I can see the place as it was of yore,
When its crystal riches would ripple and pour
From a fountain channel fresh and dank,
'Mid flowering rush and grassy bank;
When the pale cheek left the city wall,
And the courtier fled the palace hall,
To seek the peaceful shadows that fell
On the waters of the "Holy Well."
. . . . .
Some birds came to plume their wing,
And lave their beaks in the healing spring;
And gorgeous butterflies stopp'd to play
About the place on a sultry day.
Folks came from the east and came from the west,
To take at that fountain health and rest;
From the north and the south they came to dwell,
By the far-famed stream of the "Holywell."
Eliza Cook.
Perhaps no ancient superstition has had a more enduring existence than what Mr. Hunt terms "well-worship." This may have arisen, to some extent, from the fact that water, under certain conditions, possesses undoubted "medical virtues." The necessity of personal cleanliness to ensure ordinary comfort, and the value of aqueous agency in its achievement, would doubtless exercise some influence, even in remote times. Add to this the horrors of a "water famine," the intense suffering resulting from prolonged thirst, and we can well imagine that the early tribes of men who worshipped fire would feel a corresponding reverence for what may be termed its natural complement—water. The sun's heat was powerless for good, nay, it was potent for evil, unless in close alliance with the "gentle rain from heaven." From their union springs the warm moisture essential to vegetable growth. Water, too, in more modern times, has been largely employed as a symbol of purity; and, in the Roman Catholic Church, especially, has been consecrated to religious purposes, and rendered "holy." It is, indeed, employed by all Christian sects, in the rite of baptism, as symbolising purity. Hence it is not surprising that many springs, and especially in the neighbourhood of religious houses, should in the middle ages have been invested with a sacred character, or that superstition of a more ancient and a heathen origin should yet, as it were, haunt their precincts. On this subject Mr. Robert Hunt makes the following eloquent and pertinent observations:—"The purity of the liquid impresses itself, through the eye, upon the mind, and its power of removing all impurity is felt to the soul. 'Wash and be clean,' is the murmuring call of the waters, as they overflow their rocky basins, or grassy vases, and deeply sunk in depravity must that man be who could put to unholy uses one of nature's fountains. The inner life of a well of waters, bursting from its grave in the earth, may be religiously said to form a type of the soul purified by death, rising into a glorified existence and the fulness of light. The tranquil beauty of the rising waters, whispering the softest music, like the healthful breathing of a sleeping infant, sends a feeling of happiness through the soul of the thoughtful observer, and the inner man is purified by its influence, as the outer man is cleansed by ablution."
Many such wells as those in connection with the "Old Friary," at Preston, which gave the name to Ladywell-street, in that borough, like that which performed a similar office for the now notorious "Hollywell street," near the Strand, in London, have passed away, and left nothing behind but the street nomenclature referred to. Others, however, like the St. Mary's well, at the foot of the hill on which the old priory of Penwortham was situated, yet retain, in many minds, not only their reputation for the medical value of their waters, but a vague remnant of reverence and even superstition is still to a large extent associated with them.
A spring in the parish of Brindle, near Preston, has some traditionary associations in connection with it which I am inclined to think date back far into pagan antiquity, notwithstanding the fact that it has been for centuries named "St. Helen's well." The name has become corrupted by the neighbouring peasantry in a most singular manner. On my first visit to the locality, I inquired of an elderly woman if she could inform me in what direction I should proceed to find St. Helen's well. She at first said she had never heard of such a place, but after considerable hesitation she at length exclaimed with some animation, in the dialect of the district, "Oh! it ull be Stelling well yo mean, I'll be bun." A writer under the signature, "Leicestriensis," in vol. 6, p. 152, of "Notes and Queries," speaking of a St. Austin's well, near Leicester says:—"On making some inquiries, a few years ago, of the 'oldest inhabitant' of the neighbourhood, respecting St. Augustine's well, he at first pleaded ignorance of it, but at length, suddenly enlightened, exclaimed, 'Oh! you mean Tosting's well.'" Cakes baked for the lace-makers' feasts in Buckinghamshire, in honour of St. Andrew, their patron saint, are locally termed "Tandry Cakes." These are both curious and instructive specimens of the manner in which names of places and persons undergo changes in their transmission from generation to generation by popular tradition.
