will follow the same course twenty times following blindfolded.”  Anecdotes of the kind are very numerous, for there are few subjects in folk-lore concerning which more has been written than on the divining-rod, one of the most exhaustive being that of Mr. Baring-Gould in his “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.”  The literature, too, of the past is rich in allusions to this piece of superstition, and Swift in his “Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician’s Rod” (1710) thus refers to it:—­

  “They tell us something strange and odd
  About a certain magic rod
  That, bending down its top, divines
  Whene’er the soil has golden mines;
  Where there are none, it stands erect,
  Scorning to show the least respect. 
  As ready was the wand of Sid
  To bend where golden mines were hid. 
  In Scottish hills found precious ore,
  Where none e’er looked for it before;
  And by a gentle bow divined,
  How well a Cully’s purse was lined;
  To a forlorn and broken rake,
  Stood without motion like a stake.”

De Quincey has several amusing allusions to this fallacy, affirming that he had actually seen on more than one occasion the process applied with success, and declared that, in spite of all science or scepticism might say, most of the tea-kettles in the Vale of Wrington, North Somersetshire, are filled by rhabdomancy.  But it must be admitted that the phenomena of the divining-rod and table-turning are of precisely the same character, both being referable to an involuntary muscular action resulting from a fixedness of idea.  Moreover, it should be remembered that experiments with the divining-rod are generally made in a district known to be metalliferous, and therefore the chances are greatly in favour of its bending over or near a mineral lode.  On the other hand, it is surprising how many people of culture have, at different times, in this and other countries, displayed a lamentable weakness in partially accepting this piece of superstition.  Of the many anecdotes related respecting it, we may quote an amusing one in connection with the celebrated botanist, Linnaeus:—­“When he was on one of his voyages, hearing his secretary highly extol the virtues of his divining-wand, he was willing to convince him of its insufficiency, and for that purpose concealed a purse of one hundred ducats under a ranunculus, which grew up by itself in a meadow, and bid the secretary find it if he could.  The wand discovered nothing, and Linnaeus’ mark was soon trampled down by the company who were present, so that when he went to finish the experiment by fetching the gold himself, he was utterly at a loss where to find it.  The man with the wand assisted him, and informed him that it could not lie in the way they were going, but quite the contrary, so pursued the direction of the wand, and actually dug out the gold.  Linnaeus thereupon added that such another experiment would be sufficient to make a proselyte of him.” [1]