Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1878-05-03

The vicinity of High Rock was long me-
morable as the residence OF Moll Pitcher, the
fortune-teller Of Lynn. Twenty-Five years
ago there were very few fresides in New Eng
land that her fame had not reached, perhaps
disturbed; and her successful predictions,
alike astounding TO the vulgar or perplexing
to the enlightened, were the theme of many
midnight watch or forecastle confab. She was
not the withered, decrcpit, and toothless crone
of Spenser or Otway's
"wrinhed bag, with age grown double,
Picking d. = sticks aud mumblng to herself"
but woman who lived in the full gaze and
gossip of the world, which only accepted her
claim to foreknowledge upon the unequivocal
testimony of thousand witnesses. Do you
contend that her reputation was due solely to
the shrewdness, penetration and ready wit
with which she was undoubtedly and in re-
markable degree gifted? How, then, will
you explain revelations of the future made
ten and twenty years before the events pre-
dicted took place?
When she was in the meridian of her fame
and life the ordinary applicant saw woman
of medium stature, having an unusually large
head, pale thin face shaded by masses of
dark brown hair, who was as thoroughly self
possessed as he was i'll at ease, and whose
comprehensive glance measured his mental
capacity before he could utter a syllable.
People of better dlscemment, who recollect
her, say that her face had none of the wild
ness of the traditional witch, but was clouded
with habitual sadness, as of mind over
burdened with being the depository Of 80
many condolences, perhaps crimes She had
q frll capacious forehead, eyes that read the
secret thoughts of n suitor, a nose "inclined
to be long" and thin lips-a physiognomy
wholly unlike the popular ideal, but rather
that of a modern Egeria in short, the witch
of the nineteenth century.
During the fifty years that she pursued her
traffic of fortune-telling, in what was then
lonely and ''ttle frequented part of the town,
not only was she consulted by the poor and
ignorant, but by the rich and intelligent class.
Love affairs, legacies, the discovery of crime,
lotteries, commercial ventures and the more
common contingencies of fortune formed, we
may well imagine the staple of her predic-
tions but her most valued clients came from
the opulent sea-ports within sight of High
Rock. The common sailor and the master,
the cabin-boy and the owner, equally resorted
to her humble abode to know the luck of a
voyage. 1t is asserted that many vessel has
been deserted when on the eve of sailing, in
consequence of Moll's unlucky vaticinatiou.
She was also much besought by treasure
seekers-a rather numerous class in her day
whose united digging along the coast of New
England would, if usefully directed have re-
claimed for cultivation no inconsiderable area
of virgin soil. For such applicants the witch
had short and sharp reply. Fools, she
would say, ''if knew where money was bur
led, do you think 1 would part with the Sc
cret 2"
AIoll Pitcher died in 1913, at the age of
seventy. She was originally of Marblehead
and was said to have inherited the gift Of
prophesy from her grandfather, John Di-
mond, who must, however, have lived in a
time when it was neither wise nor safe to eX-
ercise powers then universally attributed to
the Evil One. Her father sailed out of Mar
blehead as the master of n small vessel. Mary
Dimond married Robert Pitcher, shoe-mak-
er in 1850. Mr.. Lewis the historian of
Lynn, asserts that she was connected with
some of the best families in Essex, that, ex-
cept her fortune-telling pretension, there was
nothing disreputable in her life, and that her
descendants were living and respected when
he wrote. Her life seemed rather to mark
the line which divides old and new supersti-
ton than any decay of that inextinguishable
craving to pry into futurity which has distin-
guished the human family in all ages. One
of our native poets regretfully exclaims
even she our own weird heroine,
Sole Pythoness OF ancient Lynn,
Sleeps calmly where the living laid her;
And the wide realm Of sorcery,
Left by its latest mistress free,
Hath found no gray aud skillet invader"
S. 4. Drake, IN Nay Harper's Magazine.