CHAPTER XII.

“Astrology.—MadameLeander Lentcan be consulted about love, marriage, and absent friends; she tells all the events of life at No. 169 Mulberry-st., first floor, back room. Ladies 25 cents; gents 50 cents. She causes speedy marriage. Charge extra.”

Her customers are much more addicted to lovethan marriage, so that the wedlock clause cannot be relied on to bring many fish to the net, but it is supposed to give an air of respectability to the advertisement.

The Cash Customer was, perhaps, an exception to this general rule, and feeling that he would on the whole rather like a “speedy marriage,” and wouldn’t so much mind the “extra charge,” he went, in cold blood, with this matrimonial intent to the street, found the number, and heroically entered the house in the very face of a threatened unclean baptism from the upper windows.

His timid knock at the door of the room was answered by a sturdy “Come in,” from the inside; hat deferentially in hand he modestly entered, and was received by a fat woman with a bust of proportions exceeding those of Mrs. Merdle in “Little Dorrit,” and who was attired in a dress which may have been clean in the earlier years of its history, though the supposition is exceedingly apocryphal.This lady pointed to a chair, and then composedly seated herself and resumed her explorations with a comb, in the hair of a vicious boy of about three years old, the eldest scion of Madame Leander.

Her enthusiasm in the cause of entomological science was too ardent to be quenched by the mere presence of an observer, and she continued to hunt her insect prey with all the ardor of a she-Nimrod, and with a zeal that was rewarded by a brilliant success. The youth, over whose fertile head the game seemed to rove and range in countless numbers, was somewhat restless under the operation, and oftentimes disturbed the eager sportswoman by manifesting a desire to run into the street and carry the hunting-ground with him, and was as often recalled to a sense of the proprieties by a few judicious slaps, which he stoically endured without a whimper, being evidently used to it.

This feminine lover of the chase, this Diana of the fiery scalp, looked up from her occupations long enough to say to her visitor that Madame Lent wouldsoon be disengaged. Meantime, he made a careful survey of the premises.

Two chairs, an old lounge with its dingy red cover fastened on with pins, and a trunk covered with an old bit of carpet, were the accommodations for seating visitors. A cooking-stove, and a suspicious-looking wash-bowl which stood in the corner of the room, without a pitcher, were probably for the accommodation of the Madame and the lady with the comb. On the shabby lounge sat a stolid-looking Irish girl, who was waiting her turn to have her fortune told. Having fully comprehended the room and everything in it, the visitor turned his attention to literary pursuits, and thoroughly perused an odd copy of a newspaper that lay invitingly on the table.

Visitors kept dropping in, mostly servant-appearing girls, though there were three women attired in silk and laces, who would have appeared respectable had their faces been hidden and their conversation been suppressed. The lady with the comb and the boy presently departed to some unknown region, andsoon returned with a reinforcement of chairs and stools. The number of visitors increased, until, besides the original stranger, nine were waiting. Among others, there came, in a friendly way, but still with a sharp eye to business, a tall woman, attired in a red dress and a purple bonnet, who is the keeper of a well-known house in Sullivan street, and whose name is not strange to the police. An unrestrained business conversation ensued between her and the heroine of the comb, which must have been interesting to the female listeners.

One hour and eleven minutes did the Cash Customer patiently wait before he was admitted to the mysterious conference with the queen of magic. At last, after the man who was at first closeted with her had concluded his inquiries, and the stolid Irish girl had been disposed of, the woman with the suggestive bust beckoned the long-suffering and patient man to follow, and he fearfully entered the sanctum.

The room of conjuration was a closet, dark and dirty, and was lighted by one tallow candle, stuck ina Scotch ale bottle. A number of shabby dresses, bony petticoats, and other mysterious articles of women’s gear, hung upon the walls; two weak-kneed chairs, a tattered bit of carpet upon about two feet square of the floor, and a little table covered with a greasy oilcloth, composed the furniture of the mystic cell. The cabalistic paraphernalia was limited, there being nothing but a dirty pack of double-headed cards, a small pasteboard box with some scraps of paper in it, and two kinds of powder in little bottles, like hair-oil pots.

Madame Lent is a woman of medium height, about thirty-five years of age, with light-grey eyes, false teeth, a head nearly bald, and hair, what there is of it, of a bright red. Her manner is hurried and confused, and she has a trick of drawing her upper lip disagreeably up under the end of her nose, which labial distortion she doubtless intends for a smile.

She was robed in a bright-colored plaid dress, a dirty lace collar, and a coarse woollen shawl over her shoulders. Motioning her visitor to one chair, sheinstantly seated herself in the other, and, without demanding pay in advance, commenced operations. She handed the cards to be cut, and then laying them out in their piles, uttered the following sentences:

“I see that your fortune has been and is quite a curious one. Your cards run rather mixed up, you have been very much worried in your head, you were born under two planets, which means that you have seen a great deal of trouble in your younger days, but you are now getting over it and your cards run to better luck, but it is rather mixed up, your cards run to a lady, she is light-haired and blue-eyed, but she is jealous of you, for sometimes you treat her more kinder and sometimes more harsher, and just now she is in trouble and very much mixed up about you. There is a man of black hair and eyes, a dark-complectedman who pretends to be your friend and is very fair to your face, but you must beware of him, for he is your secret enemy and will do you an injury if he can; he is trying to get the lady, but I don’t think he’ll do it, though I don’t know, for the thingis so much mixed up—he has deceived you, and the lady has deceived you, they have both deceived you, but now they have got mixed up, and she turns from him with scorn, and seems to like you the best—I don’t exactly see how it all is, for it seems rather mixed up like—you must persevere, you must coax her more; you can coax her to do anything, but you can’t drive her any more than you can drive that wall—always treat her more kinder and never more harsher, and she will soon be yours entirely—beware of the dark-complected man; you must not talk so much and be so open in your mind, and above all don’t talk so much to the dark-complected man, for he seems to worry you, and your affairs and his are all mixed up like.”

