A VILLAGE HERB DOCTOR 



her cures did sometimes serve. Her dispensary was 

 in wood, garden, and common. On the common 

 she gathered her favourite remedy of all the little 

 pink gentian-like flower out of which she brewed 

 centaury tea. Bitter as that cup was, I doubt whether 

 it was more so than the tea she drank herself every 

 afternoon-tea, which stewed and stewed on the hob 

 until it was almost black and tremendously strong. 

 Centaury was her betony, a perfect all-heal. 



She practised a little innocent witchcraft too, 

 charming away warts and such-like. She might 

 remind one of that class which in old time wove 

 delightful fairy stories round the wild plants. For 

 instance, why is the devil's bit scabious so called ? 

 Because the devil, annoyed by its benefits to men, 

 bit a piece off its root. Then there is hawkweed, 

 which gained its name because hawks employed it to 

 strengthen their eyesight. I dare say that a few of 

 her remedies, though she knew it not, were based 

 on the ancient fantastic " doctrine of signatures " 

 that plant, which bears some fancied likeness to the 

 complaint or part affected, to be used as a cure. 



The Death of Animals 



Nothing about the wild creatures around us is 

 more secret than their death. I cannot bring myself 

 to the comfortable theory that, as a rule, the natural 

 end of the bird, beast, or insect is euthanasia, just 



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