Daily Ohio Statesman

A Bold Woman.

Lucretia Granville was engaged to be married to Francis, Duke of Buckingham, at the time that he fell in battle, slain by the hand, it was said, of Cromwell himself. The lady, on receiving the intelligence of the Duke's death, vowed to avenge it upon the person of Cromwell.

For three years she exercised herself in firing with pistols at mark, and that she might not be terrified by the appearance of her victim, she selected for her target a portrait of the usurper; and as soon as she thought herself perfect, she sought an opportunity to gratify her revenge.

But Cromwell rarely appeared in public, and when he did, it was with much caution that few could approach him. An occasion at length occurred—the city of London resolved to give a magnificent banquet in honor of the Protector, who, from political motives, determined to make his entrance into the city with all the splendor of royalty. Upon this being made public, the curiosity of all the ranks were excited, and the enraged lady resolved not to lose so favorable an opportunity for carrying out her evil design. It so happened that the procession was appointed to pass through the very street in which she resided; and a balcony, before the first story of her house, yielded her full scope for putting her long meditated design into effect. On the day appointed she seated herself with several female companions in the balcony; and on this occasion—for the first time since her lover's death—she cast aside her sable attire, and appeared in gorgeous apparel. It was not without the greatest exertion that she concealed the violent emotion under which she labored; and when the increasing pressure of the crowd indicated the approach of Cromwell, her feelings became so that she nearly fainted.

However, she recovered, just as the Protector arrived within a few paces of the balcony.— Hastily drawing a pistol from under her garment, she deliberately took aim and fired; but a sudden start, which the lady who sat next to her made on beholding the weapon, gave a different direction to what was intended, and the ball killed the horse rode by Henry the Protector's son. The event immediately arrested the cavalcade, and Cromwell—at the same time that he cast a fierce look of indignation toward the balcony—beheld a singular spectacle. More than twenty females might be seen on their knees, imploring his mercy with uplifted hands, while one stood undaunted in the midst of them, and looking down contemptuously on the Protector exclaimed:

"Tyrant, it was I who dealt the blow; nor should I rest satisfied with the killing of a horse instead of a tiger, were I not convinced that before another year is passed your destiny would be sealed."

The multitude, enraged at this ferocious attempt to assassinate the chief person in the realm, were about to tear down the house, when Cromwell cried aloud, with great coolness and intrepidity:

"Desist, my friends! Alas! poor woman, she knows not what she does!"

So saying, he pursued his course. But very speedily orders were issued to secure the person of the offender, and Lucretia Granville passed her days as the inmate of a lunatic asylum.