Here her auditor expressed a desire to know something definite and certain about his future wife, whereupon the red-haired prophetess shuffled the cards again with the following result:

“You will have but one more wife. She will be good and true, and will not be mixed up with anydark-complected man. She will be rich and you will be rich, for your business cards run very smooth, but your marriage cards do not run very close to you, and you will not be married for six or eight months; you will have three children; you will see your future wife within nine hours, nine days, or nine weeks; do not blame me if it runs into the tens, but I tell you it will fall within the nines. Another man is trying to get her away from you, he is a light-complected man, he has had some influence over her, but she now turns from him with disdain, and she will be yours and yours only—things are a little worried and mixed up now, but she will be yours and yours only, the light-complected man can’t hurt you. I have something that I can give you that will make her love you tender and true; it will force her to do it and she won’t have no power to help herself, but you can do with her just what you please; I charge extra for that.”

Here was a chance to procure a love-philtre at a reasonable rate, and unless the dark woman kept thatarticle ready made and done up in packages to suit customers, he could observe the terrible ceremonies with which it was prepared, listen to the spells and incantations with an attent eye, and take mental notes of all the mighty magic. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and he at once signified his desire to try a little of the extra witchcraft, and his willingness to draw on his purse for the requisite amount of ready cash to purchase this gratification of a laudable curiosity.

Madame Lent now assumed an air of the most intense gravity, and shook into a very dirty bit of paper a little white powder from one of the pomatum pots, and a corresponding quantity of grayish powder from pot No. 2, and stirred them carefully together with the tip of her finger. When she had mixed them to her liking she folded the diabolical compound in a small paper. Then she prepared another mixture in the same manner, and made a pretence of adding another ingredient from a little pasteboard box, which probably hadn’t had anything in it for amonth. Folding this also in a paper she presented them both to her interested guest, with these directions:

“You must shake some of the first powder on your true-love’s head, or neck, or arms, if you can, but if you can’t manage this, put it on her dress—the other powder you must sprinkle about your room when you go to bed to-night—this will draw her to you, and she will love you and you alone and can’t help herself; this will surely operate, if it don’t, come and tell me.”

One more cabalistic performance and the hocus-pocus was ended. She desired her customer to give her the first letter of his true love’s name. He, unabashed by the unexpected demand, with great presence of mind promptly invented a sweetheart on the spot, and extemporized a name for her before the question was repeated. Then the mysterious Madame required his own initial, which, being obtained, she wrote the two on slips of paper with some mystic figures appended, in manner following. E., 17; M., 24. Then she shiveringly whispered:

“You must do as I told you with the powders before eleven o’clock to-night, for between the hours of eleven and twelve I shall boil your name and hers in herbs which will draw her to you, and she can’t help herself but will be tender and true, and will be yours and yours only. When she is drawed to you then you must marry her.”

The anxious inquirer promised obedience, and agreed to give the powders as per prescription, before the midnight cookery should commence, paid his dollar (fifty cents for the consultation and a like sum for the love-powders), and made his exit with a comprehensive bow, which included the Madame, the bony petticoats, the beer-bottle, and the fast-vanishing remains of the single tallow-candle in one reverential farewell.

Thereis much less affectation of high-flown and lofty-sounding names among the ladies of the black-art mysteries, than might very naturally be expected. Most of them are content with plain “Madame” Smith, or unadorned “Mrs.” Jones, and “The Gipsy Girl” is almost the only exception to this rule that is to be encountered among all the fortune-tellers of the city.

This arises from no poverty of invention on their part, but from a sound conviction that in this case, simplicity is an element of sound policy. There has been no lack of “mysteriously gifted prophetesses,” and of “astonishing star readers;” there have been, I believe, within the last few years, a “Daughter ofSaturn,” and a “Sorceress of the Silver Girdle;” and once the “Queen of the Seven Mysteries” condescended to sojourn in Gotham for five weeks, but on the whole it has been found that a more modest title pays better. To be sure, the “Daughter of Saturn” was tried for conspiring with two other persons to swindle an old and wealthy gentleman out of seventeen hundred dollars, and the “Queen of the Seven Mysteries” was dispossessed by a constable for non-payment of rent; and these untoward circumstances may have acted as a “modest quencher” on the then growing disposition to indulge in fantastic and romantic appellations.

At this present time “The Gipsy Girl” enjoys almost a monopoly of this sort of thing, and she is by no means constant to one name, but sometimes announces herself as “The Gipsy Woman,” “The Gipsy Palmist,” and “The Gipsy Wonder,” as her whim changes.

This woman has not been in New York years enough to become complicated in as many rascalitiesas some of her elder sisters in the mystic arts, but her surroundings are of a nature to indicate that she has not been backward in her American education on these points. She has not been remarkably successful in making money, as a witch; not having been educated among the strumpets and gamblers of the city she lacked that extensive acquaintance on going into business, that had secured for her rivals in trade such immediate success. Her fondness for gin has also proved a serious bar to her rapid advancement, and has given not a few of her customers the idea that she is not so eminently trustworthy as one having the control of the destinies of others should be. In fact, she loves her enemy, the bottle, to that extent, that she has many times permitted her devotion to it to interfere seriously with her business, leading her to disappoint customers. The quality of her sober predictions is about the same as that of others in the same profession, but her intoxicated foretellings are deserving of a chapter to themselves, and they shall have it, for from force of peculiar circumstances, whichwill be explained hereafter, the Cash Customer made three visits to this celebrated woman. Her first address was 207 3d Avenue, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth Streets.

The Gipsy Girl! How romantically suggestive was this feminine phrase to the fancy of an enthusiastic reporter. Was it then, indeed, permitted that he should know Meg Merrilees in private life? His heart danced at the poetic possibility, and his heels would have extemporized a vigorous hornpipe but that his saltatory ardor was quenched by the depressing sturdiness of cow-hide boots. With the most pleasing anticipations he perused the subjoined advertisement again and again, and looked to the happy future with a joyful hope.

“A Wonder—The Gipsy Girl.—If you wish to know all the secrets of your past and future life, the knowledge of which may save you years of sorrow and care, don’t fail to consult the above-named palmist. Charge 50 cents. The Gipsy has also on hand a secret which will enable any lady or gentleman to win or obtain the affections of the opposite sex. Charge extra. No. 207 3d av., between 18th and 19th sts.”