St. Helen's well, which is now sadly neglected, is situated about a mile and a half to the south-west of the village of Brindle. Dr. Kuerden, who resided in the neighbourhood, thus refers to it, about two centuries ago:—
"Over against Swansey House, a little towards the hill, standeth an ancient fabric, once the manor house of Brindle, where hath been a chappel belonging to the same, and, a little above it, a spring of very clear water rushing straight upwards into the midst of a fayre fountain, walled square about in stone and flagged in the bottom, very transparent to be seen, and a strong stream issuing out of the same. The fountain is called Saint Ellen's Well, to which place the vulgar neighbouring people of the Red letter do much resort, with pretended devotion, on each year upon St. Ellen's day, where and when out of a foolish ceremony they offer or throw into the well pins, which there being left may be seen a long time after by any visitor to that fountain."
There is a St. Helen's well, near Sefton, in West Lancashire, into which pins were formerly thrown by the credulous, as at Brindle.
The superstitions connected with this "pin dropping" into certain wells are somewhat varied in character. They, however, seem to have generally some relation to divination or fortune-telling, and appear to have found their chief patrons in the fair sex. The well superstitions of this class are widely spread. Dudley Costello tells us that in many parts of Brittany they keep a very watchful eye over the morals of the young women. The fountain of Bobdilis, near Landividian, is famous as an ordeal to test propriety of conduct. The pin which fastens the habit shirt is dropped into the water, and if it touch the bottom with the point downwards the girl is freed from all suspicion; if, on the contrary, it turns the other way and sinks head foremost, her reputation is irretrievably damaged.
The author of "Wanderings in Brittany" informs us that there is a "magic well" of this class at or near Barenton, to which peasants yet bring their children when ill of fever, having faith in the healing powers of the water. He thus describes the manner in which the deity of the spring is invoked:—"You say 'Ris! Ris! Fontaine de Barenton,' dropping a pin the while into the spring, whereupon it breaks into ripples and bubbles; if it laughs you are to be fortunate; if it remains mute you will be unlucky. Tradition and poetry both say the water fizzes around a sword point, but we had nothing larger than pins to try it with, and to these it responded gaily." He adds that "when the country was in great want of rain, a procession was formed to the fountain, and the priest dipped the foot of the cross, out of the church, into the water, after which rain is sure to fall abundantly. This ceremony has been successful very lately." The same writer refers to another superstition, in connection with the "magic well," which plainly indicates its pagan origin. He says:—"The peasants believe the priests can punish them by sprinkling water from the spring on the large stone, the Perron of Merlin, above the well, which brings rain throughout the whole parish for many days."
"Seleucus," in "Notes and Queries," speaks of a well, with a superstition connected with it similar to the one at Brindle, in the Welsh peninsula of Gower. It is called the "Cefyn Bryn or the Holy Well." He says, "it is still supposed to be under the especial patronage of the Virgin Mary, and a crooked pin is the offering of every visitor to its sacred precincts. It is believed that if this pin be dropped in with fervent faith, all the many pins which have ever been thrown into it may be seen rising from the bottom to greet the new one. Argue the impossibility of the thing, and you are told, it is true it never happens now, such earnestness of faith being, 'alas!' extinct."
In the same work, vol. 6, p. 28, Robert Rawlinson speaks of a spring near Wooler, in Northumberland, locally known as "Pin Well." He says "the country maids, in passing this spring, drop a crooked pin into the water. In Westmorland there is also a pin well, into the water of which rich and poor drop a pin in passing. The superstition in both cases consists in the belief that the well is under the charge of a fairy, and that it is necessary to propitiate the little lady by a present of some sort: hence the pin, as most convenient. The crooked pin of Northumberland may be explained upon the received hypothesis in folk-lore, that crooked things are lucky things, as a 'crooked sixpence,' &c."
