e rash action, and the
prayer-book in her hand, open at the hateful psalm; and he was
frequently heard to cry out, 'Oh, my dear Betsy, shut the book,
shut the book!' _etc._ With a mind so disturbed and deranged,
though he could not reasonably expect much consolation from
matrimony, yet imagining that the cares of a family might distract
his thoughts from the miserable subject by which he was harassed
both by day and night, he successively paid his addresses to many
girls of Marazion; but they indignantly flew from him, and with a
sneer asked him, whether he was desirous of bringing all the curses
in the 109th Psalm on their heads? At length, however, he succeeded
with one who had less superstition and more fortitude than the
rest, and he led her to St Hilary church, to be married, January
21, 1778; but on the road thither, they were overtaken by a sudden
and violent hurricane, such as those which not unfrequently happen
in the vicinity of Mount's Bay; and he, suspecting that poor Betsy
rode the whirlwind and directed the storm, was convulsed with
terror, and was literally 'coupled with fear.' Such is the power of
conscious guilt to impute accidental occurrences to the hand of
vindictive justice, and so true is the observation of the poet,

'Judicium metuit sibi mens mali conscia justum.'

"He lived long enough to have a son and a daughter; but the
corrosive worm within his breast preyed upon his vitals, and at
length consumed all the powers of his body, as it had long before
destroyed the tranquillity of his mind, and he was released from
all his pangs, both mental and corporeal, on Friday, October 20,
1780, and buried at St Hilary, the Sunday following, during evening
service."

Oh! shut the book, dear Mary, shut the book!
So William cried, with wild and frantic look.
She whom he loved was in her shroud, nor pain
Nor grief can visit her sad heart again.
There is no sculptured tombstone at her head; 5
No rude memorial marks her lowly bed:
The village children, every holiday,
Round the green turf, in summer sunshine play;
And none, but those now bending to the tomb,
Remember Mary, lovely in her bloom! 10
Yet oft the hoary swain, when autumn sighs
Through the long grass, sees a dim form ari