Chapter II: Part 2

The familiar saying, “There’s luck in odd numbers,” lingers in song and story. Does not Rory O’More say so? Odd numbers or combinations of odd numbers are almost invariably chosen in buying lottery tickets. Moreover, they have received the highest official sanction for a very long time. In the “Art of Navigation,” printed in the year 1705, the following rule is laid down for firing salutes by ships of the royal navy: “to salute with an odd number of guns, the which are to be answered with fit correspondency. And the number of odd guns is so punctually observed, that whenever they are given _even_ ’tis received for an infallible sign that either the captain or some noted officer is dead in the voyage.”

The above rule or custom has held good to this day. In the United States the prescribed salute to the President is twenty-one guns; seventeen to the Vice-President, and so on in descending scale, according to rank, in the several branches of the civil, military, and naval service. Medicines are often taken an odd number of times, though not invariably, as they once were. A hen is always set on an odd number of eggs, although I could never find any one who could give any other reason than custom for it. What Biddy does when she “steals her own nest” is not ascertained.

It appears from such data as we have been able to gather that the number Three and its multiple Nine were formerly held to be indispensable to the successful working of the magician’s arts. In “Macbeth,” the weird sisters mutter the dark incantation:--

“Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine!--
Peace!--the charm’s wound up.”

And yet again, when concocting their charmed hell-broth, while awaiting the coming of the ambitious thane to learn his fate of them, the mystic rite begins by declaring the omens propitious:--

“1 _Witch_. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
2 _Witch_. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.”

With the Romans, three handfuls of salt cast over a dead body had all the virtues of a funeral. Pirates were formerly hung at low-water mark and left hanging there until three tides had overflowed them. Shakespeare makes Falstaff say: “This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.” Even now, the cabalistic phrase “third time never fails,” prompts the twice unsuccessful candidate for fortune’s favors to renewed and more vigorous effort. In short, there seems to be no end to the virtues inherent in odd numbers.

But as all rules have their exceptions, so with this prophetic rule of three, the fates would seem to have ordained that it might be made to work both ways. Simply by keeping one’s eyes and ears open one sees and hears many things. An enterprising news-gatherer jots down a bit of superstition touching the fateful side of the rule in question that came to him in this easy sort of way: “I heard,” he says, “a most sensible person, the other day, exclaim because Queen Victoria had been obliged twice to postpone her trip to the south of France, once on account of the unsettled state of affairs over there, and again because of the unsettled state of the weather. ‘The third time will be fatal to her,’ added this cheerful individual; ‘you just mark my words.’”

It is nevertheless true, however, that the cabalistic number Thirteen stands quite alone, so far as we are informed, as the sombre herald of misfortune. But here, as elsewhere, the exception only goes to prove the rule.

A gentleman holding a lucrative office under the government once told me that two of his clerks wore iron finger rings, because they were supposed to be lucky. It is a matter of general knowledge that certain gems or precious stones are worn on scarf-pins, watch-chains, finger rings, or other articles of personal adornment solely on account of the prevailing belief in their efficacy to ward off sickness or disease, prevent accidents, keep one’s friends,--in short, to bring the wearer good luck. This branch of the subject will be more fully treated of presently.

More unaccountable still is the practice of wearing or carrying about on one’s person a rabbit’s foot as a talisman, that timid little animal always having been intimately associated with the arts of the magician and sorcerer. But it must always be bunny’s hind foot. The insatiate passion for novelty, we understand, has now installed a turkey’s claw in the room of the rabbit’s foot, to some extent, showing that even credulity itself is the obedient slave of fashion. Of course neither the rabbit’s foot nor turkey’s claw is worn in its natural rough state, but under the jeweller’s skilful hands, tipped with gold or silver and set with the wearer’s favorite gem (topaz, amethyst, or whatever it may be), the charm, or mascot, becomes an ornament to be worn, either suspended from the neck, the wrist, or belt, or as a clasp for the cape. The practice of wearing a caul,[9] or an amulet blessed by the priest, clearly denotes that here rich and poor meet on common ground. It is not proposed, however, to treat of those beliefs which may be directly traced to the teachings of a particular church, or that have become so embedded in the faith it inculcates as to be an inseparable part of it The Protestant world, or that part of it we live in, is intrenched in no such stronghold.

To continue the catalogue:--

A black cat, without a single white hair, is a witch of the sort that brings luck to the house. Keeping one also insures to unmarried females of the family plenty of sweethearts.

A branch of the mountain ash kept in the house, or hung out over the door, will keep the witches out.

Good luck is frequently crystallized in certain uncouth but expressive sayings, such, for example, as “nigger luck,” “lucky strike,” or “Cunard luck,” referring to the remarkable exemption of a certain transatlantic steamship company from loss of life by disasters to its ships. This particular saying has been quite frequently heard of late in consequence of the really providential escape of the steamship _Pavonia_, of that line, from shipwreck, while on her voyage from Liverpool to Boston. What was uppermost in the minds of some of the passengers and crew may easily be inferred from the following extract, with which a relation of the good ship’s fortunate escape from foundering concludes:--

“The change of the moon passed at 9.30 A.M., and the light breeze changed at almost the same moment. The gulls were sitting on the water, which was a sign of luck, according to the sailors. Then we discovered a lot of ‘Mother Carey’s chickens’ near the ship, which was also a lucky omen, so we felt that Friday was to be our lucky day.”

