Chapter VIII: Part 8

And, in the first place,--(for the sake of perspicuity, we shall take the different topics in the same order as formerly)--the writer reluctantly admits the validity of the argument which we adduced “to show that had not the Lord Advocate moved for judgment against Burke, when found guilty of the last of the three murders charged against him, it would have been competent to have led evidence of the circumstances attending the other two.” But he asks, _cui bono?_ “What good effect could have resulted from the leading of it?” We answer, first, that it would have redeemed the Lord Advocate’s pledge; and, secondly, that it would have satisfied the country. Both in replying to the arguments of the prisoner’s Counsel on the relevancy, and in addressing the Jury for the Crown, his Lordship distinctly pledged himself to probe and sift the _whole_ of these murders to the bottom. In the former case, while contemplating being under the necessity of deserting the diet against M‘Dougal, owing to the view taken of the indictment by the Court as containing a _cumulatio actionum_, and the exercise of their discretionary power in separating the charges, he said, “The question is now reduced to one of time and trouble; for if I do not proceed against her to-day, she will be proceeded against ten days hence. In such circumstances I shall not certainly insist now on that woman’s being tried on this indictment. I shall proceed against her alone, since she now says that being tried on this indictment will prejudice her case.” And again, almost immediately after, he added, “No motive shall induce me, for one moment, to listen to any attempt to smother this case; to tie me down to try _one single charge instead of all the three_. I am told that the mind of the public is excited; if so, _are they not entitled to know from the first to the last of this case_; and _is it not my duty to go through the whole of these charges_? I would be condemned by the country if I did not, and what to me is worse _I should deserve it_.” The Court, in giving judgment on the relevancy, fully recognised the propriety of this most distinct and articulate pledge; for Lord Pitmilly unequivocally held, that it was competent to try Burke on all the three charges, and that the Public Prosecutor should proceed with the first and then with the others. Lord Meadowbank, entirely concurring in this view, expressed his opinion, that while their Lordships sustained the indictment, they should “direct the Lord Advocate to proceed separately in the trial of the different charges.” Lord Mackenzie and the Lord Justice Clerk acquiesced in this suggestion, and, in fact, it ultimately became the judgment of the Court. Fortified by such authority, the Lord Advocate accordingly reiterated his pledge in his address to the Jury, and in terms equally emphatic and unequivocal. Now, we would simply ask the writer before us, Was this sacred and solemn pledge redeemed? Were “all the three” charges tried? Were they gone through from first to last? Did the Prosecutor do his duty according to his own view of it, by going “through the whole of these charges?” He cannot answer in the affirmative. By moving for, and obtaining judgment against Burke on the conviction under the first charge, he rendered it impossible for himself to redeem his pledge; and two of the charges were, in consequence, dismissed without investigation. Now, was this not an error in judgment, which is all we ever alleged? Nay, was it not an error calculated to place the Prosecutor in a very embarrassing position in reference both to his own pledge and to the public? It is true the apologist says that trying Burke upon the first and second charges, after he had been convicted on the third, would have been “like pouring water on a drowned mouse.” But we cannot say we admire either the elegance or the felicity of this illustration. The question is not one that concerned Burke, whose fate was in fact determined by the conviction under the third charge. It concerned the Lord Advocate and the country alone; the former as having become bound to try “all the three” charges; and the latter as, by his Lordship’s admission, “entitled to know them from first to last,”--a knowledge which his Lordship conceived it to be his “duty” to afford, and which he would be deservedly condemned by the country if he did _not_ afford. But the writer adds, that taking any further proceedings was calculated “to excite the feelings of the public unnecessarily and without object.” We are really surprised that any person could have been found short-sighted and ignorant enough to hazard such an assertion. What! was the exposure of one murder, and the quashing of all investigation into the circumstances of other two, calculated to _allay_ the excitement of the public mind; or rather, was it not calculated to produce the very opposite effect? A corner of the veil only had been lifted up; a glimpse merely had been given of crimes which this very writer himself describes as “destined in point of atrocity, to stand alone, and in advance of every other that man has hitherto been known to commit,” and as covering up from the view “the very outposts and limits of human wickedness;” and then the curtain was suffered to drop on others which it was equally necessary that the public should know, and which they were equally “entitled” to have fully and thoroughly brought to light: this was the course pursued; ample scope was given for the imagination to work, under the influence of an undefined apprehension; and yet we are gravely told that this was the most approved mode which could have been adopted to prevent an unnecessary excitation of public feeling! Has it been attended, we would ask, with any such results?

