Page:The Folk-Lore Journal Volume 1 1883.djvu/342

334 who was bewitched, it was the ship.' The 'witch,' however, added that he must see the captain. The youth consulted the captain, and a second journey to Plymouth was undertaken, this time in company with the captain, but with the same result—for some mysterious reason the 'witch' could do him no good. The young man then had recourse to the common-place expedient of going into the infirmary. The North Devon Journal in referring to superstition says that in almost every village of North Devon there are those who are supposed to possess the power of curing "king's evil," and a multitude of other diseases, without the aid of medicine. "Saying words" is the means adopted. Only recently, in a parish not six miles from the metropolis of North Devon, a man was suffering from a dreadfully bad arm, poisoned, it was said, by the bite of a ferret. It did not mend rapidly until a dame with the envied power of healing was prevailed upon to pay regular visits to the ailing one and "say words" for him. Then he recovered. "Saying words" will stop bleeding, break a spell, prevent cattle from straying, and work innumerable miracles in general. It will fetch a thorn from the finger, and lime or dust from the eye. To have words said for a bad eye a man recently came every Friday nine or ten miles, the doctor coming from a village about half that distance in another direction to meet him. No money, it is said, must be passed, but bags of potatoes, plump fowls, a ham, and, it may be supposed, at this season of the year a goose or turkey, are legitimate vehicles for the expressions of the healed one's gratitude. The other morning a labouring man of rather a shrewd and comical turn of mind was walking along the turnpike-road, when, on casting his eye up over a steep piece of ground on his left, he noticed an oldish man, well known for his belief in witchcraft, and reputed as being able to do a thing or two in that line himself, making sundry crosses with a stick upon the ground, and muttering to himself the while, He was pretty much absorbed in his occupation, but our jocose friend, suspecting his business, introduced himself, in a fashion peculiar to rural gentleman, with "Hullaw you! what art at there?" In serious tones came the response, "Why, thek blamed sheep o' mine waunt stop nowhere. I knaw who'th a dood et and I'm puttin aut t' rights." His "puttin aut t' rights" was nothing more or less than crossing the ground with a stick (the magician's wand) and muttering some incantation the while. This he evidently believed would be more potent than raising any barrier of thorns or briars. This same enlightened individual