Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands, I find the following scraps of folk-lore:—
P. 197: "Brown . . . . espied a piece of white heather, and jumped off to pick it. No Highlander would pass by it without picking it, for it is considered to bring good luck."
P. 281: "Two little girls put down bunches of flax for me to walk upon, which it seems is an old Highland custom."
On the latter subject I should be glad of some further information. What is the origin of the custom? Frederick E. Sawyer.
Brighton.
Superstition in Sicily.—A Naples correspondent writes: "In the province of Catania (Sicily), the festival of San Filippo, the patron saint of Calatabiano, is celebrated in a strangely superstitious manner. The ignorant population of that district believe that San Filippo had the power of restoring to health all those afflicted with epilepsy, insanity, or other nervous maladies. On the day of the festival such afflicted persons from all the country around are brought by their relations to be cured instantaneously at the church of Calatabiano. On arriving they are seized by robust peasants, who attempt to make them kiss the image of the saint, and cry "Viva San Filippo!" Some struggle furiously in the hands of their captors, who then resort to the most savage means of compulsion, tearing off their clothes, pulling their hair, and even biting them, continuing the torture throughout the day, until the victims pronounce the sacramental words. This year the same scene was repeated, but was soon put a stop to by a police-constable, who in the name of the law arrested all who refused to renounce the barbarous custom.—Rotherham Advertiser, 7 June, 1884.
Hearne's opinion of John Aubrey.—The late Mr. John Aubrey, who began the study of antiquities very early when he was gentleman commoner of Trinity College in Oxford, and had no inconsiderable skill in them; . . . . . . . . and the world might have expected other curious and useful notices of things from him . . . . . . . . . had not he by his intimate acquaintance with Mr. Ashmole in his latter years too much indulged in fancy and wholly addicted himself to the whimseys and conceits of astrologers, soothsayers, and such like
