At Castine I heard of an old lady residing high up in the Penobscot
mountains, who could magnetize a sore or a painful limb at sight. Such
marvellous stories were told of her "charming," that I decided to go over
the mountain and see her. She was not a "professional," however, and
objected to being made too public. Therefore I made an excuse for calling
at the house "on my way afoot across the country," and was cordially
received by the family, of whom there were four generations residing under
one roof. The house was a story and half brown cottage, large on the
ground, and surrounded by numerous out-houses and barns. The view from the
western slope of the mountain where she lived was most magnificent. I
reached the farm before sunset. Here I lingered to overlook the beautiful
Penobscot as it flowed at my feet, and the far-off islands of the sea.
Here one could "gaze and never tire," out over the grand old forests, down
to the sea-side, and upon countless little white specks, the whitened
sails of the fishermen and coasting vessels, with an occasional ship or
steamboat flitting up and down the noble Penobscot river and bay. Still
above me the eagle built her nest in the rocking pines, on the mountain
top, and still far below sung the nightingale and wheeled the hungry
osprey in his belated piscatorial occupations.
The sun sank behind the western hills, tinging the soft, fleecy clouds
with its golden glory. Slowly changing from purple and gold to faint
yellow, to dark blue, the clouds gradually assumed the night hue, and
sombre shadows crept adown the western mountains' sides, flinging their
dark mantle over the waters, from shore to shore. The sturdy farmer has
shouldered his scythe, and reluctantly he leaves the half-mown lot to seek
his evening repast at the family table. Then he discovers me, leaning over
the gate-bar, rapt in dreamy forgetfulness, and with a hearty salutation
extends to me the hospitality, so proverbially cordial, of the old New
England farmer. He shows me his pigs in the pen, and his "stock" in the
barn-yard, and reaching the house, he calls "mother," who, appearing in
calico and homespun, though with a cheerful and smiling face, is
introduced to me as his wife. "A stranger, belated, and I guess pretty
tired-like, climbing up here; and I won't take no excuses from him; so he
stays with us to-night."
[Illustration: THE CHARMER DIVULGES HER SECRET.]
I talk with the lady, I play with the babies, I even toy with Towser and
Tabby, till tea is set. Now I am introduced to the old lady. I thought I
would get to it at last. She was seventy odd years of age, a deaf, but
devout old lady, who was easily wheedled into divulging to me her secret
of "charming." She told me she had the "rheumatiz," and by my tender
sympathies and a roll of plaster for her lame back, I got into her own
room before bed-time. O, but I came out soon after! She was very deaf.
"You see," said she, "a woman can't learn it to another woman--only to a
male. He must be a _good_ man." I nodded assent. "Yes; well, you must have
faith." Again I nodded--she was very deaf. "You must touch the painful
part and say--" Here she bent down her lips to my ear and whispered
something in seven words which she said I must never tell, and she
compelled me to promise never to divulge the secret while I lived, under
pain of God's great displeasure.
Perhaps I had better keep my promise, though the good old lady has long
since "gone to her reward."