THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN HATFIELD, 
 
 COMMONLY CALLED 
 
 THE KESWICK IMPOSTOR, 
 
 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS TRIAL AND EXECUTION FOR 
 FORGERY ; 
 
 ALSO HIS MARRIAGE WITH 
 
 MARY OF BUTTERMERE, 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED 
 
 A PASTORAL DIALOGUE, 
 
 AND THE CELEBRATED 
 
 BORROWDALE LETTER 
 
 SHEWING THE NATIVE DIALECT OF THIS DISTRICT. 
 AND ALSO, THE 
 
 WILD DOG OF ENNERDALE. 
 
 PRICE SIXPENCE. 
 
 * ’’ r ifelvS 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICES OF MRS. BAILEY, 
 COCKERMOUTH AND KESWICK. 
 
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 The person charging this material is re- 
 sponsible for its return to the library from 
 which it was withdrawn on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
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 for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from 
 the University. 
 
 To renew call Telephone Center, 333*8400 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 
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\ 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN HATFIELD, 
 
 COMMONLY CALLED 
 
 THE KESWICK IMPOSTER, 
 
 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS TRIAL AND EXECUTION FOR 
 FORGERY ; 
 
 ALSO HIS MARRIAGE WITH 
 
 MARY OF BUTTERMERE. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED A 
 
 PASTORAL DIALOGUE, 
 
 AND THE CELEBRATED 
 
 BORROWDALE LETTER, 
 
 SHEWING THE NATIVE DIALECT OF THIS DISTRICT. 
 
 AND ALSO, THE 
 
 WILD DOG OF ENNERDALE. 
 
 PRICE SIXPENCE. 
 
 COCKERMOUTH AND KESWICK: 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY MRS. BAILEY. 
 
3 
 
 H 3^-2- 
 
 PRKFACK. 
 
 0 — 
 
 The increased and increasing facilities afforded for visiting 
 tlie sublime and beautiful scenery in the Lake District situated 
 in the counties of Cumberland, Westmorland, and Lancashire, 
 very naturally excite a corresponding desire to supply the 
 Tourist with every incident connected with this interesting 
 locality, which has not yet been noticed. Most of our Guide 
 Books briefly narrate the story of “ Mary of ButtermereV* 
 early love ; none, however, give the details contained in the 
 following narrative, which raised in the breasts of all, at the 
 period of their occurrence, so large a measure of sympathy 
 and pity for the sufferings of Mary Robinson, who was sub- 
 sequently married to a respectable farmer, by whom she had 
 several children, and whose death took place only a few 
 years ago. 
 
 Half a century has now elapsed since the execution of 
 Hatfield for forgery ; and to the credit of a Cumberland jury, 
 they were very reluctant to give a verdict for a capital offence 
 
 in case of forgery ; but coupled with his heartless behaviour 
 
iv. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 towards the innocent victim of his knavery, they returned an 
 unanimous decision against him. The penalty of death for for- 
 gery now happily no longer disgraces our penal code, human 
 life being more valued than a five pound note. 
 
 The Pastoral Dialogue and Borrowdale Letter attached, are 
 so highly descriptive of the primitive manners and native 
 dialect of the peasantry of the Lake district, that they are 
 here republished. 
 
 This pamphlet concludes with a sketch relating to the 
 6i Wild Dog of Ennerdale,” a remarkable canine pest that in- 
 flicted serious damage amongst the flocks of the Ennerdale 
 farmers, in the first decade of the present century. When at 
 last destroyed it was found to be no less than one hundred- 
 weight. 
 
® HE subject of the following pages, (who acquired the 
 appellation of the Keswick Imposter,) whose extraordin- 
 ary villainy excited universal hatred, was born in the year 
 1759, at Mottram, in Longdindale, Cheshire, of low parentage, 
 but possessing great natural abilities. His face was handsome, 
 the shape of which, in his youth, was oval, his person genteel, 
 his eyes blue, and his complexion fair. 
 
 After some domestic depredations (for in his early days, he 
 betrayed an iniquitous dispositon,) he quitted his family, and 
 was employed in the capacity of a rider to a linen-draper in 
 the north of England. In the course of this service, he be- 
 came acquainted with a young woman, who was nursed and 
 resided at a farmer’s house in the neighbourhood of his em- 
 ployer. She had been, in her earlier life, taught to consider the 
 people with whom she lived as her parents. Remote from the 
 gaities and follies of what is so idly denominated polished 
 life, she was unacquainted with the allurements of fashion, 
 and considered her domestic duties as the only object of her 
 consideration. When this deserving girl had arrived at a 
 certain age, the honest farmer explained to her the secret of 
 her birth ; he told her, that notwithstanding she had always 
 considered him as her parent, he was in fact only her poor 
 guardian, and that she was the natural daughter of Lord 
 Robert Manners, who intended to give her one thousand 
 pounds, provided she married with his approbation. 
 
6 
 
 This discovery soon readied the ears of Hatfield, he imme- 
 diately paid his respects at the farmer’s, and having represented 
 himself as a young man of considerable expectations in the 
 wholesale linen business, his visits were not discountenanced. 
 The farmer however thought it incumbent on him to acquaint 
 his Lordship with a proposal made to him by Hatfield, that he 
 would marry the young woman if her relations were satisfied 
 with their union, but on no other terms. This had so much 
 the appearance of an honourable and prudent intention, that 
 his Lordship, on being made acquainted with the circumstances, 
 desired to see the lover. He accordingly paid his respects to 
 the noble and unsuspecting parent, who conceiving the young 
 man to be what he represented himself, gave his consent at 
 the first interview; and, the day after the marriage took place, 
 presented the bridegroom with a draught on his banker for 
 £1500. This transaction took place about 1771 or 1772. 
 
 Shortly after the receipt of his Lordship’s bounty, Hatfield 
 set off for London ; hired a small phseton ; was perpetually at a 
 coffee-house in Covent-garden ; described himself to whatever 
 company he chanced to meet, as a near relation of the Rutland 
 family ; vaunted of his parks and hounds ; but as great liars 
 have seldom good memories he so varied in his descriptive 
 figures, that he acquired the sobriquet of Lying Hatfield . 
 
 The marriage portion now exhausted, he retreated from 
 London and was scarcely heard of until about the year 1782, 
 when he again visited the Metropolis, having left his wife with 
 three daughters she had borne to him, to depend on the pre- 
 carious charity of her relations. Happily she did not long 
 survive ; and the author of her calamities, during his stay in 
 London, soon experienced calamity himself, having been 
 arrested, and committed to King’s Bench prison for a debt 
 amounting to the sum of £160. Several unfortunate gentle- 
 men, then confined in the same place, had been of his parties 
 when he flourished -in Covent-garden, and perceiving him in 
 great poverty, frequently invited him to dinner ; yet such was 
 the unaccountable disposition of this man, that notwithstand- 
 ing he knew there were people present who were thoroughly 
 acquainted with his character, still he would continue to 
 
7 
 
 describe his Yorkshire park, his estate in Rutlandshire, settled 
 upon his wife, and generally wind up the whole with observ- 
 ing how vexatious it was to be confined at the suit of a 
 paltry tradesman for so insignificant a sum, at the very 
 moment when he had thirty men employed in cutting a piece 
 of water near the family mansion in Yorkshire. 
 
 At the time Hatfield became a prisoner in the King’s 
 Bench, the late unfortunate Valentine Morris, formerly gover- 
 nor of the Island of St. Vincent, was confined in the same 
 place. This gentleman was frequently visited by a clergyman 
 of the most benevolent and humane disposition. Hatfield soon 
 directed his attention to this good man, and one day earnestly 
 invited him to his chamber ; after some preliminary apologies, 
 he implored the worthy pastor never to disclose what he was 
 going to communicate. The divine assured him the whole 
 should remain in his bosom. “ Then,” said Hatfield, “ you 
 see before you a man nearly allied to the house of Rutland, 
 and possessed of estates, (here followed the old story of the 
 Yorkshire Park, the Rutlandshire property, &c., &c. ;) yet 
 notwithstanding all this wealth (continued he,) I am detained 
 in this wretched place for the insignificant sum of one hundred 
 and sixty pounds. But the truth is, sir, I would not have 
 my situation known to any man in the world but my worthy 
 relative, his Grace of Rutland. Indeed I would rather remain 
 captive for ever. But, sir, if you would have the goodness 
 to pay your respects to this worthy nobleman, and frankly 
 describe how matters are, he will at once send me the money 
 by you, and this mighty business will not only be instantly 
 settled, but I shall have the satisfaction of introducing you to 
 a connection which may be attended with happy conse- 
 quences.” 
 
 The honest clergyman readily undertook the commission ; 
 paid his respects to the Duke, and pathetically described the 
 unfortunate situation of his amiable relative. His Grace of 
 Rutland, not recollecting at the moment the name of Hatfield, 
 expressed his astonishment at the application. This reduced 
 the worthy divine to a very awkward position, and he faltered 
 in his speech, when he began making an apology, which 
 the Duke perceiving, he very kindly observed, that he 
 
8 
 
 believed the whole was some idle tale of an imposter, for that 
 he never knew any person of the name mentioned, although he 
 had some faint recollection of hearing Lord Robert, his rela- 
 tion, say that he had married a natural daughter of his to a 
 tradesman in the north of England, and whose name he be- 
 lieved was Hatfield. 
 
 The reverend missionary was so confounded that he imme- 
 diately retired and proceeded to the prison, where he gave the 
 imposter, in presence of Mr. Morris, a most severe lecture. 
 But the appearance of this venerable man, as his friend, had 
 the effect which Hatfield expected ; for the Duke sent to en- 
 quire if he was the man who married the natural daughter of 
 Lord Robert Manners, and being satisfied as to the fact, 
 despatched a messenger with £200 and had him released. 
 
 In the year 1784 or 1785, his Grace of Rutland was ap- 
 pointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and shortly after his 
 arrival in Dublin, Hatfield made his appearance in that city. 
 He immediately on his landing, engaged a suite of rooms at 
 an hotel in College-green, and represented himself as nearly 
 allied to the Viceroy, but that he could not appear at the 
 castle until his horses, servants, and carriages, were arrived, 
 which he ordered, before leaving England, to be shipped at 
 Liverpool. The easy and familiar manner in which he ad- 
 dressed the master of the hotel, perfectly satisfied him that he 
 had a man of consequence in his house, and matters were 
 arranged accordingly. This being adjusted, Hatfield soon 
 found his way to Lucas’s Coffee-house, a place where people of 
 a certain rank generally frequented; and, it being a new scene, 
 the Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire estate, and the connec- 
 tion with the Rutland family, stood their ground very well for 
 about a month. 
 
 At the expiration of this time, the bill at the hotel amounted 
 to sixty pounds and upwards. The landlord became im- 
 portunate, and after expressing his astonishment at the non- 
 arrival of Mr. Hatfield’s domestics, &c., requested he might be 
 permitted to send in his bill. This did not in the least confuse 
 Hatfield : he immediately told the master of the hotel that 
 very fortunately his agent, who received the rents of his 
 
9 
 
 estates in the north of England, was then in Ireland, and held 
 a public employment ; he lamented his agent was not then in 
 Dublin ; but he had the pleasure to know his stay in the 
 country would not exceed three days. This satisfied the land- 
 lord, and at the expiration of three days, he called upon the 
 gentleman, whose name Hatfield had given him and present- 
 ed the account. Here followed another scene of confusion 
 and surprise. The supposed agent of the Yorkshire estate 
 very frankly told the man who delivered the bill, that he had 
 no other knowledge of the person who sent him than what 
 common report furnished him with, that his general character 
 in London was that of a romantic simpleton, whose plausi- 
 bilities had imposed on several people, and plunged himself 
 into repeated difficulties. 
 
 The landlord retired highly thankful for the information, 
 and immediately arrested his guest, who was lodged in the 
 prison of the Marshalsea. Hatfield had scarcely seated him- 
 self in his new lodgings, when he visited the jailors wife in 
 her apartment, and in a whisper requested her not to tell any 
 person that she had in her custody a near relation of the then 
 Viceroy. The woman, astonished at the discovery, immedi- 
 ately showed him into the best apartment in the prison, had 
 a table provided, and she, her husband, and Hatfield, con- 
 stantly dined together for nearly three weeks, in the utmost 
 harmony and good humour. 
 
