it given by Glanvil was published twenty-five years after the occurrences; and during that interval not the slightest clue was discovered to a "natural" solution of the riddle. Glanvil's own testimony to what he witnessed at Tedworth, concludes with the following words:—

      "It will, I know, be said by some, that my friend and I were under some affright, and so fancied noises and sights that were not. This is the usual evasion. But if it be possible to know how a man is affected when in fear, and when unconcerned, I certainly know, for my own part, that during the whole time of my being in the room and in the house, I was under no more affrightment than I am while I write this relation. And if I know that I am now awake, and that I see the objects that are now before me, I know that I heard and saw the particulars that I have told."

      There are two or three points in the above worthy of remark. First, we have here a masculine practitioner of the black art; for the drummer, whether guilty of the particular diabolism in Mr. Mompesson's house or not, was, professedly and by his own account, familiar with the secrets of necromancy. This gives the interest of a certain rarity to his case. We are far from believing women, as a sex, to be more devilishly disposed, on the whole, than men; at the same time, it is a great fact, that there have been, in all ages, more witches than wizards. The question is, whether are we to seek the explanation of this fact in peculiarities of the female temperament, or in the personal tastes of the devil. We ourselves incline to the latter hypothesis. It is not, we suspect, that men are less disposed than women, to deal with the devil, but that the devil is more disposed to deal with women than with men. There is nothing surprising in that; it only shows that "the prince of darkness is a gentleman." It has been so since antediluvian times, when "the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were fair," and "took them wives of all which they chose" — a mythus in which we see shadowed forth, not darkly, the origin of witchcraft. It may be objected that witches, generally, were not "fair," but hags of the most repulsive exterior; but to this we reply, that beauty is a matter of taste, and that what we count ugly may be the very thing to captivate an infernal fancy; it being very improbable that the same standard, in such matters, should prevail on God's blessed earth, and in "another place."

      Secondly, may be remarked the cessation of all disturbance, while Mrs. Mompesson was in the straw. How is this circumstance to be explained? Is it likely that an evil spirit would show so much consideration for a Christian woman in her time of suffering and weakness? Hardly. But are there no angels, who, just at such a time of suffering and weakness, would be most watchful to guard a Christian woman against any evil spirit's approach? We think there are; and, therefore, we do not agree with our beloved SOPHRON (see "Communications with the Unseen World," page 115), that Mrs. Mompesson's exemption from disturbance, for three weeks after her confinement, is a "suspicious circumstance" — that is, a circumstance inclining us to suspect Mr. Mompesson himself of having had a hand in the goblinry. Not that "Sophron" suspects this; on the contrary, he gives cogent reasons for concluding that, if there were any imposition in the case, Mr. Mompesson, at least, was no party to it. "We must remember," he says, "that Mr. Mompesson, if an impostor, was so for no assignable reason; that he suffered in his name, in his estate, in his family. Unbelievers called him an impostor — believers thought it a judgment for some extraordinary wickedness. He was unable to attend to his business, through the concourse of visitors; his rest was broken, his peace of mind disturbed, and he never gained the slightest advantage in an imposition, if imposition it was, so painfully practised through so long a time."

      The third remarkable point in this story, is the manner of the annoyance practised on the family at Tedworth. It was chiefly by drumming; and this would countenance the belief, that the dealers in such arts of the pit plague the objects of their ill-will in person, and not by the ministry of familiar demons — that it was the astral spirit of the drummer himself, and not a devil subject to his orders, that haunted Mr. Mompesson and his household. Happily, there was no rapport between the sorcerer and those against whom his hellish accomplishments were called into exercise; hence, he could molest them only in a material and mechanical way, and had no power to cast them into epileptic, hysterical, or other fits, such as present themselves in cases of psychic obsession. It may seem strange that the drummer should have been so ready to furnish proofs against himself, when invited to knock a certain number of times, and then leave off, if he were the author of the "spiriting;" but there can be little doubt that the astral spirit of a wizard or witch, in such cases of extra-corporeal working, is energized by Satan, and cannot act but as he impels it. And we know that it is in Satan's nature to betray his servants, and that he is best pleased when he can destroy them by their own hands.

      The fourth, and last, remark that we have to make on the case, relates to the curious circumstance, that the invisible being (whatever it was) always seemed to shrink from the approach of a sword, and that it was invariably silenced in a moment, when a sword was pointed at the place where, by its noise, it appeared to be. A similar circumstance was observed in a case of witchcraft (one of the most singular on record), which took place in Island Magee, in the year 1711, in which the house of a Mr. Hatteridge was haunted with unearthly noises, which always intermitted when a sword was "flourished" at the place from which they seemed to proceed. Does not this remind us of Ulysses, keeping off the throng of ghosts with his outstretched sword, from the blood which Tiresias was first to drink? As long as the sharp edge was turned towards them, the shadows had no power to draw near. Virgil has copied this, though, probably, without any insight into the mystery it involves —

"Corripit hic subita trepidus formidine ferrum  Æneas, strictamque aciem venientibus offert."

Homer was a profound psychologist, and knew well what he was about, both when he made the shades rush to the steam of blood, and when he made the edge of a sword check their approach. "The life is in the blood," and an insatiable craving for "life" haunts the dead. This all seers know to whom Hades has disclosed its dreary secrets. The one passion of the disembodied is, to be in the body again. For this reason, they precipitate themselves upon warm blood, the volatile principle of which they appropriate as it escapes, and feel themselves thrown momentarily, as in a dream, into the sphere of the sun-gladdened earth. But the drawn sword is, to such spectres of the unquiet dead, what the pointed conductor is to the thunder-cloud. For the disembodied soul, though stripped of her living garment of flesh, is not wholly naked; the "astral spirit" still clothes her with its thin tissue, impalpable to earthly sense — dim-phosphorescent, imponderable, of electro-magnetic nature, gathering, by its power of attraction, the vaporous matter that floats in the atmosphere into a phantom-shape, in which the wandering soul expresses the lineaments once borne by the body she remembers with such vain yearnings. Now, this electric principle the edged steel drains off, and so looses and gives back to the viewless air the cloud-effigy it held together. It is a belief, all over the East, that ghosts avoid coming into proximity with iron; and there are tribes who, when journeying in suspicious places, shout out the name of this metal, to scare away any invisible foes that may be prowling near — so great a dread of its conducting virtue possesses the shadowy folk. This belief, no doubt, is founded on observations similar to those detailed above.