Unquestionably, the horseshoe is the favorite symbol of good luck the world over. You will seldom see a man so much in a hurry that he will not stop to pick one up. Although the iron of which the shoe is fashioned is no longer endowed with magic power, as it once was, no sooner has it been beaten by the smith into the form of a shoe than, _presto_, it becomes a power to conjure with. Popular _dictum_ even prescribes that the shoe must be placed with the prongs upward or its virtue will be lost. It must, moreover, be a cast-off shoe or the charm will not work.

The luck of the horseshoe has become proverbial. We are now dealing with facts of common knowledge. Indeed, we do not see how any form of superstition could be more fully or more freely recognized in the everyday affairs of life. Even those who scout the superstition itself, as a thing unworthy of serious attention, do not hesitate to avail themselves of its popularity for their own ends, thus giving it a still wider currency. In short, this hoary superstition is thriftily turned to account by every imaginable device to tickle the fancy or to turn a penny, although in being thus employed it has quite cut loose from its ancient traditions.

Thus it is that we now see the horseshoe stamped on monograms, on Christmas cards, on book covers, or even used in the title of a book, most effectively, as in the case of “Horseshoe Robinson.” It also is seen worked into floral designs to be hung above the bride’s head, at a wedding, or reverently laid upon the last resting-place of the dead. Surely superstition could go no farther.

The horseshoe has also come to be a favorite trade-mark with manufacturers and dealers in all sorts of wares. It is elaborately worked up in gold and silver charms for those who would rather be lucky than not, regardless of the original _dictum_ that, to be serviceable, the shoe must be made of iron and nothing else. There lies before me, as I write this, the advertisement of a certain farrier, who rests his plea for custom upon the fact that as horseshoes bring luck to the purchaser, therefore every horse should be shod with his shoes. A certain horseshoers’ union attributes its victory over the employers, in the matter of shorter hours, to the efficacy of its trade symbol. And not long ago the fortunate escape of Boston from a disastrous conflagration was heralded in a daily paper with a cut of a horseshoe prefixed to the account.

Of late years, too, the horseshoe has grown to be a favorite symbol in the house,--a sort of household fetich, as it were,--if not because of any faith in its traditional ability to bring good luck, one is at loss to know why a piece of old iron should be so conspicuously hung up in the houses of rich and poor alike.

The horseshoe was always, also, the favorite emblem of the tavern and inn, in all countries. Such signs as the “Three Horseshoes,” once swung in Boston streets. In Samuel Sewall’s Diary we find the following entry: “Sanctifie to me ye deth of old Mrs. Glover who kept the 3 horseshoes, and who dyed ye last night.” Sewall, who lived in the immediate neighborhood, leaves us in the dark as to whether he mourned most for Mrs. Glover or her exhilarating mixtures.

Returning to its proper place in folk-lore, I myself have seen the horseshoe nailed to the bowsprit of a vessel, over house and barn doors, and even to bedsteads. In the country, its supposed virtues continue to hold much of their old sway, while among sailors a belief in them has suffered little, if any, loss since the day of Nelson and of the _Victory_. On some very old country house, as old as the witchcraft times, one can still see the shape of a horseshoe wrought in the brickwork of the chimneys, as well as one nailed above the door, thus cleverly closing every avenue against the entrance of witches. But of all the odd caprices connected with the use of the horseshoe, that related of Samuel Dexter, of Boston, must carry off the palm for oddity. He, being dissatisfied with his minister, Dr. Codman, nailed a horseshoe to his pew door, and then nailed up the pew itself.

The origin of this remarkable superstition is involved in the obscurity of past ages. It is usually attributed to the virtue of cold iron to keep witches out, through their inability to step over it, and is probably allied to that other superstition about the driving of iron nails into the walls of Roman houses, with a like object. Beyond that point its meaning grows more and more obscure. The conjunction, so essential to perfect the charm, between iron in any form and the horse, is said to have come from the magical properties attributed to the animal by the ancients, in whose mythology the horse always plays an important part. King Richard, on Bosworth field, offers his kingdom for a horse, and Poor Richard, in his Almanac, tells us how a man lost his life for want of a nail in his horse’s shoe. Butler, from whose pen figures of speech gush forth like water from a never-failing spring, declares that evil spirits are chased away by dint

“of sickle, horseshoe, hollow flint.”

In Gay’s fable of “The Old Woman and her Cats,” the alleged witch laments that

“Straws laid across my path retard;
The horseshoes nail’d each threshold’s guard.”

Turning now from the merely passive to the active agency on the part of the seeker after fortune’s favors, we enter upon a no less marvellous, but vastly more attractive, field. Here is something that is tried every day:--

Of two persons breaking apart the wishing-bone of a chicken before forming a wish, the one getting the longer piece is assured of the fulfilment of his or her wish; the shorter piece bodes disappointment.

