"'Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I'm in a manner forced to it, thou sees,' replied the other, 'for that wearyfu' boggart torments us soa, we can neither rest neet nor day for't. It seems loike to have a malice agains t' young uns, an' it ommost kills my poor dame at thoughts on't, and soa, thou sees, we're forced to flit like.'
"He had got thus far in his complaint when, behold, a shrill voice, from a deep upright churn, the topmost utensil on the cart, called out, 'Ay, ay, neighbour, we're flitting, you see.'
"'Od rot thee,' exclaimed George, 'If I'd known thou'd been flitting too, I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it's no use, Mally,' he continued, turning to his wife, 'we may as weel turn back again to th'owd house, as be tormented in another not so convenient.'"
In Florence of Worcester's Chronicle, under the date, 1138, a singular story is related, which explains "how the devil, in the shape of a black dwarf, was made a monk." From some of the details, it appears to embody, in no slight degree, the popular superstition regarding the mischievous Puck. On three distinct occasions the cellars of a monastery at Prum, in the arch-diocese of Treves, had been invaded, bungs wantonly withdrawn from casks, and good wine spilled on the floor. The abbot, in despair, at length ordered the bungholes to be "anointed round with chrism." On the following morning "a wonderfully dwarfish black boy" was found "clinging by the hands to one of the bungs." He was released, dressed in a monk's habit, and made to associate with the other boys. He, however, never uttered a word, either in public or private, or tasted food of any kind. A neighbouring abbot pronounced him to be a devil lurking in human form; and, the chronicle informs us, "while they were in the act of stripping off his monastic dress, he vanished from their hands like smoke."
This sort of superstition was devotedly respected by even such men as Martin Luther. He tells us of a demon who officiated as famulus in a monastery. He was a good hand at an earthly bargain too, and insisted on having full measure for his money, when employed to fetch beer for the monks.
I remember in my youth hearing a story of a headless boggart that haunted Preston streets and neighbouring lanes. Its presence was often accompanied by the rattling of chains. I forget now what was its special mission. It frequently changed its form, however, but whether it appeared as a woman or a black dog, it was always headless. The story went that this boggart or ghost was at length "laid" by some magical or religious ceremony in Walton Church yard. I have often thought that the story told by Weaver, a Preston antiquary, in his "Funerall Monuments," printed in 1631, and which I have transcribed at page 149 of the "History of Preston and its Environs," may have had some remote connection with this tradition. He relates how Michael Kelly, the celebrated Dr. Dee's companion, together with one Paul Wareing, "invocated some of the infernal regiment, to know certain passages in the life, as also what might bee knowne by the devils foresight, of the manner and the time of the death of a noble young gentleman then in his wardship." He further relates how, on the following evening they dug up in Law (Walton) Church yard, the corpse of a man recently buried, when, "by their incantations, they made him (or rather some evil spirit through his organs) to speake, who delivered strange predictions concerning the said gentleman." From the whole of this narration, it is evident that Weaver honestly believed some special sorcery or diablerie had been perpetrated in the localities referred to.
This belief that the devil made use of other organs than his own, in giving expression to his thoughts or opinions was shared in by the learned. Melanchthon tells us of an Italian girl who was "possessed" with a devil, and who, although she knew no Latin, quoted Virgil fluently (at least Satan did through her organ of speech), when questioned by a Bolognese professor. This anecdote is rather unpleasantly suggestive of certain recent clairvoyant exhibitions.
Amongst other youthful terrors to which I remember being subjected, one had reference to a mythic monster styled "raw head and bloody bones." This boggart appeared to partake of the cannibal nature of some of the giants and ogres in our nursery tales, one of which, on the approach of the redoubtable "Jack, the Giant-killer," called out to his wife, "I smell fresh meat!" or according to the popular rhyme—
Fee, fo, fam, I smell the blood of an Englishman!
Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to salt and bread!
The said "raw head and bloody bones," I was seriously informed, preferred to breakfast on the bodies of naughty children, nicely roasted! I can likewise remember well being told that boggarts especially loved to haunt and otherwise annoy those who refused to believe in their existence. After experience, I need scarcely say, has demonstrated the contrary to be much nearer the truth.