hands. But this malediction was only regarded as the ravings of an
imbecile, unaccountable for his words, and little or no heed was paid
to this death sentence on the Barcroft name. And yet, light as the
family made of it, within a short time there were not wanting
indications that their prosperity was on the wane, a fact which every
year became more and more discernible until the curse was fulfilled in
the person of Thomas Barcroft, who died in 1688 without male issue.
After passing through the hands of the Bradshaws, the Pimlots, and the
Isherwoods, the property was finally sold to Charles Towneley, the
celebrated antiquarian, in the year 1795.[1] Whatever the truth of
this family tradition, Barcroft is still a good specimen of the later
Tudor style, and its ample cellarage gives an idea of the profuse
hospitality of its former owners, some rude scribblings on one of the
walls of which are still pointed out as the work of the captive.

In a still more striking way this spirit of persecution incurred its
own condemnation. In the 17th century, Francis Howgill, a noted
Quaker, travelled about the South of England preaching, which at
Bristol was the cause of serious rioting. On returning to his own
neighbourhood, he was summoned to appear before the justices who were
holding a court in a tavern at Kendal, and, on his refusing to take
the oath of allegiance, he was imprisoned in Appleby Gaol. In due
time, the judges of assizes tendered the same oath, but with the like
result, and evidently wishing to show him some consideration offered
to release him from custody if he would give a bond for his good
behaviour in the interim, which likewise declining to do, he was
recommitted to prison. In the course of his imprisonment, however, a
curious incident happened, which gave rise to the present narrative.
Having been permitted by the magistrates to go home to Grayrigg for a
few days on private affairs, he took the opportunity of calling on a