Another way to test fickle fortune is to form a wish while a meteor is falling; if one can do so the desire will be gratified. This saying would be no bad symbol of the importance of seizing a golden opportunity ere it has escaped us. As the immortal Shakespeare says:--

“There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”

If a load of hay goes by, make a wish on it and your wish will be gratified, provided you instantly look another way. But the charm will surely be broken if, like Lot’s wife, you should look back.

To see the new moon with the old in her arms, a much more common thing by the way in this country than in England, is considered lucky; as runs an old couplet:--

“Late, late yestreen, I saw the new moone
Wi’ the auld moone in hir armes.”

Here is another instance wherein the auguries differ. An old sea-rhyme founded on the same thing adds this prediction:--

“And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we’ll come to harm.”

It is also accounted good luck to see the new moon over the right shoulder, especially if you instantly feel in your pocket and find money there, as your luck thereby will be prodigiously increased, but you must take care instantly to turn the money over in your pocket.

Burglars are said to carry a piece of coal, or some other object, about with them for luck.

Upon getting out of bed in the morning, always put the right foot foremost. Slightly altered, this injunction has been turned into the familiar saying: “Put your best foot foremost.” Dr. Johnson was so particular about this rule, that if he happened to plant his left foot on the threshold of a house, he would turn back, and reënter right foot foremost. Similarly, one must always begin dressing the right foot first. An exception occurs to us: in military tactics it is always the left foot that goes foremost.

Professional gamblers are firm believers in the element of luck, the world over. According to their _dictum_, a youth who has never gambled before, is sure to be lucky at his first essay at play. Finding a piece of money or carrying a dice in the pocket also insures good fortune, they say.

To secure luck at cards or to change your luck, when it is going against you, you must walk three times around your chair or else blow upon the cards with your breath. Beyond reasonable doubt you will be a winner. Not so very long ago, it was the custom for women to offer to sit cross-legged in order to procure luck at cards for their friends. I have seen players spit on their hands for the same purpose. Sitting cross-legged, with the fingers interlaced, was formerly considered the correct magical posture.

The hair will grow better if cut on the waxing of the moon. This notion is probably based on the symbolism of the moon’s waxing and waning, as associated with growing and declining nature.

A Newfoundland fisherman to-day spits on the first piece of silver given him for luck. In the Old Country this was also a common practice among the lower class of hucksters, upon receiving the price of the first goods sold on that day, which they call “hansell.”[10] Boxers often spit into their hands before engaging in a set-to, as also did the schoolboys of my own age, who thought it a charm to prevent the master’s ferule from hurting them as much as it otherwise would, but later found out their mistake.

In some country districts the belief still holds that if a live frog can be passed through a sick cow the animal will get well, but the frog must be alive and kicking, or the charm will not work.

Salt was formerly the first thing taken into a new house, in the belief that the occupants would never want for bread in that house.

“Happy is the corpse that the rain rains on.” This is a sort of corollary to the belief, that it is a fortunate sign if the sun shines on a newly wedded couple.

The long established custom of laying the head of the dead to the east is probably a survival of the ancient sun-worship. It is traced back to the Phœnicians. In Shakespeare’s “Cymbeline” we find this reference to it:--

“We must lay his head to the east:
My father hath reason for’t.”

We are reminded that ropes are coiled, cranks turned, and eggs beaten with the sun. One writer upon Folk-lore[11] remarks that passing the bottle at table from right to left, instead of being merely proper form, really comes from this ancient superstition.

Telling the bees of a death in the family was formerly a quite general practice, if indeed it has entirely died out. I know that it has been practised in New England within my own recollection. It was the belief that a failure to so inform the bees would lead to their dwindling away and dying, according to some interpreters, or to their flying away, according to others. The manner of proceeding was to knock with the house-key three times against the hives, at the same time telling the noisy inmates that their master or mistress, as the case might be, was dead. One case is reported where an old man actually sung a psalm in front of some hives. In New England the hives were sometimes draped in black. The semi-sacred character with which antiquity invested this wonderful little insect sufficiently accounts for the practice. Mr. Whittier has some verses about it in “Home Ballads.” Beating upon a pot or kettle when bees are swarming comes from Virgil’s injunction, in the like case, to raise tinkling sounds.

Laying a plate for a dead person was in pursuance of the belief that, if it were omitted, one death in the family would speedily be followed by another.

The Passing Bell was originally instituted to drive away evil spirits, as well as to bespeak the prayers of all good Christians for a soul just leaving the body. Sitting up with a dead body originated in a like purpose. The former custom is dimly reflected in the tolling of the bell, the number of strokes indicating the age of the deceased.

It is considered lucky to put on a garment wrong side out. I knew of a sea-captain who, on rising late in the morning of the day he was to sail, in his hurry, put on his drawers wrong side out. He said to his wife, with a laugh, that he would wear them so for luck. The ship in which he sailed was lost, with all on board, on the very same night; and, as it turned out, the captain’s mistake in putting on his clothes proved the means of identifying his mutilated remains when they were found on the beach the next morning.

