es of commotion, when suspicion and mistrust made men feel
insecure even when entertained in the banqueting hall of some powerful
host, it is not surprising that great persons had their food tasted by
those who were supposed to have made themselves acquainted with its
wholesomeness. But this practice could not always afford security when
the taster was ready to sacrifice his own life, as in King John (act
v. sc. 6):

HUBERT. The king, I fear, is poisoned by a monk:
I left him almost speechless.

BASTARD. How did he take it? Who did taste to him?

HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain.

But, in modern days, one of the most unnatural tragedies on record was
the murder of Sir John Goodere, Foote's maternal uncle, by his brother
Captain Goodere, a naval officer. In the year 1740, the two brothers
dined at a friend's house near Bristol. For a long time they had been
on bad terms, owing to certain money transactions, but at the dinner
table a reconciliation was, to all appearance, made between them. But
it was a most terrible piece of underhand treachery, for on leaving
that dinner table, Sir John was waylaid on his return home by some men
from his brother's vessel--acting by his brother's authority--carried
on board, and deliberately strangled; Captain Goodere not only
unconcernedly looking on, but actually furnishing the rope with which
this fearful crime was committed. One of the strangest parts of this
terrible tale, Foote used to relate, was the fact that on the night
the murder was committed he arrived at his father's house in Truro,
and was kept awake for some time by the softest and sweetest strains
of music he had ever heard. At first he fancied it might be a serenade
got up by some of the family to welcome him home, but not being able
to discover any trace of the musicians, he came to the conclusion that
he was deceived by his own imagination. Shortly afterwards, however,
he learnt that the murder had been committed at the same hour of the
same night as he had been haunted by the mysterious sounds. In after
days, he often spoke of this curious occurrence, regarding it as a
supernatural warning, a conviction which he retained till his death.

But, strange and varied as are the scenes that have taken place at the
banquet, whether great or small, such acts of fratricide have been
rare, although, according to a family tradition relating to
Osbaldeston Hall, a similar tragedy once happened a