mean, of going next Sunday, I think, to Woodcote.
But I suppose it is only one of your fine
devices to make us plain people stare. So drink
a cup of chocolate, and talk of something else."

The " frolic" alluded to by Lord Sandys was
a projected visit, on the Sunday following, to
Woodcote, or, as it has been more recently called,
Pit-place—a country seat at Epsom, stated to
have been won by Lord Lyttelton from Lord
Foley at play.

That the apparition was discussed in the
interval is further attested by Madame Piozzi.

"On Saturday, a lady from Wales dropped
in, and told us she had been at Drury Lane
last night. 'How were you entertained?' said
I. 'Very strangely indeed,' was the reply;
'not with the play, though, for I scarce knew
what they acted, but with the discourse of a
Captain Ascough, or Askew—so his companions
called him—who averred that a friend of his,
the profligate Lord Lyttelton, as I understood
by them, had certainly seen a spirit, who has
warned him that he is to die within the next
three days, and I have thought of nothing else
ever since.'"

No further accounts reached the Thrales
until Monday morning, when the return of the
scared party of guests from Epsom brought the
first tidings of their entertainer's death.

Not quite the first. On the Sunday night,
Mr. M. P. Andrews, who had been invited to
join the mad party to Woodcote, but had
declined on account of an engagement to the
Pigous, in Hertfordshire, had retired to bed at
the mansion of the latter. At a few minutes
before twelve—so he was accustomed to relate
—Lord Lyttelton "thrust himself between the
curtains, dressed in the yellow nightgown in
which he used to read, and said, in a mournful
tone, 'Ah, Andrews, it's all over!' 'Oh,'
replied I, quickly, ' are you there, you dog?' and,
recollecting there was but one door to the room,
rushed out at it, locked it, and held the key in
my hand, calling to the housekeeper and butler,
whose voices I could hear, to ask when Lord
Lyttelton arrived, and what trick he was
meditating. The servants made answer, with much
amazement, that no such arrival had taken
place; but I assured them I had seen and
spoken to him, and could produce him; ' For
here,' said I, ' he is, safe under lock and key.'
We opened the door, and found no one."

Let us see what at that precise moment was
passing in Surrey. According to the testimony
of Williams, Lord Lyttelton's valet, whose story
never varied in the slightest degree, and was
confirmed in every particular by Captain
Ascough, the party had arrived from London in
the highest spirits, and, being joined by other
young people of the county, prolonged their
merriment until past eleven. Soon after that
hour, Lord Lyttelton, looking at his watch,
observed:

"Well, now I must leave you, agreeable as
you all are. I must meditate on next Wednesday's
speech. I have actually brought some
books with me!"

"But the ghost—the ghost!" exclaimed one
of the careless party, laughing.

"Oh, don't you see that we have bilked
the——?" (a coarse expression,) returned his
lordship. (Another of the party affirmed that
he had said "jockeyed the ghost.")

He escaped from them, ran up to his chamber
—one of the smaller—still shown at Pit-place
as the "carved chamber," from the carved
oaken facing to the doors. His servant had
placed the reading-table, lamp, &c., and assisted
his master to put on his yellow gown.

Lord Lyttelton then said: " Make up my
five grains of rhubarb and peppermint-water,
and leave me. But did you remember to bring
rolls enough from London?"

"I brought none, my lord. I have found a
baker here, at Epsom, who makes them just as
your lordship likes." He was stirring the
mixture as he spoke.

"What's that you are using? A toothpick?
You lazy devil, go fetch a spoon directly."

Williams hastened away, but had hardly
quitted the room when a loud noise recalled
him. His master had fallen sideways across
the table, bringing it, books, lamp and all, to
the ground. He raised him.

"Speak to me, my lord. My dear lord, speak!"

The dying man gasped and strove to answer,
but " Ah, Williams!" were the only intelligible
words, and these were his last.

Williams, his watch in his hand, flew down to
the revellers below.

"Not twelve o'clock yet" (it wanted five
minutes), " and dead—dead!"

It remains to be added that, owing to
circumstances never fully explained, tidings of
the death of their mother, on the Thursday night
preceding, only met the young ladies on their
arrival in town on that dismal Monday.

The coincidence of the result with the
previously-announced prophecy, suggested to the
incredulous an idea that Lord Lyttelton had
determined on self-destruction. A hundred
circumstances united to negative this mode of
explanation. Of a genial, easy temperament,
immersed in the excitement of politics, a
successful gambler and turfite, in a position of
great prosperity, Lord Lyttelton could have
had little inducement, at the age of thirty-six,
to terminate a life which, to a man of his feelings
and principles, left nothing to desire.

If, then, such a theory as has been suggested
at the beginning of this paper may be regarded
as possible, is it not under circumstances like
these it might be found taking practical form?
To whom would the dying thoughts of the
heart-broken mother so naturally turn as to him
who had broken up a respectable home, blasted
her children's fair fame, and laid her on that
couch, alone, to die? As for the solemn augury
uttered by the visionary form, we know with
what strange prophecy the words of the dying
have been found fraught. How much more
may not be imparted to them, as the speaker
stands so much nearer infallible truth, as on
the very boundary-line betwixt the beings?