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Even that age had its sceptics. Some people in court, chief among them Mr. Serjeant Keeling, whose position and learning made it impossible to disregard their opinion, "seemed much unsatisfied." The learned serjeant pointed out that even if the children were bewitched, there was no real evidence to connect the prisoners with the fact. Then Dr. Browne, of Norwich, "a person of great knowledge" , made a very learned if confusing dissertation on Witchcraft in general, with some curious details as to a late "great discovery of witches" in Denmark; which no whit advanced the matter. Then there was another experiment. Amy Duny was brought to one of the children whose eyes were blinded. The child was presently touched by another person, "which produced the same effect as the touch of the witch did in the court." The sceptical Keeling and his set now roundly declared the whole business a sham, which "put the court and all persons into a stand. But at length Mr. Pacy did declare that possibly the maid might be deceived by a suspicion that the witch touched her when she did not." This was the very point the sceptics were making, and was anything but an argument in reply, though it seems to have been accepted as such. And how to suppose, it was urged, that innocent children would tell such terrible lies? It was the golden age of the rod; never was there fitter occasion for its use. Once fancies a few strokes had produced remarkable confessions from the innocents! However, the court went on hearing evidence. The judge summed up with much seeming impartiality, much wooden wisdom, and the usual judicial platitudes, all which after more than two centuries you read with considerable irritation. The jury upon half an hour's deliberation returned a verdict of guilty. Next morning the children were brought to the judge, "and Mr. Pacy did affirm that within less than half an hour after the witches were convicted they were all of them restored." After this, what place was left for doubt? "In conclusion the judge and all the court were fully satisfied with the verdict, and thereupon gave judgment against the witches that they should be hanged." Three days afterwards the poor unfortunates went to their death. "They were much urged to confess, but would not."

Finally, you have this much less tragic business. In the first year of Queen Anne's reign , Richard Hathaway was tried at the Surrey Assizes before Lord Chief Justice Holt for falsely accusing Sarah Morduck of bewitching him. The offence being a misdemeanour, the prisoner had counsel, an advantage not then fully given to those charged with felony. The trial reads like one in our own day. The case for the Crown had been carefully put together. Possibly the authorities were striking at accusations of and prosecutions for Witchcraft. Sarah Morduck had been tried and acquitted at Guildford Assizes for bewitching Hathaway, whereupon this prosecution had been ordered. Dr. Martin, parish minister in Southwark, an able and enlightened divine, had saved Sarah from the mob, and so was led on to probe the matter. He found Hathaway apparently blind and dumb, but giving his assent by a sign to the suggestion that he should scratch Morduck, and so obtain relief. Dr. Martin brought Sarah and a woman of the same height called Johnson to the room where the impostor lay, seemingly, at death's door. Morduck announced her willingness to be scratched, and then Johnson's hand was put into his. Hathaway was suspicious, and felt the arm very carefully, whereat the parson "spoke to him somewhat eagerly: If you will not scratch I will begone." Whereupon he clawed so lustily that Johnson near fainted. She was forthwith hustled out of the room and Morduck pushed forward; but the rogue, fearing a trap, lay quiet till Dr. Martin encouraged him by simulated admiration. Then he opened wide his eyes, "caught hold of the apron of Sarah Morduck, and looked her in the face," thus implying that his supposed scratching of her had restored his eyesight. Being informed of his blunder he "seemed much cast down," but his native impudence soon asserting itself, he gave himself out for worse than ever, whilst Sarah Morduck, anxious to be clear at any cost, declared that not she but Johnson was the witch. The popular voice roundly abused Dr. Martin for a stubborn sceptic. Charges of bribery against him, as well as against the judge and jury who had acquitted Morduck, were freely bandied about. Dr. Martin had got Bateman a friend of his to see Hathaway, one of whose symptoms was the vomiting of pins. His evidence was that the rogue scattered the pins about the room by sleight of hand; Bateman had taken several parcels of them, almost by force, out of his pocket. Kensy, a surgeon, further told how Hathaway, being committed to his care, at first would neither eat nor drink. Kensy being afraid that he would starve himself to death sooner than have his cheat discovered, arranged a pretended quarrel with his maid Baker, who supplied the patient with food as if against his orders. Indeed, she plied him so well with meat and drink that, so she told the court, "he was very merry and danced about, and took the tongs and played upon them, but after that he was mightily sick and vomited sadly"--but there were no pins and needles! She further told how four gentlemen, privily stored away in the buttery and coal-hole, witnessed Hathaway's gastronomic feats. Serjeant Jenner for the defence called several witnesses, who testified to the prisoner's abstinence from food for quite miraculous periods. The force of this evidence was much shaken by the pertinent cross-examination of the judge, who asked the jury in his summing up, "Whether you have any evidence to induce you to believe it to be in the power of all the witches in the world, or all the Devils in Hell, to fast beyond the usual time that nature will allow: they cannot invert the order of nature." The jury, "without going from the bar, brought him in Guilty." He was sentenced to a fine, a sound flogging, the pillory, and imprisonment with hard labour. The last conviction for Witchcraft in England was that of Jane Wenham, at Hertford, in 1712. She was respited by the judge and afterwards pardoned. The case is not here reported.