Mr. Hunt, in his chapter on the "Superstitions of the Wells," gives numerous examples of its prevalence in the remote West of England. The water in the well of St. Ludvan formerly miraculously enlarged the sense of sight, and loosened the tongue of the true believer; but a demon that the good saint, after a terrible struggle, exorcised from out the body of a child and laid in the Red Sea, in his rage, "by spitting in the water," destroyed its efficacy in these matters. But it is believed still that any child baptised in its waters is certain never to succumb to the genius of Calcraft, and his hempen instrument of death. "On a cord of silk," however, we are informed that "it is stated to have no power." Some years back, notwithstanding, a woman was actually hanged here for the murder of her husband, whom she had poisoned with arsenic in order to clear the way for a more favoured lover. As she was born near the magic well, and was supposed to have been baptised with its waters, the greatest consternation prevailed in the neighbourhood. The much prized fountain had lost its cherished virtue! What was to be done under such a lamentable state of things? The necks of the inhabitants would in future be in equal jeopardy with those of the rest of her Majesty's subjects! It was, however, by some indefatigable enquirer, at last discovered that a mistake had been made; the murderer had not been born in the parish, and consequently had not been baptised with the liquid which flowed from the well of St. Ludwin. Great was the joy of the inhabitants on the receipt of this welcome news. The spring not only recovered its ancient prestige, but became more famous than ever.
The Gulvell Well, in Fosses Moor, answered the demands of lone married women or love-sick spinsters respecting their absent husbands or sweethearts. Mr. Hunt relates how a mother, one Jane Thomas, with her babe in her arms, recently, after a severe mental struggle, obeyed the injunction of an old hag, a "sort of guardian of the well," and tested its efficacy. "She knelt on the mat of bright green grass which grew around, and leaning over the well so as to see her child's face in the water, she repeated after her instructor,
Water, water, tell me truly,
Is the man I love duly
On the earth or under sod.
Sick or well—in the name of God!
Some minutes passed in perfect silence, and anxiety was rapidly turning cheeks and lips pale, when the colour rapidly returned. There was a gush of clear water from below, bubble rapidly followed bubble, sparkling brightly in the morning sunshine. Full of joy the young mother rose from her knees and exclaimed, 'I am happy now.'" It appears that if the party inquired after should be sick, the water bubbles, but in a filthy, muddy, condition. If he should be dead, it remains perfectly quiescent, to the dismay of the person seeking information.
There is a singular superstition attached to the well of St. Keyne, "namely, that whichever of a newly-married couple should first drink thereof was to enjoy the sweetness of domestic sovereignty ever after." Referring to this superstition, Mr. Hunt says:—"Once, and once only, have I paid a visit to this sacred spot. Then and there I found a lady drinking of the waters from her thimble, and eagerly contending with her husband that the right to rule was hers. The man, however, mildly insisted upon it that he had the first drink, as he had rushed before his wife, and, dipping his fingers into the waters, had sucked them. This, the lady contended, was not drinking, and she, no doubt, through life had the best of the argument."
There is one well in Cornwall which has long had a reputation for the cure of insanity. Carew, in his "Survey," describes the formula adopted to ensure a successful result:—"The water running from St. Nun's well fell into a square and enclosed walled plat, which might be filled at what depth they listed. Upon this wall was the frantic person put to stand, his back towards the pool, and from thence, with a sudden blow in the breast, tumbled headlong into the pond; where a strong fellow, provided for the nonce, took him and tossed him up and down, alongst and athwart the water, till the patient by foregoing his strength had somewhat forgot his fury. Then was he conveyed to the church, and certain masses said over him; upon which handling, if his right wits returned, St. Nun had the thanks; but if there appeared small amendment, he was bowssened again and again, while there remained in him any hope of life or recovery."