How the knowledge of all the secrets of his past life was to save him years of sorrow and care at this late day he could not exactly comprehend, and was willing to pay fifty cents for the information. And then wasn’t it worth half a dollar to see a live gipsy? Of course it was.

Kettles, camp-fires, white tents under green trees, indigenous brown babies and exotic white ones, with a panorama of empty cradles and mourning mothers in the distance, moonlight nights, midnight foraging excursions, expeditions against impertinent game-keepers, demonstrations against hen-roosts—successful by masterly generalship and pure strategic science—and the midnight forest cookery of contraband game, surreptitious pigs and clandestine chickens—were among the romantic ideas of a delightful vagabond gipsy life that at once suggested themselves to the mind of the Cash Customer. He did not really expect to find the Third-Avenue gipsy camped out under a bed-quilt tent in the lee of the house, or cooking her dinner in an iron pot over an out-door fire in theback yard, but he had a vague undefined hope that there would be some visible indications of gipsy life, if it was nothing more than the pawn-tickets for stolen spoons.

He thought to find at least one or two beautiful babies knocking about, decorated with coral necklaces and golden clasps, suggestive of rich parents and better days, and had firmly resolved to send the little innocents to the alms-house by way of improving their condition. Full of these romantic notions, the reporter started on his philanthropic mission, taking the preliminary precaution of leaving at home his watch and pocket-book, and carrying with him only small change enough to pay the advertised charges.

In one of those three-story brick houses so abounding in this city, which seem to have been built by the mile and cut off in slices to suit purchasers, in the Third Avenue above Eighteenth Street, dwelt at that time the gay Bohemian. The building in which she lived, though three stories in height, is very shortbetween joints, which style of architecture makes all the rooms low and squat, as if somebody had shut the house into itself like a telescope, and had never pulled it out again.

Out of the chimney, which was the little end of the telescope, issued a sickly smoke; and through a door in the lower story, which was the big end thereof, was the stranger admitted by a little girl. This girl was, probably, a pure article of gipsy herself originally, but had been so much adulterated by partial civilization that she combed her hair daily and submitted to shoes and stockings without a murmur. Ragged indeed was this reclaimed wanderer; saucy and dirty-faced was this sprouting young maiden, but she was sharp-witted, and scented money as quickly as if she had been the oldest hag of her tribe; so she asked her customer to walk up stairs, which he did. She herself went up stairs with a skip and a whirl, showed her visitor into the grand reception room with a gyrating flourish, and disappeared in a “courtesy” of so many complex and dizzy rotations thatshe seemed to the eyes of the bewildered traveller to evaporate in a red flannel mist. As soon as she had spun herself out of sight he recovered his presence of mind and looked about him.

The romantic gipsy who sojourned here had tried to furnish her rooms like civilized people, doubtless out of respect to her many patrons. A thread-bare carpet was under foot; a little parlor stove with a little fire in it was standing on a little piece of zinc, and did its little utmost to heat the room; an uncomfortable looking sofa covered with shabby and faded red damask graced one side of the apartment, and a lounge, of curtailed dimensions, partially covered with shreds of turkey red calico, adorned another side.

This latter article of furniture, with its tattered cover, through which suspicious bits of curled hair peeped out, and wide crevices in its rickety frame were plainly visible, looked much too suggestive of cockroaches and other insect delicacies of the season to be an inviting place of repose.

Three chairs were dispersed throughout the room, on one of which the reporter bestowed himself, and the rest of the furniture consisted of a table, so exceedingly shaky and sensitive in the joints that it might have been the grim skeleton of some former table, loosely hung together with unseen wires; and a cheap looking-glass that had suffered so serious a comminuted fracture as to be past all surgery—this was all except some little plaster images of saints, strangers to the Cash Customer, and a black rosary, which article would seem to show that efforts had been put forth to Christianize this nut-brown gipsy maid.

A clinking of glasses was heard in the adjoining apartment, then the door was opened with an independent flirt, and the gay Bohemian appeared on the scene.

If it were desired to fancy visions of enchanting loveliness it would be necessary to insert therein other ingredients than the gipsy girl of the Third Avenue; alone she would be insufficient; too much would beleft to the imagination; and in any event the illusion would be too great to last long.

She is of medium height, her eyes are brown and bright, and her hands are very large and red. She has no hair, but wears a scratch red wig, which gives her head a utilitarian character. Her face is deeply pitted with the small-pox, more than pitted—gullied, scarred, and seamed, as though some jealous rival had been trying to plough her complexion under; little short light hairs are thinly scattered on her cheek bones and upper lip, and in the shadows of the little ridges that disease had left, irresistibly compelling the mind to make an absurd comparison of her face with a sterile field, and imagine that at some past day it had been spaded up to plant a beard, which had only grown in scanty patches, here and there. Her nails were horny and ill-shaped, and underneath them and at their roots were large deposits of dirt and other fertilizing compounds, under the stimulating influence of which they had grown lank and long. Her attire was a sort of cross betweenthe picturesque wildness of the gipsy, and the more civilized and unbecoming dress of Third Avenue Christians.

She was apparelled, principally, in a red flannel jacket, and a check handkerchief, which was passed under her chin and tied on the top of her wig, where the knot looked like a blue butterfly. There was a gown, but a series of subsoiling experiments would have been necessary to determine the material and texture; the surface was palpably dirt. Accompanying her there was a strong smell of gin, and from the odor of the liquor the visitor judged that it was a very poor article.

This gay old gipsy drew a chair to the table, and sat down, not in a graceful and composed manner, but more as if she had been dumped from a cart. She soon partially recovered herself, and straightened up slightly from the heap into which she had collapsed, and, turning her head away from her customer, she elaborately remarked: “Fifty cents and your left ’and.”

The Individual made a careful search for his small change, and fished out the exact amount which he promptly paid over.