These trials throw a curious light on the ideas of the time; unfortunately they exhibit human nature in some of its worst aspects. The victims were women, old, poor, helpless, and the persecution to which they were subjected was due partly to superstition, partly to that delight in cruelty so strong in the natural man. The "confessions" of the accused are easily accounted for. The popular beliefs so impressed their imaginations that they believed in their own malevolent power, also the terror they inspired lacked not charm, it procured them consideration, some money, even some protection. Not seldom their "confessions" were merely terrified assents to statements made about them by witch-finders, clergymen, and justices. And the judges? Sometimes, alas! they callously administered a law in which they had no belief. Is there not still something inexplicable? Well, such things as mesmerism, thought-reading, and so forth exhibit remarkable phenomena. A former age ascribed all to Satan: we believe them natural though we cannot as yet solve all their riddles. I must add that the ancient popular horror of witches is partly explained by the hideous and grotesque details given at the trials, but those obscenities I dare not reproduce.

A Pair of Parricides

The State Trials--The Dry Bones of Romance--Pictures of the Past--Their Value for the Present--The Case of Philip Standsfield--The Place of the Tragedy--The Night of the Murder--The Scene in Morham Kirk--The Trial--"The Bluidy Advocate--Mackenzie"--The Fate of Standsfield--The Case of Mary Blandy, Spinster--The Villain of the Piece--The Maid's Gossip--Death of Mr. Blandy--The "Angel" Inn at Henley-on-Thames--The Defence--Miss Blandy's Exit.

Howell's collection only comes down to 1820. Reform has since then purged our law, and the whole set is packed off to the Lumber Room. In a year's current reports you may find the volumes quoted once or twice, but that is "but a bravery," as Lord Bacon would say, for their law is "a creed outworn." Yet the human interest of a story remains, however antiquated the setting, incapable of hurt from Act of Parliament. So, partly for themselves, partly as samples of the bulk, I here present in altered form two of these tragedies, a Pair of Parricides: one Scots of the seventeenth, the other English of the eighteenth century.

Sir James Standsfield, an Englishman by birth, had married a Scots lady and spent most of his life in Scotland. After the Restoration he had established a successful cloth factory at the place called New Mills, and there lived, a prosperous gentleman. But he had much domestic trouble chiefly from the conduct of his eldest son Philip, who, though well brought up, led a wild life. Whilst "this profligate youth" was a student at the University of St. Andrews, curiosity or mischief led him to attend a conventicle where godly Mr. John Welch was holding forth. Using a chance loaf as a missile, he smote the astonished divine, who, failing to discover the culprit, was moved to prophecy. "There would be," he thundered, "more present at the death of him who did it, than were hearing him that day; and the multitude was not small." Graver matters than this freak stained the lad's later career. Serving abroad in the Scots regiment, he had been condemned to death at Treves, but had escaped by flight. Certain notorious villainies had also made him familiar with the interior of the Marshalsea and the prisons of Brussels, Antwerp, and Orleans. Sir James at last was moved to disinherit him in favour of his second son John. Partly cause and partly effect of this, Philip was given to cursing his father in most extravagant terms ; he affirmed his parent "girned upon him like a sheep's head in a tongs;" on several occasions he had even attempted that parent's life: all which is set forth at great length in the "ditty" or indictment upon which he was tried. No doubt Sir James went in considerable fear of his unnatural son. A certain Mr. Roderick Mackenzie, advocate, testifies that eight days before the end he met the old gentleman in the Parliament Close, Edinburgh, whereupon "the defunct invited him to take his morning draught." As they partook Sir James bemoaned his domestic troubles. "Yes," said Mackenzie, but why had he disherished his son? And the defunct answered: "Ye do not know my son, for he is the greatest debauch in the earth. And that which troubles me most is that he twice attempted my own person."