 During this time he had petitioned the Duke for another 
 supply, who apprehensive that the fellow might continue his 
 impositions in Dublin, released him on condition of his im- 
 mediately quitting Ireland ; and his Grace sent a servant who 
 conducted him on board the packet that sailed the next tide 
 for Holyhead. 
 
 In 1792 he came to Scarborough, introduced himself to the 
 acquaintance of several persons of distinction in that neigh- 
 bourhood, and insinuated that he was, by the interest of the 
 Duke of Rutland, soon to be one of the representatives in 
 Parliament for the town of Scarborough. After several weeks 
 stay at the principal inn at Scarborough, his imposture was 
 detected by his inability to pay the bill. Soon after his 
 arrival in London he was arrested for this debt, and thrown 
 
10 
 
 into prison. He had been eight years and a half in confine- 
 ment, when a Miss Nation, of Devonshire, to whom he had 
 become known, paid his debts, took him from prison, and 
 gave him her hand in marriage. 
 
 Soon after he was liberated, he had the good fortune to 
 prevail with some highly respectable merchants in Devonshire, 
 to take him into partnership with them ; and with a clergy- 
 man to accept his drafts to a large amount. He made upon 
 this foundation, a splendid appearance in London, and before 
 the general election, even proceeded to canvass the rotten 
 borough of Queensborough. Suspicions in the meantime 
 arose in regard to his character, and the state of his fortune. 
 He retired from the indignation of his creditors, and was de- 
 clared a bankrupt in order to bring his villainies to light. 
 Thus, having left behind his second wife and two infant child- 
 ren at Tiverton, he visited other places ; and at length in July 
 1802, arrived at the Queen’s Head, in Keswick, in a handsome 
 and well-appointed travelling carriage, but without any servant, 
 where he assumed the name of the honourable Alexander 
 Augustus Hope, brother of the Earl of Hopetoun, and member 
 for Linlithgow. From Keswick, as his head-quarters, he made 
 excursions in every direction amongst the neighbouring valleys; 
 meeting generally a good deal of respect and attention, partly 
 on account of his handsome equipage, and still more from his 
 visiting cards, which designated him as “ The Honourable 
 Alexander Augustus Hope.” Some persons had discernment 
 enough to doubt this : for his breeding and deportment, 
 though showy, had a tinge of vulgarity about it ; he was 
 grossly ungrammatical in his ordinary conversation, lie re- 
 ceived letters under his assumed name — that might be through 
 collusion with accomplices — but he himself continually franked 
 letters by that name. Now that being a capital offence, being 
 not only a forgery, but (as a forgery on the post-office,) sure 
 to be prosecuted, nobody presumed to question his pretensions 
 any longer ; and, henceforward, he went to all places with 
 the consideration attached to an earl’s brother. All doors 
 flew open at his approach ; boats, boatmen, nets, and the 
 most unlimited sporting privileges were placed at the disposal 
 of the “ Honourable’’ gentleman ; and the hospitality of the 
 
11 
 
 whole country taxed itself to offer a suitable reception to the 
 patrician Scotsman. 
 
 Nine miles from Keswick, by the nearest route, lies the 
 lake of Buttermere. Its margin, which is overhung by some 
 of the loftiest and steepest of Cumbrian mountains, exhibits 
 on either side few traces of human habitation ; the level area, 
 where the hills recede enough to allow of any, is of a wild 
 pastoral character, or almost savage ; the waters of the lake 
 are deep and sullen ; and the barrier mountains, by excluding 
 the sun for much of its daily course, strengthen the gloomy 
 impressions. At the foot of this lake, (that is at the end 
 where its waters issue) lie a few unornamented fields through 
 which rolls a little brook-like river, connecting it with the 
 larger lake of Crummock ; and at the edge of this little do- 
 main, upon the roadside, stands a cluster of cottages, so small 
 and few, that, in the richer tracts of the islands, they would 
 scarcely be complimented with the name of hamlet. One of 
 these, the principal, belonged to an independent proprietor, 
 called in the local dialect a “ Statesman f and more, perhaps, 
 for the sake of gathering any little local news, than with much 
 view to pecuniary profit at that era, this cottage offered the 
 accommodations of an inn to the traveller and his horse. Rare, 
 however, must have been the mounted traveller in those days, 
 unless visiting Buttermere for itself, for the road led to no 
 further habitations of man, with the exception of one or two 
 pastoral cabins, equally humble, in Gatesgarth dale. 
 
 Hither, however, in an evil hour for the peace of this little 
 brotherhood of shepherds, came the cruel spoiler from Kes- 
 wick, and directed his steps to the once happy cottage of poor 
 Mary, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, an old couple 
 who kept the inn, and had by their industry gained a little 
 property. She was their only daughter, and probably her 
 name had never been known to the public, but for the account 
 given of her by the author of “ A Fortnight’s Ramble to the 
 Lakes in Westmorland, Lancashire, and Cumberland.” His 
 errand was to witness or share in char-fishing ; for in Der- 
 wentwater (the Lake of Keswick) no char is found, which 
 breeds only in deeper waters, such as Windermere, Crummock, 
 
12 
 
 Buttermere, &c. He now became acquainted with an Irish 
 gentleman, and member of the then Irish parliament, who had 
 been resident with his family some months at Keswick. With 
 this gentleman and under his immediate protection, there was 
 likewise a young lady of family and fortune, and of great 
 personal attractions. One of the means which Hatfield used 
 to introduce himself to this respectable family was the follow- 
 ing : — Understanding that the gentleman had been a military 
 man, he took an army list from his pocket, and pointed to 
 his assumed name, the honourable Alexander Augustus Hope, 
 lieutenant-colonel of the 14th regiment of foot. This new 
 acquaintance daily gained strength ; and he shortly paid his 
 addresses to the fair ward of the above gentleman, and ob- 
 tained her consent. The wedding clothes were bought ; but 
 previous to the wedding-day being fixed, she insisted that the 
 pretended Colonel Hope should introduce the subject formally 
 to her friends. He now pretended to write letters, and while 
 waiting for the answers, proposed to employ that time in a 
 trip to Lord Hopetoun’s seat, &c. 
 
 From this time he played a double game ; his visits to 
 Keswick became frequent, and his suite to the young lady 
 assiduous and fervent. Still, however, both at Keswick and 
 Buttermere, he was somewhat shy of appearing in public. 
 He was sure to be engaged in a fishing expedition on the day 
 on which any company was expected at the public-house at 
 Buttermere ; and he never attended the church at Keswick 
 but once. 
 
 Finding his schemes baffled to obtain this young lady and 
 her fortune, he now applied himself wholly to gain possession 
 of Mary Robinson, who was a fine young woman of eighteen, 
 and acted in the capacity of waiter. In a situation so solitary, 
 the stranger had unlimited facilities for enjoying her 
 company, and recommending himself to her favour. Among 
 the neighbours he made the most minute enquiries into every 
 circumstance relating to her and her family. Doubts about 
 his pretentions never arose in so retired a place as this ; they 
 were over-ruled before they could well have arisen, by the 
 opinion now general in Keswick, that he really was what he 
 pretended to be ; and thus with little demur, except in the 
 
13 
 
 shape of a few natural words of parting anger from a defeated 
 or rejected rustic admirer, the young woman gave her hand 
 in marriage to the showy and unprincipled stranger. He, in 
 company with the clergyman, procured a licence on the 1st of 
 October, and they were publicly married in the church of 
 Lorton, on Saturday the 2nd of October, 1802. A romantic 
 account of it found its way almost immediately into the news- 
 papers. It thus fell under the notice of various individuals 
 in Scotland, who knew that Colonel Hope, who was said to 
 have married the flower of Buttermere, had been abroad the 
 whole summer, and was now residing in Vienna. Mr. 
 Charles Hope, then Lord Justice Clerk, afterwards President 
 of the Court of Sessions, (a son-in-law of the Earl of Hope- 
 toun,) had, we believe, a chief share in making this fact 
 known, and promoting the inquiries which led to the detection 
 of the imposture. 
 
 On the day previous to his marriage, he wrote to Mr. N. 
 M. More, informing him that he was under the necessity of 
 being absent for ten days on a journey into Scotland, and sent 
 him a draft for thirty pounds, drawn on Mr. Crumpt, of 
 Liverpool, desired him to cash it, and pay some small debts 
 in Keswick with it, and send him over the balance, as he 
 feared he might be short of cash on the road. This Mr. More 
 immediately did, and sent him ten guineas in addition to the 
 balance. On the Saturday, Wood the landlord of the Queen’s 
 Head, returned from Lorton with the intelligence that Colonel 
 Hope had married the Beauty of Buttermere. As it was clear, 
 however, he was, that he had acted unworthily and dishonour- 
 ably, Mr. More’s suspicions were of course awakened. He 
 instantly remitted the draft to Mr. Crumpt, who immediately 
 accepted it. As the friend of the young lady, whom he 
 (Hatfield) first paid his addresses to, he wrote to the Earl of 
 Hopetoun. Before the answer arrived, the pretended honour- 
 able returned with his wife to Buttermere. He went only as 
 far as Longtown, when he received two letters, seemed much 
 troubled that some friends whom he had expected had not 
 arrived there, stayed three days, and then told his wife that 
 he would go back again to Buttermere. From this she was 
 seized with fears and suspicions. They returned, however, 
 and their return was made known at Keswick. The late 
 
14 
 
 Mr. Harding, the barrister, and a Welsh judge, a very singular 
 man, passing through Keswick, heard of this impostor, and 
 sent his servant over to Buttermere with a note to the sup 
 posed Colonel Hope, who observed that “ it was a mistake, 
 and that it was for a brother of his.” However, he sent for 
 four horses, and came over to Keswick ; drew another draft 
 on Mr. Crumpt, for twenty pounds, which the landlord of 
 the Queen’s Head had the courage to cash. Of this sum he 
 immediately sent the ten guineas to Mr. More, who came 
 and introduced him to the judge, as his old friend Colonel 
 Hope. But he made a blank denial that he had ever assumed 
 the name. He had said that his name was Hope, but not 
 that he was the honourable member for Linlithgow, &c., &c. ; 
 and one who had been his frequent intimate at Buttermere, 
 gave evidence to the same purpose. 
 
 In spite, however, of his impudent assertions, and those of 
 his associate, the evidence against him was decisive. A 
 warrant was given by Sir Frederick Vane on the clear proof 
 of his having forged and received several franks as the mem- 
 ber for Linlithgow, and he was committed to the care of a 
 constable, but allowed to fish on the lake. Having, however, 
 found means to escape, he was conducted by a guide belong- 
 ing to Keswick, named Edward Birkett, through the vale of 
 Borrowdale, over the pass of Sty-head to Wastdale, and thence 
 to Ravenglass, where he took refuge and lay concealed for a 
 few days, on board a sloop, and then went in the coach to 
 Ulverston, and was afterwards seen at an hotel in Chester. 
 In the meantime the following advertisement, setting forth 
 his person and manners, was in the public prints : — 
 
 “NOTORIOUS IMPOSTER, SWINDLER, AND 
 FELON ! 
 
 “ John Hatfield, who lately married a young woman, commonly 
 •called the Beauty of Buttermere, under an assumed name ; height 
 about five feet ten inches, aged about forty-four, full face, bright 
 eyes, thick eye brows, strong, but light beard, good complexion, with 
 some colour, thick but not very prominent nose, smiling counten- 
 ance, fine teeth, a scar on one of his cheeks near his chin, very long 
 thick light hair, and a great deal of it grey done up in a club ; stiff 
 square shouldered, full breast and chest, rather corpulent, and strong 
 limbed, but very active ; and has rather a spring in his gait, with 
 
15 
 
 apparently a little hitch in bringing up one leg, the two middle 
 fingers of his left hand are stiff from an old wound ; he has some- 
 thing of the Irish brogue in his speech ; fluent and elegant in his 
 language, great command of words, frequently puts his hand to his 
 heart ; very fond of compliments, and generally addressing him- 
 self to persons most distinguished by rank or situation ; attentive 
 in the extreme to females and likely to insinuate himself where there 
 are young ladies. He was in America during the war ; his fond of 
 talking of his wounds and exploits there, and of military subjects, 
 as well of Hatfield Hall, and his estates in Derbyshire and Cheshire; 
 and of the antiquity of his family, whom he pretended to trace to 
 the Plantagenets. He makes a boast of having often been engaged 
 in duels ; he has been a great traveller also, by his own account, 
 and talks of Egypt, Turkey, and Italy ; and in short has a general 
 knowledge of subjects, which together with his engaging manners, 
 is well calculated to impose upon the credulous. He had art enough 
 to connect himself with some very respectable merchants in Devon- 
 shire, as a partner in business, but having swindled them out of 
 large sums, he was made a separate bankrupt in June, 1802. He 
 cloaks his deception under the mask of religion, appears fond of 
 religious conversation, and makes a point of attending divine 
 service and popular preachers.” 
 