Next, as to the unquestionable title of Daft Jamie’s mother to prosecute Hare for the murder of her son, with concourse of the Lord Advocate, which concurrence his Lordship may be compelled to give, our learned opponent remarks, that “this seems very novel doctrine.” We certainly do not hold ourselves bound to instruct our opponent in the first principles of criminal law; but, for the sake of a public purpose, we shall endeavour to show that the doctrine we maintain, so far from being “novel,” is _tritissimi juris_, one of the most common and most thoroughly settled principles in our criminal code. To entitle a private party to prosecute, he must have an _interest_, not remote or feeble, but immediate and powerful in the cause; the wrongs alleged must be wrongs done to the _person_, and “of a high and aggravated kind, such as may naturally excite strong feelings of anguish and resentment in the minds of the _kindred_ of the sufferer;” an oath of calumny must be taken by the prosecutor, if required by the party accused; caution must be found to insist in the prosecution; and the law also subjects the private prosecutor in expenses, and even in penalties, if he insist in a groundless or malicious accusation. Now has not the mother of Daft Jamie an _interest_ in the prosecution we point at? Was there not a wrong done to the _person_ of her innocent child who was foully murdered? May she not with perfect safety take the oath _de calumnia_, if required? And is it impossible for her to find caution to insist, and to find means to defray the expense of the prosecution? The public, with their usual generosity, will, we doubt not, give a practical answer to the last of these queries; and as to the others, we profess ourselves unable to discover that we have proponed any “novel doctrine.”

Again, we said the Lord Advocate might be compelled to grant his concurrence in such circumstances; and we think Mr. Burnett and Mr. Baron Hume will amply bear out our assertion. The former, after stating at length the conditions above briefly indicated, says, it is perfectly understood “that his Majesty’s Advocate _cannot refuse_ his concourse, and _may be compelled to give it_, in all cases where the complaint of a private party is founded on a known and relevant _point of dittay_, (murder for example) and as to which he has _prima facie_ a _title_ to insist.” pp. 306–7.--And Mr. Baron Hume is, if possible, still more explicit on the point. After stating that the Lord Advocate may refuse his concourse, if it be asked to a charge of witchcraft, which a statute has expunged from the list of crimes, or of treason for which no private party can prosecute, or of murder at the instance of some stranger, who does not even allege that he is anywise related to the deceased, he goes on to say, “On the other side, certainly the Lord Advocate is not the absolute and accountable judge on such occasions; but is subject to the control and direction of the Court, _who will oblige him to produce and justify the grounds of his refusal to concur_. Nay more; except in such extraordinary situations as those above supposed, _he shall not even be allowed to engage in any inquiry concerning the merits of the case, the propriety of the prosecution, the form of the action, the sufficiency of the title, or the like_, BUT SHALL BE ORDAINED TO COMPLY STRAIGHTWAY; _leaving the discussion of these matters for the proper place and season, after the libel shall be in Court_.” Vol. II. pp. 123–24. Lord Alemore’s opinion, given on the complaint of Sir John Gordon against his Majesty’s Advocate, June 21, 1706, is equally precise: “Had the Advocate refused his concourse, _he might have been compelled to give it_, for everyone is entitled to justice; but he cannot be forced to prosecute.” Maclaurin, p. 298. Is there any “novel doctrine” in all this?

But our opponent endeavours to complicate the matter by most disingenuously attributing to us a statement which we never made, or even so much as dreamt of, namely, that the mother of Daft Jamie, “_taking advantage of the disclosures made by the infamous Hare, under_ PROMISE _of pardon_,” is entitled to prosecute him with the concurrence of the Lord Advocate. The artifice is paltry enough; but our answer is, that the rights of the private party, who, as such, “is entitled to justice,” cannot be in any manner of way læsed or impaired, far less destroyed by any previous proceedings of the Prosecutor, in his public capacity; especially when these proceedings are in the eye of the law illegal, and only winked at upon a principle of utility or general expediency. What, in the name of common sense, of reason, and of law, had the mother of Daft Jamie to do with the disclosures made by Hare to the Lord Advocate “under _promise_ of pardon?” That “promise” may be good against his Lordship himself; but it is utterly monstrous to pretend that it can in any way affect the rights of a private party who comes forward to prosecute; which it would unquestionably do, in the most serious manner, were his Lordship to be held entitled, in virtue of that most injudicious promise, to refuse his concurrence. Nay, we maintain, on the authority of Mr. Baron Hume, that it would be illegal in the Lord Advocate, when his concourse was applied for, to take any such circumstance into his consideration at all; for it is expressly laid down in the passage already quoted, that his Lordship “shall not even be allowed to engage in any inquiry concerning the _merits_ of the case; the _propriety_ of the prosecution, the _form_ of the action, the _sufficiency_ of the title, or _the like_; all these are _jus tertii_ to him;” and, accordingly, the Court would “ordain him to comply straightway; leaving the discussion of these matters for the proper place and season, after the libel shall be in Court.” This, we should think, is not very “novel doctrine;” and as no man, we are assured, “would be more happy to think our reasoning without flaw, than the Lord Advocate,” (which we well believe,) we humbly hope that the exposition we have now given will be found to answer that condition.

These then are the main points of our case; and we flatter ourselves that we have made them out. But as we are resolved to engage in no further controversy on the subject, and therefore wish to clear off our score at once, we shall take the liberty of adverting, before we conclude, to one or two points of secondary importance, on which our opponent strenuously insists.

