will never be
pilloried or ducked again._

_An old-time writer dedicated his book to "All curious and ingenious
gentlemen and gentlewomen who can gain from acts of the past a delight
in the present days of virtue, wisdom and the humanities." It does not
detract from the good intent and complacency of these old words that the
writer lived in the days when the pillory, stocks and whipping-post
stood brutally rampant in every English village._

_Now, we also boast that, as Pope says:_

_"Taught by time our hearts have learned to glow
For others' good, and melt for others' woe."_

_And I too dedicate this book to all curious and ingenious gentlemen and
gentlewomen of our own days of virtue, wisdom and the humanities; and I
trust any chance reader a century hence--if such reader there be--may in
turn be not too harsh in judgment on an age that had to form powerful
societies and associations to prevent cruelty--not to hardened and
vicious criminals--but to faithful animals and innocent children._

[Illustration: Laying by the heels in the Bilboes.]

_Curious_ Punishments _of_ Bygone Days

I

THE BILBOES

There is no doubt that our far-away grandfathers, whether of English,
French, Dutch, Scotch or Irish blood, were much more afraid of ridicule
than they were even of sinning, and far more than we are of extreme
derision or mockery to-day. This fear and sensitiveness they showed in
many ways. They were vastly touchy and resentful about being called
opprobrious or bantering names; often running petulantly to the court
about it and seeking redress by prosecution of the offender. And they
were forever bringing suits in petty slander and libel cases. Colonial
court-rooms "bubbled over with scandal and gossip and spite." A creature
as obsolete as his name, a "makebayt," was ever-present in the
community, ever whispering slander, ever exciting contention, and often
also haled to court for punishment; while his opposite, a make-peace,
was everywhere sadly needed. Far-seeing magistrates declared against the
make-bait, as even guilty of stirring up barratry, or as Judge Sewall,
the old Boston Puritan termed it, at least "gravaminous."

Equally with personal libel did all good citizens and all good
Christians fiercely resent of word, not only of derision or satire, but
even of dispassionate disapproval of either government or church. A
tithe of the plain-speaking criticism cheerfully endured in politics
to-d