The stalls of Barchester Cathedral.

This matter began as far as I am concerned, with the reading of a notice in the obituary section of the Gentleman's Magazine for an early year in the nineteenth century.

On February twenty sixth at his residence in Cathedral Close of Barchester, the Venerable John Benwell Haynes d d.

Aged fifty seven, Archdeacon of Sowerbridge and Rector of Pickhill and Kendley.

He was of College, Cambridge, and whereby talent and assiduity he commanded the esteem of his seniors.

When at the usual time he took his first degree, his name stood high in the list of wranglers.

These academical honors procured for him within a short time a fellowship of his college.

In the year seventeen eighty three, he received Holy Orders and was shortly afterwards presented to the perpetual curacy of Ranston sub ashe by his friend and patron, the late truly Venerable Bishop of Lichfield.

His speedy preferments, first to a prebend and subsequently to the dignity of presenter in the Cathedral of Barchester form an eloquent testimony to the respect in which he was held and to his eminent qualifications.

He succeeded to the archdeaconry upon the sudden decease of Archdeacon Pultany in eighteen ten.

His servants, ever conformable to the principles of religion and church which he adorned, displayed in no ordinary degree without the least trace of enthusiasm the refinement of the scholar, united with the grace of the Christian, free from sectarian violence, and informed by the spirit of the truest charity, they will long dwell in the memories of his hearers.

Here a further omission.

The productions of this pen include an able defense of episcopacy, which, though often perused by the author of this tribute to his memory, affords but one additional instance of the want of liberality and enterprise, which is a too common characteristic of the publishers of our generation.

His published works are indeed confined to a spirited and elegant version of the Argonautica of Valerius Flacus, a volume of discourses upon the several events in the life of Joshua delivered in his cathedral, and a number of the charges which he pronounced at various visitations to the clergy of his archdeaconry.

These are distinguished by et cetera, et cetera.

The urbanity and the hospitality of the subject of these lines will not readily be forgotten by those who enjoyed his acquaintance.

His interest in the venerable and awful pile under whose hoary vault he was so punctual and attendant, and particularly in the musical portion of its rights, might be termed filial, and formed a strong and delightful contrast to the polite indifference displayed by too many of our cathedral dignitaries at the present time.

The final paragraph, after informing us that doctor Haynes died a bachelor, says, it might have been augured that an existence so placid and benevolent would have been terminated in a ripe old age by a dissolution equally gradual and calm.

But how unsearchable are the workings of Providence.

The peaceful and retired seclusion amid which the honored evening of doctor Haines's life was mellowing to its close, was destined to be disturbed, nay shattered, by a tragedy as appalling as it was unexpected the morning of the twenty sixth of February.

But perhaps I shall do better to keep back the remainder of the narrative until I have told the circumstances which led up to it.

These, as far as they are now accessible, I have derived from another source.

I had read the obituary notice which I have been quoting, quite by chance, along with a great many others of the same period.

It had excited some little speculation in my mind, but beyond thinking that if I ever had an opportunity of examine the local records of the period indicated, I would try to remember doctor Haynes, I made no effort to pursue his case.

Quite lately, I was cataloging the manuscripts and the library of the college to which he belonged.

I had reached the end of the numbered volumes on the shelves, and I proceeded to ask the librarian whether there were any more books which he thought I ought to include in my description.

I don't think there are, he said, but we had better come and look at the manuscript class and make sure.

Have you time to do that?

Now I had time.

We went to the library, checked off the manuscripts, and at the end of our survey arrived at a shelf of which I had seen nothing.

Its contents consisted, for the most part, of sermons, bundles of fragmentary papers, college exercises, cyrus, an epic poem, and several cantos, the product of a country clergyman's leisure, mathematical tracts by a deceased professor, and other similar material of a kind with which I am only too familiar.

I took brief notes of these.

Lastly, there was a tin box which was pulled out and dusted.

Its label, much faded, was thus inscribed papers of the venerable Archdeacon Haines, bequeathed in eighteen thirty four by his sister, Miss Letitia Haines.

I knew at once that the name was one which I had somewhere encountered, and could very soon locate it.

That must be the Archdeacon Haines, who came to a very odd end at Barchester.

I've read his obituary in the Gentleman's magazine.

May I take the box home?

Do you know if there is anything interesting in it?

The librarian was very billing that I should take the box and examine it at leisure.

I never looked inside it myself, he said, but I've always been meaning to.