And, in the first place, he persists in maintaining that “had Hare and his wife not been witnesses, there is the _best reason for supposing_ that the conviction of none of the four would have been obtained.” We would have been much better pleased, however, had this incurious apologist condescended to inform us in what this “best reason for supposing” consisted; as we confess our own inability to discover a shadow of “reason” for the “supposition” so gratuitously made. The point, we are well aware, is an important one for our opponent; because, unless he can make out that there was no case against Burke, without the evidence of Hare and his wife; in other words, disprove our argument that there was sufficient testimony to convict without the evidence of the accomplices at all, then our conclusion is inevitable, that Hare and his wife ought to have been at the bar, and not in the witness-box. But, strange to say, although the point at issue is so important to the justification which our adversary labours to make out, he has not ventured to bring forward a single argument, or show a vestige of “reason” or authority, for the opinion he so strenuously asserts. We shall not, however, follow his example in this respect, but state as shortly as possible the grounds upon which we hold that Hare and his wife ought to have been placed at the bar beside Burke and M‘Dougal.

The testimony of a _socius criminis_ is good in law only in so far as it is corroborated by other testimony perfectly unexceptionable, or by circumstances of real evidence; and where it stands alone and unsupported, it is the duty of the presiding Judge to direct the Jury to pay no attention whatever to it. Let us apply this test to the evidence of Hare and his wife, and observe to what conclusion it will lead. The former, wherever he spoke to circumstances which fell within the knowledge of unexceptionable witnesses, differed from, or rather was flatly contradicted by them; and consequently his evidence in regard to these was of no avail whatever, except to impeach his own credibility. Again, he was contradicted by his wife in respect to several of the occurrences in Burke’s and Connaway’s on the evening of the murder; and both were contradicted in regard to other matters in which they agreed, by the unexceptionable witnesses. As to what they said in regard to matters concerning which no other person could speak, they stood alone and unsupported, and of course were not in law entitled to be believed; while they were farther discredited by the want of all corroboration in regard to circumstances spoken to equally by them, and by the unexceptionable witnesses. How then was it possible that any weight whatever could be attached to such evidence, either by the Court or the Jury, particularly the latter? Two miscreants, whose only title to be believed was their having been engaged in the commission of three murders, are adduced as witnesses to speak to one of them, and wherever their testimony is susceptible of being corroborated, it is flatly and pointedly contradicted by persons who are above all suspicion; and where it stands alone and unsupported, it is in the eye of the law worth nothing. Why, then, were such witnesses adduced at all? They were not necessary, because their testimony was not and could not be believed; and, in point of fact, their depositions served no other purpose, except to enable the Dean of Faculty to plead what would have been otherwise nearly an unpleaded case, and to point out such a formidable array of flagrant contradictions as to shake the minds of the Jury in regard to the effect of the unchallenged and unchallengeable testimony. The case, therefore, was, in point of fact, made out against Burke by other evidence than that of Hare and his wife; and as the same evidence which led to the conviction of Burke, would have also led to the conviction of Hare at least, we have again to submit that that hideous wretch, if not also his wife, ought to have been placed at the bar beside his brother murderer.

We are accused of having blamed the Lord Advocate “for not having possessed the gift of second-sight;” and various other follies which seem to have entered the imagination of our opponent, when heated with his subject, are also laid to our charge. To these, however, we disdain to offer any reply. We can well believe that the case opened upon his Lordship gradually, and that, had he now to retrace his steps, he would, in many respects, act differently from what he has done. With the very best intentions in the world, a Prosecutor may be placed in such circumstances as almost inevitably to lead him to bungle a case: but surely it can be no very heinous offence to point out such errors as a warning for the future, and at the same time to show how even at present they may be in a great measure remedied.--“The very head and front of our offending hath this extent--no more.” It is true, we called for further investigation, and we did our best to indicate what channels ought to be explored. That call has been answered, and inquiries have been set on foot which can scarcely fail to lead to important results. In regard to the nature of these inquiries, or the facts which have been elicited, we are for the present dumb. Our object is to aid, not to thwart, the progress of judicial investigation; and no wish to gratify the public curiosity, or any other motive indeed shall induce us to breathe a whisper calculated to defeat the great and necessary purpose which the Public Prosecutor is now labouring so zealously to accomplish.

In order to give a connected account of the preliminary legal proceedings respecting the contemplated trial of Hare, we shall delay introducing the subject at present. In a future number a detail of the whole proceedings will be given.

We now proceed to detail the particulars which we have carefully collected, with respect to the lives and characters of the several individuals who have been concerned in these nefarious transactions. Of these, the first we shall notice is,

WILLIAM BURKE.

We can pledge ourselves that every circumstance that is here narrated, has been obtained from such sources as to leave no doubt of its authenticity; it will be seen that while this memoir is a great deal fuller than any one that has appeared, it is also dissimilar, in many particulars, to the disjointed fragments that have been from time to time published; how these have been obtained, we cannot say, but we can aver that this account has been received from sources which may be relied on, and much of it from the unhappy man himself, indeed so much as to entitle us to say that it is almost his own account.