 Besides blighting the prospects of the poor girl, he had 
 nearly ruined her father by running up a debt of eighteen 
 pounds. His dressing-case, a very elegant piece of furniture, 
 was left behind, and on being opened at Keswick by warrant 
 of a magistrate, was found to contain every article that the 
 most luxurious gentleman could desire, but no papers tending 
 to discover his real name. Afterwards, Mary herself, searching 
 more narrowly, discovered that the box had a double bottom, 
 and in the intermediate recess, found a number of letters ad- 
 dressed to him by his wife and children , under the name of 
 Hatfield. The story of the detection immediately became as 
 notorious as the marriage had been. 
 
 Though he was personally known in Chester to many of the 
 inhabitants, yet this specious hypocrite had so artfully dis- 
 guised himself, that he quitted the town without any suspicions 
 before the Bow Street officers reached that place in quest of 
 him. He was then traced to Brielth in Brecknockshire, and 
 was at length apprehended about sixteen miles from Swansea, 
 and committed to Brecon jail. He had a cravat on with his 
 initials, J. H., which he attempted to account for by calling 
 himself John Henry. 
 
16 
 
 Before the Magistrates he declared himself to be Ludor 
 Henry ; and in order to prepossess the honest Cambrians in 
 his favour, boasted that he was decended from an ancient- 
 family in Wales, for the inhabitants of which country he had 
 ever entertained a sincere regard. He was, however, conveyed 
 up to town by the Bow Street officers, where he was examined 
 on his arrival before the Magistrates. The Solicitor for his 
 bankruptcy attended to identify his person, and stated, that 
 the commission of bankruptcy was issued against Hatfield in 
 June, 1802 ; that he attended the last meeting of the com- 
 missioners, but the prisoner did not appear, although due 
 notice had been given in the Gazette , and he himself had given 
 notice to the prisoner’s wife, at Wakefield, near Tiverton, Devon. 
 Mr. Parky n, the Solicitor to the post-office, produced a war- 
 rant from Sir Frederick Vane, bart., a magistrate for the 
 county of Cumberland, against the prisoner, by the name of 
 the Hon. Alexander Augustus Hope, charging him with felony, 
 by pretending to be a Member of Parliament of the United 
 Kingdom, and franking several letters by the name of A. Hope, 
 to several persons, which were put into the post-office at Kes- 
 wick, in Cumberland, in order to evade the duties of postage. 
 Another charge for forgery, and the charge for bigamy, were 
 explained to him, but not entered into, as he was committed 
 for trial on these charges to the next assizes at Carlisle. He 
 conducted himself with the greatest propriety during his 
 journey to town, and on his examinations ; but said nothing 
 more than answering a few questions put to him by Sir Richard 
 Ford and the solicitors, affecting to consider himself a per- 
 secuted individual, and representing in particular, that, in the 
 alliance with Mary Robinson, he had been rather sinned against 
 than sinning. Mary, on the other hand, who was now an- 
 nounced to be likely to bear a child to her pretended husband, 
 refused to become accessory to his prosecution. The utmost 
 she could be prevailed on to do against Hatfield was to ad- 
 dress the following letter to Sir Richard Ford : — 
 
 “ The man whom I had the misfortune to marry, and who has 
 ruined me and my aged parents, always told me he was the Hon! 
 Colonel Hope, the next brother of the Earl of Hopetoun. 
 
 “ Your grateful and unfortunate servant, 
 
 “ Mary Robinson.” 
 
17 
 
 At the fourth examination of the imposter, on the 27th of 
 December, this letter was read aloud by the clerk, in the open 
 court. To quote from a chronicle of the time — “ The simplicity 
 of this letter, which, though it breathes the soft murmur of 
 complaint, is free from all virulence, excited in the breast of 
 every person present an emotion of pity and respect for the 
 unmerited sorrows of a female, who has in this whole matter 
 manifested a delicacy of sentiment and nobleness of mind in- 
 finitely beyond her sphere of education. The feelings of 
 Hatfield could not be enviable ; yet he exhibited no symptom 
 of contrition, and when remanded for further examination, 
 retired with the most impenetrable composure.’ 7 
 
 He was then dressed in a black coat and waistcoat, fustian 
 breeches, and boots, and wore his hair tied behind, without 
 powder. His appearance was respectable, though quite en 
 deshabille . The Duke of Cumberland, and several other 
 
 gentlemen, were present at his examination ; in the course of 
 which the following letter was produced : — 
 
 “Buttermere, Oct. 1, 1802. 
 
 “Dear Sir, 
 
 “ I have this day received Mr. Firkman’s kind letter from Man- 
 chester, promising me the happiness of seeing you both in about ten 
 days, which will indeed give me great pleasure ; and you can, too, he 
 of very valuable service to me at this place, particulars of which when 
 we meet, though I shall probably write to you again in a few days — 
 the chief purpose for which I write this is to desire you will be so 
 good as to accept a bill for me, dated Butter mere, 1st October, at ten 
 days, and I will either give you cash for it here, or remit to you in 
 time, which ever you please to say. It is drawn in favour of Nathaniel 
 Montgomery More, Esq. Be pleased to present my best respects to 
 your lady ; and say I hope, ere the winter elapses, to pay her my 
 personal respects ; for if you will manage so as to pass a little time 
 with me in Scotland, I will promise to make Liverpool in my way to 
 London. 
 
 “ With the truest esteem, 
 
 “ I am, dear sir, yours ever, 
 
 “A. HOPE.” 
 
 “ Keswick, October the 1st, 1802. 
 
 “ John Crumpt, Esq., Liverpool. 
 
 “ Free, A. Hope.” 
 
18 
 
 This letter, it was proved, passed free of postage. Another 
 letter was also produced from his wife at Tiverton, and a 
 certificate of his marriage with Mary of Buttermere. His 
 trial came on August 13th, 1803, at the Assizes for Cumber- 
 land, before the Honourable Alexander Thompson, Knt. He 
 stood charged upon the three following indictments : 
 
 1. With having assumed the name and title of the Honour- 
 able Alexander Augustus Hope, and pretending to be a mem- 
 ber of parliament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain 
 and Ireland, and with having, about the month of October 
 last, under such false and fictitious name and character, drawn 
 a draft or bill of exchange, in the name of Alexander Hope, 
 upon John Crumpt, Esq., for the sum of <£20, payable to 
 George Wood, of Keswick, Cumberland, Innkeeper, or order, 
 
 at the end of fourteen days from the date of the said draft or > 
 bill of exchange. 
 
 2. With making, uttering, and publishing as true, a certain 
 false, forged, and counterfeit bill of exchange, with the name 
 of Alexander Augustus Hope thereunto falsely set and sub- 
 scribed, drawn upon John Crumpt, Esq., dated the 1st of 
 October, 1802, and payable to Nathaniel Montgomery More, 
 or order, ten days after date, for £30 sterling. 
 
 3. With having assumed the name of Alexander Hope, and 
 pretending to be a member of parliament, of the United King- 
 dom of Great Britain and Ireland, the brother of the right Hon. 
 Lord Hopetoun, and a Colonel in the army ; and under such 
 false and fictitious name and character, at various times in the 
 month of October, 1802, having forged and counterfeited the 
 hand-writing of the said Alexander Hope, in the superscrip- 
 tion of certain letters or packets, in order to avoid the pay- 
 ment of the duty on postage. 
 
 The prisoner pleaded not guilty to the charge. 
 
 The several indictments having been read, Mr. Scarlett 
 opened the case in an address to the jury ; and gave an ample 
 detail of the prisoner’s guilt. 
 
 In support of what he had advanced, he called Mr. Quick, 
 who was clerk in the house at Tiverton, where Hatfield was 
 partner, who swore to his hand-writing. 
 
19 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Nicholson swore that when the prisoner was 
 asked his name, he said it was a comfortable one, Hope. The 
 other witnesses were Mr. Joseph Skelton, of Rockliffe, Cumber- 
 land; Mr. George Wood, of Keswick, Innkeeper; John Gregory 
 Crumpt, and Colonel Parke, who were well acquainted with 
 the real Colonel Hope. 
 
 The evidence for the prosecution having closed, the prisoner 
 then addressed himself to the jury. He said he felt some 
 degree of satisfaction in being able to have his sufferings ter- 
 minated, as they must of course be by their verdict. For the 
 space of nine months he had been dragged from prison to 
 prison, and torn from place to place, subject to all the mis- 
 representations of calumny. “Whatever will be my fate,” 
 said he, “I am content ; it is the award of justice, impartially 
 and virtuously administered. But I will solemnly declare, 
 that in all my transactions, I never intended to defraud or 
 injure the persons whose names appeared in the prosecution. 
 This I will maintain to the last of my life.” 
 
 The prisoner called in his defence Newton, attorney 
 
 at Chester ; who said he was employed by the prisoner at the 
 summer assizes in recovering an estate in the County of Kent. 
 He understood the prisoner’s father to be a respectable man ; 
 some of the family very opulent. Believes the prisoner has a 
 mother-in-law ; says the prisoner is married ; never knew him 
 to bear any other name than John Hatfield ; he married a 
 lady of the name of Nation. His assignees have sold the 
 estate in question. Witness knows nothing of his circum- 
 stances previous to the recovery of the estate. It was rented 
 at £100 per annum. Does not know why prisoner quitted 
 Devonshire. Did not then travel in his own carriage, but 
 formerly kept a carriage. 
 
 After the evidence was gone through, his lordship, Sir A. 
 Thompson, with a great deal of perspicuity and force, summed 
 up the whole of the evidence, and commented upon such parts 
 as peculiarly affected the fate of the prisoner. “ Nothing,” 
 his Lordship said, “could be more clearly proved, than that 
 the prisoner did make the bill or bills in question under the 
 assumed name of Alexander Augustus Hope, with an intention 
 
20 
 
 to defraud. That the prisoner used the additional name of 
 Augustus was of no consequence in this question. The 
 evidence proved clearly that the prisoner meant to represent 
 himself to be another character ; and under that assumed 
 character, he drew the bills in question. If anything should 
 appear in mitigation of the offences with which the prisoner 
 was charged, they must give them a full consideration ; and 
 though his character had been long shaded with obloquy, yet 
 they must not let this in the least influence the verdict they 
 were 6worn to give. 
 
 The jury consulted about ten minutes, and then returned a 
 verdict — Guilty of Forgery . 
 
 The trial commenced about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, 
 and ended about seven in the evening, during the whole of 
 which time the court was excessively crowded. The prisoner’s 
 behaviour in court was proper and dignified, and he supported 
 his situation from first to last with unshaken fortitude. He 
 employed himself during the greatest part of his trial in 
 writing notes on the evidence given, and in conversing with 
 his counsel, Messrs. Topping and Holroyd. 
 
 When the verdict of the jury was given, he manifested no 
 relaxation of his accustomed demeanour. After the court ad- 
 journed, he retired from the bar, and was ordered to attend 
 the next morning to receive the sentence of the law. The crowd 
 was immense, and he was allowed a post-chaise from the town- 
 hall to the jail.* 
 
 At eight o’clock the next morning the court met again, 
 when the prisoner appeared at the bar to receive his sentence. 
 Numbers of people gathered together to witness this painful 
 duty of the law passed upon one whose appearance, manners, 
 and actions, had excited a most uncommon degree of interest. 
 After proceeding in the usual form, the judge addressed the 
 prisoner in the following impressive terms : 
 
 “ John Hatfield, after the long and serious investigation of 
 the charges which have been preferred against you, you have 
 been found guilty by a jury of your own country. 
 
 * The jail and court* house were at that period divided by the street. 
 The jail, &c., has been re-built, and there is now a passage from one 
 to the other. 
 
