and she loved her beasts. For tho’ poor wretch She was a terrible reprobate and swore Like any trooper, she was always good To the dumb creatures, never loaded them Beyond their strength, and rather I believe Would stint herself than let the poor beasts want, Because, she said, they could not ask for food. I never saw her stick fall heavier on them Than just with its own weight. She little thought This tender-heartedness would be her death! There was a fellow who had oftentimes, As if he took delight in cruelty. Ill-used her Asses. He was one who lived By smuggling, and, for she had often met him Crossing the down at night, she threatened him, If he tormented them again, to inform Of his unlawful ways. Well—so it was— ’Twas what they both were born to, he provoked her, She laid an information, and one morn They found her in the stable, her throat cut From ear to ear, till the head only hung Just by a bit of skin. Jane. Oh dear! oh dear! Harry. I hope they hung the man! Grandmother. They took him up; There was no proof, no one had seen the deed, And he was set at liberty. But God Whoss eye beholdeth all things, he had seen The murder, and the murderer knew that God Was witness to his crime. He fled the place, But nowhere could he fly the avenging hand Of heaven, but nowhere could the murderer rest, A guilty conscience haunted him, by day, By night, in company, in solitude, Restless and wretched, did he bear upon him The weight of blood; her cries were in his ears, Her stifled groans as when he knelt upon her Always he heard; always he saw her stand Before his eyes; even in the dead of night Distinctly seen as tho’ in the broad sun, She stood beside the murderer’s bed and yawn’d Her ghastly wound; till life itself became A punishment at last he could not bear, And he confess’d[13] it all, and gave himself To death, so terrible, he said, it was To have a guilty conscience! Harry. Was he hung then? Grandmother. Hung and anatomized. Poor wretched man, Your uncles went to see him on his trial, He was so pale, so thin, so hollow-eyed, And such a horror in his meagre face, They said he look’d like one who never slept. He begg’d the prayers of all who saw his end And met his death with fears that well might warn From guilt, tho’ not without a hope in Christ. 

  [12] I know not whether this cruel and stupid custom is common in other parts of England. It is supposed to prevent the dogs from doing any mischief should they afterwards become mad. 

  [13] There must be many persons living who remember these circumstances. They happened two or three and twenty years ago, in the neighbourhood of Bristol. The woman’s name was Bees. The stratagem by which she 

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