The case of Charles —— was not without interest, seeing that the narrator was a man of considerable experience and intelligence, an engineer between thirty and forty, in a good situation. As a boy he had lived in a “haunted” house, in which strange and unaccountable noises were continually heard, sufficiently loud to awaken the whole household. He shared a small room with a younger brother, and more than once they were awakened in the night by the sound of a sheep bleating close to them, apparently by the bedside. On one occasion he and his brother, accompanied by their dog, started from home before daybreak to drive a flock of sheep to a farm some ten miles away. It was winter, the days were short; and having duly delivered the sheep, they started on their return walk as dusk began to gather. Their way led past a large pond, and as they neared this spot they both stopped suddenly, hearing the loud bleat of a sheep close to them. Peering ahead, they soon perceived the form of a sheep just in front of them. The dog bounded forward, but returned immediately with his tail between his legs, and howling dolefully he ran behind his master as if for protection. The dog was no coward naturally, and the lads were accordingly somewhat alarmed. They stood still, debating what to do, while the sheep drew gradually nearer, uttering “ba-a” after “ba-a,” until it stopped within a few feet, when they distinctly saw that the animal had no head. Petrified, they stood a moment, clutching hold of one another, till the elder, recovering his presence of mind, raised his stick to strike the animal; but his arm was powerless—he could only raise the stick a few inches. Meanwhile, the animal advanced, and rubbed its neck against their legs. Suddenly it turned, and dashing to the edge of the pond, sprang in and disappeared from view. The lads remained gazing after it, spellbound, and then took to their heels and ran home.

I am inclined to the belief that originally the term “hagrod” was chiefly applied to the case of horses that had become mysteriously affected. An old carter once told me that he had the charge of some horses at a certain farm, and unconsciously chanced to give offence to a reputed witch who lived near by. Her revenge took the form of petty annoyances. It was no uncommon thing for him to enter his stables in the morning to find his horses bathed in sweat, and panting as though they had been ridden far and fast—this, too, when the door was found locked as he had left it on the previous night. On such occasions the horses were fit for no work that day, and he had considerable trouble to get work out of them. Sometimes he would find them with their tails and manes tightly plaited up with straw. Such occurrences used to be comparatively common. One day I chanced to mention to his master what the man had told me; his master smiled, and said what he thought might be an explanation, but in no way denied the man’s story. Then he told me a case that had come under his own observation. In the stable was a valuable young horse, and one morning it was found with one hind leg perfectly stiff, so stiff that it could not put it to the ground. Three men tried their utmost to bend it, but without avail. At last they led the animal out of the stable, limping on three legs, and when outside it gradually got back the use of the limb. This happened many times, and at length the carter declared it was “hagrod,” that an old woman living near by had “overlooked it,” that every time she passed the stable—a thing which she did occasionally to get butter from the dairy—the horse was invariably stricken. Out of curiosity the farmer took note of what the carter said, and, to his astonishment, he found that the man was right—that is to say, in so far as that the horse’s stiffness coincided with the time of this woman’s approach. She left the neighbourhood a short time afterwards, and from that date there was no recurrence of the horse’s strange attacks.

In a case with the details of which I am very familiar, and the truth of which I can vouch for, the ill-wish found vent firstly on animals, the property of the “overlooked.” What actually led up to the matter I never quite knew, possibly the narrator had offended her neighbour; anyhow, the facts are indisputable. The first effects showed themselves in the pigs refusing all food, and then dying one after the other, in what looked like some form of fit. A veterinary surgeon who was called in declared his inability to give a name to the disease, and a subsequent post-mortem examination threw no light on the matter. Then, one by one, all the fowls sickened and died; and, lastly, the woman’s daughter became seriously ill, but of what disease the doctor was unable to say. It was at this juncture that her mother, who had hitherto scoffed at the notion, took it into her head that the girl was bewitched, with the result that she paid a visit to a “wise-woman” (with whom I was also well acquainted), and sought her advice. The “conjuress” listened to her story, told her the name of the person who was ill-wishing her, and gave her a charm, with instructions to sew it, unknown to her daughter, inside her corsets, in such a position that she should not suspect its presence. These directions were faithfully carried out, with the result that in a short time her daughter regained her normal health. Meanwhile, a neighbour (the supposed ill-wisher) sickened, growing worse as the girl improved, and finally left the neighbourhood; her subsequent history was never known. The charm, which, by the way, the mother was directed to burn directly her daughter was out of danger, was preserved for some time. It consisted of a small lump of wax, roughly modelled into the form of a woman, the face bearing a distinct likeness to the accused witch!

I will conclude with one more instance, which, although free from complications, is interesting as having happened quite recently. The supposed witch lived within a few hundred yards of the house that I was then inhabiting; the bewitched was a man who was for some years my gardener. The road from his cottage to the nearest village led past the house occupied by the witch, and, from some quite inexplicable cause, he was never able to pass her house in the ordinary way. When he attempted to do so he fell down; his only alternatives being either to turn round and walk backwards, or else to crawl by on hands and knees. Naturally, all the neighbours were aware of the fact, but they had grown so familiar with it that they ceased to comment on it. About two years ago the woman died, and afterwards, the spell presumably expiring with her, the old man was able to pursue his way in normal fashion. In front of the witch’s house stood a fine apple tree, and one day during the autumn following her death, the old man asked me, with a twinkle in his eye, whether I had noticed what a fine crop of apples this tree bore. “I’ve a-knowed thic tree,” he said, “ever since he wer’ planted; but he haven’t never had n’ar a opple on to en avore. Now, sir, can’ee tell I how ’tis he do bear s’well t’year?” Knowing what was expected of me, I said: “Let me see, John, is it not about a year ago since Mrs. X—, who lived there, died?” His retort, though scarcely a reply to my query, was nevertheless suggestive of the fact that I had answered his former question to me. He deliberately winked, then said, “Ther, sir, now you’ve a-said it,” and strode off to attend to his work.

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