huckster was aware of this, is not recorded;
but he did float—rather to the disappointment
of the wizard hunters. They called
out, "Give him another!" and again did
he remain so quiet as to float when placed
on the surface of the water. Not yet
satisfied, they cried out, "Try him again:
dip him under the water!" and under he
went, head down and heels up; hut
speedily recovering himself, he floated as
before. The old man was more dead than
alive when he had borne these repeated
duckings for three quarters of an hour, and
he hoped that his neighbours would be
satisfied with the result. But they were
not; they wished their wizard theory to be
justified, even if the poor fellow's life had
been sacrificed as a consequence. It was
gravely proposed that "another man of his
age and size ought to be made to swim
with him." What this meant, we are not
told; but they had probably begun to
suspect the nature of his floating power.
One Tom Wilden, of Hacton parish, was
selected as the second man; and on the
next following Saturday, nearly all the
inhabitants of both villages assembled around
the pond. By this time, however, the
clergyman and churchwardens had heard
of the affair, and forbade the further
prosecution of the monstrous ordeal.

Do the last two or three years afford any
indication that these degrading displays of
ignorance have vanished from among us?
At Stratford-on-Avon, in October, 1867, a
whole family were smitten with a belief
(so astonishing as to be itself almost
unbelievable) that hideous headless men and
women were in the habit of coming down
the chimneys during the night, pinching
the inmates of the house, making horrible
noises, and even turning the people out of
their beds. A theory sprang up in the
family that they were all bewitched by a
neighbour, Jane Ward, and that the
shedding of some of Jane's blood would be
necessary to the removal of the spell. The
father forthwith gave poor Jane a gash in the
cheek with a knife, whereupon the family
obtained, as they declared, peaceful nights.
But a trial at the Warwick Assizes taught
the deluded man that his peculiar mode of
getting rid of witches was not exactly in
accordance with the laws of England.

Again. At Newbury, in Berks, in February,
1868—last year—one Isaac Rivers
having lost his watch, applied to a "cunning
woman," named Maria Giles, to help him in
his troubles. She received half-a- crown as
payment for allowing him to look into a
glass something like those used in bird-cages,
in which he was to see the face of
the man who had possession of the watch.
The noodle fancied he "saw whiskers,"
but no face. A few days afterwards he
gave her nine shillings and sixpence,
wherewith to buy some "doctors' stuff," which
was to assist in the search. A second
time did he give her a similar sum of nine
shillings and sixpence, for a similar purpose;
but he saw neither doctors' stuff nor
watch. On a fourth occasion the simpleton
gave her twenty-five shillings (unless
the watch were a gold one, he must have
about paid its full value by this time), and
he was bidden to remain indoors until, at
midnight, Maria should bring him the man
who possessed the watch. The simplicity
with which he afterwards assured a magistrate
that he did wait indoors, and that the
people did not come with the watch, was
something to marvel at.

At Cuckfield, in October, 1868, a married
woman, being ill, applied to a "cunning
man" to ascertain whether she was
bewitched. A midnight meeting, a book of
necromancy, a pair of tongs, some new pins,
and a great deal of ceremonial ejaculation
and jargon somehow failed either to bring
the witch to light or to cure the illness.

In November, 1868, at Tunbridge Wells,
a woman, jealous of her husband, applied to
a fortune-teller to reveal whether there were
grounds for her jealousy. A bargain was
made, that, for one shilling to buy doctors'
stuff, the fortune-teller should bewitch a
certain other woman who was supposed to
have led the husband astray, and should
give her "excruciating pain." Somehow
or other, the wife herself was in great pain
that same night, and then indicted the
fortune-teller for having bewitched the wrong
person. At Maidstone Assizes the charge
settled down into the more definite one of
obtaining a shilling under false pretences.

Enough. Newspaper readers may remember
still more recent instances of the
same kind.

IN GREAT GOLFINGTON.

"CAN you play, my lad?" said I to the
Caddie who was carrying my clubs for me
at the noble (I beg pardon of all true
golfers, the royal) game of golf; which I
was practising, or rather, learning, on the
breezy links of the old city of Great
Golfington.

"Oo, aye," he replied in broad Fifeshire
Scotch, "but no ower weel. I'm just a
beginner like yoursel."