I now take up the story as given by Umphrey Spurway, described as an Englishman and clothier at New Mills. His suspicions caused him to write to Edinburgh that the Lord Advocate might be warned. Philip lost no time in trying to prevent an inquiry. At three or four of the clock on Monday morning Spurway, coming out of his house, saw "great lights at Sir James' Gate;" grouped round were men and horses. He was told they were taking away the body to be buried at Morham, whereat honest Umphrey, much disturbed at this suspicious haste, sighed for the "crowner's quest law" of his fatherland. But on the next Tuesday night after he had gone to bed a party of five men, two of them surgeons, came post haste to his house from Edinburgh, and showing him an order "from my Lord Advocat for the taking up again the body of Sir James Standsfield," bid him rise and come. Philip also must go with the party to Morham. Here the grave was opened, the body taken out and carried into the church, where the surgeons made their examination, which clearly pointed to death by strangulation not by drowning . The dead being re-dressed in his grave clothes must now be set back in his coffin. A terrible thing happened. According to Scots custom the nearest relative must lift the body, and so Philip took the head, when lo! the corpse gushed forth blood on his hands! He dropped the head--the "considerable noise" it made in falling is noted by one of the surgeons--frantically essayed to wipe off the blood on his clothes, and with frenzied cries of "Lord have mercy upon me, Lord have mercy upon us!" fell half swooning across a seat. Strong cordials were administered, and in time he regained his sullen composure.

The trial came on February 6 ensuing. In Scotland there is no inquest or public magisterial examination to discount the interest of the story, and the crowd that listened in the Parliament House to the evidence already detailed had their bellyful of surprises and horrors. The Crown had still in reserve this testimony, sensational and deadly. The prosecution proposed to call James Thomson, a boy of thirteen, and Anna Mark, a girl of ten. Their tender years were objected. My Lords, declining to receive them as witnesses, oddly enough consented at the request of the jury to take their declaration. The boy told how Philip came to his father's house on the night of the murder. The lad was hurried off to bed, but listened whilst the panel, Janet Johnstoun, already mentioned, and his father and mother softly whispered together for a long time, until Philip's rage got the better of his discretion, and he loudly cursed his father and threatened his life. Next Philip and Janet left the house, and in the dead of night his father and mother followed. After two hours they crept back again; and the boy, supposed to be sleeping, heard them whisper to each other the story of the murder, how Philip guarded the chamber door "with a drawn sword and a bendit pistol," how it was strange a man should die so soon, how they carried the body to the water and threw it in, and how his mother ever since was afraid to stay alone in the house after nightfall. The evidence of Anna Mark was as to certain criminating words used by her mother Janet Johnstoun.

On February 15 Standsfield though led to the scaffold was reprieved for eight days "at the priest's desire, who had been tampering to turn Papist" . Nothing came of the delay, and when finally brought out on the 24th "he called for Presbyterian ministers." Through some slipping of the rope, the execution was bungled; finally the hangman strangled his patient. The "near resemblance of his father's death" is noted by an eye-witness. "Yet Edmund was beloved." Leave was asked to bury the remains. One fancies this was on the part of Lady Standsfield, regarding whose complicity and doting fondness, strange stories were current. The prayer was refused, but the body was found lying in a ditch a few days after, and again the gossips saw a likeness to the father's end. Once more the body was taken down and presently vanished.