      Leaving the Tedworth case, we come to one which, in its time, made scarcely less noise, namely, that of "the Surey demoniac," which occurred in 1688 — consequently, too late to be chronicled by Mr. Glanvil.

      At "James-tide" (25th of July), in the year aforesaid, a "rush-burying" was held at Whally, in Lancashire, at which there was great dancing and drinking. Among the merry-makers was a certain Richard Dugdale, gardener at Westby Hall, then about nineteen years of age, and rather a debauched youth than otherwise. This Richard desiring a young woman to dance with him, was refused by her, and another preferred, who was a better dancer than he; at which affront he was so bitterly grieved, that he offered himself on the spot to the devil, on condition the devil would make him a good dancer. The same evening, he was suddenly seized with a burning pain in his side, as if it had been whipped with nettles; upon which he fell into a sort of waking dream, and had visions of sumptuous feasts, of tokens of rank and honour, and of heaps of jewels and gold; which visions were accompanied with voices, tempting him to take his fill of pleasures, of honours, and of riches. However, he did not close with any of these offers; but, ever from the time of his profane challenge to the devil, he had a great fancy and vehement inclination for dancing, so that he could not refrain from it. After this, in another vision, he saw the devil, pointing at something which he, Richard, had lately done, which was understood to be a bond he had lately entered into with that evil one; and from this time he had frequent and violent fits, in which he vomited stones, glass, and other indigestible objects, and foretold various things, in particular the weather.

      His parents, who lived at a place called the Surey, were not people of an edifying conversation; nor, indeed, was the general state of religion, in the place and its neighbourhood, at all what was to be wished. The people had been Popish, and were thought to be but superficially purged of that taint; they were given to dances, mummings, and merry-makings; honoured the Maypole in its season; eat pancakes at Shrovetide, apples and nuts on the eve of All Hallows, and mince-pies (when they could get them) on Christmas-day; considering all which idolatries and provocations to jealousy, it had long been looked for by those who saw such things in a proper point of view, that some judgment would come upon the place. It was pretty plain the judgment was now come: the very doctors (who in those days were not so unbelieving a generation as they are now) saw that Richard's case was not one for physic; and one Doctor Crabtree went so far as to say, that "if the spirit in him was a water-spirit, there was no cure for it," — an opinion which would have been more discouraging to the friends of the patient, had his previous habits suggested any means by which a water-spirit could have possibly got into him.

      Clear as it was, however, that the medical faculty could do nothing for Richard, there seems to have been an unusual reluctance, either on his father's part or his own, to resort to remedies of a spiritual kind. Ten months elapsed before any application was made to a clergyman. At length that step was taken, and, on the 20th of May, 1689, a fast was held at the Surey for his deliverance, and a considerable number of ministers — nonconformists, if we do not mistake — assembled there, to pray for the same. Up to this time Richard had never spoken in his fits, but now a new phase of the demoniacal influence began, which we describe in the words of the report of the ministers present:—

      "During these supplications his body was hurled about very desperately, and besides his abundance of confused hurry and din, he oft stretched out his neck to a prodigious length towards the ministers that prayed, especially Mr. Waddington, as if he would have rushed upon them, or thrown his head at them, and at least six times he with much difficulty, fury, and gaping, skreamed out against them, 'Have done! have done!' whilst the beholders of him observed his lips unmoved, his tongue rolled inwardly all on a lump, and his eye-balls turned backwards, so that nothing of them but the white could be seen. Then, seeing he could not get at them, he flung all about him down, and laid as dead upon the floor, till, in a moment, his whole body was raised, as from death, and all at once, without the natural help of arms or leggs, bearing up with it those that leaned on him to hold him, and then broke out into such wild curvets or bounces, as cannot here be described. . . . What amazing sounds were heard in or from him all along! Sometimes as of swine, or water-mills, or as if a bear, or other wild beasts, had joyned their several notes to mix up a dreadful peal of noises."

      It is mentioned also, that, on this day, he was seized with "two astonishing fits;" and that, at the beginning of each fit, he "was, as it were, blown, or snatched, or borne up sud denly from his chair, as if he would have flown away, but that the holders of him hung to his arms and leggs, and clung about him."

      On subsequent occasions, stranger things still were done with his body. While he lay in a fit on his back, with his arms and "leggs" spread open, he was "twirled about like a pair of yar-wangles."* Sometimes, when in his fits, he would hang in the barn with his head downwards, and his heels towards the top of it. He also prophesied in his fits what ministers were coming to see him; and though he had never learned any language but the English, and naturally was rather a dunce than otherwise, yet, when his fits seized him, he often spoke Latin, Greek, and other languages, with great fluency and correctness. Moreover, he, "or Satan, through, from, or out of him," declaimed much against the sins of the place and time, as likewise against worldly people, saying, "That as maids do sweep away spiders' webs, so would their wealth be swept away."