I'm pretty sure that is the box which our old master once said ought never to have been accepted by the college.

He said that to Martin years ago, and he said also that as long as he had control over the library, it should never be opened.

Martin told me about it and said that he wanted terribly to know what was in it.

But the Master was librarian and always kept the box in the lodge, so there was no getting at it in his time, and when he died it was taken away by mistake by his heirs, and only returned a few years ago.

I can't think why I haven't opened it, but as I have to go away from Cambridge this afternoon, you had better have first go at it.

I think I can trust you not to publish anything undesirable in our catalog.

I took the box home and examined its contents, and thereafter consulted the librarian as to what should be done about publication.

And since I have his leave, to make a story out of it, provided I disguise the identity of the people concerned, I will try what can be done.

The materials are, of course mainly journals and letters.

How much shall I quote and how much epitomize must be determined by considerations of space.

The proper understanding of the situation has necessitated a little not very arduous research, which has been greatly facilitated by the excellent illustrations and texts of the Barchester volume in Bell's Cathedral series.

When you enter the choir of Barchester Cathedral, now you pass through a screen of metal and colored marbles designed by Sir Gilbert Scott, and find yourself in what I must call a very bare and odiously furnished place.

The stalls are modern without canopies.

The places of the dignitaries and the names of the prebends have fortunately been allowed to survive and are inscribed on small brass plates affixed to the stalls.

The organ is in the triforium, and what a scene of the case is Gothic.

The roaredos and its surroundings are like every other careful engravings of a hundred years ago show a very different state of things.

The organ is on a massive classical screen.

The stalls are also classical and very massive.

There is a baldacchino of wood over the altar, with urns upon its corners.

Farther east is a solid altar screen classical in design of wood, with a pediment in which is a triangle surrounded by rays enclosing Certain Hebrew letters in gold chirrups contemplate these.

There is a pulpit with a great sounding board at the eastern end of the stalls on the north side, and there is a black and white marble pavement.

Two ladies and a gentleman are admiring the general effect.

From other sources, I gather that the archdeacon's stall then as now was next to the bishop's throne at the southeastern end of the stalls.

His house almost faces the west front of the church, and is a fine red brick building of William the third time cure.

Doctor Haynes, already a mature man, took up his abode with his sister in the year eighteen ten.

The dignity had long been the object of his wishes, but his predecessor refused to depart until he had attained the age of ninety two.

About a week after he had held a modest festival in celebration of that ninety second birthday.

There came a morning late in the year when doctor Haynes, hurrying cheerfully into his breakfast room, rubbing his hands and humming a tune, was greeted and checked in his genial floor of spirits by the side of his sister, seated indeed in a usual place behind the tea urn, but bowed forward and sobbing unrestrainedly into our handkerchief.

What what is the matter?

What bad news?

He began, Oh, Johnny, you've not heard the poor dear Archdeacon.

The Archdeacon, Yes, what is it?

Ill?

Is he?

No?

No, they found him on the take airs this morning.

It is so shocking.

Is it possible, dear dear, poor pulteny, has there been a seizure?

They don't think so.

And that is almost the worst thing about it.

It seems to have been all the fault of that stupid maid of theirs, Jane.

Doctor Haynes paused, I don't quite understand, Lettysia, how was the maidens fault?

Why?

As far as I can make out, there was a stair rod missing, and she never mentioned it.

And the poor Archdeacon set his foot quite on the edge of the step you know how slippery that oak is, and it seems he must have fallen almost the whole flight and broken his neck.

It is so sad for poor miss Pulteny.

Of course they will get rid of the girl at once.

I never liked her.

Miss Haynes's grief resumed its sway, but eventually relaxed so far as to permit of her taking some breakfast.

Not so her brother, who, after standing in silence below the window for some minutes, left the room and did not appear again that morning.

I need only add that a careless maid servant was dismissed forthwith, but that the missing stair rod was very shortly afterwards found under the stair carpet, an additional proof if any one needed, of extreme stupidity and carelessness on her part.

For a good many years, doctor Haynes had been marked out by his ability, which seems to have been really considerable as the likely successor of Archdeacon Pulteny, and no disappointment was in store for him.

He was duly installed and entered with zeal upon the discharge of those functions which are appropriate to one in his position.

A considerable space in his journals was occupied with exclamations upon the confusion in which Archdeacon Pulteney had left the business of his office, and the documents appertaining to it dws upon Ringam and Barneswood had been uncollected for something like twelve years and are largely irrecoverable.