Lord Fountainhall, a contempory of Standsfield, and Sir Walter Scott, both Scots lawyers of high official position, thought the evidence of Standsfield's guilt not altogether conclusive, and believed something might be urged for the alternative theory of suicide. Whilst venturing to differ, I note the opinion of such eminent authorities with all respect.

Standsfield maintained his innocence to the last. Three servants of his father's--two men and a woman--were seized and tortured with the thumbikins. They confessed nothing. Now, torture was frequently used in old Scots criminal procedure, but if you did not confess you were almost held to have proved your innocence.

I cannot discover the after fate of these servants, and probably they were banished--a favourite method with the Scots authorities for getting rid of objectionable characters whose guilt was not sufficiently proved.

The second case, not so romantic albeit a love-story is woven through its tangled threads, is that of Mary Blandy, spinster, tried at Oxford in 1752, before two of the Barons of the Exchequer, for the murder of her father, Francis Blandy, attorney, and town clerk of Henley-on-Thames. Prosecuting counsel described her as "genteel, agreeable, sprightly, sensible." She was an only child. Her sire being well off she seemed an eligible match, and yet wooers tarried. Some years before the murder, the villain of the piece, William Henry Cranstoun, a younger son of the Scots Lord Cranstoun and an officer recruiting at Henley for the army, comes on the scene. Contemporary gossip paints him the blackest colour. "His shape no ways genteel, his legs clumsy, he has nothing in the least elegant in his manner." He was remarkable for his dulness; he was dissipated and poverty-stricken. More fatal than all he had a wife and child in Scotland, though he brazenly declared the marriage invalid spite the judgment of the Scots courts in its favour. Our respectable attorney, upon discovering these facts, gave the Captain, as he was called, the cold shoulder. The prospect of a match with a Lord's son was too much for Miss Blandy, now over thirty, and she was ready to believe any ridiculous yarn he spun about his northern entanglements. Fired by an exaggerated idea of old Blandy's riches, he planned his death, and found in the daughter an agent and, as the prosecution averred, an accomplice.

The way was prepared by a cunning use of popular superstitions. Mysterious sounds of music were heard about; at least Cranstoun said so; indeed, it was afterwards alleged he "hired a band to play under the windows." If any one asked "What then?" he whispered "that a wise woman, one Mrs. Morgan, in Scotland," had assured him that such was a sign of death to the head of the house within twelve months. The Captain further alleged that he held the gift of second sight and had seen the worthy attorney's ghost; all which, being carefully reported to the servants by Miss Blandy raised a pleasing horror in the kitchen. Cranstoun, from necessity or prudence, left Henley before the diabolical work began in earnest, but he supplied Mary with arsenic in powder, which she administered to her father for many months. The doses were so immoderate that the unfortunate man's teeth dropped whole from their sockets, whereat the undutiful daughter "damn'd him for a toothless old rogue and wished him to hell." Cranstoun, under the guise of a present of Scotch pebbles, sent her some more arsenic, nominally to rub them with. In the accompanying letter, July 18, 1751, he glowingly touched on the beauties of Scotland as an inducement to her, it was supposed, to make haste. Rather zealous than discreet, she near poisoned Anne Emmett, the charwoman, by misadventure, but brought her round again with great quantities of sack whey and thin mutton broth, sovereign remedies against arsenic.

Her father gradually became desperately ill. Susannah Gunnell, maidservant perceiving a white powder at the bottom of a dish she was cleaning had it preserved. It proved to be arsenic, and was produced at the trial. Susannah actually told Mr. Blandy he was being poisoned; but he only remarked, "Poor lovesick girl! what will not a woman do for the man she loves?" Both master and maid fixed the chief, perhaps the whole, guilt on Cranstoun, the father confining himself to dropping some strong hints to his daughter, which made her throw Cranstoun's letters and the remainder of the poison on the fire, wherefrom the drug was in secret rescued and preserved by the servants.