21 
 
 “ You have been distinguished for crimes of such magni- 
 tude as have seldom, if ever, received any mitigation of 
 capital punishment ; and in your case it is impossible it can 
 be limited. Assuming the person, name, and character, of a 
 worthy and respectable officer of a noble family in this country, 
 you have perpetrated and committed the most enormous crimes. 
 The long imprisonment you have undergone has afforded time 
 for your serious reflection, and an opportunity of your being 
 deeply impressed with the sense of the enormity of your crimes, 
 and the justness ot that sentence which must be inflicted up- 
 on you ; and I wish you to be seriously impressed with the 
 awfulness of your situation. I conjure you to reflect with 
 anxious care and deep concern on your approaching end, con- 
 cerning which much remains to be done. Lay aside now your 
 delusions and impositions, and employ properly the short space 
 you have to live. I beseech you to employ the remaining 
 part of your time in preparing for eternity, so that you 
 may find mercy at the hour of death, and in the day of judg- 
 ment. Hear now the sentence of the law : — That you be 
 carried from hence to the place from whence you came, and 
 from thence to the place of execution, and there to be hung by 
 the neck till you are dead ; and may the Lord have mercy on 
 your soul !” 
 
 A notion very generally prevailed that he would not be 
 brought to justice, and the arrival of the mail was daily ex- 
 pected with the greatest impatience. No pardon arriving, 
 Saturday, September 3rd, 1803, was at last fixed upon for the 
 execution. 
 
 The gallows was erected the preceding night about twelve 
 o’clock, on an island formed by the river Eden, on the 
 north side of the town, between the two bridges. From 
 the hour when the jury found him guilty, he behaved with 
 the utmost serenity and cheerfulness. He talked upon the 
 topics of the day, with the greatest interest or indifference. 
 He could scarcely ever be brought to speak of his own case. 
 He neither blamed the verdict, nor made any confession of 
 his guilt.. He said he had no intention to defraud those 
 
22 
 
 whose names he forged; but was never heard to say that he 
 was to die unjustly. None of his relations ever visited him 
 during his confinement. 
 
 The alarming nature of the crime of forgery, in a commercial 
 country, had taught him from the beginning to entertain no 
 hope for mercy. By ten in the morning of September 3rd, 
 his irons were struck off ; he appeared as usual, and no one 
 observed any alteration or increased agitation whatever. 
 
 Soon after ten o’clock he sent for the Carlisle Journal , and 
 perused it for some time. A little after he had laid aside the 
 paper, two clergymen (Mr. Pattison, of Carlisle, and Mr. Mark, 
 of Bugh-on-Sands,) attended and prayed with him for about 
 two hours, and drank coffee with him. After they left him 
 about twelve, he wrote some letters, and in one he enclosed 
 his penknife ; it was addressed to London. About this time 
 he also shaved himself ; though intrusted with a razor, he never 
 seems to have meditated an attempt upon his life ; but it was 
 generally reported on Friday night that he had poisoned him- 
 self, though without any foundation. To all who spoke with 
 him he pretended that what he had to suffer was a matter of 
 little consequence. He preferred talking on indifferent sub- 
 jects. At three, he dined with the jailor, and ate heartily. 
 Having taken a glass or two of wine, he ordered coffee. He 
 took a cup a few minutes before he set out for the place of 
 execution. The last thing he did was to read a chapter from 
 the 2nd Corinthians. He had previously marked out this 
 passage for his lesson before he was to mount the scaffold. 
 
 The sheriffs, the bailiffs, and the Carlisle volunteer cavalry 
 attended at the jail door about half-past three, together with 
 a post-chaise and a hearse. He was then ordered into the 
 turnkey’s lodge, for the purpose of being pinioned, where he 
 inquired of the jailor, who were going in the chaise with him ? 
 He was told the executioner and the jailor. He immediately 
 said, “ Pray where is the executioner ? I should wish much 
 to see him.” The executioner was sent for. Hatfield asked 
 him how he was, and made him a present of some silver in a 
 paper. During the time of his being pinioned, he stood with 
 resolution, and requested he might not be pinioned tight, as 
 
23 
 
 he wished to use his handkerchief on the platform ; which 
 was complied with. A prodigious crowd had assembled : this 
 was the market-day, and people had come from a distance of 
 many miles out of mere curiosity. Hatfield, when he left the 
 prison, wished all his fellow prisoners might be happy : he then 
 took farewell of the clergyman, who attended him to the door 
 of the chaise, and mounted the steps with much steadiness 
 and composure. The jailor and executioner went in along 
 with him. The latter had been brought from Dumfries upon 
 a retaining fee of ten guineas. 
 
 It was exactly four o’clock when the procession moved 
 from the jail. Passing through the Scotch Gate, in about 
 twelve minutes it arrived at the Sands. Half the yeomanry 
 went before the carriage, and the other half behind. Upon 
 arriving upon the ground, they formed a ring round the 
 scaffold. It is said that he wished to have the blinds drawn 
 up, but that such an indulgence was held inconsistent with 
 the interest of public justice. When he came in sight of the 
 tree he said, to the jailor, he imagined that was the tree 
 (pointing to it) that he was to die on. On being told yes, 
 he exclaimed, “ Oh ! a happy sight — I see it with pleasure !’* 
 
 As soon as the carriage door had been opened by the 
 under-sheriff, he alighted with his two companions. A small 
 dung-cart, boarded over, had been placed under the gibbet, and 
 a ladder was placed against it, which he instantly ascended. 
 He was dressed in a black jacket, black silk waistcoat, lustian 
 pantaloons, shoes, and white cotton stockings. He was per- 
 fectly cool and collected. At the same time his conduct dis- 
 played nothing of levity, of insensibility, or of hardihood. He 
 was more anxious to give proof of resignation than heroism. 
 His countenance was extremely pale, but his hand never 
 trembled. He immediately untied his neckerchief, and placed 
 a bandage over his eyes. Then he desired the hangman, 
 who was extremely awkward, to be as expert as possible 
 about it and that he would wave a handkerchief when he was 
 ready. The hangman not having fixed the rope in its proper 
 place, he put up his hand and turned it himself. He tied his 
 cap and his neckerchief about his head also. Then he 
 requested the jailor would step on the platform and pinion 
 
24 
 
 his arm.3 a little harder, saying, that when he had lost his 
 senses he might attempt to lift them to his neck. The rope 
 was completely fixed about five minutes before five o’clock : it 
 was slack, and he merely said, “May the Almighty bless you 
 all.* , Nor did he falter in the least, when he tied the cap, 
 shifted the rope, and took his neckerchief from his neck. 
 
 He several times put on a languid and piteous smile. He 
 at last seemed rather exhausted and faint. Having been near 
 three weeks under sentence of death, he must have suffered 
 much, notwithstanding his external bearing ; and a reflection 
 of the misery he had occasioned must have given him many 
 an agonizing throb. 
 
 Having taken leave of the jailor and sheriff, he prepared 
 himself for his fate. He was at this time heard to exclaim, 
 “ My spirit is strong, though my body is weak!” 
 
 Great apprehensions were entertained that it would be 
 necessary to tie him up a second time. The noose slipped 
 twice, and he fell down about eighteen inches. His feet at 
 last were almost touching the ground, but his excessive 
 weight, which occasioned this accident, speedily relieved him 
 from pain. He expired in a moment, and without any 
 struggle. The ceremony of his hands being tied behind his 
 back, was performed by a piece of white tape passed loosely 
 from one to the other, but he never made the slightest effort 
 to relieve himself. He had calculated so well, that tiis money 
 lasted exactly to the Scaffold. As they were setting out, the 
 executioner was going to search him. He threw him half-a- 
 crown, saying, “This is all my pockets contain.” He had 
 been in considerable distress before he received a supply from 
 his father. He afterwards lived in great style, frequently 
 making presents to his fellow felons. He was considered in 
 the jail as a kind of emperor: he was allowed to do whatever 
 he pleased, and no one took offence at the air of superiority 
 which he assumed. 
 
 He was cut down after he had hung about an hour. On 
 the preceding Wednesday he had applied to one of the clergy- 
 men who attended him (Mr. Pattison) to recommend him a 
 tradesman to make his coffin. Mr. Joseph Bushby, of Carlisle, 
 
25 
 
 took measure of him. He did not appear at all agitated while 
 Mr. Bushby was so employed ; but told him that he wished 
 the coffin to be a strong oak one, plain and neat. “I request, 
 sir,” he added, that after I am taken down, I may be put 
 into the coffin immediately, with the apparel I may have on, 
 and afterwards closely screwed down, put into the hearse 
 which will be in waiting, carried to the church-yard of Burgh- 
 on-Sands, and there be interred in the evening.” 
 
 The coffin, which was made of oak, was however adorned 
 with plates, and extremely handsome every way. A hearse 
 which was in waiting according to his orders, followed with it to 
 the ground, and afterwards bore him away. It seems he had 
 a great terror of his body being taken up ; and though he 
 was told that it would be safer for him to be buried in the city, 
 yet he preferred Burgh, a place extremely sequestered, about 
 five miles west from Carlisle : but the conscientious parish- 
 ioners of Burgh objected to his being laid there, and the body 
 was consequently conveyed in the hearse to St. Mary’s church- 
 yard, close by the northern gate, the usual place for those who 
 come to an untimely end. Several men then set to work 
 to dig a grave. The spot was fixed upon in a distant corner 
 of the church-yard, far from the other tombs. No priest 
 attended, and the coffin was lowered without any religious 
 service. Notwithstanding his varied and complicated enor- 
 mities, his untimely end excited considerable commiseration 
 in this place. His manners were extremely polished and 
 insinuating, and he was possessed of qualities which might 
 have rendered him an ornament to society. 
 
 The unfortunate Mary of Buttermere, for a time, went from 
 home to avoid the impertinent visits of unfeeling curiosity. 
 By all accounts she was much affected ; and indeed, without 
 supposing that any part of her former attachment remained, 
 it is impossible that she could view his tragical fate with in- 
 difference. When her father and mother heard that Hatfield 
 had certainly been hanged, they both exclaimed “ God be 
 thanked !” 
 
26 
 
 On the day of his condemnation, Wordsworth and Coleridge 
 passed through Carlisle, and endeavoured to obtain an inter- 
 view with him. Wordsworth succeeded; but, for some un- 
 known reason, the prisoner steadily refused to see Coleridge ; 
 a caprice which could not be penetrated. It was true that 
 he had, during his whole residence at Keswick, avoided 
 Coleridge with a solicitude which had revived the original 
 suspicions against him in some quarters, after they had gener- 
 ally subsided. However, if not him, Coleridge saw and ex- 
 amined his very interesting papers. These were chiefly letters 
 from women whom he had injured, pretty much in the same 
 way and by the same impostures as he had so recently practised 
 in Cumberland, Great was the emotion of Coleridge when he 
 afterwards recurred to these letters, and bitter — almost vin- 
 dictive — was the indignation with which he spoke of Hatfield. 
 One set of letters appeared to have been written under too 
 certain a knowledge of his villainy towards the individual to 
 whom they were addressed ; though still relying on some 
 possible remains of humanity, or perhaps (the poor writer 
 might think) on some lingering relics of affection for herself. 
 The other set was even more distressing ; they were written 
 under the first conflicts' of suspicions, alternately repelling 
 with warmth the gloomy doubts which were fast arising, and 
 then yielding to their afflicting evidence ; raving in one page 
 under the misery of alarm, in another courting the delusions 
 of a hope, and luring back the perfidious deserter — here re- 
 signing herself to despair, and there again labouring to show 
 that all might yet be well. Coleridge said often, in looking 
 back upon that frightful exposure of human guilt and misery, 
 that the man who, when pursued by these heart-rending 
 apostrophes, and with this litany of anguish sounding in his 
 ears, from despairing women and famishing children, could 
 yet find it possible to enjoy the calm pleasures of a lake 
 tourist, and deliberately hunt for the picturesque, must have 
 been a fiend of that order which, fortunately does not often 
 emerge amongst men. It is painful to remember that, in 
 those days, amongst the multitudes who ended their career 
 in the same ignominous way, and the majority for offences 
 connected with the forgery of bank notes, there must have 
 been a considerable number who perished from the very oppo- 
 
27 
 
 site cause, — namely, because they felt, too passionately and 
 profoundly for prudence, the claims of those who looked up 
 to them for support. One common scaffold confounds the 
 most flinty hearts, and the tenderest. However, in this in- 
 stance it was in some measure the heartless part of Hatfield’s 
 conduct which drew upon him his ruin ; for the Cumberland 
 jury, it has been asserted, declared their unwillingness to 
 hang him for having forged a frank ; and both they, and 
 those who refused to aid his escape, when first apprehended, 
 were reconciled to this harshness entirely by what they 
 heard of his conduct to their injured young fellow-country- 
 woman. 
 
