"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]