Lamentation of H. Lingley
Within a dungeon in Norwich gaol,
One Hubbard Lingley in grief bewails,
His own kind uncle he did kill and slay,
On a Friday morning in the month of May.
For that cruel murder he’s doomed to die
On Norwich fatal sad gallows high.
He is doomed to suffer as I relate
On the very tree where Rush met his fate
In health, in vigour, in youth and bloom,
The murderer Lingley must meet his doom.
In the morning early at four o’clock
He fired a sad and dreadful shot
Which caused his uncle’s fatal death wound
Where he fell bleeding upon the ground.
A kind good uncle as may be seen
To his wicked nephew he had been;
Reared him up tenderly and used him well,
And in his cottage with him to dwell.
But he resolved he his blood would spill
His uncle Benjamin he wished to kill;
On Friday morn, the seventeenth of May,
The nephew did his kind uncle slay.
Early in the morning, at four o’clock,
To attract his uncle he fired a shot
And by that spot received the fatal wound.
The murderer flew and left him on the ground
Some labouring men who were passers by,
Saw the murdered in his blood to lie;
Suspicion did on his nephew fall,
And innocent blood did for vengeance call.
Many excuses did Lingley make,
Not having courage to meet his fate;
He before a jury for the deed was tried,
And condemned to suffer on the gallows high.
Hubbard Lingley thought when his uncle died
His place to him would not be denied;
So he was determined to kill and slay,
His uncle dear the seventeenth day of May.
He is doomed to die, nothing can him save,
By the side of Rush in a murderer’s grave;
His bones will moulder till the Judgment day,
How could he take his uncle’s life away?
At Norwich castle he was tried and cast
And his last moments approaching fast;
The hangman anxious does now await
To terminate Hubbard Lingley’s fate.
Oh! all young men a warning take
Think and consider ere it is too late;
How could he dare lift his murderous hand.
Base, vile, ungrateful, and cruel man.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High-street, St. Giles.
TRIAL, CHARACTER, CONFESSION, BEHAVIOUR, & EXECUTION OF
ALICE HOLT,
In front of Chester Gaol, this day, for the Wicked Murder of her own Mother.
This day the extreme sentence of the law was carried into effect on Alice Holt, at Chester Gaol, for the murder of her mother by poison. The evidence at the trial showed that prisoner, her mother, and a man named Holt, with whom she cohabited, lived together at Stockport. In February last the deceased, Mary Bailey, was taken ill, and the prisoner insured her life for £26, at a premium of 6d. per week. She induced a woman named Betty Wood to personate her mother before the doctor, telling her that the agent said “Any one would do.” The proposal was accepted by the Wesleyan Assurance Society, and from that time the mother became worse. Prisoner called in the parish surgeon and the infirmary visiting officer, both of whom were ignorant of the other’s visits, and complained of their medicine not being given. On the 25th and 26th the prisoner bought some arsenic—a quarter of a pound each time—which she put in a jug with some boiling water, and sprinkled about the room where her mother lay to kill vermin. The night of the 26th deceased had some brandy-and-water, and complained of “grounds” being at the bottom. Prisoner said, “You ought to have drunk grounds and all.” Mary Bailey died in the morning with all the symptoms of arsenical poison, and was buried. The personation came to the ears of the office, and the body was disinterred, when it was found perfectly fresh, but “saturated with arsenic,” of which no less than 160 grains were found in the stomach and adjacent parts.
The unfortunate woman was not tried at the Summer Assizes, in consequence of her being in the family-way. The child has since been adopted by Holt’s uncle, the only person who has visited her since during her imprisonment. She has been sullen, and strongly protested her innocence.
Confession
On Sunday, the prisoner made the following statement:—On the Monday before mother died, I brought the insurance paper home, insuring my mother’s life for £26, and mine for £28. He then proposed I should get some charcoal and put it under mother’s bed alight, when she was asleep, and she would never wake more. On Wednesday night Holt and I never went to bed. He said it would be a great releasement if she was in her grave, and he would buy some stretchnine (strychnine) if I would give it her. I said, “Thou’lt be found out.” He said, “They cannot find it out by that.” I said, “Thou hast brought me to destruction, and now thou wants to bring me to the gallows.” He then beat me. In the beer of which I spoke, I saw, after my mother had drank it, a quantity of blue arsenic grounds. I said, “Thou hast given my mother arsenic.” He said, “If thou tell aught, I will have thee up for defrauding the insurance,” and said, “Nobody will believe but what thou hast done it thyself.” This was the only arsenic my mother ever had.—Another statement was afterwards made by the prisoner.
The Execution
Took place this morning. When near the drop her courage failed her, and she was half dragged, half carried to the scaffold. On the platform she fell on her knees, and moaned piteously, “The Lord have mercy upon me,” which she continued to do whilst Calcraft pulled the bolt. The drop fell, and the culprit was launched into eternity before a great many people, particularly women-folks.
Copy of Verses
A dreadful case of murder,
Such as we seldom hear,
Committed was at Stockport,
In the County of Cheshire.
Where a mother, named Mary Bailey,
They did so cruelly slaughter,
By poison administered all in her beer
By her own daughter.
The daughter insured the life of the mother,
For twenty-six pounds at her death,
Then she and the man that she lived with
Determined to take away her breath.
And when Betty Wood represented the mother,
She did’nt act with propriety,
For the poor mother lost her life,
And they all swindled the Society.
Now that the old gal’s life’s insured,
Holt to the daughter did say,
Better in the grave she were immured,
And the money will make us so gay.
Now that you have got me in the family way,
And from me my virtue you’ve wrung,
You’ll never be happy a day,
Till on the gallows I’m hung.
She laid a plan to murder her,
As we now see so clear,
To put a quantity of arsenic
Into her poor mother’s beer.
To see her lay in agony,
Upon that dreadful night,
With a dreadful dose of arsenic,
Oh, it was a dreadful sight.
She lived but just six hours,
Then the poor woman did die,
And this base murdering wretch,
The dreadful deed did deny.
On the man Holt she laid the blame,
Vowed he did her mother slay,
Holt on her did the same,
Saying she took the mother’s life away.
The father of her unborn infant,
Whom she vowed to love most dear,
And when confined in prison,
She was overcome with fear,
She made a rambling statement
’Bout the arsenic in the beer
Laid all the blame on Holt and Betty Wood
Expecting for to get clear.
But there’s no doubt the base wretch
Did her poor mother slay.
For which on Chester’s scaffold,
Her life did forfeit pay,
So all young women a warning take,
By this poor wretch you see,
A hanging for the mother’s sake
On Chester’s fatal tree,
W. Smith, Printer, Chester.