The trial to discover a witch, made use of by the circle of hysterical young girls in the time of the lamentable witchcraft terror, was to take a sieve and a pair of scissors or shears, stick the points of the shears in the wood of the sieve, and let two of them hold it balanced upright on the tips of their two fingers; then to ask St. Peter and St. Paul if a certain person, naming the one suspected, was a witch. If the right one was hit upon, the sieve would suddenly turn round.

As usual, Butler has something to say of this charm:--

“Th’ oracle of the sieve and shears
That turns as certain as the spheres.”

Another similar charm is that of the Bible and key. I do not learn of its being practised of late, though it has been put to the trial since I can remember, to discover a thief. It is done in this way. The key is placed upon a certain chapter in the Bible, after which the sacred book is shut and tightly fastened. Both are then hung to a nail. The name of the suspected person is then repeated three times by some one present, while another recites:--

“If it turns to thee, thou art the thief.”

Should the key have turned, the guilt is, of course, fixed upon the real criminal.

Perhaps the manner of proceeding in such cases will be made clearer by the following relation of an actual test and its results, which took place in England some thirty years ago, and was given to the world as a curious instance of the degree of superstition then still existing in many parts of Great Britain. The account goes on to say that: “At the Cricklade Petty Sessions, in Wiltshire, a matron named Eliza Glass made a statement which was briefly as follows: Her father had lost or missed the sum of four pounds sterling, and suspicion, apparently unfounded, fell upon herself and her husband. The theory was formed that she had stolen a key, and thus her husband had obtained access to the money. It was determined to test the matter by the ‘Bible and key.’ The key was placed in the Bible on a particular place in Solomon’s Song, the book closed and tied, and suspended by a string passed through the handle of the key, which protruded. One of the persons then thought of the suspected individual, the edge of the book turned toward the tester, and Mrs. Glass was adjudged guilty, or as she expressed it, ‘upset.’ All this was in her absence. But she knew that she was innocent, and when informed of her condemnation adopted tactics which others, more astute than she, had used before her; she determined to impeach the credibility of the witness. Taking a New Testament she put the key on the words ‘Blessed are the pure in heart,’ and suspending the book as before, she was acquitted. Troubled by the apparent inconsistency of the Old and the New Testaments, she inquired of the magistrates what was to be done. They dismissed her with the remark that the bench could not interfere, and that, if innocent, she ought to be satisfied with the approval of a good conscience.”

Thrusting a knife between the leaves of a Bible to obtain a name for a child has not gone out of use even yet.

The Wassail, or Loving Cup, is nothing but a relic of superstition, like drinking of healths, which custom, though no longer an indispensable ceremonial on state occasions, as it has been within the century, lives yet in the spirit whenever two friends happen to pledge each other in a social glass, silently or otherwise. The familiar “Here’s to you!” is neither more nor less than an invocation to good luck.

Throwing an old shoe is perhaps most intimately associated, in the popular mind, with marriage ceremonies; but it is also found doing duty in other matters concerning personal advantage or welfare,--as when, for instance, a person was going out to transact business, it was considered lucky to throw an old shoe after him. The same thing was done when servants were seeking or entering upon situations. So far, the meaning of the act is simple enough, the controlling idea being to propitiate success.

But if we should divest an old shoe of its assumed mystical property, in the name of that superior wisdom which our cultured class is supposed to possess, why would it not be as well, or even better, to throw a new pair after the candidate for good fortune? But no, it must be an _old_ shoe. And therein lies the whole philosophy of the matter. Unless we shall conform to the strict letter of this antiquated custom, there will be no luck about the house.[12]

In Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Gypsies,” we find this joyous couplet:--

“Hurle after an old shoe,
I’ll be merry whate’er I do.”

Much to the same purport is Tennyson’s:--

“And wheresoe’er thou move, good luck
Shall throw her old shoe after.”

Apropos of beliefs affecting tradespeople of to-day, a newspaper clipping notes the following curious custom prevailing among the street pedlers and small storekeepers of New York, that has its origin with the Russian Jews. In Baxter Street the clothing men and in Division Street the milliners insist that a sale must be made before nine o’clock on Monday morning. No matter what the price and regardless of profit or loss, some piece of goods must be turned into coin by that hour; otherwise the week will prove an unlucky one.

On the other hand, there is a firm belief in some parts of New England that if you pay a bill on Monday, you will pay out money all the rest of the week. Hence, a very natural prejudice has arisen against paying a bill on that day.

Shipmasters are admittedly very superstitious folk. I once knew of a ship being named for a certain well-known cotton mill, because the said mill had always proved a lucky investment to its owners. Another instance came to my knowledge where a master, himself part owner, consulted a clairvoyant about naming his new ship. When the applicant timidly suggested the name of _Pocahontas_, it was promptly rejected with the remark: “She was nothing but an old Indian woman. What do you want to name your vessel after her for? Call her the _Eagle Wing_.” And _Eagle Wing_ it was.