Mr. Blandy was now hopelessly ill, and though experienced doctors were at length called in, he expired on Wednesday, August 14, 1751. The sordid tragedy gets its most pathetic and highest touch from the attempts made by the dying man to shield his daughter and to hinder her from incriminating admissions which under excitement and remorse she began to make. And in his last hours he spoke to her words of pardon and solace. That night and again on Thursday morning the daughter made some distracted efforts to escape. "I ran out of the house and over the bridge, and had nothing on but a half-sack and petticoat without a hoop--my petticoats hanging about me." But now all Henley was crowded round the dwelling to watch the development of events. The mob pressed after the distracted girl, who took refuge at the sign of the Angel, a small inn just across the bridge. "They were going to open her father," she said, and "she could not bear the house." She was taken home and presently committed to Oxford Gaol to await her trial. Here she was visited by the high sheriff, who "told me by order of the higher powers he must put an iron on me. I submitted as I always do to the higher powers" . Spite her terrible position and these indignities she behaved with calmness and courage.

The trial, which lasted twelve hours, took place on February 29, 1752, in the Divinity School of the University. The prisoner was "sedate and composed without levity or dejection." Accused of felony, she had properly counsel only for points of law, but at her request they were allowed to examine and cross-examine the witnesses. Herself spoke a defence possibly prepared by her advisers, for though the style be artless, the reasoning is exceeding ingenious. She admitted she was passionate and thus accounted for some hasty expressions; the malevolence of servants had exaggerated these. Betty Binfield, one of the maids, was credibly reported to have said of her, "she should be glad to see the black bitch go up the ladder to be hanged." But the powder? Impossible to deny she had administered that. "I gave it to procure his love." Cranstoun, she affirmed, had sent it from Scotland, assuring her that it would so work, and Scotland, one notes, seemed to everybody "the shores of old romance," the home of magic incantations and mysterious charms. It was powerfully objected that Francis Blandy had never failed in love to his daughter, but she replied that the drug was given to reconcile her father to Cranstoun. She granted he meant to kill the old man in hopes to get his money, and she was the agent, but the innocent agent, of his wicked purpose. This theory though the best available was beset with difficulties. She had made many incriminating statements, there was the long time over which the doses had been spread, there was her knowledge of its effects on Anne Emmett the charwoman, there was the destruction of Cranstoun's letters, the production of which would have conclusively shown the exact measure in which guilty knowledge was shared. Finally, there was the attempt to destroy the powder. Bathurst, leading counsel for the Crown, delivered two highly rhetorical speeches, "drawing floods of tears from the most learned audience that perhaps ever attended an English Provincial Tribunal." The jury after some five minutes' consultation in the box returned a verdict of "guilty," which the prisoner received with perfect composure. All she asked was a little time "till I can settle my affairs and make my peace with God," and this was readily granted. She was left in prison five weeks.

Cranstoun fled from justice and was outlawed. In December that same year he died in Flanders.

Some Disused Roads to Matrimony

Marriage according to the Canon Law--The English Law--Peculiars--The Fleet Chapel--Marriage Houses--"The Bishop of Hell"--Ludgate Hill in the Olden Time--Marriages Wholesale--The Parsons of the Fleet--Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act--The Fleet Registers--Keith's Chapel in May Fair--The Savoy Chapel--The Scots Marriage Law--The Strange Case of Joseph Atkinson--Gretna Green in Romance and Reality--The Priests--Their Clients--A Pair of Lord High Chancellors--Lord Brougham's Marriage Act--The Decay of the Picturesque.

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The marrying in the Fleet is the beginning of eternal woe." So scribbled Walter Wyatt, a Fleet Parson, in one of his note-books. He and his likes are long vanished, and his successor the blacksmith priest of Gretna is also gone; yet their story is no less entertaining than instructive, and here I set it forth.

The legislature, in despair, as it might seem, now struck at more responsible heads. In 1712 a statute imposed the penalty of a hundred pounds on keepers of gaols permitting marriage without banns or licence within their walls. This closed the Fleet Chapel to such nuptials, but private houses did just as well. Broken-down Parsons, bond or free, were soon plentiful as blackberries; and taverns stood at every corner; so at the "Two Fighting Men and Walnut Tree," at "The Green Canister," at "The Bull and Garter," at "The Noah's Ark," at "The Horseshoe and Magpie," at "Jack's Last Shift," at "The Shepherd and Goat," at "The Leg" , a room was fitted up in a sort of caricature of a chapel; and here during the ceremony a clock with doubly brazen hands stood ever at one of the canonical hours though without it might be midnight or three in the morning. A Parson, hired at twenty shillings a week, "hit or miss," as 'twas curiously put, attended. The business was mostly done on Sundays, Thursdays, and Fridays; but ready, ay ready, was the word. The landlord or a servingman played clerk, and what more was wanted?