WILLIAM BURKE, whose crimes have condemned him to an ignominious death on the scaffold, describes himself, in his judicial declaration, emitted before the Sheriff-substitute of Edinburghshire, in relation to the cause for which he was tried, as being thirty-six years of age. He was born in the parish of Orrey, near Strabane, county of Tyrone, in Ireland, about the year 1792. His parents were poor, but industrious and respectable in their station, which was that of cottiers, occupying, like the most of the peasantry of Ireland, a small piece of ground. The Irish are remarkable for the avidity with which they seek education for their children, under circumstances in which it is not easily attainable. The parents of Burke seem to have been actuated by this laudable desire, as both William and his brother Constantine, must have received the elements of what, in their condition, may be called a good education, and superior to what usually falls to the lot of children in their rank in Ireland. He was educated in the Roman Catholic faith, which he has ever since nominally adhered to, though with little observance of its doctrines or ceremonies. He is by no means, however, a person of the brutal ignorance or stupid indifference that his callously continuing in a course of unparalleled wickedness, apparently without compunction, would betoken. He has sinned deeply, but it has not been altogether against knowledge, as he could at times put on a semblance of devotion; and during the fits of hypocrisy, or it may be, starts of better feeling, before he became so miserably depraved, his conversation was that of a man by no means ignorant of the truths of Christianity, and such even as to lead some to imagine him seriously concerned about his eternal salvation. During one of these temporary ebullitions about five years ago, he became an attendant on a prayer-meeting held on the Sabbath evenings in the Grassmarket. He was, for some time, remarked as one of its most regular and intelligent members. He never omitted one of its meetings, and expressed much regret when it was discontinued. As a Catholic, he was considered wonderfully free from prejudice, frankly entering into discussions upon the doctrines of his church, or those of other sects, with whose tenets he showed some acquaintance.

He read the Scriptures, particularly the New Testament, and other religious books, and discussed their merits. On a Sabbath, especially though he never attended a place of worship, he was seldom to be seen without a Bible, or some book of devotion in his hands.

At that time no one of his acquaintances would have admitted the idea for a moment that he was capable of committing such infamous crimes, and probably his own mind would have revolted at the contemplation of such enormities; but a continued indulgence in sin produced in him its never failing consequences in hardening and deadening the heart, and fitting it for the perpetration of deeds, which a little before the sinner would have shuddered at.

Burke was remarked to be of a very social and agreeable disposition, with a great turn for raillery and jocularity, and what from his after proceedings could scarcely have been supposed, was distinguished not only as a man of peculiarly quiet and inoffensive manners, but even as evincing a great degree of humanity. Of this _softness of heart_, a singular instance is given by an acquaintance and near neighbour, whose child Burke was remarkably fond of, and used to caress much. The little boy chanced, during the time he lodged in the neighbourhood, to be afflicted with a tumour and gathering on the neck, and his mother took him to a neighbouring dispensary. The medical attendants there considered it advisable to open the gathering, which was done. Upon the mother’s return home with the child, she informed Burke of what had taken place; he appeared very much affected at the recital, and said repeatedly that he could not have witnessed the operation; that the mention of it made his flesh creep, and expressed great surprise that the mother could be so cruel as to permit and witness it.

At an after period, in Peebles, he still made considerable pretensions to religion, as the subjoined note testifies.[3] It is from an intelligent correspondent of the Saturday Evening Post, who mentions, “On my first visit to his house, he had one or two religious books lying near him, which he said he read; being at that time confined by a sore leg.” Somewhat inconsistent with this pretended sanctity, is the other part of the intelligence, that, “on Saturday nights, and the Sabbath days, his house was the scene of riot and drunkenness with the lowest of his countrymen.” In his confessions, published in the Caledonian Mercury, the following testimony, borne by himself, as to his religious feelings, appears:

“He states, that while in Ireland, his mind was under the influence of religious impressions, and that he was accustomed to read his catechism, and his prayer-book, and to attend to his duties.”

All his pretensions, however, seem to have had but little influence on his life and conversation, as he was all the time living in the flagrant violation of the plainest dictates of religion, a drunkard, blasphemer, and adulterer.

Burke originally worked as a labourer about his native place, assisting his father, and living in his house, until he attained the age of eighteen, when he left him. He then went as servant to a gentleman in the neighbourhood, but after being one year in this capacity, the gentleman died, when he was obliged to seek other employment.

At the age of nineteen, he entered the Donegal militia as a substitute, and served in it as a private soldier for seven years. In this regiment, his brother Constantine held the rank of a non-commissioned officer. During the greater part of his service, he acted in the capacity of an officer’s servant; and from the propriety with which he acquitted himself, gained considerable respect.