This delightful gipsy then took his left hand and looked at it for a minute in an imbecile kind of way, as if she didn’t know exactly what to do with it, and was undecided whether it was to be made into soup, or she was to drink it immediately with warm water and a little sugar. This last impression evidently prevailed, for she tried to pour it into her apron, and only recovered from her delusion when the fingers tangled themselves up in the strings. Then a glimmering of the true state of the case seemed to dawn upon her, and she began to have a dim idea that she was expected to say something.

Now the roving gipsy was not by any means intoxicated at this time; that is to say, she may have been partaking of gin, or gin and water, or may have been sucking sugar that had gin on it, or she may have been taking a little gin and peppermint for a stomach-ache, or she may have been bathing herhead in gin, or have been otherwise making use of that potent remedy as a medicine, but she was by no means a subject for official interference in case she had wandered into the street, but she was, to tell the truth, not in her most clear-headed condition; although probably she did not see more than one Cash Customer sitting solemnly before her, still that one was quite as many as she could well manage at that time.

After the signal failure of her little demonstration on the hand of her guest, she, by a strong effort, seemed to concentrate her faculties, and after several trials she roused herself and spoke as follows, emphasizing the short words with spiteful vindictiveness, and paying the most particular attention to the improper aspiration of the h’s.

“Youarea person ashasseen a great dealofdif—”

The gay Bohemian here evidently desired to say “difficulty,” but the word was a sad stumbling-block, a four-syllable rock ahead which was too much for her powers in her then exhausted state of mind; she charged on the unfortunate word boldly, however,and tried to carry it by storm, but each time was repulsed with great loss of breath—“a great deal of dif—dif—dif—diffle”—it was no use, so she tried back and began again.

“Youarea man ashasseen a great deal ofdiffleculency,” was what she said, but it didn’t seem to satisfy her, so she tried again, and after a number of trials she hit a happy medium between “dif” and “diffleculency” and compromised on “difflety,” which useful addition to the language she took occasion to repeat as often as possible with an air of decided triumph.

“Youarea man ashasseen a great deal of diffletyandtrouble—I would not gotosay you ’ave been through too much diffletyandtrouble, still you ’ave seen diffletyandtrouble. If you had been a luckier maninyour past life youwouldnot ’ave seensomuch difflety and trouble, still you’aveseen diffletyandtrouble—I ’ope you will not see so much diffletyandtroubleinthe future—Life: youwilllive long; you will livetobe 69 years ofhage and willdie of a lingering disease—youwillbe sick for a long time, andwillnot suffer much difflety and trouble—sixty-nine years ofhageyouwilllive to be—Death: don’t thinkofdeath; that istoofar hoff a youtothink of—but youwilldie when youare69 years of hage, and youmay’ope to go right hup to ’eaven, for youwill’ave no more difflety and trouble then—Money: youwill’ave money, and youwill’ave plenty of money, but you must not look for money untilyou’ave reached your middlehage—a distant Hinglish relative of yourswillleave you money, but youwill’ave diffletyandtrouble in getting it; do not hexpecttogetthismoney without difflety, no do not cherishsucha ’ope—hitwillbeinthe ’ands of a man who wont hanswer your letters nor take notice of your happlications, youwill’avetocross the hocean yourself; this moneywillbe a good deal of moneyandwill makeyou’appy for the restofyour days—Business: youwillthrive in business, youwillnever be hunfortunate in business, youwill’ave luck in business, you will alwaysdoa good business, may hexpect to make moneybylarge speculations in business; diffletyandtrouble in business youwillnotknow—Great Troubles: you need not hexpect to ’ave many great troublesforyou will not; you ’ave ’ad your great troublesinyour hearly days—Sickness: youwillnever see no sickness, ’ave no fear of sickness for youwillnot see none; sickness, do not care for it and make your mindheasy—Friends: you ’avegotmany friends, both ’ere and helsewhere, your friendswillbe ’appy and you will be ’appy, there will be no diffletyandtrouble between you, you ’ave ’ad trouble with your friends, but you face brighter days, be ’appy—Wives: youwill’avebutone wife; in the third monthfromnow youwill’ear from ’er, youwillget a letter from ’er, and in the fourth month youwillbe married—she is not particularly ’andsome, nor sheisnot specially hugly, she ’as got blue heyes and brown ’air,ispartickler fond of ’ome and is now heighteen years of hage—’Appiness: youwillbe the ’appiest people inallthe land, you can’t himagine the ’appiness youwill’ave—Children: youwill’ave three children, after you are married youwillsee no more diffletyandtrouble; youwilldieina foreign landacross the hocean but youwilldie ’appy. ’Ope for ’appiness and ’avenohuneasiness.”

Thus prophesied the gay Bohemian, the nut-brown maid, the dark-eyed oracle, the wise charmer, the female seer, the beautiful sibyl, the lovely enchantress, the romantic “gipsy girl” of the Third Avenue.

Romance and poesy were effectually demolished by the overpowering realities of dirt, vulgarity, cockneyism, ignorance, scratch-wigs, bad English, and bad gin. Sadly the Individual walked down stairs behind the gyrating girl, who reappeared with an agile pirouette, twirled down on her toes, and opened the door with a dizzy revolution that made her look as if her head and shoulders had got into a whirlpool of petticoats, and were past all hope of mortal rescue. The little chink, as of a bottle and glass, came faintly from the apartment which is the home of the gipsy, and the individual fancied that the gay Bohemian had returned to her devotions.

Fromwhat the reader has already perused of the predictions and prophecies of these modern dealers in magic, he will hardly think them of a character to inspire any great degree of confidence in the minds of people of ordinary common sense. Still less will he be disposed to believe that merchants of “credit and renown;” business men, engaged in occupations, the operations of which are presumed to be governed by the nicest mathematical calculations, are ever so far influenced by the miserable jargon of these “fortune-tellers,” as to seriously consult them in business matters of great importance.

Such, however, is the humiliating truth.

There are in New York city a number of merchants,bankers, brokers, and other persons eminent in the business world, and respectable in all social relations, who never make an important business move in any direction, until after consultation with one or another of the Witches of New York.

There are many who are regular periodical customers, and who visit the shrine of the oracle once a month, or once in six weeks, as regularly as they make out their balance-sheets, or take an account of stock, and who guide their future investments and business ventures as much by the written fifty-cent prophecy as by either of the other documents.