 She, in the meantime, under the name of the Beauty of 
 Buttermere, became an object of interest to all England. 
 Dramas and melo-dramas were produced in the London theatres 
 upon her story ; and every year since, shoals of tourists have 
 crowded to the secluded lake and the little homely cabaret 
 (the Fish inn), which had been the scene of her brief romance. 
 It wa3 fortunate for a person in her distressing situation, that 
 her home was not in a town : the few and simple who had 
 witnessed her imaginary elevation, having little knowledge of 
 worldly feelings, never for an instant conected with her dis- 
 appointment any sense of the ludicrous, or spoke of it as a 
 calamity to which her vanity might have co-operated. They 
 treated it as unmixed injury, reflecting shame on nobody but 
 the wicked perpetrator. Hence, without much trial to her 
 womanly sensibilities, she found herself able to resume her 
 situation in the little inn ; and this she continued to hold for 
 many years. In that place, and in that capacity, she was seen 
 repeatedly ; and we shall here say a word upon her personal 
 appearance, because the lake poets all admired her greatly. Her 
 figure was good, but we doubt whether most of our readers 
 would have thought it such. She was none of your evan- 
 escent wasp-waisted beauties; on the contrary she was rather 
 large, tallish, and proportionately broad. Her face was fair, 
 and her features feminine ; and unquestionably she was what 
 all the world have agreed to call “ good looking but, ex- 
 cept in her arms, which had something of beauty/ and in her 
 carriage, which expressed a womanly grace, together with 
 
28 
 
 some slight dignity and self-possession, there appeared nothing 
 to attract the admiration of the stranger. 
 
 Mary was afterwards united to a respectable farmer, and, 
 unfortunately for her poetical fame, became “ fat and well- 
 looking, ” and without anything in her appearance which 
 might lead to the discovery that she was a person who had 
 at one time been the object of the poet’s song. 
 
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE 
 
 IN THE 
 
 CUMBERLAND DIALECT: 
 
 WITH 
 
 A HUMOROUS EPISTLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 A YOUNG SHEPHERD, 
 
 TO HIS FRIEND IN BORROWDALE, 
 
 DESCRIBING HIS 
 
 TO DUBLIN; 
 
 The Wonderful Sights he saw there; and the Hardships he 
 endured. To which are added, 
 
 AN EXPLANATORY NOTE 
 
 AND GLOSSARY. 
 

EXPLANATORY NOTE. 
 
 The Epistle appended to the Pastoral Dialogue, illustrative 
 of the Dialect and Primitive Manners of the District in which 
 Mary of Buttermere was born, was written by Mr. Isaac Ritson, 
 of Eamont Bridge. As a specimen of the Cumberland Dialect 
 it has not been exceeded, perhaps never before equalled. 
 This, however, is not its only merit ; it abounds throughout 
 with genuine humour, sarcastic, yet innocent, and hid under 
 the natural veil of rustic simplicity. The Author, a young man 
 of more than ordinary talent, was the son of Isaac and Elizabeth 
 Ritson, and was born in the year 1761. He received a 
 classical education under the Rev. Mr. Blain. At the early 
 age of sixteen he commenced his career as a Teacher or School- 
 master at Carlisle, and afterwards at Penrith, but with little 
 success. He then made a journey into Scotland, with the 
 intention of studying medicine, at Edinburgh. After residing 
 there two years he went to London, professedly with a 
 view of completing his medical education by an attendance 
 at the hospitals and on lectures. In London as well as at 
 Edinburgh, he supported himself by his literary exertions. 
 He published a translation of Homers “ Hymn to Venus/ 1 
 which though but indifferently executed, was not ill received. 
 In his poetical effusions there was an original wildness. His 
 mind was strongly tinctured with the sombrous magnificence 
 of his native country, so that his poetry, like Gray’s, was 
 sometimes overloaded with what Dr. Johnson calls “ a cum- 
 brous splendour.” Some specimens of his muse will be found 
 in “ Hutchinson’s History of Cumberland,” vol 1. p. 335. 
 He wrote the preface to “ Clarke’s Survey of the Lakes,” and 
 for a short period the medical articles in the “ Monthly 
 Review f but many of his best works are lost, particularly a 
 masterly translation of “ Hesiod’s Theogony.” After a short 
 but irregular life in London, he died at Islington, in 1789, and 
 in the 27th year of his age. — Boucher. 
 
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 What Will ! how dosta, honest lad ] 
 
 How’s aw at heam ? How’s Betty 1 How is dad ? 
 Let’s shack the neef. How faresta, honest heart ? 
 A’s lain to see the’, and as laith to part. 
 
 And is aw gayly wi’ you now at heam. 
 
 WILL. 
 
 Aw but my fadder : he has git’n a learn. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 A leam, indeed ! How, pray ye, happen’d that i 
 WILL. 
 
 A’ll tell the’, barn. (Thou knows my fadder’s fat ;) 
 Thou kens his way, how every Sunday mworn 
 He gits suen up, to gang and see the cworn : 
 
 He’s duen sea twenty year for aught I know ; 
 
 But till last Thursday niver gat a faw, 
 
 Nor had he than,* but cheated wi’ the muen, 
 
 He got up stavelin nin cud tell how suen ; 
 
 * Generally used in Cumberland for then. The Critic will please 
 to observe, that, in thH Dialogue, I have endeavoured to copy Nature, 
 not Grammar . 
 
33 
 
 When at tht top of onr hee garret stairs, 
 
 (As luck wad heft,) our Betty’s twoa tame hares 
 Sprang across the room, and sec a racket meade, 
 My fadder fell, and brack his shoulder-bleade ! 
 
 I woken’d suen, and loupin out a bed, ) 
 
 Was freeten’d sair my fadder hed been deed, > 
 Sea lapt my cranky neckcleath round his heed, j 
 Now, think what a sad takan we war in, 
 
 Tom jumpt up hoaf asleep, and brack his shin ; 
 
 Our sarvant was daft and cuddn’t see, 
 
 Fell ow’rmy fadder’s leg, and learned his knee : 
 ’Twas but a stound. My fadder, sairy man, 
 
 Cry’d — ‘ Hely me up, guid bairns, dua, if you can. 
 Yan’s sworry than, for aw yan’s fuilish toak ; 
 
 I wish’d him weel agen and suen to woak. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 And sea dov I ; but did ye kill the hares ? 
 
 WILL. 
 
 Aye, that we dud, for aw our Betty’s prayers : 
 
 Puer silly gowk ; she wing’d and gret full sair 
 And beg’d my fadder wad the victims spare ; 
 
 But her fine toak was on my fadder lost, 
 
 And Betty for yeance was in her fancy crost. 
 
 GWOBDY. 
 
 I’s sworry for t ; but let that stwory pass, 
 
 Tho’ I’d been leath to’ve vext sea fine a lass, 
 
 It wadd’nt been sea hard to’ve spared a puss ; 
 
 Nay seav’d them beath, and sent them heam to us 
 Our Nan wad been reet fain sic hares to keep ; 
 
 A finer burth be hoaf than hurden sheep. 
 
 And, if she be but a lang idle steak, 
 
 I’d pode her feed them weel for Betty’s seak ; 
 
 And, suener than they e’er sud suffer harm, 
 
 I’d murder’d aw the hounds within our farm. 
 
34 
 
 The dikars wad ta ! Who’d be mazlin then % 
 
 But wad ta duen sea much for sister Nan ? 
 
 I dread it mickle ; yet for aw this jaw, 
 
 Thou likes thy sister weel enough, I know ; 
 
 But I can gader now fra what t’s said, 
 
 ’Tis Bet, and nut our hares that stuffs th’ head. 
 
 What seesta’ at her ? Meaks she’s nea greet things ; 
 Yet still a’s pleased whene’er the baggish sings. 
 
 She reads aw kinds a’ Buiks as fast as hops, 
 
 Just like a parson tua, and minds her stops. 
 
 She reads the vurses maistly in the news, 
 
 And toaks of conspiration fra the muse. 
 
 GWOBDY. 
 
 I know that, barn, — ay, ow’r weel I know ; ) 
 
 The thowts a’ her has bred me mickle woe, > 
 
 Yet lith’d it still, and wadn’t let her know ; j 
 But I was daft for be’en sea varra bleat, 
 
 When I’ve close tull her shworn beath suen and leate. 
 
 WILL. 
 
 Thou dud, I know. It was but t’other week 
 What said t’tull her ? Did ta niver speak ? 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 I cuddn’t, Willy ; words was far to seek : 
 
 I glirn’d and luik’d and luik’d and glim’d agyan ; 
 
 She blushed and luik’d as if I gave her pain. 
 
 I’d fain a toak’d but still hed nout to say, 
 
 And kept dum silence aw the langsome day ; 
 
 Then, towards neet, I fell agyan a styan, 
 
 Slap went the sickle to the varra byan ! 
 
 I hodded up me neef to show the mark ; 
 
 She luik’d and laugh’d, and bade me mind me wark. 
 
 I blusht for sham, and tuik mesel away, 
 
 And hasn’t seen her sen that sworry day. 
 
35 
 
 WILL. 
 
 Puir silly mafflin ! thou was sarra’d reet, 
 
 For he desarves to starve that willn’t eat. 
 
 Ah ! sackless soul ! I wonder’d oft a leate 
 What mead ta leuk sea skar, and seem sea bleate ; 
 
 But lal thought I that Gwordy sigh’d for Bet ; 
 
 (Nor is I sure but thou is j woking yet.) 
 
 If that be aw, we’ll find some way next week 
 To bring her to the,’ and to mak her speak ; 
 
 But if thou gloupin sit and neathing say, 
 
 I know she’ll flier and laugh and run away. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 I canna dua’t. I canna set a feace ; 
 
 Yet I can toak in any other pleace. 
 
 I often think when worken by mesel, 
 
 What canny stwories I’ll to Betty tell ; 
 
 But when I meet her, aw my stwories’ gean, 
 
 And a’s as mute as ony cobble-stean. 
 
 WILL. 
 
 0 Gwordy, Gwordy ! thou’s been fuilish lang ; 
 
 Thou’s warse than Ralf, that garric gammerstang, 
 
 A parfect sweepless, muck up tull his een, 
 
 With clouted clogs ; and sark nut ow’r clean ; 
 
 Besides he’s gleed, and swavels as he gangs, 
 
 Chews ’bacco, tua, and shows his yellow fangs 
 Thou waddn’t think to see him in the street, 
 
 He shawl’d a courtin every winter neet ; 
 
 And yet he does, and finds a deal a’ jaw ; 
 
 1 lith’d him yeance, sea canna miss but know ; 
 
 But seken toak, nin kent what ’twas about ; 
 
 I stopt my lugs for fear a snurting out. 
 
 What pleased him best, she warmed him up some keal, 
 And Ralf dud mak a varra fusome meal. 
 
 He sharped his gully, whang’d the beuted leafe ; 
 
 I hotch’d and leug but lay beath snug and seafe, 
 
 When Ralf was stiv’d as fou as fou could be, 
 
36 
 
 Baith pot and truncher tummel’d fra his knee ; 
 
 I deftly now crap out ; I stay’d na lang ! 
 
 I’d seen enough ; ’twas time for me to gang. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 Thou’s sek a fellow, Will, for jibes and jwokes ; 
 Thou’s a’ sea queer, thou always pleases fwoaks. 
 Had I thy gumshin and thy gift a gob, 
 
 I needn’t sneek a hwols and greet and sob. 
 
 0 could I now but read your written hand, 
 
 Or rite mysel, I’d part wi’ hoaf my land. 
 
 Therms Tom our laird, for aw his gentle luiks, 
 
 Taks aw his letters out a printed buiks. 
 
 Get me yean duin, and let your Betty see’t ; 
 
 ’Twad dua my wark if’t dua but mak her greet. 
 
 WILL. 
 
 Speak tull her, mun ; mind weel what tu’s about ; 
 Bet’s sec a dab, she’d find thy letter out : 
 
 When wazes me, smo than wad be thy hwope, 
 
 If thy fine letter cud be fund i’ Pwope. 
 
