ABOUT the commencement of the last century there lived in the vicinity of the once famous village of Aghavoe 2 a wealthy farmer, named Bryan Costigan. This man kept an extensive dairy and a great many milch cows, and every
The unfortunate man was thus completely bewildered. He knew not what to do; he became moody and stupid;
Affairs continued in this plight, when one very sultry evening in the latter days of July, Bryan Costigan's wife was sitting at her own door, spinning at her wheel, in a very gloomy and agitated state of mind. Happening to look down the narrow green lane which led from the high road to her cabin, she espied a little old woman barefoot, and enveloped in an old scarlet cloak, approaching slowly, with the aid of a crutch which she carried in one hand, and a cane or walking-stick in the other. The farmer's wife felt glad at seeing the odd-looking stranger; she smiled, and yet she knew not why, as she neared the house. A vague and indefinable feeling of pleasure crowded on her imagination; and, as the old woman gained the threshold, she bade her "welcome" with a warmth which plainly told that her lips gave utterance but to the genuine feelings of her heart. "God bless this good house and all belonging to it," said the stranger as she entered. "God save you kindly, and you are welcome, whoever you are," replied Mrs. Costigan. "Hem, I thought so," said the old woman with a significant grin. "I thought so, or I wouldn't trouble you." The farmer's wife ran, and placed a chair near the fire for the stranger; but she refused, and sat on the ground near where Mrs. C. had been spinning. Mrs. Costigan had now time to survey the old hag's person minutely. She appeared of great age; her countenance was extremely ugly and repulsive; her skin was rough and deeply embrowned as if from long exposure to the effects of some tropical climate; her forehead was low, narrow, and indented with a thousand wrinkles; her long grey hair fell in matted elf-locks from beneath a white linen skull-cap; her eyes were bleared, blood-shotten, and obliquely set in their sockets, and her voice was croaking, tremulous, and, at times, partially inarticulate. As she squatted on the floor, she looked round the house with an inquisitive gaze; she peered pryingly "Alas!" replied the farmer's wife, "I have no drink to offer you except water, else you would have no occasion to ask me for it." "Are you not the owner of the cattle I see yonder?" said the old hag, with a tone of voice and manner of gesticulation which plainly indicated her foreknowledge of the fact. Mrs. Costigan replied in the affirmative, and briefly related to her every circumstance connected with the affair, whilst the old woman still remained silent, but shook her grey head repeatedly; and still continued gazing round the house with an air of importance and self-sufficiency. When Mrs. C. had ended, the old hag remained a while as if in a deep reverie: at length she said-- "Have you any of the milk in the house?" "I have," replied the other. "Show me some of it." She filled a jug from a vessel and handed it to the old sybil, who smelled it, then tasted it, and spat out what she had taken on the floor. "Where is your husband?" she asked. "Out in the fields," was the reply. "I must see him." A messenger was despatched for Bryan, who shortly after made his appearance. "Neighbour," said the stranger, "your wife informs me that your cattle are going against you this season." 'She informs you right," said Bryan. "And why have you not sought a cure?" "A cure!" re-echoed the man; "why, woman, I have sought cures until I was heart-broken, and all in vain; they get worse every day." "What will you give me if I cure them for you?" "All I will ask from you is a silver sixpence, and that you will do everything which I will bid you," said she. The farmer and his wife seemed astonished at the moderation of her demand. They offered her a large sum of money. "No," said she, 'I don't want your money; I am no cheat, and I would not even take sixpence, but that I can do nothing till I handle some of your silver." The sixpence was immediately given her, and the most implicit obedience promised to her injunctions by both Bryan and his wife, who already began to regard the old beldame as their tutelary angel. The hag pulled off a black silk ribbon or fillet which encircled her head inside her cap, and gave it to Bryan, saying-- "Go, now, and the first cow you touch with this ribbon, turn her into the yard, but be sure don't touch the second, nor speak a word until you return; be also careful not to let the ribbon touch the ground, for, if you do, all is over." Bryan took the talismanic ribbon, and soon returned, driving a red cow before him. The old hag went out, and, approaching the cow, commenced puffing hairs out of her tail, at the same time singing some verses in the Irish language in a low, wild, and unconnected strain. The cow appeared restive and uneasy, but the old witch still continued her mysterious chant until she had the ninth hair extracted. She then ordered the cow to be drove back to her pasture, and again entered the house. "Go, now," said she to the woman, "and bring me some milk from every cow in your possession." She went, and soon returned with a large pail filled