* Yarn-windles

      He also gave unequivocal manifestations of the power of clairvoyance. Thus, on the 13th of August, a certain Mr. Carrington was coming to attend a meeting of ministers to pray for him. This Carrington was not expected, having but casually heard of the meeting on the day it was to be held, and resolving on the instant to take a part in it. It happened when he was about a mile from the Surey, that his horse cast a shoe, upon which, leaving the beast at a smith's, he hurried across the fields to the place of meeting on foot. At this time the demoniac cried, "Yonder comes Carrington running, and footing it apace." About two fields off from the barn, Carrington took out his watch, to see if he was likely to be in time, when Richard cried out in the barn, "Carrington, what o'clock is it?" — and a little after, "Make way for Carrington!" And, upon this, Carrington indeed entered the barn, to the great wonder of the other ministers, who had not believed him to be in that country at all.

      All this is the more remarkable, inasmuch as it appears that Richard, at the time, had never seen Carrington, nor even heard of him, he being as yet not an ordained minister, but only a probationer, who had newly begun to preach, and that not in the neighbourhood, nor in public, but in the house of a private family. Richard had spoken of him a few days before, predicting the day he would come, and saying, "He is one who will terribly shake me;" which proved to be true, this minister having, as it seemed, a peculiar gift for brow-beating evil spirits. His method embraced three points — first, to preach, expound, read the Bible, and sing psalms, while Richard was out of his fits; secondly, to question, rebuke, and otherwise vex, defy, and vilipend the demon, when the sufferer came into the raging fits; and, thirdly, to pray while he was in the dead fits. This treatment disgusted the devil extremely, and six young men had to stand between Richard and Carrington, three on one side, and three on the other, with crossed hands, as a sort of rampart for the defence of the minister against the furious demoniac. The latter, meanwhile, gave of the endowment for which he had contracted with the evil one, dancing and leaping so high that his "leggs" were to be seen above the heads of the young men; but they, always raising their hands in concert, as he leaped, still hindered him to come at the minister. As a specimen of the way in which Carrington "discoursed" the fiend, the following may serve:—

      "If thou beest a devil that troublest this youth's body, as I suppose thou art, then I tell thee thou art in chains; in chains to restrain thee, so that if thou do thy worst against me, through God's blessing thou canst do me no hurt; and in chains to torment thee, so that thou art now full of hellish pain and anguish. And does it not vex, and fret, and mad thee, to see me, through God's unspeakable goodness, out of thy reach, whilst thou feelest thy burning chains scorching, and tormenting, and devouring thee?"

      At this, says the record, the demoniac would gnash, and shake, and rage, sometimes in an inarticulate clatter, sometimes in unintelligible accents, sometimes in words clustered thick together, very often in a distinct "lingua," that was either foreign, or unknown to all then there, or else forged gibberish.

      On one occasion, when Carrington had been baiting him past human or diabolical endurance, the fiend said, "Thou hast been talking about ordination, designing to be set apart to the ministry, and thinking that thereby thou wilt be more enabled to dispossess me." Then added, with many oaths, "I'll cook and manage thee to purpose, whilst, by thine own acknowledgment, thou art no minister." In this the demoniac had truly read the thoughts of his exorcist, who, as we said before, was as yet only a probationer in the ministry, and had only for some time been seriously thinking whether ordination would not make him more of a match for the spiritual foe. Nay, he had privately spoken of the matter a day or two before, with a friend, of which it was not possible, in the course of nature, that Richard should be informed. Nothing daunted, however, at this new proof of the nature of the being he had to do with, he fell to railing at the demon as a spy and an eaves-dropper, that crowded himself incognito into men's company, that he might afterwards report their secret purposes, and so on, till the evil one, losing patience, broke out into a tempest of Greek and Latin, intermixed with the "unknown tongue" above referred to, crying —

      "Apage Carlisle! I may not abide thee. Abi in malam rem! Quid mihi tecum? rerum tuaram satagas. Της πολυπζ???αγμοσύνης ο'ύ???δί ξενεώτιζ???ον 'άλλο."

      To which Carrington replying in English, the devil said —

      "'Carlisle, Carlisle, colloquamur Latine vel Græce vel qualibet alia lingua auditoribus ignota: adeon indoctus es ut alio idiomate uti non possis, quam quod materno lacte imbibisti? Respondeas ergo nec Anglice, ni μονόγλωττος illiteratus palam dici malles.'"

      The minister, however, would not pleasure him by speaking in "a tongue not understanded of the people," but continued to use the vernacular, at which Satan's rage overpassed all bounds, and he threatened that he would yet have not only Richard, but also Carrington himself, in his infernal dwelling, "where," he proceeded —

      "'I'll rack and torment thee for ever, giving thee wines of wrath to drink, that are already long on the lees for thee a-ripening and gathering rageous strength and quick spirit of fury, and when drawn off, thrice refined from all tinctures of mercy, the very first sight of which will shoot thee through as with ravenous flakes of fiery stinging poyson. And when thou hast for two thousand millions of ages been tormented, thou shalt be as far from the end of thy miseries as at the beginning, and the past infinite woes will seem to thee as nothing in comparison of those horrible tempests of vengeful plagues which thou shalt then see a-rushing successively on thee without mitigation or intermission for evermore.'

      "And then (proceeds the record) he fell to describing the torments of hell in a frightful manner, and did so uncommonly penetrate into the experienced mysteries of damnation, as if he were gushing out all Etna's roaring floods of blazing sulfur-rocks, or stirring up the very dregs and bottom of the fired brimstone lake. And so he went on, reckoning up various most barbarous tortures that he said he'd make the minister suffer; and particularly said he, "I'll make thee my porter to carry wretched souls from one bed of flames to another, and there shalt thou meet with thy old friend such-an-one, thy countryman such-an-one, thy neighbour such-an-one — all whom I have already got in hell, and how will it please me then to see you flying into mutual revenges for your past helping one another hellwards!'"

