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!
[Illustration]
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.”