 GWORDY. 
 
 That's reet, my lad. I find I was mistean; 
 
 Twa heads, thou kens, is better a than yean. 
 
 But thou mud tell her on’t, mun, if tu* wad, 
 
 How for her seak poor Gwordy’s gangin mad. 
 
 If she be kangey, and my proffer skworn, 
 
 I’ll never leeve to see another mworn. 
 
 1 mun away, I’s thrang and bodder’d sair : 
 
 If tu’ maks gam, I’ll niver like t’ mair. 
 
EPISTLE. 
 
 A HUMOROUS 
 
 FRIND, 
 
 I send the* thisan to tell the* amackily what dreedful 
 fine things I saw ith’ rwoad tuv and at yon Dublin, an’ t’ 
 hardships I’ve bidden. I set forret o’ Midsummer day, an’ 
 gat to Whitehebben, a girt sea-side toun, whor sea-nags eats 
 cwoals out o’ rack hurreys, like as barrels dus yal drink. I 
 think sea-nags is nut varra wild, for they winter them i’ girt 
 fwoalds wi’ out yats ; an’ as I was luiken about to gang to 
 Ireland, I saw twea duzzen o’ fellows myakin a sea-nag tedder 
 styake ov iron. I ast yan o’ them if I could git riden to 
 Dublin 1 ? an’ a man in a three-nuikt hat ’at knackt like rotten 
 sticks, telt me I mud gan wid him, for a thing they caw 
 tide, like t’ post o’ th’ land, was gangen, an* waddn’t stay o’ 
 neabody nivver. Then four men in a lale sea-nag, a fwoal, 
 (I think ’at they caw’t a bwoat), heltert our nag and led it out 
 oth’ fwoald, then our nag slipt t’helter an’ ran away ; but tha 
 hang up a deal of wind-clay ths like blinder-brydals, wi’ hun- 
 dreds o’ ryapes for rines. Land ran away an’ left us ; an’ our 
 nag hed eaten sea mony cwoals it was cowdy, an’ cantert up 
 wi’tya end an’ down wi’tudder. I turnt as seek as a peet ; 
 Oh wunds ! I was bad, and spewt aw at iver was inma. I 
 thout I sud ha deed. I spewt aw cullers. Next day efter 
 we set forrat an Island met us ; they cawt it Man. I wad 
 fain a seen’t cum hard tull us, but it slipt away by an’ left 
 us ; but sum mair land met us next day efter ; it was varra 
 shy, but we follow’t it up, becose the sed Dublin was on’t. 
 I perswadet t’man wi’t three-nuikt hat to ow’rtak’t if he 
 brast his nag, an’ he telt a fellow t’ twine tail ont, as they 
 dua swine or bulls when tha carry them to bait at Kessick, 
 an’ tha wiln’t gang on ; than we gat to Dublin prusently. 
 
38 
 
 But I had lik’d tull a forgitten to tell tha seek girt black fish 
 we saw; they snwort when tha cam out o’ th, girt dub like 
 thunder, an’ tha swallow land-nags as hens dua bigg ; mappen 
 eat sea-nags when tha dee. It was a nice breet mwornin 
 when we war i’ Dublin bay as tha caw’t, whor t’sea gangs up 
 towart land as a dog dus to th’ heed of a bull. Twea men i’ 
 yan o’thar bwoats cum tull our nag side ; tha cawt them 
 Paddeys, yan cuddn’t tell thar toke be geese ; tha drank 
 hartily of our watter, it stunk, tu ; but we hed nout better 
 to drink, for’t girt dub’s as sote as brine, it wad puzzen tha 
 if thou tyasted it. We ga them twea fellows 5 t bwoat a helter, 
 an’ tha led our nag into Dublin, as wild as ’twas. But O 
 man ! what a fine country thar was ov tudder side on us ! — 
 hooses as white as drip, an’ as rank as mice. Dublin toun 
 luiked like a girt fwoald full o’ sheep, at yan cud nobbut just 
 see t’heeds on ; chimlas luikt like hworns, and kurk steeples 
 an’ spires, as tha caw them, like as menny gwoat-hworns 
 amang tudder. Sea-nags is as rank i’ Dublin beck as if thou 
 was luiken at ten thousan geese iv a gutter ; tha hevent 
 fwoalds for them as we hev in Ingland ; toun keeps them 
 warm i’ winter, but tha feed wi’ beck sand, as tha dua at 
 Whitehebben wi’ cwoals, but nut out o’ rack hurries ; tha’ve 
 a mouth at a’ side, whor men feeds Pern in at wi’ girt iron 
 spuins. But, O man ! it was lucky I leet ov a man at went 
 to’t scuil wi’ me when I was a lale lad; we war deevilish thick, 
 an* he sed he wad let me see aw things. If I hed gyan into 
 Dublin be mesell, yan may gang fifty miles a day an’ nout but 
 hoos for hoos, an’ like our lwonins for lenth, yan cannot see 
 t’yearth for pyavement nea whor ; nor I sud niver see auld 
 Ingland agyan if I hed been be mesell, I dar say, for tha ur 
 the deevil for settin yan rang if yan ass them. Thare’s hooses 
 tha caw public beeldins, at’s sea fine ; I cannat tell tha what 
 thur like. The Parlemen-hoos, whor gentlemen gang to 
 baite yan anudder, thare’s a vast o’ girt styan props o’ th’ 
 fwor side on’t ; thare’s a room wi’ reed furms in’t, whor tha 
 feight, I luik its bluid, m’happen. Thear was a lale woman 
 let’s see that hoos, about fwor fuit hee ; she was as thick os 
 three awld mears twined togidder. I wundert at she didn’t 
 grow heer, leevin in a hoos twenty or thirty fuit hee, but she 
 war bryad as a haycock. Ebben anenst it, about a styan 
 
39 
 
 thro off the Parlemen-hoos, was Collership-hoos : it’s a bigger 
 plyace ner tudder. If thou was iver in whor girt craggs hing 
 owr ov ow sides o’ th’, it wad be like t’squaie, as they cawt, 
 i’ the middle o’ th’ Collership-hooses. Fwoak ’at I saw thar 
 war myast o’ them as black as deevils : it sartaintly isn’t hell, 
 but tha say tha git deed fwoak out o’thar greaves ! — I think 
 it’s true, for I saw a vast o’ deed fwoak’s byans, an’ sum lockt 
 up i’ glass coffins, wi’ flesh on ; an’ tha hed barns and bits o’ 
 flesh presav’d i’ bottles as fwoak dus berries. Thear was a 
 fellow wi 5 a bunch o’ kays ’at opent locks and duirs as fast as 
 luik ; it mayad me think o’ the Rebelations, whor yan roads o’ 
 th’ kays o’ deeth an’ hell : thou mappen understands that 
 plyace. We war in a plyace tha caw’t Muzeem, whor thear’s 
 aw things ’at’s comical, a thousan things ’at thou niver saw 
 nor I can caw. Thear was muso-deer hworns, as bryad as 
 our back-bwoard, an’ bits ov aw manner o’ hworns, I cannat 
 tell tha what, but thear’s the nyam i’ th’ Eebelations ; an’ 
 wee’ll hev a varst toke fra I bea yable t’ cum an’ see tha. I 
 was at a plyace tha caw t’ Exchange, whor fwoak fra aw nuiks 
 o’ th’ warld meet togidder to buy an sell aw things ’at iver 
 thou can nyam ; t’ midst ont’s like a beehive, but stands ’i 
 top ov lang freestan legs, wid a girt round winda i’ th’ crown 
 on’t, an’ like a wide hoos, round about legs ’at covers as 
 miclile grund as t’ tarn at t’ Gowd-Ark Inn, thou kenst. I 
 saw a plyace tha caw Cassel, whor a man tha caw ’Tennant 
 leves : he’s stuart of Ireland fer our King, t’ Lword Mear ov 
 Dublin’s his heed sarvent, an’ fwoak sed he went thro hell to 
 kurk ivry Sunday ! I thout it hed been sum street lwonin, 
 mappen, ’at tha cawt sea, but I fairly saw him stannin like a 
 duir-steed, rais’d about twea yards o’ th’ yearth, but I think 
 he was chained tu th’ spot, becose he dudn’t stur, mappen 
 deed, but it was a dark black lwonin, cover’d owr wi’ black 
 hooses, an’ I perswadet my fuit to carry me a guid way off 
 seek curositys, for I was amyast freetent to deeth ; but it 
 was varra weel I hed strenth to run away. Now thou may 
 be sure I gave my comrad a deevlish lessin for trailin me 
 thro hell, he’s flait o’ nout, but carry’d me to parish kurk ; 
 it’s as big as a toun for girtness, an’ as menny fwoak at it ; 
 thear was hoaf-a-duzzen o’ preests at wark, but we’d nobbut 
 staid a bit when summet tha caw t’ rworgan began a beelin like 
 
40 
 
 a hundred mad bulls, an’ as menny lale lads i’ thar sarks began 
 a screamin murder, I think, for ivry beel was like thunner ; 
 my feet then carry’d me widout perswadin in a collevir ow’r 
 fwoak, an’ aw ’at was imme way, till I gat intul a girt feeld a 
 mile aboot, tha cawd it Steben’s Green, I think, efter a man 
 on a girt gray nag, ’at was stannan a top ov a lale hoose i’ th’ 
 midst on’t. He hed his Swurd drawn, but he dursn’t git off 
 for wont o’ room. I think tha sed he’d been freetent as I 
 was, but I was sea freetent I hardly knew what I dud or sed; 
 but I saw anudder man a top ov a lale hoose, i’ th’ midst ov a 
 girt street lwonin ; I think tha war brudders, for thar cwoats 
 was like a slyated hoos-side, an’ tha war as pale as deeth i’ th* 
 fyace, like mesell ; roond t’fwor cawd feeld was t’ finst gravel 
 gyat thou iver stept on, an’ thear was hundreds an’ thousans 
 o’ fwoak stavelin aboot on't. I began to be as mad as I was at 
 cwolly when it brack t’ neck o’ t’ bell-wether, ’at tha waddn’t 
 help t’ man on his oan nag down when it was amyast dark ; 
 I was mad an’ swet for feer, an’ dursn’t say a word, becose 
 thear was sa mony three-nuikt hat men thear, and lyadies, as 
 tha caw them : I’d better been i’ Borrowdale. I hev offen 
 thowt sen if we hed yan o’ them lyadies amang our bigg, she 
 wad sarra to keep t’ crows off bravely. I ast a man at I 
 kent, what was t’ matter wi’ some o’ th’ wummon fwoak, ’at 
 tha war sea bryad tea way, an’ he telt me it was a fashun to 
 weer huips ; nut a badden nowther if it keept thar legs togidder, 
 for thear was some o’ them varra bonny ; but I waddn’t hev 
 yan o’ them for a wife if she hed aw Borrowdale, wi’out tha 
 wad doff thare huips when tha gang t’ bed, for tha are as 
 bryad as enny bed i’ Borrowdale, an’ thou knows thear’ wad be 
 nea room but atop o’ them, an’ what rust cud yan git atop ov 
 a whick bed 1 Hang them ! thare aw white-heedit, like our 
 wheet miller lasses, an’ tha toke an’ yilp like mice. I wunder 
 what tha see 'at fancy seek, but tha’ve nice lale fuits, ’at maks 
 me think tha wad pruive nimmel shipherts on our brant fells ; 
 an’ we wad larn them t’ soav an’ clip, an’ thare huip pockets 
 wad be varra sarvisable to put a lam in ov aider side, in a 
 coaid mwornin i’ spring, when thare starv’d amyast, and gits 
 lale milk. But to be shwort as our preest sez in his sarmen, 
 I heddn’t time to think ov aw this when I saw’t, for my fuit 
 ran wi’ ma throo amang fwoak an’ owr fwoak sea fast I 
 
41 
 
 freetent them ; tha thout ’at donnet was imme ; tha mud ha 
 thout reet if tha thout t’ donnet hed setten me forrat, for if 
 tha keep sec farlies o’ purpose to freeten fwoak, thears nea 
 matter how menny o’ them be trodden to deeth ; but I’ll 
 promus tha I niver stopt tull h gat tull a sea-nag ’at cum tuv 
 Ingland ; an’ I was seek a agyan afwor I gat hyam ; I cud 
 nowther eat nor drink aw th’ time ; an’ if thou saw me now, 
 thou cuddn’t tell me be a frosk at hed been hung up be’t heels 
 i’ th’ sunshine an’ dry’t to deeth, for I’s as thin as lantern 
 leets. I think thou munnet expect to see me this munth : 
 this is three days at hyam, an’ I’ve a stomach fit to eat t’ horse 
 ahint t’ saddel. I git five myals o’ day, an’ a snack when I 
 gang to bed ; I whop I’s git strang agyan or t’ll be lang, an’ 
 than I sal cum to see tha. This is nobbut like the clock when 
 it gis warnin to strike twelve, to what I’ll tell tha when I 
 cum. My kind luiv to tha, and may good luik keep tha fra 
 aw ’ats bad, an’ dunno be keen o’ gangin abrwoad for fear th’ 
 donnet git tha. 
 