A well on the line of the Roman Wall, near Walltown, in Northumberland, has two distinct traditions attached to it and its neighbourhood! It is locally termed the "King's Well," or "King Arthur's Well." Hutchison says:—"Travellers are shown a well among the cliffs, where it is said Paulinus baptised King Egbert; but it is more probable it was Edwin, king of Northumberland." Dr. Collingwood Bruce says:—"The well has no doubt been a place of historical interest and importance, but unhappily modern drainage is robbing it of its treasures. Another interesting circumstance is connected with this locality. In the crevices of the whin-rock near the house chives grow abundantly. The general opinion is that we are indebted for these plants to the Romans, who were much addicted to the use of these and kindred vegetables. Most of the early writers refer to this subject; let the reader take a passage from Camden:—'The fabulous tales of the common people concerning this Wall, I doe wittingly and wilfully overpasse. Yet this one thing which I was enformed of by men of good credit, I will not conceale from the reader. There continueth a settled perswasion among a great part of the people there about, and the same received by tradition, that the Roman soldiers of the marches did plant here every where in old time for their use certain medicinable herbs, for to cure wounds; whence it is that some emperic practitioners of chirurgery in Scotland, flock here every year in the beginning of summer, to gather such simples and wound-herbes; the vertue whereof they highly commend as found by long experience, and to be of singular efficacy.'"
Many wells have been famous for the cure of "rickety" children. The mothers generally plunged them three times into the water, as they drew them three times through the cleft rowan or ash tree, with a similar object. In my youth I remember being solemnly informed, on bathing for the first time at the cold bath below the Maudlands, on Preston Marsh, that three distinct plunges into the fearfully cold liquid was the orthodox number, especially if medical benefit was the object sought.
The "Maddern or Madron Well, in Cornwall," and another, appear to be the only wells in that district that, like the one in Brindle, properly come under the designation of "pin wells." The curative properties of the former were held in very high repute. Bishop Hale, of Exeter, relates, in his "Great Mystery of Godliness," a singular anecdote respecting its presumed miraculous power. Referring to the case of a well-known cripple, he says, "This man, for sixteen years, was forced to walke upon his hands, by reason of the sinews of his leggs were soe contracted that he cold not goe or walke on his feet, who upon monition in a dream to wash in that well, which accordingly he did, was suddenly restored to the use of his limbs; and I sawe him both able to walk and gett his own maintenance. I found here was neither art nor collusion—the cure done, author our invisible God," etc.
In a MS., dated 1777, formerly in the library of Thomas Artle, Esq., and published by Davis Gilbert, F.R.S., in his "Parochial History of Cornwall," there is some curious information respecting this class of superstitions, which throws some light on the practices, formerly of ordinary occurrence, at St. Helen's Well, Brindle. The writer says:—
"In Madron Well—and, I have no doubt, in many others—may be found frequently the pins which have been dropped by maidens desirous of knowing 'when they were to be married.' I once witnessed the whole ceremony performed by a group of beautiful girls, who had walked on a May morning from Penzance. Two pieces of straw, about an inch long each, were crossed and the pin run through them. This cross was then dropped into the water, and the rising bubbles carefully counted, as they marked the number of years which would pass ere the arrival of the happy day. This practice also prevailed amongst the visitors to the well at the foot of Monacuddle Grove, near St. Austell. On approaching the waters, each visitor is expected to throw in a crooked pin; and, if you are lucky, you may possibly see the other pins rising from the bottom to meet the most recent offering. Rags and votive offerings to the genius of the waters are hung around many of the wells."
We have accounts of similar customs in North Britain and in the Hebrides. J. F. Campbell, in his "Popular Tales of the West Highlands," says:—"Holy healing wells are common all over the Highlands, and people still leave offerings of pins and nails, and bits of rag, though few would confess it. There is a well in Islay, where I myself have, after drinking, deposited copper caps amongst a hoard of pins and buttons, and similar gear, placed in chinks in the rocks and trees at the edge of the 'Witches Well.' There is another well with similar offerings freshly placed beside it, in an island in Loch Meree, in Ross-shire, and many similar wells are to be found in other places in Scotland."
