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Scott, Walter, Sir, 1771-1832

"The Abbot"

In spite of his efforts, he was nevertheless
detained by the garrulity of his host, till he gave him some account
of Mother Nicneven.
"I care not to speak of her," said the Doctor, "in the open air, and
among the throng of people; not for fright, like yon cowardly dog
Anster, but because I would give no occasion for a fray, having no
leisure to look to stabs, slashes, and broken bones. Men call the old
hag a prophetess--I do scarce believe she could foretell when a brood
of chickens will chip the shell--Men say she reads the heavens--my
black bitch knows as much of them when she sits baying the moon--Men
pretend the ancient wretch is a sorceress, a witch, and, what
not--_Inter nos_, I will never contradict a rumour which may
bring her to the stake which she so justly deserves; but neither will
I believe that the tales of witches which they din into our ears are
aught but knavery, cozenage, and old women's fables."
"In the name of Heaven, what is she then," said the page, "that you
make such a stir about her?"
"She is one of those cursed old women," replied the Doctor, "who take
currently and impudently upon themselves to act as advisers and curers
of the sick, on the strength of some trash of herbs, some rhyme of
spells, some julap or diet, drink or cordial."
"Nay, go no farther," said the page; "if they brew cordials, evil be
their lot and all their partakers!"
"You say well, young man," said Dr. Lundin; "for mine own part, I know
no such pests to the commonwealth as these old incarnate devils, who
haunt the chambers of the brain-sick patients, that are mad enough to
suffer them to interfere with, disturb, and let, the regular process
of a learned and artificial cure, with their sirups, and their julaps,
and diascordium, and mithridate, and my Lady What-shall-call'um's
powder, and worthy Dame Trashem's pill; and thus make widows and
orphans, and cheat the regular and well-studied physician, in order to
get the name of wise women and skeely neighbours, and so forth.


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