Sir Roger Twysden, with all his learning, could not rise above the
credulity of his age; and was, to the last, as firm a believer in
palmistry and witchcraft, and all the illusions of magic, as the
generality of his cotemporaries. His commonplace-books furnish numerous
instances of the childlike simplicity with which he gave credence to any
tale of superstition for which the slightest shadow of authenticity
could be discovered.
The following amusing instance of this almost infantine credulity, I
have extracted from one of his note-books; merely premising that his
wife Isabella was daughter of Sir Nicholas Saunders, the narrator of the
tale:--
"The 24th September, 1632, Sir Nicholas Saunders told me hee herd
my lady of Arundall, widow of Phylip who dyed in y'e Tower 1595, a
virtuous and religious lady in her way, tell the ensuing relation
of a Cat her Lord had. Her Lord's butler on a tyme, lost a cuppe
or bowle of sylver, or at least of y't prise he was much troubled
for, and knowing no other way, he went to a wyzard or Conjurer to
know what was become of it, who told him he could tell him where
he might see the bowle if he durst take it. The servant sayd he
would venture to take it if he could see it, bee it where it
would. The wyzard then told hym in such a wood there was a bare
place, where if he hyed himself for a tyme he appoynted, behind a
tree late in the night he should see y'e Cuppe brought in, but
w'th all advised him if he stept in to take it, he should make
hast away w'th it as fast as myght bee. The servant observed what
he was commanded by y'e Conjurer, and about Mydnyght he saw his
Lord's Cat bring in the cup was myst, and divers other creatures
bring in severall other things; hee stept in, went, and felt y'e
Cuppe, and hyde home: where when he came he told his fellow
servants this tale, so y't at y'e last it was caryed to my Lord of
Arundel's eare; who, when his Cat came to him, purring about his
leggs as they used to doo, began jestingly to speake to her of it.
The Cat presently upon his speech flewe in his face, at his
throat, so y't w'thout y'e help of company he had not escaped
w'thout hurt, it was w'th such violence: and after my lord being
rescued got away, unknown how, and never after seene.
"There is just such a tale told of a cat a Lord Willoughby had,
but this former coming from so good hands I cannot but
believe.--R. T."