A spring in connection with the ancient abbey at Glastonbury retained its reputation for sanctity and medical virtue until a very recent period. In consequence of some astounding, or, indeed, miraculous cure supposed to have been effected by its agency, immense numbers of invalids flocked to it in the years 1750 and 1751. It is said that, in the month of May, in the latter year, ten thousand persons visited Glastonbury, under the influence of this superstition.
Since the above was written, the following paragraph, from the Banffshire Journal, has come under my notice. It demonstrates the retention to the present day not only of the ancient superstition respecting wells, but likewise of some others to which I have referred in previous chapters:—
"A MODERN SCOTCH WITCH.—On the 23rd of February, there died at Mill of Ribrae, parish of Forglen, Margaret Grant, at the advanced age of 69 years; and as she represented a class which is regarded as becoming very few in number in the present day, two or three remarks on the chief features of her character may not be unacceptable. Margaret was superstitious, and fully and firmly believed, up to her dying day, that she possessed power to remove or avert the ills and aliments of both man and beast, especially of the latter; and this by means of various incantations, ceremonies, and appliances—such as fresh cuttings of 'ra'n tree,' some of which she always carried about with her. She would carefully place so many before and so many behind the particular beast she meant to benefit. Another potent charm was what she called 'holy water,' taken, no doubt, from some 'old and fabulous well.' This she also generally carried along with her, and used partly in sprinkling the pathway of the individuals she designed to bless—the rest to be mixed in common water to wash the hands and face. In the case of such as she was desirous should prosper, and be defended from evil, she would go round and round their dwellings, carrying along a rod of her wonder-working 'ra'n tree'—and this was usually done at a very early hour in the morning. She also believed herself to be transmutable, and that she was at times actually changed by evil-disposed persons into a pony or hare, and rode for great distances, or was hunted by dogs, as the case might be. We have heard of several other strange enchantments which Margaret practised when she had opportunity, and was allowed. But in all her foibles there was ever conspicuous the design of doing good."
From this it would appear that Margaret Grant was a witch of the white kind, they having, as I have previously shown, power only for good. The black were potent only for evil, and the grey ones were a combination of the other two.
I have previously referred to the "well-dressings," or the decoration of springs and fountains, yet very common in some counties, and especially in Derbyshire, and suggested that they owe their origin to the Roman Floralia, or to a still older custom, the common Aryan root of both. Crofton Croker speaks of the existence of "well worship" in Ireland; Dr. O'Conner, in his "Travels in Persia," notices its prevalence in the East; and Sir William Betham, in his "Gael and Cymbri," says, "The Celtæ were much addicted to the worship of fountains and rivers as divinities." He adds, "They had a deity called Divona, or the river-god." It seems, therefore, very clear that this superstition, in one form or another, is not only widely disseminated, but that its origin may, with safety, be ascribed to a very remote period in the history of humanity.
The deification of rivers and streams appears to have very generally prevailed amongst the ancients. Young and beautiful women, under the general name of Naiads, in the Greek and Roman mythologies, were believed to preside over brooks, springs, and rivers. Many of the heroic personages described by the early Greek poets are said to be the offspring of nymphs of this class.
Each river was supposed to be under the protection of its presiding deity. Their sources were especially sacred, and religious ceremonies were performed in their immediate vicinity. As at the Clitumnus, so beautifully described by Byron, in "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," temples were erected near the fountains which gave them birth, and small pieces of money were frequently thrown into their crystal streams with the view to the propitiation of the presiding deities. Sacrifices were offered to them, and no bather was allowed to lave his limbs near the source of any consecrated stream, because the contact of the naked body was held to pollute the water. Sir John Lubbock, in his dissertation on the lacustrine dwellings which have recently been discovered in Alpine districts of Europe, as well as in some other localities, has the following pertinent observations on this subject:—
"It has been suggested that the early inhabitants of Switzerland may have worshipped the Lakes, and that the beautiful bracelets, etc., may have been offerings to the gods. In fact, it appears from ancient writers that among the Gauls, Germans, and other nations, many lakes were regarded as sacred. M. Aymard has collected several instances of this kind. According to Cicero, Justin, and Strabo, there was a lake near Toulouse in which the neighbouring tribes used to deposit offerings of gold and silver. Tacitus, Virgil, and Pliny also mention the existence of sacred lakes. Again, so late as the sixth century, Gregory of Tours, who is quoted by M. Troyon and M. Aymard, tells us that on Mount Helanus there was a lake which was the object of popular worship. Every year the inhabitants of the neighbourhood brought to it offerings of clothes, skins, cheeses, cakes, etc. Traces of a similar superstition may still be found lingering in remote parts of Scotland and Ireland; in the former country I have myself seen a sacred spring surrounded by the offerings of the neighbouring peasantry, who seemed to consider pence and half-pence as the most appropriate and agreeable sacrifice to the spirit of the waters."