By way of reënforcing beliefs of this particular kind, we find a newspaper writer saying, it is supposed in all sincerity, as otherwise his offence would be unpardonable: “Don’t let us call any of the new ships for Uncle Sam’s navy after the state of Maine. For my part, nothing would induce me to go aboard a new _Maine_ or a new _Portland_. Like that watch of Captain Sigsbee, which has gone down into the ocean three times, the last plunge being caused by the explosion of the _Maine_, a superstitious person would prefer to be left at home.” Whether or not the navy bureau shall listen to this plea, and change the name proposed for one of the new battle-ships, we fear that an ineffaceable stigma will hereafter rest upon these two names in the minds not alone of seafaring folk, but of the whole generation to whom the twin horrors which these names recall are so familiar.

Still speaking of ships, I suppose few people are aware that until quite recently it was the custom, when a new ship was being built, to put a piece of money, silver or gold, under the heel of each mast. This custom at once recalls that traditional one of putting coins under the corner-stone of a new building; but unlike that, the former act was in full accord with the prevalent notion that it would bring good luck to the vessel.

I find that some people are strongly impressed with the idea that the month or day on which they were born will prove to them a most critical one throughout their whole lives. Indeed, many strange coincidences of this sort have come to my notice. If a man has happened to have a run of bad luck, he will often tell you that it is because he was born under an unlucky star; if, on the other hand, he has been unusually prosperous, it is commonly said of him that he was born to good luck. So wags the world!

As a fitting pendant to Jernegan’s gold-from-sea-water scheme, Mrs. Howe’s bank, and Miller’s syndicate, all fresh in the memory of everyone, comes the “lucky-box” humbug and its humiliating exposure, as I write. Upon the simple assurance that the possessor of this marvellous box (which could be carried in the pocket) would become instantly lucky, thousands were quickly sold, and the sale of more thousands was only stopped by the prompt intervention of the law!

VI

CHARMS AGAINST DISEASE

“I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.”--_Shakespeare._

Under this heading we shall first call attention to those plants having the alleged power to cure disease or protect from evil influences. But before doing so, we would suggest that the reader turn to his standard or popular dictionary. He will there find the magical word “abracadabra” defined as a charm against fevers.

In former times, the young, unrolled fronds of the male fern were supposed to guard the wearer against the Evil Eye or witchcraft; and were not only worn by the credulous, but also given to the cattle as a charm against being bewitched.[13] Moonwort fern had the reputation of being able to undo any lock, bolt, or bar, or even to draw nails from the shoe of any horse treading upon it; and mistletoe to be a sure cure for the stone.

The roots and flowers of violets are supposed to moderate anger, and to comfort and strengthen the heart--hence the significant name of heartsease.

St.-John’s-wort is still gathered in some parts of the Old Country on the Eve of St. John the Baptist, and hung out over the windows and doors, in accord with the ancient superstition that it would keep out all evil spirits, and shield the inmates from storms and other calamities.

The belief associated with holly, now so generally used for Christmas decoration, comes from Pliny, who writes that “the branches of this tree defend houses from lightning, and men from witchcraft.” The common mullein was also held to have potency against hurts inflicted by wild beasts, or any evil coming near; and, similarly, the mountain ash was considered a protection against the Evil Eye, witches, and warlocks. So, also, a sea-onion was often hung in the doorway, with a like object.

Another charm said to be very efficacious, though the writer has not tried it himself, yet having the sanction of age, is this: “Against a woman’s chatter, taste at night, fasting, the root of a radish; on that day the chatter cannot harm thee.”

Many of the myths concerning plants still exist in a modified form among us, although it is no doubt true that most people who decorate their houses with evergreens and holly at Christmastide are ignorant of the mysticism they so innocently perpetuate. Yet the Puritan fathers of New England were as utterly opposed to the decorating of houses of worship with “Christmas Greens,” as to the observance of the day itself. Could they but revisit the scenes of their earthly labors during that season of unstinted festivity and good cheer, when man’s heart is so warmed through the medium of his stomach, how shocked they would be to see

“Gilt holly with its thorny pricks,
And yew and box, with berries small,
These deck the unused candlesticks,
And pictures hanging by the wall.”

Beyond a doubt, most of the long-standing beliefs, touching the remedies for this or that ailment, belong to a time when the services of a skilled physician or surgeon were not to be had for love or money, or medical aid be instantly summoned to the sick man’s bedside by telephone. This was especially true of the sparsely settled parts of the country, where every prudent housewife laid in a stock of roots and herbs against sickness in the family. Some of what nowadays are called “popular remedies,” are found in Josselyn’s “Rarities.” Here are a few of them:--

“The skin of a hawk is good to wear on the stomach for the pain and coldness of it. Lameness (or rheumatic pains) may be cured by lying on a bearskin. Seal oil being cast upon coals will bring women out of their mother fits.” The white cockle-shell was very good to stanch blood. For a rattlesnake bite, “their hearts swallowed fresh, is a good antidote against their Venom, and their liver (the Gall taken out) bruised and applied to their Bitings is a present Remedy--” a clear proof, it seems to us, that the theory of _similia similibus curantur_, did not originate with Dr. Koch, or even with the justly eminent Professor Pasteur.