There were many orders of Fleet Parsons, some not parsons at all. At the top of the tree was the "famous Dr. John Gaynam," known as the "Bishop of Hell:" he made a large income and in his time coupled legions; and at the bottom were a parcel of fellows who would marry any couple anywhere for anything. The Fleet Parson of standing kept a pocket-book in which he roughly jotted down the particulars of each marriage, transcribing the more essential details to a larger register at home. Certificates, at a varying charge, were made out from these, and the books being thus a source of profit were preserved with a certain care. To falsify such documents was child's play. Little accidents were dissembled by inserting the notice of the marriage in some odd corner of a more or less ancient record. This antedating of registers was so common as almost to deprive them of any value as evidence. Worse still, certificates were now and again issued, though there had been no marriage. Sometimes the taverners kept registers of their own, but how to establish a fixed rule?

Scarce had the coach discharg'd its trusty fare, But gaping crowds surround th' amorous pair. The busy plyers make a mighty stir, And whisp'ring, cry, "D'ye want the Parson, Sir?"

The work was mostly done cheap: the Parson took what he could get, and every one concerned must have his little bit. Thus, "the turnkey had a shilling, Boyce had a shilling, the plyer had a shilling, and the Parson had three and sixpence"--the total amounting to six shillings and sixpence. This was a fair average, though now and again the big-wigs netted large sums.

The Great Good Man w^m fortune may displace, May into scarceness fall, but not disgrace, His sacred person none will dare profane, Poor he may be, but never can be mean, He holds his value with the wise and good, And prostrate seems as great as when he stood.

The personal application was obvious; but alas for fame! Even in Mr. Leslie Stephen's mighty dictionary his record is to seek.

In 1753 Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act put a sudden stop to the doings of those worthies. Save in the case of Jews and Quakers, all marriages were void unless preceded by banns or licence and celebrated according to the rites of the Church of England in a church or chapel of that communion. The Priest who assisted at an irregular or clandestine marriage was guilty of a felony punishable by fourteen years' transportation. The Bill was violently opposed; and, according to Horace Walpole, was crammed down the throats of both Houses; but its policy, its effects, as well as later modifications of the marriage law, are not for discussion here.

Of the other places where irregular marriages were celebrated two demand some notice. One was Keith's Chapel in Mayfair, "a very bishopric of revenue" to that notorious "marriage broker" the Reverend Alexander Keith. His charge was a guinea, and, being strictly inclusive, covered "the Licence on a Crown Stamp, Minister's and Clerk's fees, together with the certificate." No wonder he did a roaring trade! Keith seemed a nobler quarry than the common Fleet Parson, and the ecclesiastical authorities pursued him in their courts. In October 1742, he was excommunicated: with matchless impudence he retorted by excommunicating his persecutors from the Bishop downwards. Next year they stuck him in the Fleet; but, through Parsons as reckless as himself, he continued to "run" his chapel. In 1749 he made his wife's death an occasion for advertisement: the public was informed that the corpse, being embalmed, was removed "to an apothecary's in South Audley Street, where she lies in a room hung with mourning, and is to continue there until Mr. Keith can attend her funeral." Then follows an account of the chapel. One authority states that six thousand marriages were celebrated there within twelve months; but this seems incredible. That sixty-one couples were united the day before Lord Hardwicke's Act became law is like enough. Here took place, in 1752, the famous marriage of the fourth Duke of Hamilton to the youngest of the "beautiful Miss Gunnings," "with a ring of the bed curtain half an hour after twelve at night," as Horace Walpole tells. And here, in September 1748, at a like uncanny hour, "handsome Tracy was united to the butterman's daughter in Craven Street." Lord Hardwicke's Act was elegantly described as "an unhappy stroke of fortune" by our enterprising divine. At first he threatened another form of competition:--"I'll buy two or three acres of ground and by God I'll under-bury them all." But in the end he had to own himself ruined. He had scarce anything, he moaned, but bread and water, although he had been wont to expend "almost his whole Income in relieving not only single distressed Persons, but even whole Families of wretched Objects of Compassion." The world neither believed nor pitied; and he died in the Fleet on December 17, 1758.