A correspondent of the Inverness Courier states, as recently as last year (1871), that he had recently witnessed a strange instance of the existence of this superstition, "at a loch in the district of Strathnaver, county of Sutherland." The editor says,—
"Dipping in the loch for the purpose of effecting extraordinary cures is stated to be a matter of periodical occurrence, and the 14th appears to have been selected as immediately after the beginning of August in the old style. The hour was between midnight and one o'clock, and the scene, as described by our correspondent, was absurd and disgraceful beyond belief, though not without a touch of weird interest, imparted by the darkness of the night and the superstitious faith of the people. 'The impotent, the halt, the lunatic, and the tender infant were all waiting about midnight for an immersion in Lochmanur. The night was calm, the stars countless, and meteors were occasionally shooting about in all quarters of the heavens above. A streaky white belt could be observed in the remotest part of the firmament. Yet with all this the night was dark—so dark that one could not recognise friend or foe but by close contact and speech. About fifty persons, all told, were present near one spot, and I believe other parts of the loch side were similarly occupied, but I cannot vouch for this—only I heard voices which would lead me so to infer. About twelve stripped and walked into the loch, performing their ablutions three times. Those who were not able to act for themselves were assisted, some of them being led willingly and others by force, for there were cases of each kind. One young woman, strictly guarded, was an object of great pity. She raved in a distressing manner, repeating religions phrases, some of which were very earnest and pathetic. She prayed her guardians not to immerse her, saying that it was not a communion occasion, and asking if they could call this righteousness or faithfulness, or if they could compare the loch and its virtues to the right arm of Christ. These utterances were enough to move any person hearing them. Poor girl! what possible good could immersion do to her? I would have more faith in a shower-bath applied pretty freely and often to the head. No male, so far as I could see, denuded himself for a plunge. Whether this was owing to hesitation regarding the virtues of the water, or whether any of the men were ailing, I could not ascertain. These gatherings take place twice a year, and are known far and near to such as put belief in the spell. But the climax of absurdity is in paying the loch in sterling coin. Forsooth, the cure cannot be effected without money cast into the waters! I may add that the practice of dipping in the loch is said to have been carried on from time immemorial, and it is alleged that many cures have been effected by it.'"
Some pools, streams, or lakes, such as Acheron and Avernus, were associated with the infernal regions, or the nether world, and its mythical inhabitants. The mother of the monster Grendel, slain by the Anglo-Saxon hero, Beowulf, according to the ancient poem, dwelt in the recesses of a bottomless pool, beneath the dark shadow of a dense wood in the neighbourhood of Hartlepool, on the coast of Durham. The Scottish Kelpie is a kind of "mischievous water spirit said to haunt fords and ferries at night, especially in storms."
Burns says in his "Address to the Deil":—
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An' float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction:
An 'nighted travellers are allur'd
To their destruction.
An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er more to rise.
In the same poem Burns refers to the devil himself as an aquatic spirit. He says:—
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,
Wi' you, mysel I got a fright
Ayout the lough;
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight
Wi' waving sough.
The cudgel in my neive did shake,
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squattered, like a drake,
On whistling wings.