      This shocked Carrington the more, that he had too much reason to fear that they whom the evil one mentioned had not exchanged this world for a better. The fiend, thus seeing him disconcerted, followed up his advantage, and said with a kind of infernal glee:—

      "'Carrington, I see thou droopest sadly, and art miserably dejected. Alas, poor Carrington! wilt thou have a posset and some barley pye-crust to cherish and to hearten thee, and to keep thee from swooning?'"

      Which greatly troubled Carrington, that the devil should thus so intimately know what his old customs and inclinations were — how he ordinarily used that food, and preferred it before any other.

      However, taking heart, he went in again, and punished the foul fiend in so exemplary a manner, that the bystanders were lost in admiration, and the devil, being out-railed, held his tongue, and tried only to do the minister a bodily harm, giving by the hand of Richard, to a young man who hindered him in this, "a most surly thump." But as Carrington continued to buffet him, his infernal strength began more and more to fail, and to yield before the minister, and "it seemed as at the minister's pleasure, to make him answer to him, or to make him fall into or rise from his dead fits." In fact, there was a perfect magnetic rapport established between the demoniac and the exorcist.

      After this, the devil said that his time was short; but it was not understood whether his time to possess Richard were meant, or his time among mortals in general. At this stage of the business, the demoniac began to predict the periods of his fits, saying, just before the termination of a fit, at what hour the next would be, which happened accordingly. About this time, some Romanists wished to try their hand at exorcising him, and some of them came to him, of whom two seemed to be priests. It is remarkable that these understood the devil's "lingua," in which they talked with him a long time, to the horror and mystification of all present. Richard was none the better of their offices: it is hardly necessary to say, that they chose a time for their visit when none of the ministers were at the Surey.

      The demoniac now predicted that in his further fits he would be deaf and dumb for a month, and declared the nature of the ill he was suffering to be "obsession in and with combination." This was on the 3rd of September. At this time Carrington was away, and Mr. Waddington wrote to him to come as soon as he could, since great reliance was placed in his help. Telling him also, "the devil threatens that he will grease your boots and your spurrs too, when you come. Præmonitus præmunitus." And the letter concludes thus:—

      "'I have heard him prognosticate the alteration of the weather into immoderate showers and brisk winds; he hath vomited several stones, one near two fingers broad, and foretold of the prodigious foal in Gloucestershire; he spoke of a murdered child in Bolland, which, I hear, is since discovered. . . His dancing is very admirable; he surpasseth, I suppose, any artist.'"

      Some question arose about this time whether it was lawful to talk to the devil; and it was ruled that there were cases in which it was lawful, and cases in which it was unlawful, and that this was one of the cases in which it was lawful.

      On the 3d of September, the demon had said he would spare Dicky fifty days longer, but then he would carry him to hell. The voice in which the infernal being spoke was altogether unlike the natural voice of the possessed man, and could sometimes be heard a mile off. There were observed to be two different voices that spoke in the demoniac — "one most hollow, and very hideous; the other more shrill and skreaming, but both altogether inhuman." Sometimes these voices were heard as if in conversation with each other, and they seemed not to use his organs of speech, but to come out of his breast, or from a great hard round lump, which in his fit swelled up on his belly or breast.

      On the 19th, the devil spoke something of a parchment contract, which, he said, Dicky had entered into with him. Shortly after, Carrington came back, and with much pressing brought the devil to declare what it was that had given him power over Richard — namely, that saying or vow of the young man, that he would give himself to the devil to be a good dancer. Carrington insisting on the nullity of such a vow, the devil was greatly angered, and said, "I will call up my sister Ishcol against thee!" Upon which a mouse was observed to run in circles about his feet, and then to vanish, as if it sank into the ground; and the demoniac, falling down, with his mouth to the spot of ground where the mouse had disappeared, whispered for some time there, as if to some invisible being.

      Previous to this, the evil spirit had generally called Mr. Carrington "Carlisle;" and when asked why he did so, replied, that it was because this minister would afterwards go to Carlisle, and reside there; which in time came to pass, he receiving a "call" to exercise his ministry in that city. But from this time, the fiend called him no more "Carlisle," but "My Tormentor." And, on the 10th of October, addressing him by this name, he said, "My Tormentor, I told thee I would show thee my commission as thou oft requiredst — see, here it is!" Upon which the demoniac vomited a piece of paper, rolled up into a round lump. This being unfolded, and dried at the fire, was found written all over, partly with Greek, partly with other characters which none there understood. Of the Greek, one sentence was this — "Ό θε`ό???ς 600 α'ύ???τ`ό???ν θήσει 'εν ποταμ~α 'αιθε~ιν," which was supposed to signify that six hundred days were to elapse from the beginning of the possession until the demoniac should be plunged into the lake of fire.

      The ministers describe Richard's dancing with uncommon unction — one feels that it must have cost these good men no small effort of self-denial to eschew play-houses and other such places, in which exhibitions of the saltatory art were to be enjoyed. Hear how they do justice to the diabolical pas seul:—

      "During this fit, the demoniack danced in a wonderful manner, herein excelling all that the spectators had seen or heard of, and probably all that mere mortals could perform, although when in his natural state but a sorry dancer. He often leapt up five or six times together, so high that part of his leggs could be seen shaking and quavering above the heads of the people, from which heights he oft fell down on his knees, which he long shivered and traverst on the ground, at least as nimbly as other men can twinckle or sparkle their fingers, thence springing up into 's high leaps again, and then falling on his feet, which seemed to reach the earth, but with the gentlest and scarce perceptible touches, when he made his highest leaps. How wonderful, then, were the movements of his feet and deportment of his body, whilst he did not leap; and every sort and part of his dances seemed chained to some tunes or measures, and regulated in conformity to some music which none there heard; and all seemed to be done with so much freedom and ease, that though continued one or more hours, his body seemed no more spent, or tired, or out of breath, than at the beginning of them!"