But even the wonderful advance made by medical science is powerless to eradicate the superstitions concerning disease, which live and thrive in spite of progress, like the noxious weeds that baffle all the farmer’s vigilance. Then, there is a considerable constituency who, after making a trial of the regular school of medicine, to no avail, naturally fall back upon the _flotsam_ and _jetsam_ of bygone times, as a drowning man is said to grasp at a straw. As regards the former statement it may be asserted, as of personal knowledge, that inherited diseases, such as humors, scrofula, fits and the like, and even birthmarks, in many parts of the country, are still looked upon and talked about, not as a misfortune, but as a visitation upon the family so afflicted. I once heard one of these unfortunates described as “that fitty man.”

The advent of Sirius, or the dog-star, was formerly supposed to exert an occult influence upon poor humanity. In that critical season all people were advised to look carefully to their diet, to shun all broiled, salted, and strong meats, and to drink small beer and such other liquors as aids to digestion.

As touching those natural objects having reputed curative properties or virtues, perhaps the common horsechestnut is the most familiar, for the widespread belief in its power to charm away the rheumatism. Several gentlemen of my acquaintance habitually carry this magical nut on their persons, and one was actually found in the pocket of a drowned man while this chapter was being written. Yet I have known those who preferred the potato. A gentleman to whom I happened to mention the subject one day, to my profound surprise, immediately drew forth a healthy-looking tuber of a large size, which he emphatically asserted to be the only thing that had ever relieved a severe attack of rheumatism. I have also known nutmegs to be perforated, and hung round the neck, for a similar purpose.

Wearing eel-skin garters is also more or less practised as a cure for the same complaint.

Putting sulphur in the shoes is also highly commended as a cure for rheumatism. I have known the same thing done as a preventive against an attack of grippe.

Plain or galvanized iron finger rings are also worn for their supposed property to cure the rheumatism.

Another well-to-do business man gravely assured me that a nutmeg, suspended round the neck by a string, was a sure cure for boils “--and no mistake about it--” and strongly urged giving it a trial.

Corns and warts likewise are cured by carrying a horsechestnut on the person. Another way is to rub the wart with a copper coin, throwing the coin away immediately after. The person picking it up transfers the fungus to himself. Still another way is to first stick a pin in the wart, then to go and stick the same pin into an apple tree, though in England they say it must be an ash. The notion that such things were “catching” seems to have suggested, in a way to be easily understood, the theory of disease transference, to common folk. With this view a puppy is sometimes put into the same bed with a sick child, in the belief that the sickness will pass from the child to the puppy, while both are asleep. A case, in which this remedy was tried, came to my knowledge very recently.

To return to the subject of warts, some countryfolk highly recommend making the sign of the cross against the chimney-back with a piece of chalk, asserting that, as soon as the mark is covered with soot, the warts will go away. Others, equally skilled in this sort of cures, contend that if you steal some beans, and secretly bury them in the ground the disagreeable excrescences will leave you. Should all else fail you must then sell your warts or corns to somebody. Who’ll buy? Who’ll buy?

Should you have a decayed tooth extracted, the molar must instantly be thrown into the fire, or you will surely have a cat’s tooth come in its place. To dream of losing your teeth is, by many, considered a sure sign of coming trouble. Jet, powdered and mixed with wine, was once thought to be a sure remedy for the toothache.

Wearing a caul is a sure protection against drowning.

One must not kiss a cat; the doing so will expose one to catch some disease.

Hostlers and stable boys believe that it keeps horses healthy to have a goat about the stable.

A gold wedding-ring is believed to be a cure for sties.

Wearing red yarn around the neck is esteemed a prevention against nose-bleeding.

Sticking your jack-knife into the head of the bed will prevent cramps. Another way is to put both your slippers by your bedside, bottoms up, before retiring for the night. Should you neglect this, the cramps will surely return. The gentleman who gave me this receipt, said he got it from his mother. The old way, as laid down in the books, was to lay out your shoes in the form of a cross, before retiring.

In some country districts, a heavy growth of foliage is considered a certain forerunner of coming sickness. The blossoming of trees, in autumn, also forebodes an epidemic of sickness.

It is a matter of common knowledge, that tooth charmers continue to carry on a more or less lucrative trade in the country towns. “What did she do to you?” was asked of a countryman who had just paid a visit to one of these cunning women, at the urgent solicitation of a friend. “Do?” was the bewildered answer, “why, she didn’t do nothing at all, but just said over something to herself, and the pain was all gone in a minute.” This person, like a great many others, had a rooted aversion to having a tooth “hauled,” as he expressed it, and would have suffered untold tortures from an aching tooth, rather than have gone to a regular practitioner. One woman, in particular, whom I have in mind, enjoys a wide reputation in the neighborhood where she practises her healing art. She simply mutters some incantation, or spell, and _presto_! the most excruciating pain is conjured away; so ’tis said.

There is a very old belief touching the virtue of a halter, that has done service in hanging a criminal, to charm away the headache. Probably other powers are attributed to this barbarous instrument of death, for it is said to be a fact, that the negroes of the southern States will pay a great price for a piece of the hangman’s noose, to be kept in the house, as a charm.

