Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-06-29

| that blood came from It, which was mani
| testify false, for none was to be seen, save
where the glass Of the window had cut
| my own hand In returning during the night.
ut is Gods ordinary mode of discov-
ering crime" said Philip Standsfield. and
he wiped his own hands on his sleeve. for
| he had been standing beside me.
So they took me, along with the body of
my late beloved friend, into the walk
caught me red-hand in the act. Philip
| Standsfeld was for straightway hanging
| me, by virtue of his warrant a magis-
| trate of the county. having been chamber
| lain and deputy sheriff to his father. But
| this others debated upon doing things
with high hand. ard without color Of
| law.
| Then, so wonderful are the ways of the
| evidence of things and circumstances, that
| they found one of my shoes down by the
waterside where 1 had stood behind the
| tree. This they asked of me to explain,
| a dozen crying at once, did deny having
been during the night near to where the
| dead body had been found?''
| told them that did not deny the truth.
But begged of them to listen while told
| them how that evil spirits, to my knowl-
| edge and in my sight, had dragged a bur-
| den down to the water edge and set 1t
| afioat on the river.
| But at this they all laughed aloud. Even
| those that were not Unaffected to me were
! shaken in their belief by my rambling
| words, which seemed to them to bear
guilt on thesface of them.
| never think so base a thing possible as
| that should murder my well-loyed friend,
| and that wholly without reason. But they
went and pointed out the double track of
| my feet to the water side, and again, with
| one shoe gone from my right foot, back
again to the window.
Il will have his life for a black-hearted
| rogue and the murderer of my father!'
| cried Philip Standsfield. And he babe them
| bring a rope, which put me in great fear
when saw Nichols run off to do his will.
! For they took me out to the dule tree and
| CARED read a kind of warrant about find
| ing me red-hand in the act, while l stood
| on a wooden tub that was used for wash
| ing, with the rope about my neck, and the
| other end rove over a branch. l was in
much tumult and perturbation of spirit
| when 1 thought that in another moment
1 should find myself in Abrahams bosom,
for which, in my present state, l knew
| was desperately ill-fitted.
| Presently, standing thus with my thoughts
| whirling about ME, l heard voice knew
| speaking loud and angry at the outside OF
| the throng. 1t was the voice of Umphray
| Spurway, the Englishman. And that was
| small comfort to me- for the man had never
Liked me- Indeed, Englshmen, for COM
| mon, have small kindness for ministers.
| So that I looked for no pause or mercy.
| Nevertheless, l cried to the man that
! asked for trial with color of law. And L
| took all that were there present to witness
| that it should lie upon him, that was man
| of substance and responsibility, If he should
| allow mine enemy to shed my blood without
| trial.
Then the Englishman, who had been
| traired, they all are, to fine instinct or
lava bding, cried cut among them all:
Let the man be taken to prison. Let
! him be kept close till he have fair trial. A
| man is surely innocent till he be proved
| guilty, in every country save in this I'M
| couth land of the Scots, where they set a
| man to a hedge and sfoot him, or string
| him to a tree and try him as he bangles.
| Give the man to my hand, and l will keep
| r. 20 iva Ay1rYlH q
| bin upon warrant, for which l shall be
| Sun ETY. to the whole extent of my goods
So in spite of Philip Standsfield and his
! cabal, 1 let go with UnIphray Spur
| way for he was an urgent man, and i'm
| perious, so that very few dared say no TO
| him in all that country side. So as soon as
| got him alone in his own house began TO
| tell him all the tale CT the demons, at
| which relations, first of all he cried
"Pshaw!' and ''Clotted nonsense" with
other expressions l cannot repeat, being
unseemly to be written down by minister.
| But after he had thought little he bade
| me repeat it all again from the beginning,
| and, indeed several times over, question
| ing me of what l had seen, till now / said
! to him, "Ah, Mr.. Spurway, bide a little,
ard you will come to believe in the de-
| mons
Tut! head" he said. very rudely to
me. that am a minister Though till lately
| without charged. Il will find your demons
| for you when my good friend the commits
sary comes from Edinburgh"
Then he told me Row it had been resolved
| to hush the matter up now that Philip
| and his clan had been baked in the i'm
mediate killing of me for the fact but that
| he, Umphray Spurway,. had taken upon
| him to write to one Mr. George Hume
merchant in Edinburgh, who was great
| with my Lord Advocate Dalrymple. to have
! him order public examination.
"Then it will go hard if 1 grip not your
| devils for you, minister, as readily as a
herd that grips sheep at a narrow slap in
a stone dyke"
| These things 1 ct down as he said them
| fer that was mis- strange and immodest
| way of speech. But l deny not that the
| man treated me well enough all the time
| l abode in his house by the cloth manu-
| factory, to which he went and came at
| stated hours, as regular as the clock which
| is the use and wont of Yorkshire men.
| 1t was about 12 that night of the Sab
| bath-the strangest l have ever seen, and
God and the angels keep me from seeing
any stranger - that Umphray Spurway
walked ME out of sleep. He stood by my
| bedside, with William Bowman, his serv-
| ant. l feared that he had come to tell
| me that 1 was to go to prison. But in
| stead he asked me to rise. and be wit
| ness of a strange transaction.
So soon as We came out of the house and
| the door was shut behind us. we saw a
| great many fitting lights at the door of
| the place of New Min. AS We went nearer
we heard also the trampling Of horses and
| a concourse of people.
By the way we met a man hurrying
| greatly. He would have PASSED us by with
I out speech. but William Bowman tripped
him up. being a Cumberland man and skill
| ed in such plays.
| I heard Umphray Spurway say to him.
| William Robinson, whittier way so fast?
What goes forward with so great a con-
course at the house of Sir James Stands
| field?"
Then the man. being held fast at either
| side, muttered that Philip had given or
| ders for the bringing out of the body And
| they were burying it secretly in Norman
| Kirk that night. For" said Philip
| Standsfield, eff my father was not muir
| dered by the rogue Of minister that set
| him against me and played tale-pyet to my
| doings-why, then, he made away with him
| self. and, having died Ike a dog he shall
| be buried like dog"
I'VE will cen go our ways down." said
umphray Spurway. and 1 mind that his
| beard was red as fire where the pitch-pin
| lights caught it as We followed the pro-
| cession to the kirk
1t was gruesome sight we saw when We
| got there. Two women went dancing before
! with torches in their hands. One of them I
| knew not, but the other was the buXom
| bosom Janet Johnston whom we had seen
| with Philip Standsfield in the changehouse
| Then came the corpse, white-sheetei and
| cofinless, looking twice the ordinary length
| of man, borne upon the shoulders of six
| men, and with the head not stiff but wag-
Ixrty, fyny ct3 ID a. 1.1-N