man voice, they feared somebody might
accidentally have fallen in, and therefore they immediately went to
work, to deliver the poor wretch from her suffocating thraldom, and
found her a lamentable spectacle; so that they began to question her how
she came there, and where she lived. She answered _that she was going to
Hell, but had lost her way; that there were several in her company, who
had got thither, and the gate was shut upon them; that she had lost her
way, but should overtake them by and by_. These wild expressions made
some of them fancy she was a mad-woman; and, after some consideration,
they resolved to bring her hither; when she was presently owned, and
the people that brought her let us into the story: but her head still
runs on her journey, and she talks of little else."

THE MILKMAN

AND

_CHURCH-YARD GHOST_.

A man much addicted to the heinous sin of drunkenness, in coming home
late one winter's night, had to cross Stepney church-yard; where, close
to the foot path, a deep grave had been opened the day before. He, being
very drunk, staggered into the grave; it was a great mercy he did not
break his neck, or any of his limbs; but, as it rained hard all night,
and the grave was so deep that he could not got out, he had but an
uncomfortable bed. For some hours nobody passed by; till, shortly after
the clock had struck four, a milkman, who had been to the cow-house for
his milk, came by, and said to himself, "I wonder what o'clock it is."
The man in the grave hallooed out, "Just gone four." The milkman seeing
nobody, immediately conceived a ghost from one of the graves had
answered him, and took to his heels with such rapidity, that when he
reached an ale-house he was ready to faint; and, what added to his
trouble, in running, he so jumbled his pails as to spill great part of
his milk. The people who heard his relation, believed it must have been
a ghost that had answered him. The tale went round, and would have been
credited, perhaps, till now, had not the drunkard, sitting one day in
the very alehouse the milkman had stopped at, on hearing the story
repeated, with a hearty laugh acknowledged himself to be the ghost, and
that he had much enjoyed the jumbling of the man's pails, as he ran
away, and the loss which it occasioned him.

THE

FAKENHAM GHOST.

The lawns were dry in Euston Park;
(Here truth inspires my tale)
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led ove