The madstone is claimed to be a certain remedy for the bite of rabid dogs, snake bites and the like. The wonderful cures effected by one of these magic stones, owned by a lady living in Mississippi (references being given to quite a number of well-known people, who had either tested the remarkable properties of this particular stone, or who had personal knowledge of the facts), went the rounds of the newspapers some years ago. Upon being applied to the wound or bite, the stone adhered to it until the virus was absorbed. It then fell off, and after being well cleaned, was again applied until it failed to hold. When this took place, the patient was considered out of danger. With this stone it was claimed that the bite of a mad dog could be cured at any time before hydrophobia had set in.

A similar case is reported from Virginia, with details that leave no doubt of the honesty of the principals concerned.

This was the famous Upperville madstone, which has been in the hands of the Fred family for over one hundred and fifty years. As its name indicates, the peculiar property of this stone is its apparent appetite for the virus to be found in the wound made by the bite of any venomous animal. This is the owner’s story:

“The stone was brought to Virginia in 1740 by Joshua Fred, who was a well-to-do farmer in Warwickshire, England, and became an important landowner in Fauquier County. By his wish his descendants had clung to this stone as a priceless heirloom, and I am proud to say that their use of it has always reflected credit upon the good, old-fashioned hospitality and kindliness characteristic of Virginians. It was well known all over the country that anybody might go to the Fred farm with any unfortunate who had been bitten by a dog, and enjoy a certain cure without any cost. For a hundred years none of the Freds would permit any one who was cured in this way by the madstone to pay a farthing, even for board or lodging or horse feed. In later years the vicissitudes of peace and war having somewhat affected the fortunes of various members of the family, it became the practice to allow visitors who came to use the madstone to pay what they pleased for their entertainment and for the care of their teams. Beyond this, however, no charge whatever was made for scores of most remarkable cures.

“A journal was kept by the various members of the family who had charge of the madstone, in which was entered the name and age of every person on whom it was used, and the character of the wound treated. The entries in this book, made in the quaint handwriting of member after member of the family, the most of whom have long since turned to dust in their graves, are most interesting.

“While the stone was in my possession I had occasion several times to use it upon persons who were brought to me in great agony of mind over wounds they had received from the bite of rabid dogs. The last case occurred just a few days before the sale of the stone. A young boy was brought to my house late at night, who had been bitten on the wrist. The wound was an ugly one, and the father was in great distress of mind for fear hydrophobia would set in. I placed the stone on the boy’s wrist at about ten o’clock and went to bed. The father stayed up and took care of the boy. At two o’clock in the morning, he said, the stone let go. The boy was then sound asleep. The father placed the stone, as I had told him to do, in a glass of milk, on which, when I saw it in the morning, there was a thick green scum. This seemed to be the usual result in all such cases. The stone was never known to let go until it had extracted all the poison, and, on being placed in a glass of warm water or milk, discharged a greenish liquid. The stone itself is perhaps an inch long by three-quarters wide, and is of a velvety, grayish brown color. Years ago it was accidentally broken in two, and the jeweller who placed a gold band around it to hold it together has told me that the inside was a little darker than the outside and was arranged in concentric layers.”[14]

As an antidote against the bite of a dog, you must procure some of the hair of the dog that has bitten you. This has passed into a proverb among habitual topers, with particular reference to taking another “nip.”

There is also a more or less current belief, better grounded perhaps than many others of a like nature, that a dog which has bitten a person should not be killed until unmistakable symptoms of rabies have appeared.

Who does not remember the “blue-glass craze” of some fifteen years ago, which spread like wildfire over the land, and as suddenly died out? Whole communities went blue-glass mad. It was enough for some one to have advanced the theory that the cerulean rays were a cure-all, for everybody to accept it with as much confidence as if it had been one of the demonstrated facts of science. Dealers in blue-glass were about the only ones to benefit by the craze which infallibly suggests its own moral, namely, that credulity has not wholly disappeared. Is this doubted when hardly a day goes by in which some miraculous cure is not heralded abroad by the newspapers? Sometimes it is performed merely by the laying on of hands; and most often without the aid of medicines. Indeed, within a few years, there has sprung up a new school of healing, numbering its tens of thousands proselytes, which not only sets all the best established principles and traditions of the old schools at defiance, but also literally “throws physic to the dogs.”

The practice of dipping in the healing waters of the ocean as a cure-all, or preventive of disease for the coming year, formerly prevailed on the Maine coast, particularly at Old Orchard Beach and in the immediate neighborhood, to a very great extent. In its nature and inception the practice certainly more nearly approached the character of those annual pilgrimages made to the famous shrines of the Old World than anything which has come to my notice. Not to mince words, it proceeded from the same superstitious idea, just how originating no one can say. So, every year, on the anniversary of St. John the Baptist’s day, a curious assemblage of country-folk, for miles around, moved by a common impulse, wended their way to the nearest beaches, there to dip in the briny waters, believed to be invested with especial healing powers on this day only, like the bargains advertised to draw custom, and thereby be freed from all the ills which flesh is heir to. On that sacramental day of days, one saw a long string of nondescript wagons, loaded with old and young, moving along the sandy roads leading down from their inland homes to the salt sea. Even the school children thought that they, too, must dip, in imitation of their elders. For some unknown reason, the day, which not only had the sanction of long custom but also is hallowed by such venerated traditions, was given up for the 26th, which is quite like any other day of the year.