It was at this period that he became acquainted with a young woman, of a respectable character, in Ballina, county of Mayo, to whom, after some time, he was regularly married. By her, he had seven children, of whom some were still-born. All of them, excepting one boy, are now dead. His wife still survives, and resides with her father in Ireland.

It is probable, that notwithstanding her good character, the connection was not a very comfortable one for her. He proved unfaithful to her; and this is a vice which must have marred their domestic happiness. Indeed, even at his best time, he appears to have displayed considerable laxity in his intercourse with women.

At the general peace, his regiment was disbanded, along with the rest of the militia forces. He then went with his family to reside in the county Mayo, in the neighbourhood of his father-in-law. He was also in the same class as Burke’s parents, and possessed a small farm, which, in conformity with the custom in Ireland, he was willing to parcel out to his family and connections. The system pursued in that country, of the lessee or tacksman, of what originally is, perhaps, a very small farm, sub-leasing miserable portions of it to an indefinite number of retainers, is now so universally understood, that it is unnecessary here to explain it. In a country swarming with an unemployed population, and when so many additional claimants for the most wretched patch of potatoe ground, had been superadded by the reduction of the army, to the already redundant population, it must have been no slight good fortune in Burke, to find a father-in-law whose farm could still afford sustenance for another family. He does not seem, however, to have been contented with the permission that was allowed him to cultivate, from year to year, for his own behoof, the share that was allotted to his use, and insisted upon having a lease granted him. This the old man peremptorily refused, on the allegation, that his object, after obtaining the lease, was to sell it and desert his family. This difference led to squabbling between them; and after it had continued for some time, Burke finding that there was no probability of gaining his point, abandoned the project, and deserted his wife and family.

After taking leave of his parents, he came to Scotland in 1817 or 1818. He then engaged as a labourer, on the cutting of the Union Canal, soon after its commencement; and subsequently wrote to his wife in Ireland, but she would not receive the letter. After some time it was returned to him, and with this, all intercourse with his family ceased, never to be renewed. He has ever since, however, spoken in respectful terms of his wife, and several times expressed an intention, when he could get matters arranged, of returning to her; but motives are seldom wanting, for a continued indulgence in a favourite sin, and want of clothes, to make a respectable appearance, when he joined her, or some other frivolous pretence, constantly diverted him from his purpose.

While employed upon the Union Canal, he accidentally met the woman M‘Dougal at the village of Middiston in Stirlingshire, where she was residing with her father after the death of her husband. The story told of his falling in with her on the streets of Glasgow is incorrect. An intimacy was speedily formed, and about a year from the commencement of their correspondence, they agreed to live as man and wife, and have done so ever since.

A similarity of disposition seems to have produced a corresponding affection, and the sympathy that attracted them to each other appears still to have outlived all their quarrels and the ill usage he subjected her to. They have expressed great attachment to each other since his conviction. It is understood that an account of his connection with M‘Dougal, while his wife was still alive, having been made to the priest of his religion, he was first admonished, and recommended to return to her, and upon his refusal to do so, was excommunicated. This may perhaps in some measure explain his not attending chapel while his religious fits were upon him.

He, after the completion of the canal, came, along with M‘Dougal, to reside in Edinburgh, and engaged in the petty trafficking in various sorts of merchandise practised by many of his countrymen, travelling about the country in prosecution of his trade. He dealt in different sorts of pedlary wares, old clothes, &c. and collected skins, human hair, &c. in the country.

During the work on the canal, he had been noted among the other labourers as of a particularly handy active turn, and skilful in cobbling, in a rude way, his own and the shoes of his acquaintances. After his subsequent settlement in Edinburgh, he turned his talent to some account; and though he never had learned the craft and mystery of shoemaking, contrived to gain from fifteen to twenty shillings a week by his new acquirement. His practice was to purchase quantities of old shoes, and, after cobbling them in the best fashion he could, to send M‘Dougal to hawk them about among the colliers and poor people of her native district.

At this time he lodged in the house of an Irishman named Michael, or more commonly Mikey Culzean, in the West Port, who kept a lodging-house for beggars and vagrants, similar to the one which Hare’s crime has made so familiar to the public,--in the language of the classes who frequent them,--a _beggars’ Hotel_.

Many will probably recollect of a fire happening in one of these abodes of wretchedness about six years ago, when incredible numbers emerged from the miserable hovels. In this conflagration Mikey’s dwelling suffered, and Burke and M‘Dougal escaped from the flames nearly naked, and with the loss of all the little property they possessed. Some charitable individuals contributed to procure clothes and necessaries for the sufferers, and they received some relief by the hands of the Rev. Dr. Dickson, one of the ministers of the parish. By this disaster he lost his library; and though it is somewhat surprising to hear at all of a collection of books under such circumstances, it is not the less so when the names of some of the works are mentioned. Among them were, Ambrose’s Looking unto Jesus, Boston’s Human Nature in its Fourfold State, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and Booth’s Reign of Grace. His landlord afterwards took a room in Brown’s Close, Grassmarket, where Burke also again went as a lodger.