Commenting on this poem, Allan Cunningham relates a characteristic anecdote. He says,—"The Prince and Power of the air is a favourite topic of rustic speculation. An old shepherd told me he had, when a boy, as good as seen him. 'I was,' said he, 'returning from school, and I stopped till the twilight groping trouts in a burn, when a thunder storm came on. I looked up, and just before me a cloud came down as dark as night—the queerest-shaped cloud I ever saw; and there was something terrible about it, for when it was close to me, I saw as plain as I see you, a dark form within it, thrice the size of any earthly man. It was the Evil One himself, there's nae doubt o' that. 'Samuel,' I said, 'did you hear his cloven foot on the ground?' 'No,' replied he, 'but I saw one of his horns—and O, what waves o' fire were rowing after him!' The Devil frequently makes his appearance in our old mysteries, but he comes to work unmitigated mischief, and we part with him gladly. The 'Hornie,' 'Satan,' 'Nick,' or 'Clootie,' who lives in the imaginations of the peasantry, is not quite such a reprobate, though his shape is anything but prepossessing. Nor is he an object of much alarm; a knowledge of the scriptures and a belief in heaven are considered sure protectors; and a peasant will brave a suspicious road at midnight if he can repeat a psalm."
The horn and the cloven foot in such intimate connection with the descent over the burn of a mysterious dark cloud accompanied by waves of fire, is suggestive of the Aryan thunder and rain clouds and of their attendant lightning-god. The peasant's faith in the efficacy of a psalm in overcoming the evil influence is rather corroborative of this, as the superstitious fear for the dethroned gods of the old mythology long survived the introduction of Christianity in the country. It is yet firmly believed in Lancashire that, after going through some mysterious magic formula, and repeating the Lord's prayer backwards, that his Satanic majesty will appear in the centre of a circle previously defined. In my youth, "raising the devil," was not considered by the knowing ones to be a particularly arduous task; the getting rid of him, afterwards, was the great difficulty. Some contended that the recital of a certain psalm or other passage from the scriptures was alone efficacious. Others held that holy water was his especial abhorrence, and that the repetition of the Lord's prayer, in its proper order, was essential to success.
I remember well, when very young, being cautioned against approaching to the side of stagnant pools of water partially covered with vegetation. At the time, I firmly believed that, if I disobeyed this instruction, a certain water "boggart" named "Jenny Greenteeth" would drag me beneath her verdant screen and subject me to other tortures besides death by drowning. This superstition is yet very common in Lancashire.
In "Brother Fabian's Manuscript" there is a description of a water-sprite, which appears to be one of the many singular forms which the memory of the dethroned Æsir god, Wodin or Odin, has assumed in the popular imagination:—
Where, by the marishes, bloometh the bittern,
Nickar, the soulless one, sits with his ghittern;
Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless,
Waiting his destiny, Nickar the soulless.
Sir Noel Paton, R.S.A., has recently exhibited a picture of this mythic sprite, treated with great æsthetic power and poetic sympathy. The colour, the light and shade, the surrounding accessories, as well as the quaint melancholy features of the "doomed one," and his still quainter frog-like feet, all combine to leave a single harmonious emotional impression. This is further enhanced by the presence of the partially obscured moon and the solitary star, as well as the sedges and other plants, which, with the lonely bittern, (now extinct in Britain) affect marshy places; and by the Batrachian reptile which crawls from the water towards the feet of the "fallen god," who, whilst patiently awaiting his destiny, lulls his senses to sleep with the music of his ghittern, a singularly old-fashioned instrument apparently allied to the modern guitar. This myth is evidently one form of the popular superstition which connected natural phenomena of a peculiar character with the memory of Nickarr (old Nick), or the dethroned Odin of our Teutonic ancestors. Nickarr, it has previously been shown, was one of the appellations pertaining to this deity.
The Scotch Kelpies were supposed to be delighted with the last agonies of drowning men and of mariners in distress. Thomas Landseer, in the notes which accompany his admirable illustrations of Burns's poem, says:—"It is not twenty years since the piercing shrieks and supplications for help, of a passage boat's company, which had been landed on a sandbank at low water, in the Solway Firth, instead of on the Cumberland coast, and who found, as the moon rose and the haze dispersed, that they were in mid-channel, with a strong tide setting fast in upon them, were mistaken by the people, both on the Scotch and English shores, for the wailings of Kelpies! The consequence was that the unhappy people (whose boat had drifted from them before their fatal error was discovered) were drowned; though nothing had been easier, but for the rooted superstition of their neighbours ashore, than to have effectually succoured them."