No visitation has been held for seven years, for chancels are almost past mending.

The persons deputized by the Archdeacon have been nearly as incapable as himself.

It was almost a matter for thankfulness that this state of things had not been permitted to continue.

And a letter from a friend confirms his view.

Greek oh Cadichon, it says, in rather cruel allusion to the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, is removed at last, My poor friend, upon what a scene of confusion will you be entering?

I give you my word that on the last occasion of my crossing this threshold, there was no single paper that he could lay hands upon, no syllable of mind that he could hear, and no fact in connection with my business that he could remember.

But now, thanks to a negligent maide and a loose stair carpet, there is some prospect the necessary business will be trans acted without a complete loss alike of voice and temper.

This letter was tucked into a pocket in the cover of one of the diaries.

There can be no doubt of the new Archdeacon's zeal and enthusiasm.

Give me but time to reduce to some semblance of order the innumerable errors and complications with which I am confronted, and I shall gladly and sincerely join with the aged Israelite in the cantacle, which too many I fear pronounce but with their lips.

This reflection I find not in a diary, but in a letter.

The doctor's friend seemed to have returned his correspondence to his surviving sister.

He does not confine himself, however, to reflections.

His investigation of the rights and duties of his office are very searching and business like.

And there is a calculation in one place that a period of three years will just suffice to set the business of the archdeaconry upon a proper footing.

The estimate appears to have an exact one.

For just three years he is occupied in reforms.

But I look in vain at the end of that time, for the promised nunc dimities.

He has now found a new sphere of activity.

Hitherto his duties have precluded him from more than an occasional attendance at the cathedral services.

Now he begins to take an interest in the fabric and the music.

Upon his struggles with the organists, an old gentleman who had been in office since seventeen eighty six, I have no time to dwell.

They were not attended with any marked success, molted the purpose of his sudden growth of enthusiasm for the cathedral itself and its furniture.

There is a draft of a letter to Sylvanus Urban, which I do not think was ever sent, describing the stalls in the choir.

As I have said, these were of a fairly late date, of about the year seventeen hundred.

In fact, the archdeacon's stall, situated at the south east end, west of the episcopal throne, now so worthily occupied by the truly excellent prelate who adorns the sea of Barchester, is distinguished by some curious ornamentation.

In addition to the arms of Dean West, by whose efforts the whole of the internal furniture of the choir was completed.

The Preyer desk is terminated at the eastern extremity by three small but remarkable statuettes in the grotesque manner.

One is an exquisitely modal figure of a cat, whose crouching posture suggests with admirable spirit, the suppleness, vigilance, and craft of the redoubted adversary of the genus mouse.

Opposite to this is a figure seated upon a throne and invested with the attributes of royalty, But it is no earthly monarch whom the carver has sought to portray.

His feet are studiously concealed by the long robe in which he is draped, but neither the crown nor the cap which he wears suffice to hide the prick years and curving horns which betray his tartarian origin, and the hand which rests upon his knee is armed with talons of horrifying length and sharpness.

Between these two figures stands a shape muffled in a long mantle.

This might, at first sight be mistaken for a monk or friar of orders gray, for the head is cowled, and a knotted cord depends from somewhere about the waist.

A slight inspection however, will lead to a very different conclusion.

The knotted cord is quickly seen to be a halter held by a hand, all but concealed within the draperies, while the sunken features in horrid to relate the rent flesh upon the cheap bones proclaimed the king of terrors.

These figures are evidently the production of no unskilled chisel, And should it chance that any of your correspondents are able to throw light upon their origin and significance, my obligations to your valuable miscellny will be largely increased.

There is no description in the paper, and seeing that the woodwork in question has now disappeared, it has a considerable interest.

A paragraph at the end is worth courting.

Some late researches among the chapter accounts have shown me that the carving of the stalls was not, as was very usually reported, the work of Dutch artists, but was executed by a native of this city or a district named Austin.

Their timber was procured from an oak corpse in the vicinity the property of the Dean and Chapter known as Holywood.

Upon a recent visit to the parish within whose boundaries it is situated, I learned from the aged and truly respectable incumbent, that tradition still lingered amongst the inhabitants of the great size and age of the oaks employed to furnish the materials of the stately structure, which has been, however imperfectly described in the above lines.

Of one in particular, which stood near the center of the grove, it is remembered that it was known as the hanging oak.