Many country merchants have also learned this trick, and some of them are in constant correspondence with the cheap sybils of Grand Street; and others, when they come to the city for their stock of goods for the next half year, visit their chosen fortune-teller and get full and explicit directions how to conduct their business for the coming six months. Of course, these proceedings are conducted with the greatest possible secrecy, and the attention of the writerwas first awakened to this fact by the indiscreet boastings of certain ones of the witches themselves, who are not a little proud of their influence, and after observations afforded ample proof and corroboration of all he had been told.

Great money enterprises have without doubt been seriously affected by the yea or nay of the Bible and key, and perhaps the Atlantic Cable Company would have received more hearty assistance, and its stock more extensive subscriptions in Wall Street, if certain ones of the fortune-tellers had possessed more faith in its success, and had so advised their patrons.

Incredible as these statements may seem, they are nevertheless true, and this fact is another proof that gross superstition is not confined to the low and filthy parts of the city, where rags and dirt are the universal rule, but that it has likewise a thrifty growth in quarters of the town where stand the palaces of the “merchant princes,” and in avenues where rags are almost unknown, and broadcloth, and gold, and fine-twined linen are the common wear.

It is said that certain counsel eminent in the learned profession of the law, and that certain even of the judges of the bench, have been known to consult the female practicers of the Black Art, but the author has never been personally cognizant of a case of this kind, and has no means of knowing whether the consultation was intended to benefit the lawyer or the witch; whether the former desired enlightenment as to the management of some knotty professional point, or whether the latter wanted legal advice as to some of the side branches of her business.

Mrs. Fleury, whose domicile and mode of procedure are described in this present chapter, has a large run of this sort of what may be termedrespectablecustom, and she does not fail to profit by it to the utmost. She came to New York, from France, about six or seven years ago, and at once established herself in the witch business, which she could advertise extensively in the papers, although the other branches of her profession, by which she probably makes more money than by telling fortunes, would by no means bearnewspaper publicity. What these other branches are, is more explicitly stated in other chapters of this book, and, in fact, needs to be but hinted at, to be at once understood by nearly all who read.

Madame Fleury advertised the world of her arrival in America, and of her supernatural powers, and in a short time customers began to flock in. It is now her boast that she has as “respectable a connexion” as any one in the trade, and that she has as great a number of “regular, reliable customers,” as any conjuress in America. She says that most of her “regular customers” visit her once in six weeks, six being with her a favorite number, and she not undertaking to guarantee herbusinesspredictions for a greater length of time.

Whether she makes any discount from her ordinary prices to these regular traders, she did not state, but probably witchcraft is governed by the same rule as other commodities, and comes cheaper to wholesale dealers.

Duly armed and equipped with staff and scrip, and duly fortified within by such stimulants as the exigenciesof the case seemed to demand, the Cash Customer set out for 263 Broome Street, and after strict trial and due examination of the premises and the people, he made the following report.

It was a favorite remark of a learned though mistaken philosopher of the olden time, that “you can’t make a whistle of a pig’s tail.” The philosopher died, but his saying was accepted by the world as an axiom—a bit of incontrovertible truth, eternal, Godlike, fully up to par, worth a hundred per cent., with no possibility of discount. Time, however, which often demonstrates the fallibility of human wisdom, has not spared even this oft-quoted adage; and now there is not a collection of curiosities in the land which lacks a pig-tail whistle to proclaim in the shrillest tones the falsity of the wise man’s proposition, and the triumph of Yankee ingenuity. Had this same philosopher been interrogated on the subject, he would undoubtedly have announced, and with an equal show of probability on his side of the argument, that “you can’t make a star-reading prophetess out of a snuffyold woman;” but had he lived to the present day, the Cash Customer would have taken great pleasure in exhibiting to him these two apparently irreconcilable characters combined in a single person, and that person Mrs. Fleury, who pays for the daily insertion of the following advertisement in the newspapers.

“ASTROLOGY.—Mrs. Fleury, from Paris, is the most celebrated lady of the present age, in telling future events, true and certain. She answers questions on business, marriage, absent friends, &c., by magnetism. Office No. 263 Broome-st.”

There is not so much of promise in this paragraph, as there is in some of the more grandiloquent announcements of the other witches—not probably, that Madame Fleury is any less pretentious than they, but her knowledge of the English language is not perfect enough to enable her to give her ideas their full effect.

The Cash Customer resolved to visit this “most celebrated lady of the age,” who had come all the way from Paris, to tell his “future events true and certain,” nothing daunted by the circumstance thatshe lives in the filthiest part of Broome Street, which has never been swept clean since it was a very new Broome indeed.

If our fancy farmers, who expend so much money upon the various foreign manures and fertilizing compounds, would but turn their eyes in the direction of Broome Street, a single glance would convince them of the inexhaustible resources of their own country, while guano would instantly depreciate in value, and the island of Ichaboe not be worth a quarrel. This prolific and valuable deposit that covers Broome Street bears perennial crops: in the spring and summer, dirty-faced children and mean-looking dogs seem to spring from it spontaneously; they are succeeded during the colder weather by a crop of tumble-down barrels, and cast-away broken carts; while the humbler and more insignificant things, the uncared for weeds, so to speak, of the abundant harvest, such as potato parings, and fish heads, and shreds of ragged dish-cloths, and bits of broken crockery, and old bones, are in season all the year round.

