a dependency of Kersal Cell), two or three hobgoblin stories being attached to its name. When Richard Peveril, the last Saxon inheritor of Kersal, in defending his home against Norman intruders, was overpowered by numbers, his body was thrown into the Irwell opposite to his own door. The knight who slew Peveril took immediate possession of the envied domain by right of conquest; but his triumph was of short duration. While he slumbered at midnight, the gnomes of the lower earth and the spirits of the upper air united their forces to effect his destruction. When daylight appeared, the Norman was found extended upon the spacious threshold—a notice or caution, written with his own crimson fluid, being visible on his brow, to the effect that all trespassers would be prosecuted to the utmost rigour of fairy law. The night thus made hideous must have been especially dreary to the retainers of Kersal Hall; the rhyming history of Anthony de Irwell averring that they could not sleep in their beds:—
"Terror o'er each hind would creep,
As, starting from his dreamy sleep,
He listened to the echoing shout
Which told him that the fiends were out."
Bold Avaranches was the next victim, and then came Eustace Dauntesey as chief of the fated mansion. Dauntesey wooed a maiden—no doubt a beautiful young lady, with a handsome fortune—who was ultimately won by a rival suitor. The wedding-day was fixed, and the prospect of their coming happiness was utter misery to Eustace. Having in his studious youth perfected himself in the black art—a genteel accomplishment in the dark ages—he drew a magic circle, even at the witching hour, and summoned the evil one to a consultation. The usual bargain was soon struck, the soul of Eustace