The propriety of that title is confirmed by the fact that a quantity of human bones was found in the soil about its roots, and that at certain times of the year it was a custom for those who wished to secure a successful issue to their affairs, whether of love or the ordinary business of life, to suspend from its bows small images or puppets rudely fashioned of straw, twigs or the like rustic material.

So much for the archdeacon's archaeological investigations to return to his career, as it is to be gathered from his diaries, those of his first three years of hard and careful work show him throughout in high spirits, and doubtless during this time that reputation for hospitality and urbanity, which is mentioned in his obituary notice was well deserved.

After that, as time goes on, I see a shadow coming over him, destined to develop into utter blackness, which I cannot but think must have been reflected in his outward demeanor.

He commits a good deal of his fears and troubles to his diary.

There is no other outlet for them.

He was unmarried, and his sister was not always with him.

But I am much mistaken.

If he has told all that he might have told.

A series of extracts shall be given.

August thirtieth, eighteen sixteen.

The days begin to draw in more perceptibly than ever.

Now that the archdeaconry papers are reduced to order, I must find some further employment for the evening hours of autumn and winter.

It is a great blow that Latisha's health will not allow her to stay through these months.

Why not go on with my defensive episcopacy it may be useful.

September fifteenth, Leticia has left me for Brighton October eleventh, Candles slit in the choir for the first time at evening preys.

It came as a shock.

I find that I absolutely shrinked from the dark season.

November seventeenth much struck by the character of the carving on my desk.

I do not know that I had ever carefully noticed it before my attention was called to it by an accident.

During the magnifica I was, I regret to say, almost overcombered sleep.

My hand was resting on the back of the calm figure of a cat, which is the nearest to me of the three figures on the end of my stall.

I was not aware of this, for I was not looking in that direction until I was startled by what seemed a softness, a feeling as of a rather rough and coarse fur, and a sudden movement, as if the creature were twisting round its head to bite me.

I regained complete consciousness in an instant, and I have some idea that I must have uttered a suppressed exclamation, for I noticed that mister Treasurer turned his head quickly in my direction.

The impression of the unpleasant feeling was so strong that I found myself rubbing my hand upon my surplice.

This accident led me to examine the figures after prayers more carefully than I had done before, and I realized for the first time with what skill they are executed December sixth.

I do indeed miss Letitia's company.

The evenings after I have worked as long as I can, at my defense, are very trying.

The house is too large for a lonely man, and visitors of any kind are too rare.

I get an uncomfortable impression when going to my room that there is company of some kind.

The fact is I may as well formulate it to myself that I hear voices.

This I am well aware is a common symptom of incipient decay of the brain, and I believe that I should be less disquieted than I am if I had any suspicion that this was the cause.

I have none, none, whatever, Nor is there anything in my family history to give color to such an IDEA.

Work, diligent work and a punctual attention to the duties which fall to me is my best remedy, and I have little doubt that it will prove efficacious genuine.

First, my trouble is I must confess increasing upon me.

Last night, upon my return after midnight from the deanery, I lit my candle to go upstairs.

I was nearly at the top, and something whispered to me.

Let me wish you a happy New Year.

I could not be mistaken.

It spoke distinctly and with a peculiar emphasis.

Had I dropped my candle as I all but did.

I trembled to think what the consequences must have been.

As it was, I managed to get up the last flight and was quickly in my room with the door locked, and experienced no other disturbance.

January fifteenth, I had occasion to come downstairs last night to my work room for my watch, which I had inadvertently left on my table when I went up to bed.

I think I was at the top of the last flight when I had a sudden impression of a sharp whisper in my ear.

Take care, I clutched the balusters and naturally looked round at once.

Of course, there was nothing.

After a moment I went on.

It was no good turning back.

But I had, as nearly as possible fallen a cat, A large one by the feel of it, slipped between my feet.

But again, of course I saw nothing.

It may have been the kitchen cat, but I do not think it was.

February twenty seventh, A curious thing last night which I should like to forget.

Perhaps if I put it down here I may see it in its true proportion.

I worked in the library from about nine to ten.

The hall and staircase seemed to be unusually full of what I can only call movement without sound.

By this I mean that there seemed to be continuous going and coming, and that whenever I ceased a writing to listen or looked out into the hall, the stillness was absolutely unbroken.

Nor in going to my room at an earlier hour than usual, about half past ten, was I conscious of anything that I could call a noise.

It so happened that I had told John to come to my room for the letter to the Bishop, which I wished to have delivered early in the morning at the Palace.

He was to sit up therefore, and come for it when he heard me retire.

