Barbarous — Murder of a Child by a Schoolmistress. Schoolmistress
A child murder has been committed at Park Horner, in the parish of Hampreston, under circumstances of the most shocking barbarity. At the Coroner’s inquest it was given in evidence that the child had been beaten on the head with a heavy flint stone, and its tongue cut completely out at the root. It was found wrapped up in another part of a drawer where the body was discovered. The inquiry lasted four hours and a-half, and resulted, in the first instance, in a verdict, “That the child was born alive and murdered by someone.” The Coroner pointed out that the evidence was conclusive against Emma Pitt, the national school-mistress, who was the mother of the child; and he expressed his surprise that such a verdict should have been returned. The Jury after reconsidering their previous finding, returned a verdict of “Wilful murder against Emma Pitt.”
We have read of sad and dreadful deeds
Of mothers cruel and unkind,
But in the annals of history
Such as this we seldom find;
In the parish of Hampreston,
This deed was done we hear,
Near to the town of Wimborne,
In the county of Dorsetshire.
This Emma Pitt was a schoolmistress,
Her child she killed we see,
Oh mothers, did you ever hear,
Of such barbarity.
With a large flint stone she beat its head
When such cruelty she’d done,
From the tender roof of the infant’s mouth
She cut away it’s tongue;
Sad and wicked, cruel wretch,
Hard was her flinty heart,
The infant’s tongue from the body was
Wrapped in another part.
The murderess placed in a drawer,
And it there, alas! was found,
The news of this dreadful murder,
Soon spread for miles around;
And first upon the inquest,
She expected to get free,
Although she was the author
Of this dreadful tragedy.
A schoolmistress too, how sad to tell,
Well known for miles around,
Who had many children under care,
In and near to Wimborne town.
Oh, what a sad example,
To children she did set,
There was never such a cruel wretch,
As the barbarous Emma Pitt.
She committed is for murder,
Soon her trial will take place,
And if she is found guilty,
How sad will be her case.
If she has a woman’s feelings,
She surely will go wild,
She in such a barbarous manner killed
Her tender infant child.
The hour is approaching,
The moments near at hand,
When before a Judge and Jury,
This monster soon must stand;
And if she is found guilty,
She her deserts will get,
And mother’s, miles round Wimborne,
Will remember Emma Pitt.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.
FAREWELL TO THE WORLD FAREWELL TO THE WORLD
OF
RICHARD BISHOP,
Who now lies under sentence of Death in Maidstone Gaol, For the Murder of Alfred Cartwright.
In Maidstone Gaol, I am lamenting,
I am borne down with grief and pain,
I for my deeds am now repenting,
I shall Sydenham never see again;
I have been tried for wilful murder,
No power on earth can me now save,
I am doomed to die, my time’s approaching,
And I must lie in a silent grave.
Now I, alas! must die for murder,
Oh, how awful is my doom,
Richard Bishop, one and twenty,
In youth and vigour, health and bloom.
Alfred Cartwright was my neighbour,
We both at Forest Hill did dwell,
Alfred, servant was at the Swiss Cottage,
Where he was respected well;
I went with others to annoy him,
It was upon that fatal night,
Ere he returned from his day’s labour.
Unto his home and loving wife.
I never did intend to kill him,
Why should I my neighbour slay,
He never gave me any reason,
To take his youthful life away?
I was given in charge, and in a passion,
I drew the awful, deadly knife,
And plunged it in poor Alfred’s body,
And there deprived him of his life.
The solemn funeral of my victim,
Caused consternation miles around,
Thousands flocked from every quarter,
The funeral dirge did mournful sound;
Poor Alfred, to his grave respected,
Proceeded by a solemn band,
And I must die upon the gallows,
A wicked and degraded man.
Farewell, vain world, I now must leave you,
Farewell, my friends and neighbours all,
Around Forest Hill no more you’ll see me,
The hangman’s voice on me does call;
Saying, Richard Bishop, now be ready,
To die upon the fatal tree,
Oh, aged only one and twenty,
What a dreadful sight to see.
Poor Alfred’s friends, will you forgive me,
His father, mother, tender wife,
I him did kill, his blood did spill,
And I pay a forfeit with my life?
And God, look down from heaven upon me,
Forgive the crime that I have done.
I see grim death standing before me,
Saying, Richard Bishop’s glass is run.
Oh, pray, young men, by me take warning,
Remember me and what I done,
Ponder, yes, oh! and consider,
Let passion you not overcome;
I did the deed in the heighth of passion,
I had no animosity.
Little thought my tender parents,
I should die upon a gallows tree.
When the Judge did pass the awful sentence
Saying, Richard Bishop, you must die,
For the murder of young Alfred Cartwright,
On Maidstone’s tree so awful high;
Oh think, dear friends, what was my feelings,
Sad and wretched and forlorn,
Doomed at the age of one and twenty,
To die a dreadful death of scorn.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.