CRUSHED TO DEATH IN A CLOCK.

Thames Guardian and Mining Record, Volume I, Issue 66, 22 December 1871, Page 3

CRUSHED TO DEATH IN A CLOCK.

The bell-ringer in the cathedral of Wurtzburg has perished under very singular circumstances. The church possesses a splendid clock, with ponderous and complicated works, while a pendulum of proportionate length vibrates to and fro with a dull and monotonous thud. Recently the clock needed cleaning, and the ringer was deputed to superintend the work, though he ruefully endeavoured to be excused from the task. It seemed that he never willingly approached the _ belfry from certain unpleasant associations. About twenty years ago he killed his predecessor in office, accusing him of carrying on a criminal intrigue with his wife. When brought to trial he escaped the gallows owing to a deficiency of legal proof. The patronage of one of the canons then procured him the appointment vacant by the death of his victim. Hence, it is said, arose his superstitious dread in connection with the belfry, which was supposed by many to be haunted by the ghost of the murdered ringer. On the morning when the clock was to be cleaned it suddenly stopped, and the bell-iinger was nowhere to be found. A workman from the town was sent for, and ascended the tower, when he was horrified to find the pendulum and lower works dripping with ldood. Upon searching further, the body of the bell-ringer was found entangled in the works frightfully mangled and crushed. One supposition is that he committed suicide by climbing up the pendulum and then pitching himself into the machinery of the clock. Bqt the wonderloving gossips of tl,ie place, with a thoroughly German propensity for the

horrible, declaro that the guilty man, upon reaching the gloomy chamber wherein the works revolved, was honorstricken by the apparition of his predecessor sitting aside the great balancewheel of the clock, and had then been drawn into the works by a species of horrible fascination, similar to that which the rattlesnake is said to exercise over its prey. There sat the spectre, rubbing his gory hands in hideous glee ns the victim was slowly drawn in among the cog-wheels and ratchets of the machinery. An agonizing yell, a crush of bones, and all was still! Such, according to the Italic, is the newest legend of the belfry of Wurtzburg.