Most of them, however, that went North on marriage bent, took the Carlisle road. A few miles beyond that city the little river Sark divides the two countries. Just over the bridge is the toll-house: a footpath to the right takes you to Springfield. Till about 1826 the North road lay through this village; then, however, the way was changed, and ran by Gretna Green, which is nine and a half miles from Carlisle. These two places, together with the toll-house, are all in Gretna parish; but of course the best known is Gretna Green: "the resort" "of all amorous couples whose union the prudence of parents or guardians prohibits." The place acquired a world-wide fame: that English plays and novels should abound in references to it, as they had done to the Fleet, was only natural; but one of George Sand's heroes elopes thither with a banker's daughter, and even Victor Hugo hymns it in melodious verse, albeit his pronunciation is a little peculiar:

La mousse des pr?s exhale Avril, qui chante drin, drin, Et met une succursale De Cyth?re ? Gretna Green.

And how to explain the fact that people hurried from the remotest parts of Scotland as well as from England, though any square yard of soil "frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's" had served their purpose just as well? The parishioners, indeed, sought not the service of their self-appointed priest; but is there not an ancient saying as to the prophet's lack of honour among his own people?

Now, if you travelled North in proper style, in a chaise and four, with post-boys and so forth, you went to the "King's Head" at Springfield, or, after the change of road, more probably to Gretna Hall; but your exact halting-place was determined at Carlisle. The postillions there, being in league with one or other of the Gretna innkeepers, took you willy-nilly to one or the other hostelry. Were you poor and tramped it, you were glad to get the knot tied at the toll-house. Most of the business fell into a few hands. Indeed, the landlords of the various inns instead of performing the rite themselves usually sent for a so-called priest. A certificate after this sort was given to the wedded couple:--"Kingdom of Scotland, County of Dumfries, Parish of Gretna: these are to certify to all whom it may concern that by me, both being present and having declared to me that they are single persons, have now been married after the manner of the law of Scotland." This the parties and their witnesses subscribed.

I shall not attempt to trace the obscure succession of Gretna Green priests. Joseph Paisley, who died in 1811, aged eighty-four, was, it seems, the original blacksmith; but he was no son of Tubal Cain, though he had been fisher, smuggler, tobacconist. He united man with woman even as the smith welds iron with iron--thus the learned explain his title. After Paisley, and connected with him by marriage, there was Robert Elliott, and several people of the name of Laing. In some rather amusing memoirs Elliott assures us that between 1811 and 1839 he performed three thousand eight hundred and seventy-two marriages; also that his best year was 1825, when he did one hundred and ninety-eight, and his worst 1839, when he did but forty-two. At the toll-bar there was a different line, whose most picturesque figure was Gordon, the old soldier. Gordon officiated in full regimentals, a large cocked hat on his head and a sword by his side. Here, too, Beattie reigned for some years before 1843. His occupation went to his head, for latterly he had a craze for marrying, so that he would creep up behind any chance couple and begin to mumble the magic words that made them one. The law has ever terrors for the unlettered, and the rustic bachelor fled at Beattie's approach, as if he had been the pest. The "priests" sometimes used a mangled form of the Church of England service: which irreverence was probably intended as a delicate compliment to the nationality of most of their clients. The fees were uncertain. When the trembling parties stood hand in hand in inn or toll-bar, whilst the hoofs of pursuing post-horses thundered ever nearer, ever louder, or it might be that irate father or guardian battered at the door, it was no time to bargain. The "priest" saw his chance; and now and again he pouched as much as a hundred pounds.