This I had, for the moment forgotten, though I had remembered to carry the letter with me to my room.

But when as I was winding up my watch, I heard a light tap at the door and a low voice saying, may I come in, which I most undoubtedly did hear.

I recollected the fact and took up the letter from my dressing table, saying, certainly, come in.

No one, however, answered my summons.

And it was now that, as I strongly suspect, I committed an error, for I opened the door and held the letter out.

There was certainly no one at that moment in the passage, But in the instant of my standing there, the door at the end opened and John appeared carrying a candle.

I asked him whether he had come to the door earlier, but am satisfied that he had not.

I do not like the situation.

But although my senses were very much on the alert, and though it was some time before I could sleep, I must allow that I perceived nothing further of an untoward character.

With the return of spring, when his sister came to live with him for some months, doctor Haines's entries became more cheerful, and indeed no symptom of depression is discernible until the early part of September, when he was again left alone.

And now indeed there is evidence that he was incommoded again, and that more pressingly to this matter, I will return in a moment, But I digress to put in a document which, rightly or wrongly, I believed to have a bearing on the tread of the story.

The account books of doctor Haynes, preserved along with his other papers, show from a date but little later than that of his institution as archdeacon, a quarterly payment of twenty five pounds to J.

L.

Nothing could have been made of this had it stood by itself, But I connect with it a very dirty and ill written letter, which, like another that I have quoted, was in the pocket in the cover of a diary of date or postmark.

There is no vestige, and the desire for meant was not easy.

It appears to run doctor, so I have been expecting to her off your fears last wigs, and not having done so, must suppose you have not got mine, which was saying how me and my man had met in with bad times this season all seems to go across with us on the farm, and which way to look for the rent?

We have no knowledge of it.

This been the sad case with us.

If you would have the great liberality, probably, but the exact spelling defies reproduction to send forty pounds.

Otherwise steps will have to be took, which I should not wish, as you was the means of me losing my place with doctor Pulteney I think it is only just what I am asking, and you know best what I could say if I was put to it.

But I do not wish anything of that unpleasant nature, being one that always wished to have everything pleasant about me, your obedient servant Jane Lee.

About the time at which I supposed this letter to have been written, there is in fact a payment of forty pounds to j L.

We returned to the Diary October twenty second.

At evening prayers during the psalms, I had that same experience which I recollect from last year.

I was resting my hand on one of the carved figures, as before I usually avoid that of the cat now, and I was going to have said a change came over it, But that seems attributing too much importance to what must, after all be due to some physical affection in myself.

At any rate, the wood seemed to become chilly and soft, as if made of wet linen.

I can assign the moment at which I became sensible of this.

The choir was singing the words set Thou an ungodly man, to be ruler over him, and let Satan stand at his right hand.

The whispering in my house was more persistent to night.

I seemed not to be rid of it in my room I have not noticed.

As before.

A nervous man, which I am not and hope I am not becoming, would have been much annoyed, if not alarmed, by it.

The cat was on the stairs to night.

I think it sits there always.

There is no kitchen cat.

November fifteenth.

Here again I must note a matter I do not understand.

I am much troubled in sleep.

No definite image presented itself, but I was pursued by the very vivid impression that wet lips were whispering into my ear with great rapidity and emphasis for some time together.

After this, I suppose I fell asleep, but was awakened with a start by a feeling as if a hand were laid on my shoulder.

To my intense alarm, I found myself standing at the top of the lowest flight of the first staircase.

The moon was shining brightly enough through the large window to let me see that there was a large cat on the second or third step.

I can make no comment.

I crept up to bed again.

I do not know how.

Yes, mine is a heavy burden.

Then follows a line or two which has been scratched out.

I fancy I read something like acted for the best.

Not long after this, it is evident to me that the Archdeacon's firmness began to give way under the pressure of these phenomena.

I omit as unnecessarily painful and distressing.

The ejaculations and prayers which in the months of December and January appeared for the first time, and become increasingly frequent throughout this time.

However, he is obstinate in clinging to his post.

Why he did not plead ill health and take refuge at Bath or Brighton, I cannot tell.

My impression is that it would have done him no good, That he was a man who, if he had confessed himself beaten by the annoyances, would have succumbed at once, and that he was conscious of this he did seek to palliate them by inviting visitors to his house.

The result he has noted in this fashion January seventh.

I have prevailed on my cousin Allan to give me a few days, and he is to occupy the chamber next to mine.

January able, A still night Alan slept well, but complained of the wind.