As all superstitious folk are generally the last to admit that they are so, so in this instance the followers of this singular custom in general either maintain a discreet silence on the subject, or refuse to say more than that they go to the beach to bathe, on a fixed day, and at no other time, because other folks do so. The custom undoubtedly arose from a firm belief in the miraculous power of the waters to heal the sick, make the weak strong and the lame to walk--on that day only. That it is a most healthful one few will deny, and as cleanliness is said to be next to godliness, an annual dip at Old Orchard is, at least, one step toward the more spiritual condition.

But it would be a mistake to suppose this singular custom to be an article of religious faith. It simply illustrates the mental and moral stamina of the period in which it flourished. For if founded in faith alone, there is strong probability that it might have survived the ridicule to which it has mostly, if not quite, succumbed.

Whether it be merely a coincidence or not, it is fact that June 26th is also the anniversary of the festival of St. Anne, to whose shrine annual pilgrimages are made by the faithful in the northern parts of the United States and in Canada for purposes quite similar to those which once attracted a host of bathers to the Maine beaches, with the difference that the Canadian shrine can show many visible tokens of its marvellous curative powers, to be seen of all men. A visitor to the little church of St. Anne, de Beaupré, remarks that “by far the most conspicuous feature of the place was a towering trophy of crutches and canes raised within the altar rail. These were of all sizes and shapes. Two fresh additions rested against the rail, where they had been left by their recovered owners.”

Apparently authentic accounts of miracles, performed at this venerated shrine, appear from time to time in the Canadian newspapers. One of these relates, as a matter of news, that “a young girl named Marie Levesque, who had only walked with difficulty during the last two years, with the aid of crutches, was radically cured. The second case was that of a young Irish lad, who, on returning from the church to the boat which was to take him to Quebec, suddenly threw away his crutch, exclaiming to one of his companions as he did so, ‘Oh! I forgot to leave my crutch in the church.’ ‘But you will want it again,’ was the reply. ‘No, not at all: I have no longer any use for it.’ And with that, he began walking about the deck, to all appearance as well as ever.”

In addition to these cases, which come to us through reputable sources, the _Quebec Gazette_ records the following: “A man named Renaud, who accompanied the party from St. James’ parish on Saturday, and who for three years has had one side of his body completely paralyzed, was able on Sunday to walk out of church leaning on the arm of his brother. A farmer named Moulin, from Laprairie, who has been deaf for five years, fell on the floor apparently senseless, just as the officiating priest was pronouncing the benediction. He declared that when the priest raised his hands he could feel a touch upon his ear, and at the same moment, hearing the low tones of the Holy Father, fainted away from excess of joy. He is said to have been in perfect possession of his sense of hearing on his return home. Another man, who had lost his sight through an attack of typhoid fever a year and a half ago, states that immediately after crossing himself with the holy water he was well able to see all that was going on. His name is Bruneau, and he is a Lavaltrie farmer.”

The following cure for the croup was communicated to me by a very respectable farmer now deceased. After talking of various remedies for this dreaded scourge to young children, my informant observed that he knew a sure cure for it. Said he: “Take a live chicken, cut it open and take out the gizzard. Throw that into a basin of cold water and let it stay there. I know, for I’ve seen it tried; but the chicken must be alive after the operation.”

Of a like nature was the advice given to a poor country woman who was dying of consumption, by one of those female charlatans who have so legitimately replaced the fearsome witch doctors of the past. The patient was told that if she would swallow a live frog daily it would cure her. Poor creature! she had half the boys in the village catching frogs for her, and kept them in a tub in the cellar, where they could be handy. The treatment proved too heroic. She died.

It is a fact that touching for the King’s Evil has been practised in New England as late as 1815, perhaps even later. By far the most remarkable instance of the possession of this power that has been recorded upon what seems like incontrovertible evidence, is that of Lieutenant William Robbe of Peterborough, New Hampshire.[15] One feature of his treatment, which no doubt served to draw many clients to him, was the practice of giving to each afflicted person a piece of silver. In fact, so many applied that the lieutenant was seriously interrupted in his legitimate occupations.

A Doctor Young, who in the account referred to is described as having been an eminent practitioner for more than forty years in the town, is said to have declared that infants afflicted with scrofulous diseases, tumors and the like, too obstinate to yield to medical aid, did unquestionably receive almost immediate relief from the healing hand of Lieutenant Robbe.

The wonderful healer continued to practise his semi-miraculous treatment until he was no longer able to raise his hands, but even then, so eager were the applicants, many of whom came from a distance, not to be disappointed, that the feeble hands were lifted for him to the sufferer’s head.