Each house had its record of famous marriages. There was the story of how Lord Westmoreland sought the hand of the heiress of Child, the banker, and was repulsed with "Your blood, my Lord, is good, but money is better." My Lord and the young lady were speedily galloping towards the border, while Mr. Child "breathed hot and instant on their trace." He had caught them too, but his leader was shot down or his carriage disabled by some trick , and he was too late after all. He made the best of it, of course, and in due time Lady Sophia Fane, daughter of the marriage, inherited grandpa's fortune and his bank at Temple Bar. Odder still was the marriage, in 1826, of Edward Gibbon Wakefield to Ellen Turner. It was brought about by an extraordinary fraud, and a week after the far from happy couple were run to earth at Calais by the bride's relatives. They "quoted William and Mary upon me till I was tired of their Majesties' names," was Wakefield's mournful excuse for submitting to a separation. He was afterwards tried for abduction, found guilty, and sentenced to three years' imprisonment; while a special Act of Parliament declared the marriage null and void. Wakefield ended strangely as a political economist. Is not his "theory of colonisation" writ large in all the text books? A pair of Lord High Chancellors must conclude our list. In November 1772, John Scott, afterwards Lord Eldon, was married at Blackshiels, in East Lothian, to Bessie Surtees, the bridegroom being but twenty-one. Though the Rev. Mr. Buchanan, minister of an Episcopal congregation at Haddington, officiated, it was a runaway match and an irregular marriage. Lord Erskine, about October 1818, was wedded at the "King's Head," Springfield, to Miss Mary Buck . He was about seventy, and, one fears, in his dotage. A number of extravagant legends still linger as to the ceremony. He was dressed in woman's clothes, and played strange pranks. He and his intended spouse had with them in the coach a brace of merry-begots , over whom he threw his cloak during the ceremony in order to make them his heirs. It is still a vulgar belief in the North that if the parents of children born out of wedlock are married, the offspring, to be legitimised, must be held under their mother's girdle through the nuptial rites. Now, by the law of Scotland, such a marriage produces the effect noted; but the presence or absence of the children is void of legal consequence. As far as is known, Erskine had one son called Hampden, born December 5, 1821, and no other by Mary Buck. It is worth noting that Robert Burns, on his road to Carlisle in 1787, fell in by the way "with a girl and her married sister"; and "the girl, after some overtures of gallantry on my side, sees me a little cut with the bottle, and offers to take me in for a Gretna Green affair." Burns was already wed, Scots fashion, to Jean Armour. And the thing did not come off, so that bigamy is not to be reckoned among the poet's sins.

The Border Law

The Border Country--Its Lays and Legends--The Wardens and Other Officers--Johnie Armstrong--Merrie Carlisle--Blackmail--The Border Chieftain and His Home--A Raid--"Hot-trod"--"To-names"--A Bill of Complaint--The Day of Truce--Business and Pleasure--"Double and Salffye"--Border Faith--Deadly Feud--The Story of Kinmont Willie--The Debateable Land--The Union of the Crowns and the End of Border Law.

But first a word as to country and people. From Berwick to the Solway--the extreme points of the dividing line between North and South Britain--is but seventy miles in a crow's flight. But trace its windings, and you measure one hundred and ten. Over more than half of this space the division is arbitrary. It happed where the opposing forces balanced. The Scot pushed his way a little farther south here, was pushed back a little farther north there; and commissioners and treaties indelibly marked the spots. The conflict lasted over three centuries, and must obviously be fiercest on the line where the kingdoms met. If it stiffened, yet warped, the Scots' character, and prevented the growth of commerce and tilth and comfort in Scotland proper, what must have been its effect on the Scots Borderer, ever in the hottest of the furnace? The weaker, poorer, smaller kingdom felt the struggle far more than England, yet the English were worse troubled than the Scots Borders: being the richer, they were the more liable to incursion; their dalesmen were not greatly different from other Englishmen; they were kept in hand by a strong central authority; they had thriving towns and a certain standard of wealth and comfort. Now, the Scots clansmen developed unchecked; so it is mainly from them that we take our ideas of Border life.

The Border country is a pleasant pastoral land, with soft, rounded hills, and streams innumerable, and secluded valleys, where the ruins of old peels or feudal castles intimate a troubled past. That past, however, has left a precious legacy to letters, for the Border ballads are of the finest of the wheat. They preserve, as only literature can, the joys and sorrows, the aspirations, hopes and fears, and beliefs of other days and vanished lives. They are voices from the darkness, yet we oft feel:

He had himself laid hand on sword He who this rime did write!

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