Collectanea. 475
" But there's a better cure. Touch the wart wi' nine pins, an' then throw the pins away in the graveyard." (Cf. Stye charm below.)
Mrs. Gorman, a Donegal farmer's wife, gave me the following charms. I had shown her a wart upon my finger. "That's an unsignified thing," she said. " My wee girl had warts on all her fingers, an' I got a cure. If you dip your hand in water that you come on unexpected in a hole in a rock, it's a cure. But you mustna be looking for it ; the charm is to find the water unex- pected.^^ "Was your child cured?" "She was. Miss. Every time she went by that rock she dipped her hand, an' in a wee while the warts was gone." "Is there another cure?" "There is. Our man had them all over his hands, so he asked a very knowledgeable woman what he'd do. Says she, — "Cut a raw potato in slices, — ten slices, — an' rub them on the warts ; an' get nine knots of corn an' rub wi' them, an' soon the warts '11 be gane clean awa'. Then roll the potato an' the corn careful in a paper, an' throw it where it'll be found easy, an' them that lifts it '11 get your warts. '
Rheut/iattsm and wart charms and cures. — Mrs. Gorman con- tinued, — "There's a way to cure the pains as weel's the warts. My father died. He was bad wi' rheumatism all his days. A neighbour came in, an' says she, — " Mrs. Gorman, will you be pleased to lift your father's hand, an' rub it on this sore arm o' mine ? I dinna like to do it mysel'." She rolled up her sleeve, an' there was a big lump on her arm. She said, — "Take my pains wi' you, Mick, for the love of God." She followed the funeral to the grave, an' she said again, — "Take my pains wi' you, Mick, for the love of God," an', troth an' faix, she was cured o' her pains." * " But that's a cruel cure, Mrs. Gorman. Surely your father left the pains behind him. He was a kind man. He would not have liked another to inherit his pain ; and neither would your husband like another to pick up the paper with the potato and corn, and fall heir to his warts. Those cures sound very cruel." But Mrs. Gorman did not understand me in the least. " God bless your innocent wit, dear," she said, half-contemptuously. "But here's a cure I'll gie you." And she produced a penny from her pocket. " Take it. I'll buy that wart on your finger. It will come to me
- 6y". Black, op. cit., p. 43 (Donegal).