It was at this time that he attended the religious meeting we have previously mentioned, which was held in the next apartment to the one in which he lodged. During his attendance he was always perfectly decorous in his deportment, and when engaged in worship had an air of great seriousness and devotion. The conductor and frequenters of it had formerly been subjected to much obloquy, and even violence, from the Catholics who abounded in that neighbourhood; and one evening, after Burke’s attendance on it, his landlord, Mikey Culzean, attempted to create annoyance, by breaking through some sheets of paper which were used to cover up an old window, and crying out in a voice of derision, “that the performance was just going to begin.” Burke expressed himself in indignant terms on the occasion, saying, that it was shameful and unworthy of a man to behave in such a manner.

From the general aversion to the meeting so unequivocally manifested by the Catholics, and Burke being universally known to belong to that persuasion, his frequent attendance on it, and reverential behaviour, excited the more notice. It was usual for him to remain conversing with the individual in whose house they assembled after the others had dispersed; and on these occasions the subjects that had occupied their attention during the service naturally were often talked over. His conversation was generally such as to show that he had been attentive to what was passing, and comprehended the topics brought under his notice. Since his conviction he has adverted frequently to the subject, and deplored that the meetings had been discontinued, as even this imperfect form of public worship had a tendency to keep him from flagrant sin. He has kept in his recollection, and mentioned after condemnation, an expression which was used in one of the exhortations--“that there was no standing still in sin.” His career of guilt, gradually advancing in the commission of crime, until the violation of every human and Divine law led him to most flagrant enormities, has awakened him, by bitter experience, to give his unwilling testimony to the justice of the remark.

During his residence in this neighbourhood, he gave no indications of any thing that would lead people to anticipate his future enormities. He was industrious and serviceable, inoffensive and playful in his manner, and was never observed to drink to excess. He was very fond of music and singing, in which he excelled, and during his melancholy moods was most frequently found chanting some favourite plaintive air. All these qualifications, and his obliging manner, joined to a particularly jocular quizzical character, with an interminable fund of low humour and drollery, rendered him a general favourite. His custom was to take a walk almost daily along the streets with an acquaintance, and freely to interfere in any thing which occurred to indulge his humour. Some of these occurrences are still recollected by his companions in his perambulations, a specimen of which, as every thing concerning him now seems to possess interest, may be given. In passing along the Cowgate on one occasion, his musical ear was annoyed by the continued inharmonious cry of an itinerant vender of salt. Upon her approaching him still nearer, the annoyance reached its climax by her drawling out in discordant sounds her reiteration of “_wha’ll buy saut_;” though flinching under it, he turned and replied with his usual politeness, “Upon my word I do not know, but if you will ask that woman standing gaping at the door opposite, she will perhaps be able to inform you.”

On another occasion, when attacked by a girl of the town in the High Street, instead of replying directly to her solicitations, to the astonishment of the unfortunate girl, he commenced a torrent of abuse, on account of the awkward style in which she had painted her face, saying that he might have passed over the painting, had it been properly done; but that it was shameful to come to the street, bedaubed in such an unskilful manner. Such was the humour with which he continued his remonstrance, that the rude laugh of the crowd was effectually directed against the amazed girl, and she was glad, by a hasty retreat, to save herself from farther ridicule.

Though his conduct was such as has been described, and even to his paramour, notwithstanding her irregular habits, partook most frequently of his general character. Yet on several occasions, he subjected her to ill usage, or sometimes rather, perhaps, returned her violence, by relentlessly beating her. A fruitful source of quarrels, was his propensity for the company of loose women, which, when exhibited, never failed to rouse her jealousy. The most common subject of it, was a near connection of her own, whose virtue was not of an immaculate description. She was, however, a great favourite of Burke’s and often was introduced into the house. In one of these squabbles, a result was nearly produced, which might have terminated both their lives, in a somewhat less notorious manner, than his is likely to be, though more conducive to the public safety, than his after impunity was, and exhibits the latent savageness of his disposition, notwithstanding the fair exterior. One evening, Burke, M‘Dougal, and the female already mentioned, had gone to bed together. In the night, some jealousy had arisen between them, and a battle was the consequence. So long as the conflict was maintained on nearly equal terms, Burke contented himself with witnessing it; but, when the elder virago was likely to master the young one, he rose out of bed, and interfered in behalf of his favourite. His interposition speedily turned the scale, and he inflicted an unmerciful thrashing upon M‘Dougal. The neighbours who had heard the uproar, but as usual, were backward in interfering, were now alarmed by the cries of an interesting little girl, a daughter of M‘Dougal’s by her former husband, who lived with them, and who entreated them to assist her mother, as William Burke was murdering her. Upon hastily rising and opening their doors, they found M‘Dougal extended on the floor of the passage, apparently lifeless, with her brutal companion standing by, contemplating her. After some time, she exhibited signs of life, when, again seizing her by the hair, and uttering a horrid imprecation, he exclaimed, “There is life in her yet,” and dashed her head violently on the floor. The police watchmen had by this time, been made aware of the noise, and arrived immediately after this fresh inhumanity. Upon asking Burke, if the woman was his wife, he again assumed his usual mild manner, and in an insinuating tone said, “Yes, gentlemen, she is my wife.”

