"Let me in, Mrs. Hanlon!" she cried. "Tak off that cruel pot! Tak out
them pins, for they're pricking holes in my heart, an' I'll never
offer to touch milk of yours again."
[There is hardly a village in Ireland where the milk is not thus
believed to have been stolen times upon times. There are many
counter-charms. Sometimes the coulter of a plough will be heated
red-hot, and the witch will rush in, crying out that she is
burning. A new horse-shoe or donkey-shoe, heated and put under
the churn, with three straws, if possible, stolen at midnight
from over the witches' door, is quite infallible.--ED.]
[Footnote 19: In Connaught called a "mweeal" cow--_i.e._, a cow
without horns. Irish _maol_, literally, blunt. When the new hammerless
breech-loaders came into use two or three years ago, Mr. Douglas Hyde
heard a Connaught gentleman speak of them as the "mweeal" guns,
because they had no cocks.]
A QUEEN'S COUNTY WITCH[20]
It was about eighty years ago, in the month of May, that a Roman
Catholic clergyman, near Rathdowney, in the Queen's County, was
awakened at midnight to attend a dying man in a distant part of the
parish. The priest obeyed without a murmur, and having performed his
duty to the expiring sinner, saw him depart this world before he left
the cabin. As it was yet dark, the man who had called on the priest
offered to accompany him home, but he refused, and set forward on his
journey alone. The grey dawn began to appear over the hills. The good
priest was highly enraptured with the beauty of the scene, and rode
on, now gazing intently at every surrounding object, and again cutting
with his whip at the bats and big beautiful night-flies which flitted
ever and anon from hedge to hedge across his lonely way. Thus engaged,
he journeyed on slowly, until the nearer approach of sunrise began to
render objects completely discernible, when he dismounted from his
horse, and slipping his arm out of the rein, and drawing forth his
"Breviary" from his pocket, he commenced reading his "morning office"
as he walked leisurely along.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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