In the midst of this filth, with policy-shops adjacent, and pawnbrokers’ offices close at hand, and rum shops convenient in the neighborhood—where the reeking streets and stagnant gutters, and the heaps of decomposing garbage, send up a stench so thick and heavy that it beslimes everything it touches, and makes a man feel as if he were far past the saving powers of soap and soft water, and was fast dissolving into rancid lard oil—in this congenial atmosphere flourishes the prophetess, and here is found the mansion of Mrs. Fleury, “the most celebrated lady of the age in telling future events.” Her mansion is not one that would be selected as a permanent residence by any one with a superabundance of cash capital, nor did it seem quite suited to the deservings of the “most celebrated lady of the present age;” the house, a three-story brick, originally intended to be something above the common, has been for so many years misused and badly treated by reckless tenants, that it has completely lost its good temper, as well as its good looks, and is now in a perpetual state of aggravated sulkiness.It resents the presence of a stranger as an impertinent intrusion, and avenges the personality in various disagreeable ways. It twitches its rickety stairways impatiently under his feet, as if to shake him off and damage him by the fall—it viciously attempts to pinch and jam his fingers with moody dogged doors, which hold back as long as they can, and then close with a sudden snap, exceedingly dangerous to the unwary—it tears his clothes with ambushed rusty nails, and unsuspected hooks, and sharp and jagged splinters—it creaks its floors under his tread with a doleful whine, and complains of his cruel treatment in sharp-pointed, many-cornered tears of plaster, which it drops from the ceiling upon his head the instant he takes his hat off—it yawns its wide cellar doors open like a greedy mouth, evidently hoping that an unlucky step will pitch him headlong down—and it conducts itself in a thousand ill-natured ways like a sulky child that has been waked up too early in the morning, and not properly whipped into good behavior. The Individual, however, enteredthe doors, unabashed by the malignant scowl which was visible all over the face of the unamiable mansion, and stumbled through a narrow, dirty hall, up two flights of groaning stairs, before he discovered any sign of the whereabouts of Madame. She evidently did not occupy the entire of this sulky edifice, or he would have seen some of the servants or retainers, who would have been only too happy to direct him to the head-quarters of the sorceress. But the few people he saw about the place seemed to be each one occupied with his or her own private affairs, and to be too much taken up therewith to pay the slightest attention to the new-comer. Their attentions to each other were confined to reproaches, uncomplimentary assertions, and sundry maledictory remarks, accompanied, in case of the younger members of the various tribes, with pinches, pokes, punches, and small but frequent showers of brickbats.

The Individual disregarded these evidences of good feeling, not considering himself called upon to reply to any which were not addressed to him individually,and plodded on till his roving eye rested on a tin sign, on which was inscribed, “Madame Fleury, Room No. 4.” There were no mysterious emblems or cabalistic flourishes accompanying this simple announcement.

He pulled the knob and the door was instantly opened by the lady herself, so quickly that the bell had no time to ring until all necessity for it was over—she had evidently heard the advancing footsteps of her customer, and had stood ready to pounce upon him. She ushered him into the apartment, where he soon recovered his self-possession, and took an observation.

The room was a small square one, shabbily furnished with very few articles of furniture, and these were dimly visible through the snuffy mist which filled the apartment; there was snuff everywhere; there was a snuffy dust on the chairs; there was a precipitate of snuff on the floor, and, if snuff was capable of crystallization, there would undoubtedly have been stalactitic formations of snuff depending from the ceiling;the Madame herself was snuff-colored, as if she had been boiled in a decoction of tobacco.

She is a Frenchwoman, and has had about half a century’s experience of her present fleshly tabernacle, which is somewhat the worse for wear, although from the fossil remains of bygone beauty, still visible in her ancient countenance, her customer inclined to the belief that in some remote age she was comely and pleasant to the eye. He founded this hypothesis upon the brown hair and hazel eyes which time has spared.

In respect to personal cleanliness, the Individual regrets to say that the Madame was not in every respect what a critical observer would wish to see; her hands and arms were in a condition which would naturally lead to the belief that the Croton Corporation had cut off the water; and under each of her finger-nails was a dark-colored deposit, which may have been snuff, but looked like something dirtier. She was dressed in a light striped calico dress, over which was a black velvet mantle trimmed with fur,and on her head was a portentous head-dress which was fearfully and wonderfully made of shabby black lace; her face was in the same condition as her hands and arms, as was also her neck, which was only visible to the upper edge of the collar-bone—further deponent saith not.

She more nearly approached the Cash Customer’s notion of the Witch of Endor, than any other lady he had ever heard mentioned in polite society. She at once prepared for business.

She seated herself behind a small stand, dusty with snuff, on which were a number of little books on astrology, written in French and German, and as dirty and as fragrant as if they had been some kind of clumsy vegetable which had been grown in a tobacco plantation.

She asked her visitor if he spoke French or German, to which he replied that, had he been conversant with all the languages invented at the Babel smash-up, he would on this occasion, for particular reasons, prefer to confine himself to English. He also venturedan inquiry as to terms, upon which she produced a card containing a list of her charges, printed in English, French, and German. He learned from this dingy document that the prices of telling fortunes by lines of the hand, by cards, and by the stars, varied in amount from one to five dollars. The Individual concluded that one dollar’s worth would suffice, and, approaching the little table, he announced the result of his cogitations. The enchantress, who was so saturated with snuff and tobacco that every time her customer looked her in the face he sneezed, then brought a pack of very filthy cards, which were covered over with mysterious hieroglyphics done in black paint. She asked her visitor to “cut” them, which he reverently though daintily did, whereupon she laid them on the table before her in four rows, and spoke, having previously explained that she used no witchcraft but did all her wonders by the signs of the zodiac. The Individual concentrated his attention, and listened with all his ears while the witch of Broome Street spoke thus:

“I will tell you first what these cards indicate, then I will look at the lines of your hand, and then I will answer three questions.”

Here she paused, while her agitated listener sneezed a couple of times; then she resumed, speaking with a strong foreign accent:

“You are good disposition—have excellent memory, you don’t have many enemy, but what you do is of your own sex—you are very frank person and you was born in the sign of the Crab. You have some lucky days which are Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays, whatever you do on these days is well, but you shall not wash your hair on Thursdays, if so, you will wash all your luck away. You must be very careful of fire and water, you will be in great danger of fire and water and you must be very careful. You may die by fire or water, I cannot say but you must certain be very careful of fire and water. You must also be very careful of dogs, very careful of dogs, you may die by a dog, but you must certain be very careful of dogs.”

Here she paused again, and while her visitor was meditating on the full force of what he had heard, and was inwardly resolving to go immediately home, shoot Juno, and drown her as-yet-unoffending-but-in-after-days-dangerous-to-his-peace-of-mind-and-the-happiness-of-his-life pups, she prepared for the second portion of her discourse.