with a frightful-looking mixture of milk, blood, and corrupt matter. The old woman got it into the chum, and made preparations for churning. "Now," she said, "you both must chum, make fast the Bryan secured the doors and windows, and commenced churning. The old sorceress sat down by a blazing fire which had been specially lighted for the occasion, and commenced singing the same wild song which she had sung at the pulling of the cow-hairs, and after a little time she cast one of the nine hairs into the fire, still singing her mysterious strain, and watching, with intense interest, the witching process. A loud cry, as if from a female in distress, was now heard approaching the house; the old witch discontinued her incantations, and listened attentively. The crying voice approached the door. "Open the door quickly," shouted the charmer. Bryan unbarred the door, and all three rushed out in the yard, when they heard the same cry down the boreheen, but could see nothing. "It is all over," shouted the old witch; "something has gone amiss, and our charm for the present is ineffectual." They now turned back quite crest-fallen, when, as they were entering the door, the sybil cast her eyes downwards, and perceiving a piece of horse-shoe nailed on the threshold, 1 she vociferated-- "Here I have it; no wonder our charm was abortive. The person that was crying abroad is the villain who has your cattle bewitched; I brought her to the house, but she was not able to come to the door on account of that horse-shoe. Remove it instantly, and we will try our luck again." Bryan removed the horse-shoe from the doorway, and by
"Ho, ho!" roared the sorceress, "I knew it would be so; my charm has succeeded; my expectations are realised, and here she comes, the villain who has destroyed you." "What are we to do now?" asked Bryan. "Say nothing to her," said the hag; "give her whatever she demands, and leave the rest to me." The woman advanced screeching vehemently, and Bryan went out to meet her. She was a neighbour, and she said that one of her best cows was drowning in a pool of water--that there was no one at home but herself, and she implored Bryan to go rescue the cow from destruction. Bryan accompanied her without hesitation; and having rescued the cow from her perilous situation, was back again in a quarter of an hour. It was now sunset, and Mrs. Costigan set about preparing supper. During supper they reverted to the singular transactions of the day. The old witch uttered many a fiendish laugh at the success of her incantations, and inquired who was the woman whom they had so curiously discovered. Bryan satisfied her in every particular. She was the wife of a neighbouring farmer; her name was Rachel Higgins; and she had been long suspected to be on familiar terms with the spirit of darkness. She had five or six cows;
"And how will that be done?" said Bryan. "I will tell you; as soon as the hour of twelve o'clock arrives tonight, do you go to the pasture, and take a couple of swift-running dogs with you; conceal yourself in some place convenient to the cattle; watch them carefully; and if you see anything, whether man or beast, approach the cows, set on the dogs, and if possible make them draw the blood of the intruder; then ALL will be accomplished. If nothing approaches before sunrise, you may return, and we will try something else." Convenient there lived the cow-herd of a neighbouring squire. He was a hardy, courageous young man, and always kept a pair of ferocious buff-dogs. To him Bryan applied for assistance, and he cheerfully agreed to accompany him, and, moreover, proposed to fetch a couple of his master's best greyhounds, as his own dogs, although extremely fierce and bloodthirsty, could not be relied on for swiftness. He promised Bryan to be with him before twelve o'clock, and they parted. Bryan did not seek sleep that night; he sat up anxiously awaiting the midnight hour. It arrived at last, and his friend, the herdsman, true to his promise, came at the time appointed. After some further admonitions from the Collough, they departed. Having arrived at the field, they consulted as to the best position they could choose for concealment. At last they pitched on a small brake of fem, situated at the extremity of the field, adjacent to the boundary ditch, which was thickly studded with large, old white-thorn bushes. Here they crouched themselves, and 155:1 Dublin University Magazine, 1839. 155:2 Aghavoe--"the field of kine"--a beautiful and romantic village near Borris-in-Ossory, in the Queen's County. It was once a place of considerable importance, and for centuries the episcopal seat of the diocese of Ossory, but for ages back it has gone to decay, and is now remarkable for nothing but the magnificent ruins of a priory of the Dominicans, erected here at an early period by St. Canice, the patron saint of Ossory. 160:1 It was once a common practice in Ireland to nail a piece of horseshoe on the threshold of the door, its a preservative against the influence of the fairies, who, it is thought, dare not enter any house thus guarded. This custom, however, is much on the wane, but still it is prevalent in some of the more uncivilised districts of the country. 161:1 Red-haired people are thought to possess magic power.