      Is not that painted con amore? Carrington, however, with great want of candour, pooh-poohed this dancing, as if it were after all nothing so very extraordinary. First, he argued, truly enough, that the devil was not performing his part of the compact, since Richard had desired skill in dancing, and not to be forced to dance whether he would or no. Also, he observed with great justice, that the young man was farther now from any hope of finding a young woman willing to dance with him, than before the devil undertook him. But to this he added:—

      "'Canst thou dance no better? Ransack the old records of all past times and places in thy memory — canst thou not there find out some other way of finer trampling? Pump thy invention dry. Cannot that universal seedplot of subtle wiles and stratagems spring up one new method of cutting capers? Is this the top of skill and pride, to shuffle feet, and brandish feet thus, and to trip like a doe, and skip like a squirrel; and wherein differ thy leapings from the hoppings of a frogg, or bounces of a goat, or friskings of a dog, or gesticulations of a monkey? Dost not thou twirle like a calf that has got the turn, and twitch up thy houghs just like a spring-hault fit,'" &c. &c.

      Master Carrington, it must be owned, was in "very gracious fooling" this bout. Nevertheless, he was a man who could be grave, too, on a grave occasion. It was no joke to hear him in the pulpit: that tried men's nerves. Think of his taking down all that the devil said about the torments of hell — all those blazing Æthaic horrors and up-spewings of the Tartarean pool — all those hideous "mysteries of damnation," the whole ghastly economy of Satan's torture chamber — at the hearing of which from the lips of the demoniac, his own courage had nearly failed; think of his jotting down all this on his tablets, and working it up into a sermon, which, being delivered shortly after at some conventicle in another neighbourhood, had such an effect upon the hearers, that some shrieked as if suffering the pains he described, and some sat staring wildly, as if asphyxiated with the fumes of the abysm, and some ran out of the house in a frantical way, exclaiming, "Fire! fire!" But that was the religious tone of the age, at least among the party of the Nonconformists. Your Puritan preacher was nothing, if not dismal. Tophet and the pile thereof, "fire and much wood, and the breath of the Lord, as a stream of brimstone, kindling it" — this was the picture which he ever laboured to place, in a strong lurid light, before the "inward eye" of his auditory. It was both a matter of conscience and of taste with him to do so; he thought it right, and he liked it. People who sat under precious Mr. A—–, or weighty Mr. B—–, buttresses, both of them, of the Anglo-Genevese Jerusalem, were ridden with a perpetual nightmare; they were giddy with looking down into the bottomless pit; the devil was in all their thoughts. Perhaps this may be partly the reason that that century was about the most demoniaco-hysterical of the Christian era.

      To return to our narrative. Another singular proof of clairvoyance was given by Richard about this time. On a certain night, Carrington slept with a gentleman named B—–, with whom he had, during the night, a great argument concerning the possession, Mr. B—– being sceptical as to the reality of it. In the morning, on getting up, Carrington took a mouthful of water to wash his mouth, his chum being at the time asleep: afterwards he went to the Surey, to wrestle against Satan. At this time, the devil alluded to his commission, which the minister had seen the evening before, and said it was useless to resist him, for that Dicky was his, past redemption; adding, "As for B—– o' th' B—–, there's a chair of state prepared in hell for him, and thy unbelieving bedfellow B—– shall follow him."

      Here were two things which the demoniac preternaturally knew: first, that Carrington had slept with B—–, and secondly, that B—– did not believe in his, Richard's, possession. But more surprising was what followed, for the devil added, "Have I not oft told thee that all thy endeavours cannot prevail against me, especially not to-day, for that thou camest not here fasting." The minister affirmed he was then fasting; Satan denied it; and thus they contradicted each other about six times, till the minister said,

      "Thou art the father of lies," &c. &c., and challenged him to prove what he affirmed. On this Richard turned to the wall, and seemed to converse by signs with something therein; then, as if another devil there in the wall had informed him of what he desired to know, he declared that Carrington had supped some water behind the curtain of the bed before leaving his chamber that morning. But Carrington maintained that this was no breach of his fast, since a drop of the water did not go down his throat. Then he asked Satan what was the name of the devil that had played the spy, and reported so ill what he had seen: to which Satan answered, "He is my cousin Melampus."

      Another piece of clairvoyance was the following. The devil had said he would certainly carry away Richard to hell on the 22nd of October; to avoid which, Carrington privately fasted on the 20th, lying on his face on the ground in his chamber, of which nobody was informed. On the 22nd, Richard was hoisted up in the air, like another Jamblichus or Fra Vito; but after some time he was let down again, and Satan said out of him — "Dicky, thou hast this day narrowly escaped me, and thou mayest thank my tormentor as long as thou livest, since but for him thou hadst this day been carried away to hell; but my tormentor was last Wednesday upon all four; and therefore I could not now carry thee away."

      However, after this, the fiend made a bold effort to get rid of the "tormentor," whose constancy in the good work so baffled his malignant purpose. On the 7th of November, he said, "I think I have given all the ministers enough; and I have quite tired them out, except Carrington; and as for him, he shall torment me no more, nor shall any of you ever see him again." At the end of the fit, Carrington making preparations to ride home, Richard came up to him, and, with many expressions of respect and thankfulness, begged him to accept an apple. The minister took the apple, and set off. Being got about half-a-mile from the Surey, he took out the apple, and was going to eat it, not having broken his fast that day. What followed we relate in the words of the record:—

