land village of
Lockton, on his way to Whitby. The driver of the mailcart at that time
used to carry a large brass-mounted cavalry pistol, which was handed to
him when he had mounted his box by one of the two old ladies who acted as
the post-mistresses of Pickering. It is not much more than ten years since
the death of Francis Gibson, a butcher of East Ayton, who was over a
hundred years old and remembered the capture of the last highwayman who
was known to carry on the old-time profession in the neighbourhood. He was
tracked to an inn at East Ayton where he was found sleeping. Soon
afterwards he found himself on the road to York, where he was hanged.

The road across Seamer Moor between Ayton and Scarborough was considered
sufficiently dangerous for those who travelled late to carry firearms.
Thus we can see Mr Thomas Chandler of the Low Hall at West Ayton--a
Justice of the Peace--having dined with some relations in Scarborough,
returning at a late hour. The lights of his big swinging barouche drawn by
a pair of fat chestnuts shine out on the white road; the country on either
side is unenclosed, and masked men may appear out of the shadows at any
moment. But if they are about they may have heard that Mr Chandler carries
a loaded pistol ready for emergencies, for they always let him reach his
house in safety.

To the simple peasants highwaymen were probably considered of small
account in comparison to the apparitions that haunted many parts of the
lonely country. Nearly every part of the moor had its own wraith or
boggle, and the fear of these ghosts was so widespread that in many cases
the clergy were induced to publicly lay them, after which were seen no
more.

To record the advent of these strange beliefs is impossible, for who can
tell how or when they originated? We can only describe them at the time of
their destruction. Chaucer, writing in the fourteenth century, seemed to
imagine that belief in elves and fairies had received its death-blow in
his own time, for in "The Wife of Bath's Tale," he says--

"In tholde dayes of the Kyng Arthour,
Of which that Britons speken greet honour,
All was this land fulfild of fairye.
The elf queene with hir joly compaignye
Daunced ful ofte in many a greene mede.
This was the olde opinion as I rede,--
I speke of manye hundred yeres ago,--
But now kan no man se none elves mo,
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of lymtours, and othere hooly f