The earliest English pictorial representation of a witch that I know of is in the Harleian MSS., 1776 (94, b), where the witch of Endor is represented as showing the ghost of Samuel to Saul. But she was a Pythoness, and did not at all come up to our idea of a witch. Nor can we exactly class in the same category the ‘Mulier Malefica’ of Berkeley, who is supposed to have been exhumed by the Devil about A.D. 852. She has been immortalized by William of Malmesbury, who says he had the story from an eye-witness, by Matthew of Westminster, by Schedel in the Nuremberg Chronicle, from whom this illustration is taken, and a short account of her is given by Olaus Magnus in his ‘Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus’ (lib. iii., c. 21), when he treats of the punishment of witches. Berkeley, however, in his hands becomes Bethelia. Southey also wrote about her. [Illustration] THE OLD WOMAN OF BERKELEY. A BALLAD, SHEWING HOW AN OLD WOMAN RODE DOUBLE, AND WHO RODE BEFORE HER. William of Malmesbury thus gives the story: ‘(A.D. 1065) There resided at Berkeley, a woman addicted to Witchcraft, as it afterwards appeared, and skilled in ancient augury: she was excessively gluttonous, perfectly lascivious, and setting no bounds to her debaucheries, as she was not old, though fast declining in life. On a certain day, as she was regaling, a jackdaw, which was a very great favourite, chattered a little more loudly than usual. On hearing which, the woman’s knife fell from her hand, her countenance grew pale, and, deeply groaning, “This day,” said she, “my plough has completed its last furrow; to-day, I shall hear of, and suffer, some dreadful calamity.” [Illustration] ‘While yet speaking, the messenger of her misfortunes arrived: and, being asked why he approached with so distressed an air, “I bring news,” said he, “of the death of your son, and of the whole family, by a sudden accident.” At this intelligence the woman, sorely afflicted, immediately took to her bed, and, perceiving the disorder rapidly approaching her vitals, she summoned her surviving children, a monk and a nun, by hasty letters; and, when they arrived, with faltering voice, addressed them thus: “Formerly, my children, I constantly administered to my wretched circumstances by demoniacal arts: I have been the sink of every vice, the teacher of every allurement: yet, while practising these crimes, I was accustomed to soothe my hapless soul with the hope of your piety. Despairing of myself, I rested my expectations on you: I advanced you as my defenders against evil spirits, my safeguards against my strongest foes. Now, since I have approached the end of my life, and shall have those eager to punish, who lured me to sin, I entreat you, by your mother’s breast, if you have any regard, any affection, at least to endeavour to alleviate my torments; and, although you cannot revoke the sentence already passed upon my soul, yet you may, perhaps, rescue my body by these means.