Taking the Individual’s hand in hers, a proceeding which made him feel as if he had put his fingers into a bladder of Maccoboy, she made the following prediction: “You will be the father of five children, two of them will be boys, who will be a great comfort to you when you grow old.”

She spoke no good of the girls, and the customer foresaw feminine trouble in his household with those same young ladies. Having a few moments to himself before she resumed, he worked himself into a great passion with the ungrateful hussies who were about to treat their kind old father in so scandalous a manner; but presently recollecting that they were as yet in the condition of “your sister, Betsey Trotwood,who never was born,” he felt that he was slightly premature in his wrath, so he cooled down and resolved to make the best of it with his comfortable boys.

The yellow sorceress continued: “Your line of life is long, and you will live to a good old age. You have had much trouble in love affairs, and now your first love is entirely lost to you. You can never reclaim her, and you must never venture anything in lotteries.”

Whether Madame Fleury supposed that her visitor intended to spend his salary in lottery tickets, in the hope of winning back his early love, or whether she supposed that the woman then exhibiting herself as “Perham’s Gift Lady,” was the person, is not in evidence; but, from the peculiar construction of her last remark, something of the kind must have been in her thoughts. She had now reached the third part of her discourse, and come to the “three questions.” She produced an old French Bible, dingy with age and snuff, and which she informed the observer had beenin her family for three hundred years; an old iron key was tied between the leaves, with the ring and part of the shank of the key projecting, and the Bible was tightly bound round with many folds of black ribbon. Making her visitor hold one side of the ring of the key, while she held the other, she said: “Ask your three questions, and if they are to be answered in the affirmative the book will turn.”

The Individual, who had been much impressed by her canine observation of a few minutes before, and whose thoughts were still running upon his pet Juno, and her six innocent offspring, in a fit of absence of mind propounded this interrogatory:

“Shall I marry the person of whom I am now thinking?” The potent enchantress repeated the question aloud in French, and then, with pale lips and trembling voice, she addressed the book and key thus:

“Holy Bible, I ask you, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, will this man marry the person now in his mind?”—then she closed her eyesfor a moment, placed one hand over her heart, and rapidly muttered something in so low a tone that it was inaudible to her listener. Immediately the Bible commenced to turn slowly towards her, and soon had made a complete revolution, thus expressing a very decided affirmative.

Having started a matrimonial subject with so satisfactory a result, her customer thought he could do no better than to follow it up, and accordingly asked question No. 2:

“If I marry this person, will the marriage be a happy one?” The same answer was given, in the same manner. Being now satisfied as to his own matrimonial prospects, he concluded to ascertain those of his children, and question No. 3 was asked, as follows:

“Shall I live to see my children happily married?”

There was a long delay, which was undoubtedly occasioned by the difficulty of properly providing for those refractory girls, but at last there came a reluctant “Yes.”

Having now got all that his dollar entitled him to, the customer prepared to depart. The Madame informed him that in a few days she would have her “Magic Mirror” from Paris, with which she could do new wonders, and she hoped that he would soon call again, adding, “If I was ten year younger I would not admit gentlemen, but now I am old and I must.”

Besidesthose who advertise in the daily journals, there are many other witches in and about the city who do not deign so to inform the world of their miraculous powers. Either they have not full faith in their own supernatural gifts, or they distrust the policy of advertising; at any rate they are only known to the inquiring stranger by accidental rumors, and mysterious side-whisperings emanating from those credulous ones who have had ocular proof of the miracle-working facility of these veiled prophets.

In certain of the older States of the Union, there cannot probably be found any country village that does not boast its old crones of fortune-telling celebrity—womenwho are not named by the awe-struck youngsters of the town, but with low breath and a startled sort of look thrown backward over the shoulder every minute as if in half-fear that the evil eye is even there upon them. And in almost every neighborhood in any part of the country, there will be one or more old women who delight in mystifying the young folks by telling fortunes in tea-cups, by means of the ominous settling of the “grounds;”—or who, sometimes, even “run the cards,” or aspire to read the fates by the portentous turning of the Bible and key. All these conjurations are given without money and without price in the rural districts, but they sometimes work no little mischief.

There people do not advertise their willingness to read the fates, and only exercise their gifts in that direction as a matter of friendship to certain favored ones. The city and the suburbs are full of people of this kind, who profess to know the gift of prophecy and of miracles, but who do not make their whole living by the exercise of their supernatural powers,depending in part on some popular branch of industry. They differ, however, from their sisters of the country in this regard; whenever they do consent to do a little magic for the accommodation of an anxious inquirer, they are very careful to charge him a round price for it. Many of them combine fortune-telling with hard work, and do their full day’s work of faithful toil at some legitimate employment, and in the evening amuse themselves with witchcraft.

These are chrysalis witches; prophets in embryo; magicians in a state of apprenticeship; they are learning the trade, and as soon as they feel competent to do journey-work, they drop their hard labor, and at once set up for full-fledged witches or conjurors.

Mr. Grommer, the Black Sage of Williamsburgh, and his solid and amiable wife, were in this half-way state when they were visited by the Cash Customer. Their fame had reached his ears by the means of some kind friends who were cognisant of his peculiar investigations at that time, and who told him of the supernatural gifts of this amiable old couple.

Accordingly the Individual, having made exact inquiries as to their local habitation, one fine morning set out in pursuit, and in due time made up the following report. Since that time it is reported that this worthy pair have followed the law of progression hereinbefore hinted at, and having arrived at the fulness of all magical knowledge, have laid aside the whitewash pail and discarded the scrubbing-brush, and given their time entirely to the practice of the Black Art.

The Individual beginneth his discourse thus:—

It is an old saying, that “The Devil is never so black as he is painted.” What may be the precise shade of the complexion of his amiable majesty the Cash Customer has no means of ascertaining to an exact nicety at this present time of writing; but he makes the positive assertion, that some of the Satanic human employees are so black as to need no painting of any description.

Whether or not the ancient “wise men from the East” were swarthy skinned he is not competent todecide; but he is able to prove, by ocular demonstration, to an unbelieving sceptic, that some of the modern “wise men” are particularly “dark-complected.”

