mortem examination, it was found that Doctor
James, of her Majesty's service, was not only
a woman, but had at a very early period of life
been a mother!

The deceased's effects were taken possession
of by accredited agents. Notwithstanding the
large sums of money she must have received as
fees during her long course of private practice,
she died penniless. The question arises, How
had she spent the fortune she had made? As
hush-money, or in support of the child who, if
still living, must be an elderly person?

James left no will. There was nothing to
leave, but the poor dog. A nobleman's valet
came for the animal; settled accounts with
Black John, even to giving him the return
passage-money to the island whence he came; and
no one has since appeared claiming any relationship
with the eccentric being, who was even
more mysterious in death than in life.

Doctor James was buried at Kensal Green
late in July, 1865, and is registered under the
name borne from the time of his entering the
army as hospital assistant.

OLD STORIES RE-TOLD.

WAGER OF BATTLE. THE TRIAL OF ABRAHAM
THORNTON FOR THE MURDER OF MARY
ASHFORD.

ON a bleak acclivity seven miles to the north-
east of that vast centre of industry, Birmingham,
there is a small town named Sutton Coldfield,
a place of about four thousand inhabitants.
On Monday, the 26th of May, 1817, Mary
Ashford, a blooming girl of about twenty years of
age, acting as servant to her uncle, a small
farmer named Coleman, who lived at Langley
Heath, in the parish of Sutton Coldfield, and
three miles from Erdington, prepared to start for
Birmingham market on some errands for the
family. This servant-girl, standing before the
bedroom glass in her pink frock, scarlet spencer, and
little straw bonnet streaming with primrose-
coloured ribbons, was in more than a girl's usual
flutter of pretty vanity and holiday excitement;
for that night, being Whit-Monday night, there
will be the annual club-feast and dance at Tyburn
House (an inn), a mile from Erdington, and she
will meet there all the young beaux of half a
dozen miles round, and, above all, a young man
whom she has often seen on Sundays—that thick-
set, sturdy young bricklayer, Abraham Thornton,
a farmer's son at Erdington. Smiling at her own
pretty reflexion in the glass, Mary Ashford looks
over her shoulder (after the manner of girls) to
see that her shawl sets well, ruffles out her
bonnet-bows, and, with little quick bird-like touches,
arranges her glossy hair and the set of her pink
gown. Then she ties up in a bundle her clean
frock, white spencer, and white stockings, for the
dance in the evening. She trips away at last,
with a merry laugh at her uncle's warnings to
be home early, and runs singing down the lane,
happy and innocent as a bird the first day it can
use its wings. At about ten o'clock that May
morning, when thrushes are singing, hedges
flowering, and everything is happy and
rejoicing, Mary Ashford calls on her friend,
Hannah Cox, servant to Mr. Machin, to leave
her bundle at her (Hannah's) mother's, who
lived opposite. She is to call in the evening
on her way from market, change her dress, and
go to the dance at Tyburn with her friend. At
about six Mary Ashford returns, changes her
dress, dons the clean coloured frock and
the white spencer, puts on a new pair of
Hannah's shoes, and between seven and eight sets
out, full of anticipation, pretty girlish chatter,
and surmise.

The club-feast at Daniel Clarke's inn (Tyburn
House—ill-omened name) was, like all other
club-feasts, as bad a place for an innocent
young woman as could well be. The house
would ring with tipsy shouts, the windows
shake with the competing shuffles of the
dancers. They are always alike, these club-
revels: owlish old men sit outside on the ale
benches, the young wild striplings of the place,
half drunk, are bragging and quarrelling; the
low-roofed room is reeking with smoke; the ale
is passing round much too fast; the language is
coarse; all but the women are fevered or besotted
with beer. Nothing healthy or honest about the
amusements, but, on the contrary, everything
degradedly stupid, drunken, "raffish," and
debasing.

Hannah Cox, rather frightened at the revel,
remained up-stairs with her sister, and only
stayed in the lower room a quarter of an hour,
just to see a dance or two, and who was there.
She did not observe Thornton. But the dancing-
room had some magnetic attraction for poor
Mary, and she remained there all the time. A
little before eleven, Hannah thought it time
for respectable girls to go, and came down
to look for Mary. She met her at the door
of the room, when Mary said she would not
be long, but would come to her soon. Hannah
then walked about twenty yards on the road,
and waited on the bridge. Presently a man
named Benjamin Carter came out, and
Hannah, getting restless, sent him in to call
Mary. Soon after, Mary came out with Abraham
Thornton. She was going to sleep at her
grandfather's, and walked homewards first,
followed by Carter and Hannah. Carter walked
a little way further, and then went back to the
revel. Near an inn called the Old Cuckoo,
Hannah lost sight of Mary and her young man.
On reaching her mother's house at Erdington,
Hannah went calmly to bed. In the morning,
twenty minutes to five by the cottage clock,
Hannah was awoke by a knocking at the door. She
went down, and found it was Mary Ashford,
calm and in good spirits, and in the same dress
as she had danced in the night before. As Mary
changed her dress and put on again the old
pink frock and scarlet spencer in which she had
gone to market on the day before, she told
Hannah she had slept at her grandfather's
at the top of Bell lane. She then wrapped her
boots up in her pocket-handkerchief, tied the
rest of her dress and some marketing things