This weird story brings to my mind one my step-mother used often to tell. It happened before she married my father, and she herself was present at the scene. The narration never lost interest to me, as I knew the people whom it concerned. After hearing it, I would creep to bed, my excited imagination easily conjuring each gust of the wind, rustling through the trees, to be some old witch on her broomstick, who might come down the chimney and ride me away.
    Old Mr. Rainey, who lived in the Bethesda congregation, believed himself bewitched. He was, for many years, a weakly, sickly man, and all his ailments were, by the whole community, attributed to the power of old Balsey Fox, a noted witch, who lived in the “Black Jacks.” The only way to remove the spell was, by some means to obtain the benediction of “God bless you” from the old sorceress. To do this, some scheme must be fallen upon to entrap her into it unawares, as, of course, she would not voluntarily abjure her dominion over him.
    A plan was conceived of inviting all the women of the neighborhood, within a circuit to include old Mrs. Fox, to meet at his residence on a certain day, the object of which was generally known. A large concourse assembled—men as well as women—but the witch, alas! was not among them; and without her presence the rest could avail nothing for the intention had been that each woman of the assembly should lay their hands on the sick man and say “God bless you.” It had been thought the hag would be ashamed and afraid not to do as the rest; and on the pronouncing the holy name her reign would be ended. Old Mrs. Fox did not come, and what was to be done? Among those whom friendship and curiosity had brought to the scene, was Colonel Edward Lacey. He declared that the witch should come; and off he cantered on his spirited bay. In due time, expectation was fulfilled, for up rode the gallant colonel, with the old woman behind him‐a lean, withered beldame; but wonder of wonders! Although she was only an old hag’s weight—96 pounds‐the large blooded animal they had ridden was reeking with sweat—in a perfect lather—and the horse blowing as if he were bellowsed. Men and women gathered round the panting steed in utter amazement. But the witch had come. There was nothing longer to hinder their proceeding with the good work. All the females collected in the hall where the afflicted man was lying. One by one, in regular turn, with solemnity, they advanced to old Mr. Rainey’s bedside and pronounced the desired benison, “God bless you, Mr. Rainey.” Old Mrs. Fox’s turn was the last. All eyes turned toward her. She went forward, however, nothing hesitating, but the listening ears caught the words, “My God bless you, Mr. Rainey.” The devil was her deity, and the cunning witch had banned instead of blessed the sufferer. She outwitted them, and the pious effort was of no effect.
    Perhaps some, in this enlightened age of spirit-rappings, may feel desirous of making a jest of our old superstitions, and say they are sure not one particle of it possesses them. I believe it an often infirmity of human nature, and hold with Dr. Brazier, of the Methodist church, when at the age of 96, of whom I once asked the question, “if he was superstitious?” “Yes,” he replied, “and I believe all men are, if they would tell the truth. I don’t like to see a rabbit run across my path.”
    “Pshaw!” said old Colonel Ben Saxon, secretary of state, who was sitting by, “I don’t regard it a picayune; I always make a cross mark and spit on it.”
    Once afterward, in conversation with the late Chancellor Harper, in regard to the persecutions for witchcraft in Scotland and New England, I asked him what he believed. His reply was like that of a Roman augur, indirect. His words, though, impressed me. They were, “We have the highest evidence of human testimony to believe in witchcraft, for many individuals have confessed, just before being launched into eternity, they were suffering the just penalty of their crimes, for they were guilty of witchcraft.”

From— Yorkville Enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.), 03 Feb. 1870. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.