The same writer makes the following sensible observations respecting the superstitions referred to by Burns. The poet, however, evidently attributed the phenomena to natural causes:—"This propensity to attribute natural effects to supernatural causes is one of the best known and least intelligible phenomena of the human mind. We are always rejecting the evidence of our senses, to tamper with the imaginary evidence supplied by analogous reasoning upon mere abstract principles. The good wife never dreamed of referring her alarms to the natural objects around her. A humming drone, at twilight by the waters, a rustling in the leaves of the trees about her cottage—if these did not bespeak the presence of the devil, what the d—l else could they indicate? Thus our poet proceeds to tell us that beyond the same loch, he himself had a visible encounter with something LIKE, indeed, to a bunch of rushes, waving and shaking in the wind; and after an admirable description of the emotions of fear, by which he was oppressed, he incidentally mentions that the Great Unknown did certainly, with an abrupt and hasty flight, take away like a drake; but even the appropriate note of the fluttering fowl never once awakened his suspicion that it might be the fowl proper and not the foul fiend!"
M. Du Chaillu, in his "Journey to Ashango-land," relates a singular legend, believed in by the natives of Aviia, respecting a series of rapids and a singularly picturesque waterfall which he discovered on the river Ngouyai, and which bears some resemblance to the popular legend about Wayland Smith and to those already referred to. He says:—"Like all other remarkable natural objects, the falls of the Ngouyai, have given rise, in the fertile imaginations of the negroes, to mythical stories. The legend runs that the main falls are the work of the spirit Fougamou, who resides there, and who was in old times a mighty forger of iron; but the rapids above are presided over by Nagoshi, the wife of Samba, who has spoiled this part of the river in order to prevent people from ascending and descending. The falls to which the name Samba is given lie a good day's journey below the Fougamou, but, from the description of the natives, I concluded they were only rapids like the Nagoshi above. The Fougamou is the only great fall of water. It takes its name from the spirit (mbuiri) who is said to have made it, and who watches it constantly, wandering night and day round the falls. A legend on this subject was related to us with great animation by our Aviia guide, to the following effect: In former times people used to go to the falls, deposit iron and charcoal on the river side and say, 'Oh! mighty Fougamou, I want this iron to be worked into a knife or hatchet,' (or whatever implement it might be), and, in the morning, when they went to the place, they found the weapon finished. One day, however, a man and his son went with their iron and charcoal, and had the impertinent curiosity to wait and see how it was done. They hid themselves,—the father, in the hollow of a tree, and the son, amongst the boughs of another tree. Fougamou came with his son and began to work, when suddenly the son said, 'Father, I smell the smell of people!' The father replied, 'Of course you smell people, for does not the iron and charcoal come from the hands of people?' So they worked on. But the son again interrupted his father, repeating the same words, and then Fougamou looked round and saw the two men. He roared with rage, and, to punish the father and son, he turned the tree in which the father was hidden into an ant-hill, and the hiding place of the son into a nest of black ants. Since then Fougamou has not worked iron for the people any more."
In another place, Du Chaillu says,—"I was much amused by the story one of the men related about the dry and wet seasons. The remarkable dryness of the present season had been talked over a good deal, and it was this conversation which led to the story. As usual with the African, the two seasons were personified, Nchanga, being the name of the wet, and Enomo that of the dry season. One day, the story went, Nchanga and Enomo had a great dispute as to which was the older, and they came at last to lay a wager on the question, which was to be decided in an assembly of the people of the air or sky. Nchanga said, 'When I come to a place rain comes.' Enomo retorted, 'When I make my appearance the rains goes.' The people of the air all listened, and, when the two disputants had ceased, they exclaimed, 'Verily, verily, we cannot tell which is the eldest, you must be both of the same age.'"