The next midnight beheld Ruth Tudor in the cave, seated upon a point of rock, at the head of the corpse, her chin resting upon her hands, gazing earnestly upon the distorted face. Decay had already begun its work; and Ruth sat there watching the progress of mortality, as if she intended that her stern gaze should quicken and facilitate its operation. The next night also beheld her there, but the current of her thoughts had changed, and the dismal interval which had passed appeared to be forgotten. She stood with her basket of food: ” Wilt thou not eat!” she demanded; ” arise, strengthen thee for thy journey; eat, eat, thou sleeper; wilt thou never awaken? Look, here the meat thou lovest;” and as she raised his head, and put the food to his lips, the frail remnant of mortality shattered at her touch, and again she knew at he was dead.

Published in 1826.

Check the contents:

This is the BEST BOOK EVER! I mean that.

Karl and his horse Nikolaus, a Mysterious Tale !
Oh, Karl, you naughty boy!
Sir Guy the Seeker?

Oh. Whatchya seeking, Sir Guy? A Gal?

Ulric the Bold?
I love a bold fellow. Ulric is awesome and you all know it.

The Black Rainbow or the Death of Charles the Bad.

Charles the Bad? Are you kidding me?

I did some poking around:

From British Short Fiction in the Early Nineteenth Century, Tim Killick, Ashgate, 2008, page 160

Legends of Terror ! was clearly aimed at a general readership.

(I added the big font. Because it needs it.)

To which I say, booh-yah.

I’m writing a heroine who loves scary stories, I swear.

How do you feel about LEGENDS OF TERROR !