My own experiences were as before, still whispering and whispering.

What is it that he wants to say?

January ninth, Allan thinks this is a very noisy house.

He thinks too, that my cat is an unusually large and fine specimen, but very wild.

January tenth, Allan and I in the library until eleven.

He left me twice to see what the maids were doing in the hall.

Returning the second time, he told me he had seen one of them passing through the door at the end of the passage, and said if his wife were here, she would soon get them into better order.

I asked him what color dress the maid wore.

He said, gray or white.

I suppose it would be so.

January eleventh, Allan left me to day.

I must be firm.

These words I must be firm occur again and again on subsequent days.

Sometimes they are the only entry.

In these cases, they are in an unusually large hand, and dug into the paper in a way which must have broken the pen that wrote them.

Apparently, the archdeacon's friends did not remark any change in his behavior, and this gives me a high idea of his courage and determination.

The diary tells us nothing more than I have indicated of the last days of his life.

The end of it all must be told in the polished language of the obituary note.

The morning of the twenty sixth of February was cold and tempestuous.

At an early hour the servants had occasioned to go into the front hall of the residence occupied by the lamented subject of these lines.

What was their horror upon observing the form of their beloved and respected master, lying upon the landing of the principal staircase in an attitude which inspired the gravest spheres.

Assistance was procured, and a universal consternation was experienced upon the discovery that he had been the object of a brutal and murderous attack.

The vertebral column was fractured in more than one place.

This might have been the result of a fall.

It appeared that the stair carpet was loosened at one point.

But in addition to this, there were injuries inflicted upon the eyes, nose, and mouth, as if by the agency of some savage animal, which dreadful to relate, rendered those features unrecognizable.

The vital spark was, it is needless to add, completely extinct, and had been so upon the testimony of respectable medical authorities for several hours.

The author or authors of this mysterious outrage are alike buried in mystery, and the most active conjecture has hitherto failed to suggest a solution of the melancholy problem affolded by this appalling occurrence.

The writer goes on to reflect upon the probability that the writings of mister Shelley, Lord Byron and Monsieur Voltaire have been instrumental in bringing about the disaster, and concludes by hoping somewhat vaguely that this event may operate as an example to the rising generation.

But this portion of his remarks need not be courted in full.

I had already formed the conclusion that doctor Haines was responsible for the death of doctor Pulteney, but the incident connected with the carved figure of death upon the Archdeacon's stall was a very perplexing feature.

The conjecture that it had been cut out of wood of the hanging oak was not difficult, but it seemed impossible to substantiate.

However, I paid a visit to Barchester, partly with a view of finding out whether there were any relics of the woodwork to be heard of.

I was introduced by one of the cannons to the curator of the local museum, who was my friend, said more likely to be able to give me information on the point than any one else.

I told this gentleman of the description of certain carved figures and arms formerly on the stalls, and asked whether any had survived.

He was able to show me the arms of Dean West and some other fragments.

These, he said, had been got from an old resident who had also once owned a figure, perhaps one of those which I was inquiring for.

There was a very odd thing about that figure, he said the old man who had told me that he picked it up in a wood yard, whence he had obtained the still extant pieces, and had taken it home for his children.

On the way home, he was fiddling about with it and it came in two in his hands, and a bit of paper dropped out.

This he picked up, and, just noticing that there was writing on it, put it into his pocket and subsequently into a vase on his mantelpiece.

I was at his house not very long ago, and happened to pick up the ways and turn it over to see whether there were any marks on it, and the paper fell into my hand.

The old man, on my handing it to him, told me the story I have told you, and said I might keep the paper.

It was crumpled and rather torn.

So I have mounted it on a card, which I have you.

If you can tell me what it means, I shall be very glad, and also I may say a good deal surprised.

He gave me the card.

The paper was quite legibly inscribed in an old hand, and this is what was on it.

When I grew in the wood, I was watered with blood.

Now in the church I stand who that touches me with his hand, If a bloody hand he bare, I conceal him to beware lest he be fetched away, whether by right or day, but chiefly when the wind blows high in an night of February.

This I dreamt twenty six February Arnoult sixteen ninety nine.

John Austen, I suppose it is a charm or spell?

Wouldn't you call it something of that kind?

Said the curator, Yes, I said, I suppose one might what became of the figure in which it was concealed.

Oh I forgot, said he.

The old man told me it was so ugly and frightened his children so much that he burnt it and off the stalls of Barchester Cathedral by m R James