of the poor persons who suffered, turned it into a rent-charge of forty shillings yearly, for the endowment of an annual lecture on the subject of witchcraft, to be preached by a doctor or bachelor of divinity of Queen’s College, Cambridge.  The accused, one Samuel and his wife, were old and very poor persons, and their daughter a young woman.  The daughter of a Mr. Throgmorton, seeing the poor old woman in a black knitted cap, at a time when she was not very well, took a whim that she had bewitched her, and was ever after exclaiming against her.  The other children of this fanciful family caught up the same cry, and the eldest of them at last got up a vastly pretty drama, in which she herself furnished all the scenes and played all the parts.

Such imaginary scenes, or make-believe stories, are the common amusement of lively children; and most readers may remember having had some Utopia of their own.  But the nursery drama of Miss Throgmorton had a horrible conclusion.  This young lady and her sisters were supposed to be haunted by nine spirits, dispatched by the wicked Mother Samuel for that purpose.  The sapient parents heard one part of the dialogue, when the children in their fits returned answers, as was supposed, to the spirits who afflicted them; and when the patients from time to time recovered, they furnished the counterpart by telling what the spirits had said to them.  The names of the spirits were Pluck, Hardname, Catch, Blue, and three Smacks, who were cousins.  Mrs. Joan Throgmorton, the eldest (who, like other young women of her age, about fifteen, had some disease on her nerves, and whose fancy ran apparently on love and gallantry), supposed that one of the Smacks was her lover, did battle for her with the less friendly spirits, and promised to protect her against Mother Samuel herself; and the following curious extract will show on what a footing of familiarity the damsel stood with her spiritual gallant:  “From whence come you, Mr. Smack?” says the afflicted young lady; “and what news do you bring?” Smack, nothing abashed, informed her he came from fighting with Pluck:  the weapons, great cowl-staves; the scene, a ruinous bakehouse in Dame Samuel’s yard.  “And who got the mastery, I pray you?” said the damsel.  Smack answered, he had broken Pluck’s head.  “I would,” said the damsel, “he had broken your neck also.”  “Is that the thanks I am to have for my labour?” said the disappointed Smack.  “Look you for thanks at my hand?” said the distressed maiden.  “I would you were all hanged up against each other, with your dame for company, for you are all naught.”  On this repulse, exit Smack, and enter Pluck, Blue, and Catch, the first with his head broken, the other limping, and the third with his arm in a sling, all trophies of Smack’s victory.  They disappeared after having threatened vengeance upon the conquering Smack.  However, he soon afterwards appeared with his laurels.  He told her of his various conflicts.  “I wonder,” said