      "But he found on one side of the apple a hole, as if something a little thicker than a goose-quill had been stuck into it, near an inch deep, and at the bottom of it something bubbled and flashed upwards; and round about it was a circle of about a straw's breadth, and brown colour, and harder to the touch of his nail than other parts of the apple; and on the other side of the apple was just such another hole, all the other seeming fair and sound, except ing the said holes, which were almost opposite one to the other; and he not conceiving how or why the said holes were made, and so not knowing but the apple might be mischievous if eaten, did neither eat it nor throw it away, lest some other might eat it; whence not knowing but that Satan might aim at some harm to him, as before was cautioned, he staid at a friend's house that night, and got about ten o'clock next morning into that part of a common or forest which was within ten miles of his home, into which he was misdirected by an old woman that he met with on the road, in which level or plain his mare, that was of high mettle and excellent for a journey, did stop and curcled about such a compass of the said place as was about twelve roods long and four broad, whence she could not be got either forwards or backwards, or sideways, by his utmost endeavours, from the said ten o'clock till four o'clock, when he, observing night to be near, left her, and not knowing that any house was near, resolved on the directest way homewards that he could, walking over hills and shallow rivers about six or seven miles before he found a house, where his coming occasioned frequent meetings in those parts afterwards, as they earnestly desired: but his said violent and continued endeavours to get his mare away made him so sweat and weary, that he had scarce got over one river, or one mile from her, before he lay down, when all his limbs were so benumbed with the said water and cold frosty night, or some other way, that for a considerable time he could not stir one of them, when he did not doubt in the least but he was to die before any could find him there. But after a time, his spirits being refreshed with the anticipation of heaven, he recovered his strength, and walked the rest of the way to the house aforesaid without any further sense of weariness. He hired some who well knew the forest to fetch his mare; they not finding her, he hired some again, who still failing, and all their way discouraged, he went himself, with company; and though there was no hedge, tree, or way-mark thither, yet he went directly to the spot where she was, when she readily came away with him. On coming home, he buried the apple, taking a faithful witness thereof, and afterwards, lest it should be rooted up, he laid a great stone upon it.

      "He did not see Richard again till the 14th of November, and learned that new and strange fits had seized the young man, in which he was extreamly hurried and ridden about, and chafed, and besmeared on his head, as with the foam of a horse hard ridden, and of a very rank smell; besides, his dead fits were very long, and almost constantly continuing, and when they were intermitted, he was always so full, that he fasted, and could not eat anything for three or four days together. Besides, in one such fit, a great stone of about fourteen pounds weight was laid on him, so gently as not to harm him, and yet so secretly that none of the spectators knew whence or how it came thither. On inquiry it was found that Richard's foaming, chafe, and hurry, was at the very time when the minister was running after, or labouring about his mare; and his dead fits began near the time when the apple was buried, and the stone was laid on him near the time when the stone was laid by the minister on the apple, about twenty-four miles off; and such stones were not to be found or got near the Surey."

      It does not appear that Richard was privy to the evil spirit's design upon the minister's health. When out of his fits, he seemed to feel most deeply his obligations to those who were toiling with so much perseverance for his emancipation from the hellish thrall: he affirmed, that when he received the apple it was perfectly sound, and he knew not how the two holes came to be in it. The minister leaving Richard in his dead fit, hurried home that night, and took up the apple; and after this, Richard's fits were long suspended, and returned no more with the same frequency or violence.

      On the 5th of December, Richard being in his fit, the devil cried out suddenly, "Thou woman at the further end of the barn, give me that bread and cheese which thou hast in thy pocket." Soon after, a dog came with bread and cheese in his mouth, to eat it in a place of the barn that was freest from the feet of the crowd; which some one observing, said, "Here's the bread and cheese which Satan lately called for!" — which the woman hearing, in great fear confessed that she, coming from far, had brought bread and cheese to feed on in her walk to and fro; which, when she heard the devil call for, she durst not keep it, but endeavoured to thrust it out of the barn; — which, however, was not thrust out so far, but that the dog got it back thither again. The same day he said to a man from Manchester, "Thou Manchester whelp, thou lookedst at a dial in Morton, and it was past nine o'clock;" which the man acknowledged was true.

      He could in general give no account, when he came to himself, of anything that had passed during his fit. Once, however, he related that, while in the fit, he had had a distinct sight of a person he named, and that the person was in such and such a posture, which he described, and in such and such a place. The place mentioned was many miles from the Surey. Inquiry being made, it was found that the demoniac's statement exactly corresponded with the fact. As to Carrington, Richard had always (in his fit) accurate intelligence about him, and could tell with the utmost certainty where he was, and when he would come. It has been mentioned that the evil spirit did not use Richard's tongue, but seemed to speak out of his breast, or out of a round hard lump that would suddenly rise, as if puffed up, on his breast or his belly. On one occasion, a man that was unknown to all the Surey, laying his hand on this lump, the voice out of it said, "Though thou be a doctor of physic, thou canst not help Dicky, for none but doctors of divinity can do him any good." The stranger, upon this, being asked who he was, confessed that he was a physician, and lately come from Holland.

      With respect to this "round, hard lump," it was observed that it commonly rose first about the calf of the leg, and thence rolled or wrought upwards into "the chest of his body." This is no unusual phenomenon in cases of possession. We ourselves were informed by Pastor Kapff, of Kornthal in Wirtemberg, that he had had a demoniac under his care in whom it was very marked. The lump presented itself first in one leg, from which being exorcised, it removed to the other. Being in like manner driven from this position, it betook itself to the "chest of the body," whence, being still unrelentingly pursued by the exorcist, it mounted to the throat, almost choking the demoniac, and finally yielding up its diabolical tenant by the mouth, in the appearance of a blue flame. This was seen, not only by the pastor himself, but by the elders of his congregation, who were assembled to sustain him in his combat with the spiritual adversary. Pastor Kapff's method of exorcising, we believe, is by a combination of magnetism with acts of a religious kind: the magnetic passes are made upwards, contrary to the practice in cases of merely physical disease. This method has been employed, with great success, by Dr. Kerner, who has had more possessed people under his hands than, perhaps, all the medical faculty in this country put together; and we cannot but lament that Mr. Carrington and his colleagues at the Surey were unacquainted with a mode of treatment by which, we suspect, they would have done their patient a great deal more good, than by mobbing the devil like a pack of fishwives, and, against their own better convictions, disparaging his dancing.