 Th’ End. 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Amackily, in some fashion. — Ast, asked.' — Ahint, behind. — Beelin, 
 bawling. — Brant, steep. — Bryad, broad.— Brudders, brothers. — Byans 
 bones. — Cwoals, coals. — Cawt, called. — Cwoats, coats.— Cuddnt, could 
 not. — Donnet, a Cumberland term for devil. — Deed, dead. — Forrat, 
 forward.— Frosk, a frog. — Fwoak, folk. — Girt, great.— Ganging, 
 going. — Helter, a horse-collar made of hemp, which is frequently 
 used as a bridle.— Hyam, home. — Heer, higher. — Hworns, horns. — 
 Huips, hoops. — Imme, in or within. — Kurk, church. — Lwonnin, a 
 lane, here used for street. — Lale, little. — Luive, love.- Myal, meal. — 
 Myakin, making or doing.— Mappen, perhaps.— Mickle, much.— 
 Nobbut, only. — Nuikt, having corners. — Nowther, or naider, neither. 
 — Neest, next.— Oppen, opened. — Owder, or aider, either.— Ower, 
 over. — Puzzen, poison. — Ryapes, ropes.— Rw organ, organ. — Rang, 
 wrong.— Reed, red.— Spuin, spoon.—Seck, such.— Sana, serve.— 
 Staveling, lounging,— Thisan, this.— Thear, there.— Towert, towards 
 — Tudder, the other. — Varra, very. — Yarst, vast, a great number. — 
 Waddn’t, would not.—' Wiema, with me.— Whor, where. — Yal, ale. — 
 Yats, gates. — Yilp, a term here used to express the chirping of birds, 
 the squeaking of mice, &c. — Yearth, earth. — Yan, one. 
 
THE 
 
 WILD DOG 
 
 OF 
 
 ENNERDALE. 
 
THE 
 
 WIIaD DOG- OF FNNFHDAEE, 
 
 Reprinted from Dickinson’s “ Gumbriana.” 
 
 A recent occurrence recalled to my memory the misdeeds 
 of the Ennerdale Dog. These were so numerous and 
 audacious, and so unusual, that whatsoever mischief other 
 dogs might have done in other years, their deeds of destruc- 
 tion were all greatly overshadowed by the doings of this 
 animal in the year 1810. “ T’ girt dog,” was talked about, 
 
 and dreamt about, and written about, to the utter exclusion 
 of nearly every other topic in Ennerdale and Kinniside, and 
 all the vales round about there ; for the number of sheep he 
 destroyed was amazing, and the difficulties experienced in 
 taking him were beyond belief. The tiger of India seldom 
 undergoes more than two or three short chases before he is 
 destroyed ; and the wolf of the Russian forests is usually 
 taken after one long-winded run, when he can be singled out 
 from his pack. But this creature frequently tired out the 
 fleetest pack of hounds selected purposely for their endurance, 
 and for a long time his cunning baffled all attempts to entrap 
 or destroy him. 
 
 It is upwards of half a century ago, but many of the 
 incidents in connection with the depredations and exciting 
 chases of this wonderful dog are fresh in my memory, and 
 were recorded as well soon after their occurrence ; and others 
 have been related to me by persons who suffered losses of 
 sheep by him, and who took active part in the watchings for, 
 and the ultimate capture of the animal. Amongst the rest, 
 Mr. John Steel, of Asby, who fired the fatal shot, has care- 
 fully written his recollections of the affair to me ; and though 
 he is now turned of four score, can narrate circumstantially 
 the incidents of the year so eventful to the welfare of his 
 flock and of every flock in the district. 
 
46 
 
 No one knew to whom the dog had belonged, or whence 
 he came ; but being of a mongrel breed, and excessively shy, 
 it was conjectured he had escaped from the chain of some 
 gipsy troop. He was a smooth-haired dog of a tawny mouse- 
 colour, with dark streaks in tiger-fashion over his hide, and 
 appeared to be a cross between mastiff and greyhound. 
 Strongly built and of good speed, being both well fed and 
 well exercised, his endurance was very great. His first 
 appearance in the district was on or about the 10th May, 
 1810, when he was seen by Mr. Mossop, of Thornholme, who 
 was near and noticed him has a stranger. His worrying ex- 
 ploits followed soon after ; and from that time till his being 
 shot in September following, he was not known to have fed 
 on anything but living mutton, or, at least, the flesh of lambs 
 and sheep before the carcases had time to cool, from one 
 sheep he was scared during his feast, and when the shepherd 
 examined the carcase the flesh had been torn from the ribs 
 behind the shoulder, and the still beating heart was laid bare 
 and visible. He was once seen to run down a fine ram at 
 early dawn ; and, without killing it, to tear out and swallow 
 lumps of living flesh from the hind quarters of the tortured 
 animal while it stood on its feet, without the power to 
 resist or flee, yet with sufficient life to crawl forward on its 
 fore legs. He would sometimes wantonly destroy seven or 
 eight sheep in one night ; and all his work was done so 
 silently that no one ever heard him either bark or growl. 
 
 At other times, when a lazy fit came over him, or when 
 he had been fatigued by a long chase, a single life and the 
 tit-bits it afforded would satisfy him for the time — taking 
 his epicurean meals from a choice part of the carcase. He 
 seldom fed during the day, and his cunning was such that he 
 did not attack the same flock or sport on the same ground on 
 two successive nights, often removing two or three miles for 
 his next meal. His sagacity was so matured that his choice 
 often fell on the best, or one of the plumpest of the flock ; 
 and his long practice enabled him to dexterously abstract his 
 great luxury, the warm blood, from the jugular vein ; and 
 if not with surgical precision, it was always with deadly cer- 
 tainty, for none survived the operation. The report was 
 
47 
 
 current at the time that he commonly opened the vein of the 
 same side of the neck. 
 
 He was often chased from the fells by the shepherds and 
 their sheep dogs, as well as by hounds ; and many an enliven- 
 ing gallop has been enjoyed at the unusual season of summer, 
 by occasional horsemen, who have been crossed and surprised 
 by the chase in full cry. So exciting did it become, that 
 when the cheering echoes gave notice that the game was on 
 foot, horses were hastily unyoked from carts or ploughs, and 
 mounted bare back, and ridden as long as they could go, and 
 then left to take their chance, whilst the riders continued the 
 chase on foot. It was no uncommon sight to see a score or 
 two of men running at the top of their speed alter the hounds 
 without hats or coats, to the wonder of the inhabitants of the 
 districts they passed through ; and many well-to-do yeomen 
 have been obliged to strangers for hospitable refreshment at 
 the end of an unsuccessful chase, ending many miles from 
 home, or the starting place, they having joined the hunt in 
 their hurry with empty pockets. 
 
 All through his career of depredation he was exceedingly 
 cautious and provident in the selection of his resting places ; 
 most frequently choosing places where a good view was obtain- 
 able, and not seldom on the bare rock, wh ere his dingy colour 
 prevented his being descried on stealing away. For a few 
 weeks at first, it was thought, from his shy habits, that it 
 would be easily possible to drive him out of the country. 
 But this was an entire fallacy; for he seemed to have settled 
 down to the locality as his regal domain ; and though many 
 a time chased at full speed, for ten or fifteen miles right away, 
 he was generally discovered, by his murderous deeds, to have 
 returned during the first or second night following. 
 
 A few hounds had been usually kept in the neighbourhood 
 to aid in the destruction of the fell foxes, which took tribute 
 of lambs in the spring, and of geese and poultry at other 
 seasons. These hounds, distributed among the farm houses 
 in the vale of Ennerdale and Kinniside, and being allowed to 
 run at large, were easily assembled by the halloo of any 
 shepherd espying the dog, and were often available in chase, 
 
48 
 
 but of no real use ; and the dog got so familiarised with their 
 harmlessness, that, speedy and enduring as they were, he has 
 been known to wait for the leading dog and give the fore-leg 
 such a crushing snap with his powerful jaws that none of the 
 pack would attack him twice. And from the unequal speed 
 of the local hounds, he seldom had more than one dog to 
 contend with at a time, and his victory was quick and 
 effectual. 
 
 The men of the district volunteered to watch in turns, on 
 successive nights, armed with guns or other weapons ; and 
 when these were wearied out, other volunteers came in from 
 a distance, or were hired to watch on the mountains through 
 the nights, rain or fair ; and the hounds were distributed in 
 leading among them, covering many miles of the ground 
 nightly. If any one fired a shot, or gave the view halloo, 
 the dogs were let loose, and were soon laid on the scent, and 
 pursued it with the same bristling energy that accompanies 
 the chase of the fox. But no dog had any chance to engage 
 him singly in battle till the rest came up. Various schemes 
 were tried to entice him within shooting range, such as 
 tethering bitches in heat on his domain ; and though the 
 cunning brute was often seen to over about them, yet he 
 took especial care to keep out of harm’s way. Poison was 
 tried, but soon abandoned, on account of the risk of injury to 
 other dogs. The bait of the sheep already destroyed had no 
 effect on him, for he was too well versed as an epicure to 
 touch a dead carcase if ever so fresh. Week after week the 
 excitement was kept up. The whole conversation of the 
 neighbourhood, and the adjoining vales, was engrossed by 
 the interesting topic of the “ worrying dog.” At home or 
 abroad, at church or market, or fair, if an Ennerdale or 
 Kinniside man was met with, “ t’girt dog” was all he could 
 talk about or think about. 
 
 Newspapers reported his doings, and friend wrote to dis- 
 tant friend about him, but no one took time to write a song 
 about him ! Or if any have been indited and written, I trust 
 that either John Steele, the slayer of the dog, or some one 
 else will send it to the publisher of this, whatever the quality 
 may be. 
 
49 
 
 Every man who could obtain a gun, whether capable of 
 using it with effect or not, was called, or thought himself 
 called out, to watch or pursue, daily or nightly ; and many 
 an idle or lazy fellow got or took holiday from work, to mix 
 with the truly anxious shepherds, and to snoozle under a rock 
 in the night, or stretch his lazy carcase on the heather in the 
 day, with a gun, or pitchfork, ora fell pole in his hand, under 
 pretence of watching for the wild dog. 
 
 Men were harassed and tired out with continuous watch- 
 ings by night, and running the chase by day. Families were 
 disturbed in the nights to prepare refreshments for their 
 fatigued male inmates, or for neighbours who dropped in at 
 the unbarred doors of the houses nearest at hand, at all hours 
 of the night. Children durst not go to school, or be out alone ; 
 and they often screamed with affright at the smallest noctur- 
 nal sounds, or in their dreams ; and women were exhausted 
 with the toil of the farm their husbands and brothers were 
 obliged to abandon to their care. The hay crop and all field 
 labours were neglected, or done by hurried and incomplete 
 snatches, no one attempting jobs that could not be performed 
 in an hour or two ; — every eye on the look out and every 
 ear listening for the alarm of the frequent hunt, which every 
 one was ready to join in. Property was disappearing in the 
 shape of sheep worried, crops wasting, wages paid for no 
 return, time lost, and work of all kinds left undone. Cows 
 went occasionally unmilked, and horses unfed or dressed. 
 Many fields of hay grass were not cut, and corn would in all 
 likelihood have shared the same fate if an end had not oppor- 
 tunely come. 
 