After living for a year in Brown’s Close, he removed, still as Culzean’s lodger, to Swan’s Close on the opposite side of the Grassmarket, where he resided for some time still cobbling and pursuing the same course of conduct. About this time, his acquaintance with the individual who has furnished us with some of the above particulars, suffered an interruption. Burke, although so liberal in his intercourse with Protestants, had still enough of Catholic feeling, as to take exceptions to his friend’s attending Orange lodges, and a coolness in consequence ensued.

After leaving Swan’s Close, he went to Peebles, where he settled for some years. He was employed there as a labourer, and went daily to road-making in the neighbourhood of Innerleithen.

Here, although he still maintained some pretensions to religion, we can trace a gradual deterioration in his character. From the note formerly given, it will be seen that he was now distinguished for keeping suspicious hours, and that his house was the resort of profligate characters, and noted as the scene of drunkenness and rioting, especially on Saturday nights and Sundays.

From thence he went to Pennicuik, where his conduct and occupation were much the same, working generally as a labourer, and occasionally following his self-taught occupation of mending shoes.

After the harvest of 1827, he, still accompanied by M‘Dougal, came again to reside in Edinburgh, and it was at this time that he first became acquainted with the monster Hare, who was his tempter to these unhallowed deeds, and his teacher, as well as seducer. He came to live in Hare’s house in Tanner’s Close, West Port, which was kept as a lodging-house by his wife, under the name of her former husband Log. In this abode of profligacy and vice--the resort of vagabonds of every description, and the theatre of continued brawling and drunkenness, it is not surprising that every trace of decent feeling that might still have lingered about him should speedily be dispelled, and his mind be properly tutored and prepared for the commencement of the murderous trade in which he so ruthlessly continued for nearly twelve months.

An intimacy was speedily contracted between Hare and him, and to show the vile footing on which the two families lived, we may here relate an anecdote which was communicated by a respectable neighbour of theirs, who called on Burke with the intention of giving him a job as a cobbler. He found Hare most brutally beating the woman M‘Dougal, who was lying on the floor, and Burke unconcernedly sitting at the window. He asked Burke why he suffered another man to beat his wife? to which he replied, “She well deserved all she was getting.”

Burke still, however, maintained a more respectable character than any of his partners; Hare was a rude and ferocious ruffian; his wife was a meet companion for him; and M‘Dougal was very little behind them in drunkenness and profanity. He continued, (unlike the other three) to work a little at his business, in the inner small apartment. The person who now shows Hare’s house is, along with his other avocations, a dealer in old shoes, and used to employ him to mend them up for sale. The stock of boots and shoes which was found in Burke’s house upon their arrest, and which excited so much speculation, belonged to him.

Previously to his becoming an inmate in Hare’s dwelling, he had been in the habit of engaging in harvest work, first at Mr. Howden’s, an extensive farmer in East Lothian, and subsequently with Mr. Edington, farmer at Carlinden, near Carnwath, where Burke and Hare, with their two women, wrought last harvest.

Of Burke, it had been observed, that he seemed to be a polite, obliging, and industrious person. In rainy weather, while the reapers could not work in the fields, it was usual for him to find out some useful service, which he performed at the farm-steading; so that he was seldom, if ever, idle. Whenever it happened that a servant had any heavy article to lift, he, of all the harvest people assembled in the kitchen, was the foremost to offer his assistance. On a young woman’s mentioning that she had never seen Edinburgh, the same courteous Burke invited her to town, saying, that he would give her a lodging in his own house, and that he would show her the city; but, fortunately, she never had an opportunity of availing herself of his kindness. After a stay of a few days at Carlinden, a letter arrived, which was said to announce the illness of a child of Hare’s, in Edinburgh; the parents began to arrange for their returning homeward, when M‘Dougal remarked, that “if Hare goes, William Burke will go too, for they are like brothers, and cannot be separated.” Accordingly, all the four went off together.

While he resided in the West Port, he was remarked to be a very early riser, frequently appearing on the streets in his working dress, on a summer morning by three or four o’clock; some who were also on foot at these early hours, used to observe him, and taunt the shoemakers of the West Port with the observation that the Irish lad was the most industrious man among them. It is probable that this activity was for a very different purpose to what was suspected.

The first dealing in subjects commenced in a manner which few would be inclined to visit with very great reprehension, and had the pair throughout confined themselves to similar exploits, they would probably have been regarded as adroit and ingenious knaves, perhaps more beneficially employed in furnishing the necessary supply of subjects in a manner which harmed no one, than from their bad habits they were likely otherwise to be.