      On the 9th of January, 1690, the ministers, as they tell us, used several serious efforts to find out if the Surey people did not know more about the causes of Richard's affliction than they let on, namely, whether there was not a contract with Satan, or whether witches or Romanists had not some hand in the matter. It is certain that there were circumstances connected with the progress of the affair, that gave an appearance of ground for such suspicions. In October, Satan had said positively that a contract was in existence, between "Dicky" and himself, written on parchment, to which Dicky had subscribed, a jade taking his hand out of bed, and putting one or two of his fingers to the writing. When out of his fits, Richard admitted no knowledge of any such transaction; nevertheless, it was suspected by many that there was such a parchment; and on the 18th of October, Mr. Carrington, having got a private hint, searched a box which stood in Richard's chamber, greatly, as it seemed, against the will of the Dugdale family. But nothing was found in the box of the kind looked for; and yet this search did not tend to allay the suspicion of something that would not bear the light, for there were discovered several papers, having very odd shapes and figures prickt into them, as it were, with pins, and drawn upon them with pens "very ill favouredly and uncommonly." These papers Carrington took, not at all to the satisfaction of the Surey people; and, the same night, they that had put the minister upon the search of the box were very ill dealt with by invisible beings. On the 20th of December, the demoniac in his fit vomited up several papers, on which Greek and other strange languages were written: these papers, too, Carrington appropriated, the Surey people objecting, and desiring to have them. But though he put them up with the best care he could, and among his choicest things, they, with the papers found in the box, soon after unaccountably disappeared.

      Thus, it seemed hardly possible to doubt that there was some foul play going on, and, incredible as it might appear, that the sufferer's own family were cognizant of, if not participant in it. However, being interrogated, as was said, by the ministers, on the 9th of January, they denied all knowledge, whether of a contract, or of Romanists or witches, as connected with Richard's condition. Upon this, the ministers made some of them say the Lord's Prayer, when one of them was found who constantly missed the last petition; whom, accordingly, the ministers threatened with further trials, but these — Richard soon after getting well — did not take place. Nevertheless, money was collected, with a view to having the whole matter legally investigated, and it is probable that a prosecution for witchcraft would have been set on foot against all the Surey clan, had not the somewhat sudden recovery of the demoniac seemed to render further proceedings unnecessary. The ministers complained much of the hindrance thrown in their way by the disingenuousness of old Dugdale; and there are grounds to suspect that he had put his landlord, Sir E. A., upon forbidding any more meetings at the Surey, on the pretence that his "headges" were damaged by the great confluence of people.

      Thus, in the face of many discouragements, the ministers had to carry on the warfare against the invisible foe; till at length, on the 24th of March, the demoniac being in a fit more severe than usual, Satan cried out, "Now, Dicky, I must leave thee, and must afflict thee no more as I have done: I have troubled thee thus long by obsession, and also by a combination, that never shall be discovered as long as the world endures." Upon which "Richard's body was tossed and tortured, as if something was a-tearing it a-pieces, and it was strained and stretcht as if it were a-vomiting, wherein nothing visibly appeared to come out of him, and yet Satan, or whatsoever had troubled him before, did therein evidently come from or out of him." From this time he continued well, except that having some weeks after got drunk, he had some threatenings of a return of his fits. On this Mr. Jolly admonished him that he should amend his life, lest it should happen to him as to the man whose last state was worse than the first. Also he was advised to purge away the evil humours which his body might have contracted, which have often proved, and so are styled, vehiculum diaboli, the receptacle of Satan. Accordingly he took physic, and from that time was free from all fits. Some time after, he married, having returned to his former occupation of gardening; and it appears that he never ceased to speak with affection and gratitude of the ministers, especially of Mr. Carrington.

      We think he was mistaken: we doubt if these gentlemen really did anything for him, and suspect that he would have got well at the time he did, had not one of them ever come to the Surey. For there was absolutely nothing in their proceedings, as reported by themselves, of a nature to have any effect in such a case. They poured forth, indeed, floods of talk, the most of it, to judge by the specimens recorded, mere quizzing or bantering of the evil spirit, who, however, as long as he kept possession of Richard's body, seems to us to have had the laugh on his side. Sometimes, it is true, they threatened and scolded him with great energy, but he was a match for them at that too. It is remarkable that not one of them ever had the boldness to lay his hands on the young man, or to say to the demon in straightforward English (for of course they had too laudable an abhorrence of Popery to say it in Latin), "Come out of him."

      What convinces us that the preachers had no hand in shortening the term of the possession is, that on the parchment which the demoniac vomited on the 10th of October, was written something respecting "six hundred days," which was then supposed to indicate the time that should elapse from the beginning of the possession until Richard's consignment to the lake of fire. Now, from the 25th of July, 1688, to the 24th of March, 1690, were just six hundred and seven days, and during this period Richard was indeed spiritually in the lake of fire, being in the company and hold of him whose element it is. For we may truly say, where the devil is, there is hell. The parchment in question, therefore, was apparently Satan's warrant to hold the debauched young man for six hundred days, not to take him at the end of that term.

      The history of this case is evidently from the pen of Carrington, but is subscribed by all the ministers who took part in the proceedings. The names are — Thomas Jolly, Charles Sagar, Nicholas Kershaw, Robert Waddington, Thomas Whally, John Carrington. Besides these, three ministers are named as having occasionally assisted at the meetings, Mr. Frankland, Mr. Pendlebury, and Mr. Oliver Heywood. Affidavits respecting the whole matter were sworn before Lord Willoughby and Mr. Ralph Egerton, justices of the peace for the county of Lancaster.