 There are few dogs that do not occasionally indulge in a 
 long and melancholy howl when quite alone and listening to 
 the distant howl of other dogs; but “The Worrying Dog of 
 Ennerdale ” was never known to utter a vocal sound. And 
 along with this remarkable trait, his senses of sight and hear- 
 ing, and of scent, were so acute that it was rare indeed for 
 any one to come upon him unawares in the day-time. On 
 the few occasions when he was accidently approached in 
 day-light he exhibited nothing vicious, and always fled hastily. 
 
50 
 
 On one occasion the late Willy Jackson, of Swinside, (the 
 respected father of the celebrated wrestler) was leaving his 
 house, with his loaded gun, when, quite unexpectedly, he saw 
 the dog in the act of raising his hind leg against a tall thistle, 
 within about thirty yards of him. He raised his gun and 
 took steady aim, with a strong determination to end the life 
 of the dog and the present troubles of the district, but on 
 pulling the trigger his untrusty flint gun missed fire, and 
 away went the dog. 
 
 The protracted excitement became so great and annoying, 
 and the losses so heavy, that when the July sheep-shearings, 
 or clippings, came on, a subscription was determined upon 
 for collecting and maintaining a more efficient pack of the 
 swiftest and most vicious hounds that could be found; and 
 a very fine lot of hounds were had, of speed and spirit thought 
 to be equal to any emergency of the kind. 
 
 In that year the late Mr. John Russell, who had a brewery 
 in Whitehaven, and a sheep-farm of some three thousand 
 acres in Ennerdale, and whose flock suffered with the rest, 
 offered ale to the watchers, and a reward of ten pounds for 
 the capture of the dog, dead or alive. The other sheepowners 
 raised about twelve pounds among themselves as a fi^nd for 
 refreshments ; and a free whittlegate was the order of the day 
 to all who professed to be watchers or pursuers. 
 
 These measures caused much enthusiasm ; and great num- 
 bers of men assembled, sometimes by request or appointment, 
 and sometimes voluntarily. On a fine July morning about 
 two hundred men and a number of hounds in couples were 
 spread over the Kinniside fells to search for the dog, and 
 were not long in rousing their game about the part of the 
 mountain called Hope-head. The view halloo by forty or 
 fifty men soon brought the hounds to the place ; and the 
 scent being fresh, a quick and hopeful run took place towards 
 Wasdale-head ; but the destroyer found his carcase too heavy 
 to make good way over the crags and rough fells, and turned 
 his course back by the heights overlooking Wastwater — (the 
 echoes of the hunt ringing across the lake, and reverbrating 
 from the Screes) — to the smoother ground of Browneyedge and 
 
51 
 
 Stockdale Moor, and took slielter in a cornfield at Priorscale 
 — having thrown the hounds and most of the men off his 
 course for a time by his crafty turnings, and only about forty 
 of the two hundred men coming down to the field where it was 
 expected the dog was resting. Watchers were set round the 
 field till more hounds were collected by the present Mr. Mossop 
 of Thornholme (“ Merry Charlie ”) who on his fast pony 
 scoured the district where dogs were kept, and soon had a 
 reinforcement ; but it was too late — the dog had stolen away 
 without resting. He was traced by a slow hunt, and heard 
 of now and then, through Calder and Seacscale, till night 
 coming on he was finally lost in Drigg, and the weary hunters 
 had to return unsuccessful. 
 
 Seldom a week elapsed without the dog being once or twice 
 chased out of the district ; and most frequently down into the 
 lower country, where the level land better suited his running, 
 and where the softer ground of the fields did less harm to his 
 feet. 
 
 On one occasion he was run across the vale of Ennerdale, 
 and through Loweswater, and lost in the mist and night. 
 Next morning his traces were found on his old ground by 
 two or three fresh carcases. On another occasion he was 
 run from Kinniside fells through Lamplugh and Dean, crossed 
 the river Marron several times, and rested in a plantation 
 near to Clifton, till a number of horsemen and some footmen 
 came up, and the hounds again aroused him and ran him' to 
 the Derwent, and there lost him, after an exhausting run of 
 nearly twenty miles. This chase was more severe than usual, 
 and he took two days to rest and return in. 
 
 Many times he was run in the same direction, and always 
 found means to escape. One Saturday night a great number 
 of men were dispersed over the high fells, watching with guns 
 and hounds, but he avoided them and took his supper on a 
 distant mountain ; and the men not meeting with him, came 
 down about eleven o'clock on Sunday morning and separated 
 about Swinside lane end. In a . few minutes after, Willy 
 Lamb gave the “ view halloo." He had started the beast in 
 crossing the wooded gill, and away went the dog with the 
 
52 
 
 hounds in full cry after him. The hunt passed Ennerdale 
 church during service, and the male part of the congregation, 
 liking the cry of the hounds better than the sermon, ran out 
 and followed. It has been said the Eev. Mr. Ponsonby could 
 not resist, and went in pursuit as far as he was able.* This 
 run ended at Fitz Mill, near Oockermouth, in a storm which 
 the weary men and dogs had to encounter and meet in a 
 twelve miles return. 
 
 Next day the dog was seen by Anthony Atkinson to steal 
 into a grassy hedge and lie down to rest. Such an oppor- 
 tunity seldom occurred, and was not to be lost. Anthony 
 charged his gun with swan shot, and crept cautiously towards 
 the place, with the determination to have as close a shot as he 
 could ; but the wily animal was on the watch, and stole away 
 at a long-shot distance with three of Anthony’s pellets stick- 
 ing harmlessly in his side, as it proved when the skin was 
 taken off some weeks after. 
 
 Once he led his pursuers a weary chase to Seaton, or 
 Camerton, and was lost in the whinny covers there ; and I 
 well remember the hunters, some on foot and some on horse- 
 back, returning late and weary ; some without hats, and some 
 without coats, which they had thrown off to lighten their 
 burdens in a hot pursuit. At another time John Steel, of 
 Birkmoss, was leading two noted hounds from Gosforth, over 
 the Kinniside fells, and when near Swarthgill head, about 
 one in the morning, his dogs struggled violently to get away, 
 although he could not see or hear anything to excite them. 
 Not long after, he met the other hounds on the drag, of the 
 wild dog, which they ran almost direct to the place where his 
 two hounds had been so difficult to restrain ; and there were 
 found three sheep newly killed — so quietly was the work of 
 destruction done ! That morning the dog was run to and lost 
 at Irton. 
 
 He was once run from the head of Ennerdale lake over the 
 tops of the Kinniside range, by Dent and Egremont, to St. 
 Bees, where he again avoided capture. The same evening he 
 was seen to steal away from a garden where he had secreted 
 
 * The discipline of the church was not strict at that period, and the excitement of 
 the time and district might well have caused such an act, hut it is not confirmed. 
 
53 
 
 himself till danger was over, and no one had then the means 
 of capture or pursuit ready. This day a violent storm came 
 on ; and many of the pursuers having left their coats and 
 waistcoats on the fells, were soaked and battered by the rain 
 and wind on their return, till some of them took colds which 
 remained with them till death. 
 
 A Mrs. Russell, visiting at Birkmoss, went to pull a few 
 apples in an orchard near the river Ehen, and returned im- 
 mediately in great alarm, saying she had seen “ an awful 
 looking wild beast ” resting in the long grass under the very 
 tree she intended to take apples from. John Steel had just 
 returned from his watching on the fell, and well knew what 
 the wild beast would be ; so he speedily placed a person to 
 watch the dog, and hallooed for the hounds. In half an hour 
 the pack assembled, with some scores of men, but the beast 
 had crept off unseen by the watcher, and was hidden in an- 
 other place. He was quickly found and was started with 
 the hounds at his heels, and the shouts of the many hunters 
 ringing around him. So puzzled was the animal to get out- 
 side the gunless crowd, that he bolted between the crooked legs 
 of Jack Wilson — a deaf old man, who was stooping to gather 
 sticks, and was quite unaware of what was going on around 
 him, till the dog glided under his nose, and made his escape. 
 Jack was sure it was a lion ! The hounds again ran him near 
 to St. Bees, and again he foiled them. 
 
 On another occasion the dog had been seen, and a number 
 of men soon mustered, thirteen of whom were armed with 
 loaded guns, and stationed at different parts of the wood and 
 fields, where he was believed to be lurking. The halloo was 
 soon heard, and every armed man was in hopes of earning the 
 ten pound reward. The dog ran in the direction where Will 
 Rothery was stationed, with gun in hand ; but so much was 
 Will overcome by this near and first view, of the creature 
 which had become so fearful a scourge in the country, that, 
 instead of lifting his gun to take aim, he quietly stepped back 
 and suffered the dog to pass at a short pistol-shot distance, 
 without attempting to do him any harm ; merely exclaiming, 
 with more fear than piety, “ Skerse ! what a dog.” 
 
54 
 
 Many other long and arduous chases took place, but the 
 incidents not varying much, a full recital might become tedious. 
 
 As the Summer advanced, and the crops got full on the 
 ground, it was found useless to continue chasing the dog • for 
 if run up to, no dog hitherto laid on could match him 'and 
 he got so well acquainted with the country for many miles 
 around the district chosen as his home, that, after leading I 
 his pursuers many a long and weary chase, he always threw 
 
 e hounds off the scent by some clever manoeuvre ; often 
 gliding from one cornfield to another, where the hunters 
 would not go in to injure the growing crops, in assisting the 
 hounds. In this way it was found he sometimes doubled and 
 passed his pursuers, but more often led them a headlong course. 
 
 At last it was thought better to waste less time over him 
 till some of the crops were cut, and then one available source, 
 at least, of his deceptions, would be taken away. And people 
 began to find out that the loss of even three or four sheep in 
 a night, for two or three nights in the week, was not so much 
 as the additional loss the ripe crops would be, if they con- 
 tmued the earnest play of hunting an animal which hitherto 
 had baffled all their skill and exertions. So it was agreed 
 that a cessation of arms should take place, on the side of the 
 pursuers, for two or three weeks till the land was partly 
 c eaied, and the crops saved \ and then to resume offensive 
 operations with increased vigour. 
 
 A chance incident soon over-ruled this determination • for 
 on the 12th September the dog was seen by Jonathan 
 1 atnckson to go into a cornfield. 
 
 Jonathan quietly said, “ Aa’l let ta lig theer a bit, my lad 
 but aa’l want ta see tha just noo.” 
 
 Away went the old man, and, without the usual noise, soon 
 raised men enow to surround the field ; and as some in their 
 haste came unprovided with guns, a halt was whispered round 
 to wait till more guns were brought, and the hounds collected. 
 When a good muster of guns, and men with dogs, were got 
 together, the wild dog was disturbed out of the corn ; and 
 only the old man who had seen him go into the field was 
 
55 
 
 lucky enongh to get a shot at him, and to wound him in the 
 hind-quarters. This took a little off his speed, and enabled 
 the hounds to keep well up to him, but none durst or did 
 engage him. And, though partly disabled, he kept long on 
 his legs, and was often headed and turned by the numerous 
 parties of pursuers, several of whom met him in his circuitous 
 route from the upperside of Kinniside, by Eskat, Arlecdon, 
 and Asby, by Rowrah and Stockhow Hall, to the river Ehen. 
 Each of these parties he shied, and turned in a new direction 
 till he got wearied. He was quietly taking a cold bath in the 
 river, with the hounds as quietly looking on when John Steel 
 came up with his gun laden with small bullets, but durst not 
 shoot, lest he injured some of the hounds. When the dog 
 caught sight of him it made off to Eskat Woods, with the 
 hounds and John on its track, and after a few turnings in 
 the wood, amid the greatest excitement of dogs and men, a 
 fair chance offered, and the fatal discharge was made by John 
 Steel, when the destroyer fell to rise no more ; and the marks- 
 man received his well-earned reward of ten pounds, with the 
 hearty congratulations of all assembled. 
 
 After many a kick at the dead brute, the carcase was 
 carried in triumph to the inns at Ennerdale Bridge ; and the 
 cheering and rejoicing there were so great that it was many 
 days ere the shepherd inhabitants of the vale settled to their 
 usual pursuits. 
 
 The dead carcase of the dog weighed eight imperial stones. 
 
 Since that eventful year no extensive worryings of sheep 
 have occurred there. 
 
 The stuffed skin of the “Wild Dog ” was exhibited in 
 Hutton’s Museum, at Keswick, with a collar round the neck, 
 stating that the wearer had been the destroyer of nearly three 
 hundred sheep and lambs in the five months of his Ennerdale 
 campaign. 
 
 D. 
 
 Workington, 1864. 
 
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