CHAPTER XVIII.

"When an old woman begins to dote and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams."

ADDISON.

ON WERE-WOLVES.

66 Geneidigten leser!" which is, being interpreted, beloved reader, in one of the first chapters of this most veracious history, we informed you that were-wolves had been discarded from Satan's livery stables; but we did not let you into the reason why; inasmuch as

we intended to give you a full account of this dangerous animal, which intention ve now proceed to fulfil. And first, we must ask you whether you have any clear conception of what a were or wehr-wolf is. Our forefathers, good simple souls, believed that there was a sort of transmigration of souls; by virtue of which, if a man became mortally offended with another, he would throw his soul headlong into the carcase of a wolf, leaving his own body, for the time being, inanimate on the ground, and in his new temporary shape would sorely torment his adversary. Now this opinion was combated both by the learned Dr. Bräuner, and by Augustus de Cavit, Dei, book XVIII., chap. 8; but principally upon the grounds that after the body has once become exanimate, no power man or devil can make the soul return to it, that being exclusively the prerogative of Deity. Yet they will not venture altogether to deny the existence of were-wolves; but ascribe them to false apparitions conjured up by the Devil, who has the power of manufacturing a resemblance of a wolf either out of the air, or of some other element. Now, were-wolves are not altogether extinct at the present day: specimens are occasionally to be met with; although not produced as in the "good old times" by metemp

of

sychosis, but by a species of moral metamorphosis; every Jack in office, who takes advantage of his situation to bully those beneath him; every husband, who thrashes his wife, or throws a leg of mutton at her head, is a moral were-wolf. Some of the journals would indicate their existence within that magic circle which, measured by the full batta compasses, falls within two hundred miles of the Presidency, and measured by those of the Post office, considerably exceeds those limits. But we think that they have mistaken the genus at all events, it must be a distinct species from our's s; and, if they will only procure us the fangs and a few of the back teeth, we will, by the help of Dr. Bräuner's Cabinet and Cuvier's Comparative Anatomy, prove them to be wrong to their own entire satisfaction. And now we will proceed to the genuine were-wolf, apprising our readers that we intend to pick out a pretty moral or two as we go along for our mutual benefit. Our first tale shall be from Erasmus Franciscus, extracted from Lercheimer's reflections upon this subject apud Dedekium, vol, II. Consilior, fol. 434. He tells us of a countryman who came to a certain bailiff's house: not one of your seedy tipstaves of the Supreme Court, that "moveable prison," as Bishop Earle calls

him, who "is an occasioner of disloyal thoughts in the commonwealth, for he makes men hate the king's name worse than the Devil's," but a good, jolly, fat, substantial land bailiff, who delighted in roast beef, and a barrel continually on the tap. Now this was a house of call which jumped mightily with the tastes of the countryman, who ate and drunk his skin full, until he fairly dropped from the bench to the floor.

The jolly host, who thought that he understood how the land lay, ordered his people to leave him alone, and not disturb him. The next morning, however, a horse was found lying dead in the paddock, cut right in two with a scythe, and, the host's suspicions being excited, he interrogated his guest as to what he knew of the matter. He confessed himself to be a were-wolf, and that he had done this for the following reason, viz., that in that field a witch (witches being the natural enemies of were-wolves, who cease not to persecute them,) flitted about in the shape of a light flame. he pursued her with a scythe, she took refuge under the belly of the horse; and, in aiming a blow at her, he had unfortunately cut the horse in two. Thus, there being no such a thing as metempsychosis, this conntryman confessed to

As

a crime which he had not committed, and which he had only dreamt of.

We now see how it is that witches no longer ride upon were-wolves-they are their husbands, to whom they have so natural an aversion, that they will not come into so close contact with them, no, not even for the satisfaction of be labouring them with a broomstick. We are also enlightened as to the origin of these two incarnations. A man, who had a wife that he disliked, denounced her as a witch, and the numerous instances in which this was done, established the existence of the race: on the other hand, wives, who were tired of their liege lords, dubbed them were-wolves. In these degenerate and more civilized times, the husband can go no farther in a matrimonial squabble, than to term his rib "a dear angel," and the lady's vocabulary extends no farther than to call him in reply "a horrid brute.”

The aforementioned author, Erasmus Franciscus, tells us as follows:- "I once went with a sexton, a friend of mine, into the house of a land-bailiff or steward, who had what he called a were-wolf in confinement, which he ordered to be brought before us, in order that we might enquire of him into the nature of his transactions with mankind. This man, (for he was