      A mysterious circumstance is mentioned in the preface of the six ministers, which shows how much some parties unknown were bent upon cushioning the affair. On the 16th of September, 1695, about seven in the evening, one of the ministers (it is not mentioned which), walking by the "Bell and Dragon," an apothecary's shop, at King's-street end in Cheapside, with the fair copy of the narrative, and the only copy of a postscript designed for it, wrapped together in his pocket, to be offered for the press, about half a dozen men suddenly clasped about him, and, notwithstanding his struggling and calling for help, got the copies from him, which, with all his endeavours, he was not able to regain. This delayed the publication till a new fair copy could be made: and the narrative at length saw the light in 1697; but the only copy of the postscript having got into the hands of the conspirators, it was lost to the world for ever. What light it might have thrown, if preserved, upon the "combination that shall never be discovered as long as the world endures," it is impossible now to conjecture; but we think there can be very little doubt that the "half-a-dozen men" — the dark authors of its abstraction — were either witches or Romanists, if not something worse.

      We conclude with a brief account of a demonopathic affection, of which no less a person was the subject than the illustrious Pascal, a name more terrible to Jesuits than that of my Lord Palmerston, President Ochsenbein, or the great arch-socialist and patron-saint of Swiss progress — the devil himself.

      The mother of Pascal was a very pious and charitable lady, and had a number of poor people, to whom she gave a small monthly pension. Among them was a woman, who was popularly looked upon as a witch, and with whom it was often recommended to Madame Pascal to have as little as possible to do; but the good lady, who was by no means of a credulous cast of mind, gave no heed to the warnings. At this time it happened that the little Blaise, then a year old, fell into a kind of atrophy, which was accompanied by two unusual circumstances. The first was, that he could not see water with out getting into a state of violent agitation; the second was still stranger: it was, that he could not bear the sight of both his parents together. Separately, their caresses afforded him great delight, but the moment they both presented themselves to him at the same time, he uttered loud cries, and struggled with all his might. This lasted a year, and the child's health had failed to such a degree, that it was thought his death was not far off. Every one said that he was under a charm, cast upon him by the reputed witch above-mentioned; but his parents had no ear for these representations, which seemed to them the dictates of a ridiculous superstition. One day, nevertheless, Monsieur Pascal called the old woman into his study, intending to tell her of what reports she was a subject; but he had scarcely opened his mouth, when, to his great surprise, she anticipated him, by begging that he would not believe what was said, since the people accused her of such things merely from envy, because she partook of the bounty of his wife. He now tried to frighten her, pretended to be quite sure that she had bewitched his child, and threatened her with the terrors of the law, unless she would immediately tell him the truth. Horribly alarmed, she threw herself on her knees before him, and protested she would tell him every thing, if he would but promise that her life should be spared.

      M. Pascal was surprised at the effect of his threats, and asked the woman what she had done, and why she had practised against the welfare of his family. She reminded him that she had once entreated him to conduct a lawsuit for her, and that he had refused, believing her cause not to be just. To revenge herself, she had bewitched his child, and she was sorry to tell him that the spell which was on the little sufferer was mortal. "What," cried the unhappy father — "my son must die, then?" "There is yet a means," replied the hag, "of saving his life: that is, by transferring the charm to another, who will then die in his stead." M. Pascal hereupon said he would far rather lose his child, than save him by what he could not but look on as the murder of a fellow-creature. The woman said, the enchantment could be transferred to a beast. "Take one of my horses, then," said the father. "Nay," said the witch, "there is no need of taking anything so valuable; a cat will do." They gave her a cat, which she threw out of the window; and though the animal had but a fall of six feet, it died on the spot. The woman demanded a second cat, which M. Pascal directed to be given.

      The great love he had for his child made him forget that, in order to transfer the charm, the devil's name must be invoked anew, and the sin of witchcraft repeated. This thought did not occur to him till a long time after, and he was deeply grieved at having made himself the accomplice of such a crime. Who can tell but it was to punish him for this transgression, that his son lived to be such a thorn in the side of the Jesuits?

      The next morning the woman made a poultice for the belly of the child, consisting of three kinds of herbs, which were gathered for her by a child under seven years of age. When M. Pascal came at noon from the palais de justice, he found his wife and the whole family weeping, and received the afflicting news that the child was dead. He met the witch on the stairs, and gave her a buffet that tumbled her over head and heels; but she quickly got up, and said she had forgotten to mention in the morning that the child would seem to be dead until midnight, but would then come to himself again. Although the child had now every appearance of death, the father directed that it should be let alone, and paid no attention to the shrugs and shaking: of the head which this apparent credulity, in a man so little disposed to anything of the kind, called forth.

      The parents remained from this moment at the side of the cradle that contained their child, abandoning the care of it to no one else. They heard hour after hour strike, till midnight; the child still showing no signs of life. At length, as it drew towards one o'clock, the child began to yawn. They took it up and warmed it; they gave it wine and sugar, which it swallowed, and then took the nurse's breast, yet without opening its eyes, or giving any token of consciousness. This continued till six in the morning, when the child opened its eyes, and, seeing its father and mother together, began to scream.

      About six or seven days after this, it began to be able to bear the sight of water; and as its father came home from an absence of a few days, he found it playing in the arms of its mother, and pouring water out of one glass into another. He drew near, but the child began to cry out; and it was some days before it could endure to see its parents together. At the end of three weeks it was perfectly well, in soul and body, and recovered its flesh as before the commencement of its illness.

      The above is related in the Life of Pascal, by H. Reuchlin, on the authority of Marguerite Perier, his niece.