In December 1827, the natural death of a lodger happened in Hare’s house,--not of a woman, as has been erroneously stated, but of a very tall and stout man, a pensioner who led a dissipated good-for-nothing life. His debauched habits sufficiently account for his death, while yet in the vigour of life, without any suspicion of unfair agency being aroused.

After his decease, the ordinary observances were gone through, and all matters fitly prepared for the funeral; a coffin was procured, and the funeral guests invited, and every thing managed in a decorous manner; the undertaker came, and while employed in fastening down the lid, was invited into the other room to recruit his strength by a dram, the coffin was then uncovered, and the corpse quickly dislodged and made to change situations with a sack of waste bark which had been previously procured from a neighbouring tannery. After this, the fastening proceeded. The coffin was borne out at the appointed time, before the assembled guests, and with all due solemnity deposited in the Grey Friars churchyard. The rogues, after the ceremony, proceeded to find out a purchaser for the body, and so unacquainted were they with the manner of proceeding, that they did not at first apply to the proper quarter. Throughout the day, however, they found this out, and at dusk the subject was conveyed away in the sack which had held the bark, and was carried on Burke’s back. Their first resting place was at Bristo Port, where it was set down for a little, when Hare took his share of the burden. They then took the round-about road of College Street to Surgeons’ Square. They soon afterwards, however, found out the nearest way.

After all that has been said, subjects must be procured for scientific purposes; the necessity of a young man under a course of education for surgical practice qualifying himself for his future profession by anatomical dissections, renders them indispensable, while the very ordinances and regulations of the College of Surgeons, makes dissection imperative before he can obtain a diploma or license to follow his profession. Were all subjects procured in this harmless way, where neither the feelings of private friends were outraged, nor public decency violated, small fault would be found, though the nature of the traffic would continue still sufficiently revolting to deter all but ruthless blackguards from embarking in it.

But after once gaining what to them was a large sum of money, Burke’s and Hare’s cupidity could not be satisfied with this comparatively innocent method of supplying their wants. They were apparently too indolent or inexpert, or lacked courage too much, to adopt the ordinary but hazardous mode of raising the dead from church-yards. Still, with this easy, and apparently unlimited means of acquiring money opening to them, they could not betake themselves again to the pursuits of honest industry; and, stimulated by the greatness of the reward, and the prospect of their sensual indulgences being so readily gratified, they formed the desperate resolution of committing murder, and of continuing to imbrue their hands in their fellow-mortals’ blood, as their ordinary and sole means of procuring a livelihood.

Before commencing the revolting narrative of their appalling crimes, we may mention, that previous to the period in which they engaged in them, their neighbours used to observe them only to notice the squalor and wretchedness of their appearance; but all at once, there was a sudden change, and Burke and M‘Dougal especially assumed a different aspect. They appeared well dressed, and spent money freely. Whisky, which however much it may be relished, can only be procured at intervals by men in his situation, seemed to be constantly at their command; and even credit at a neighbouring spirit-dealer and grocer’s, was obtained, to an extent that almost no individual in his situation would have ventured to hope for or request. At this time, Burke mentioned to the wife of an old acquaintance, whom he met accidentally, that he had spent fourteen pounds within the last fortnight; and if he had known where her husband lived, would have been glad to come and spend three or four pounds in company with him. Of course, all this apparent affluence was not exhibited, without exciting the speculation of those who observed it; and they were troublesome in their inquiries into the secret, that enabled them to live well, and drink continually, without working. Various were the excuses that were made; for they never appear to have been at a loss for an answer. On one occasion, when the question was put to Burke, and suspicions intimated, that he followed the trade of a resurrection man, he neither would give a denial nor an affirmative to the proposition, but contented himself with remarking, that the querist was as bad as the rest. On another, he would ask Mrs. ---- “Can you keep a secret,” and when the curious inquirer, expecting to be entrusted with the whole mystery, eagerly answered, “Yes,” he would reply, with an air of secrecy, that he smuggled a little small-still whisky.

Nelly M‘Dougal had a different way of accounting for it. She averred that she had a property in Stirlingshire, which had been left to her by her former husband, and which produced twenty pounds a year; and that it was from the rent of it the money came. It was afterwards observed to her by some of the neighbours, that this story would scarcely account for their abundant supply of money, as the rents of such properties, as she described, were usually drawn at definite terms, and they seemed to get money much more frequently. She then alleged that the money was the proceeds of a legacy that had been lately left her, and that she drew part of it when she pleased. To humour this story, she used to announce to her acquaintances, from time to time, that their money was expended, and that she had written off for a fresh supply. In a few days, accordingly, she intimated that the money had arrived, and new vigour was imparted to their drunken disorderly courses.

It must be perfectly apparent what the dispatching of the letter meant, and if these proceedings does not amount to a guilty knowledge and accession to the murders, so far as knowledge of, and sharing in the proceeds goes, we do not comprehend what can constitute participation.

At another time she intimated that William [Burke] was the favourite of a lady in the New Town, who never allowed him to want money, and sometimes she had known him receive twenty pounds at a time from her.