[3] “Nichols’ Literary Illustrations.” Vol. iv. p. 119, et seq. London, 1822.
[4] Arthur Orchard, of S. John’s College, Cambridge, B.A. 1662; M.A. 1666; B.D. 1673.
[5] “Letters on Animal Magnetism,” by Dr. W. Gregory, p. 487. London, 1851.
[6] A member of the noble family of Beresford thus wrote (A.D. 1873) to a friend of the Editor, with reference to the above narrative:—“The tradition in our family is entirely in favour of the truth of the Spectral Appearance, and the account which I have read, and return, is in my opinion a true and faithful narration of it.”
[7] The record of this came to the Editor, through a friend, from the late Rev. W. Hastings Kelke, M.A., sometime Rector of Drayton Beauchamp, in the county of Bucks.
[8] The barony of Chedworth was conferred upon John Howe, Esq., of Chedworth, co. Gloucester, on May 12, 1741. He had two sons, John Thynne, the nobleman referred to in the above account, and Henry Frederick, who in turn succeeded him in the title. His daughter Mary married Alexander Wright, Esq., whose daughter Mary Wright is the lady mentioned in the above narrative. Miss Wright’s cousin John inherited as fourth baron, but died unmarried, Oct. 29, 1804, when the peerage became extinct.
[9] Another narrative of this remarkable event, which substantially corresponds with those given in the text above is provided here. In certain respects there are discrepancies, and just those kinds of discrepancies which might reasonably have been looked for in accounts drawn up by different hands; but in the main facts, regarding which there can be no reasonable doubt, there is a remarkable and notable identity in all the leading features: “Two nights before, on Lord Lyttelton retiring to bed, after his servant was dismissed and his light extinguished, he had heard a noise resembling the fluttering of a dove at his chamber window. This attracted his attention to the spot; when, looking in the direction of the sound, he saw the figure of an unhappy female whom he had seduced, and who, when deserted, had put a violent end to her own existence, standing in the aperture of the window from which the fluttering sound had proceeded. The form approached the foot of the bed, the room was preternaturally light, the objects of the chamber were distinctly visible. Raising her hand and pointing to a dial which stood on the mantlepiece of the chimney, the figure, with a severe solemnity of voice and manner, answered to the appalled and conscience-stricken man that at that very hour, on the third day after the visitation, his life and his sins would be concluded, and nothing but their punishment remain, if he availed himself not of the warning to repentance which he had thus received. The eye of Lord Lyttelton glanced upon the dial; the hand was on the stroke of twelve: again the apartment was involved in total darkness—the warning spirit disappeared, and bore away at her departure all the lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirit, ready flow of wit, and vivacity of manner, which had formerly been the pride and ornament of the unhappy being to whom she had delivered her tremendous summons. Such was the tale that Lord Lyttelton delivered to his companions. They laughed at his superstition, and endeavoured to convince him that his mind must have been impressed with this idea by some dream of a more consistent nature than dreams generally are, and that he had mistaken the visions of his sleep for the visitation of a spirit. He was consoled, but not convinced; he felt relieved by their distrust, and on the second night after the appearance of the spectre, he retreated to his apartment with his faith in the reality of the transaction somewhat shaken; and his spirits, though not revived, certainly lightened of somewhat of their oppression. On the succeeding day the guests of Lord Lyttelton, with the connivance of his attendant, had provided that the clocks throughout the house should be advanced an hour; by occupying the host’s attention during the whole day with different and successive objects of amusement, they contributed to prevent his discovering the imposture. Ten o’clock struck: the nobleman was silent and depressed. Eleven struck, the depression deepened, and now not even a smile, or the slightest movement of his eye indicated him to be conscious of the efforts of his associates, as they attempted to dispel his gloom. Twelve struck. ‘Thank God! I am safe,’ exclaimed Lord Lyttelton, ‘the ghost was a liar after all. Some wine, there. Congratulate me, my friends; congratulate me on my reprieve. Why, what a fool I was to be cast down by so idle and absurd a circumstance! But, however, it is time for bed. We’ll be up early and out with the hounds to-morrow. By my faith, it’s half-past twelve, so good night!’ and he returned to his chamber convinced of his security, and believing that the threatened hour of peril was now past. His guests remained together to await the completion of the time so ominously designated by the vision. A quarter of an hour had elapsed: they heard the valet descend from his master’s room. It was just twelve. Lord Lyttelton’s bell rang violently. The company ran in a body to his apartment. The clock struck one at their entrance, the unhappy nobleman lay extended on the bed before them, pale and lifeless, and his countenance terribly convulsed.”
In his “Memoirs,” Sir Nathaniel Wraxall has the following relating to this occurrence:—
“Dining at Pitt Place, about four years after the death of Lord Lyttelton, in the year 1783, I had the curiosity to visit the bed-chamber, where the casement window, at which Lord Lyttelton asserted the dove appeared to flutter, was pointed out to me; and at his stepmother’s, the Dowager Lady Lyttelton’s in Portugal Street, Grosvenor Square, who being a woman of very lively imagination, lent an implicit faith to all the supernatural facts which were supposed to have accompanied or produced Lord Lyttelton’s end. I have frequently seen a painting which she herself executed in 1780, especially to commemorate the event: it hung in a conspicuous part of her drawing-room. There the dove appears at the window, while a female figure, habited in white, stands at the foot of the bed, announcing to Lord Lyttelton his dissolution. Every part of the picture was faithfully designed after the description given to her by the valet-de-chambre who attended him, to whom his master related all the circumstances.”
[10] Copied from a paper in the autograph of Lord Westcote, entitled “Remarkable Circumstances attending the Death of Thomas, Lord Lyttelton,” which the present Lord Lyttelton most courteously entrusted to the Editor of this volume, together with several other original documents relating to the same, as follows:—1. Extract from Mr. Plumer Ward’s “Illustrations of Human Life,” vol. i. p. 165. 2. Written account given by Sir Digby Neave, bart., to Lord Lyttelton in 1860. 3. MS. containing Mr. George Fortescue’s testimony, signed S. L. 4. The following declaration:—“Chiswick, May 6th, 1867. Miles Peter Andrews told me the story of Lord Lyttelton’s appearance to him, driving with me at Wingerworth, many years ago.—Anna Hunloke.”