Mrs. Grommer, of No. 34 North Second Street, in the suburb of Williamsburgh, is a case in point. The fame of this illustrious ebony lady had gone abroad through the land, and her skill in prophecy had been vouched for by those who professed to have personal knowledge of the truthfulness of her predictions. But an air of mystery surrounded the sable sorceress, and it was declared to be impossible to obtain a knowledge of her exact whereabouts, except by a preliminary visit to a certain mysterious “cave,” the locality of which was accurately described.

A cave! this promised well; no other witches encountered by the Cash Customer, had he found in a cave, or in anything resembling that hollow luxury.

A cave! the very word smacked of diabolism, and had the true flavor of genuine witchcraft. Our overjoyedhero thought of the Witch of Vesuvius in her mountain cavern—of her lank, grey, dead hair; her livid, corpse-like skin; her stony eye; her shrivelled, blue lips; her hollow voice, and her threatening arm, and skinny, menacing forefinger—of the red-eyed fox at her side, the crested serpent at her feet, the mystic lamp above her head, and the statue in the background, triple-headed with skulls of dog, and horse, and boar. Something of this kind he hoped to witness in the present instance, for he argued that any sorceress who lived in a cave must surely be supplied with some more cabalistic instruments with which to work her spells than greasy playing-cards or rusty brass door-keys. At last, then, he had discovered something in modern witchcraft worthy the ancient romance of the name. Triumphant and overjoyed, he prepared for the visit, confident in his ability to witness any spectacle, however terrible, without flinching, and in his courage to pass any ordeal, however fearful. He swallowed no countercharms or protective potions, anddid not even take the precaution to sew a horse-shoe in the seat of his pantaloons.

It is true he was rash, but much must be forgiven to youthful curiosity, especially when conjoined with professional ambition. The carelessness, in respect to his own safety, was productive of no ill effects, for he returned from this perilous excursion in every regard as good as he went. He had by this time entirely recovered from his matrimonial aspirations, and had given up all hope of a witch wife. Still, he hoped to find in thecave, something more worthy the ancient and honorable name of witchcraft than anything he had yet seen.

Alas! for the uncertainty of mortal hopes. All is vanity, bosh, and botheration.

On arriving at the enchanted spot, it soon became evident to the senses of our astonished friend that the “Cave” was not a cavern, fit for the habitation of a powerful sorceress, but was merely a mystifying cognomen applied to a drinking saloon with a billiard room attached, which had accommodations, also, forpersons who wished to participate in other profane games.

On entering the “Cave,” your deluded customer saw no toothless hag with the expected witch-like surroundings, but observed only a company of men, seemingly respectable, indulging in plentiful potations of beer and certain other liquids, which appeared, at the distance from which he observed them, to be the popular compounds designated in the vulgar tongue as “whiskey toddies.” Addressing the nearest bystander, the gulled Individual ascertained the habitation of Mrs. Grommer, and immediately departed in search of that interesting female.

The way was crooked, as all Williamsburgh ways are, but after an irregular, curvilinear journey of half an hour, the anxious inquirer stood in front of the looked-for mansion.

The grading of the street has left at this point a gravel bank some six or eight feet high, on the summit of which is perched the house of Mrs. Grommer, like a contented mud-turtle on a sunny stump. It isa one-story affair, with several irregular wings or additions sprouting out of it at unexpected angles, and, on the whole, it looks as if it had been originally built tall and slim like a tallow candle, but had melted and run down into its present indescribable shape. The architect neglected to provide this beautiful edifice with a front door, and the inquirer was compelled to ascend the bank by a flight of rheumatic steps, and make a grand detour through currant bushes, chickens, washtubs, rain-barrels, and colored children, irregular as to size, and variegated as to hue, to the back, and only door. Here his modest rap was unanswered, and he composedly walked in, unasked, through the kitchen, and took a seat in the parlor, where he was presently discovered by the lady of the house, but not until he had time to take an accurate observation.

Mrs. Grommer had, up to this time, been engaged in making a public example of certain ones of her grandchildren, who had been trespassing on the currant bushes of a neighbor, and had been caught inthe act. Their indulgent grandmother, being scandalized by this exhibition of youthful depravity, with a regard for the demands of strict justice that did her infinite credit, had inflicted on several of the delinquents that mild punishment known as “spanking.” The novelty of the sight had drawn together quite a collection of the neighbors, who signified their approval of the deed by encouraging cheers.

Meantime the Individual had ample time to contemplate the inside beauties of the mansion of the sable prophet. Mrs. Grommer soon finished her athletic exercise out-doors, and came into the house to rearrange her dress and receive her company.

The reception-room was about 10 by 12, and so low that a tall man could not yawn in it without rapping his head against the ceiling. In places the plaster had been displaced and the bare lath showed through, reminding one of skeletons. The floor was dingily carpeted; a double bed occupied one side of the room, a small cooking-stove stood in the middle of the floor and had a disproportionately slim pipe issuing out ofthe corner, like a straw in a mint-julep; seven chairs of varied patterns, a small round table, on which lay a pack of cards covered with a cloth, and a tumble-down chest of drawers completed the necessary furniture of the apartment. The ornaments are quickly enumerated. A black wooden cross hung by the windows, a few cheap and gaudy Scriptural prints were fastened against the wall, a chemist’s bottle, of large dimensions, and filled with a blue liquid, reposed on the chest of drawers, side by side with a few miniature casts of lambs and dogs; and on a little shelf stood a quarter-size plaster bust of some unknown worthy, of which the head had been knocked off and its place significantly supplied with a goose-egg.

In a short time Mrs. Grommer emerged from an unlooked-for apartment and entered the room. She is a negress and a grandmother—her age is 65, and a brood of children, together with a swarm of the aforesaid grandchildren, reside near at hand and keep the old lady’s mansion constantly besieged.

As to size—she is large, apparently solid, andwould struggle severely with a 200 pound weight before she would acknowledge herself conquered. She was neatly attired, and, in fact, a most grateful air of cleanliness pervaded the entire establishment, and it was a refreshing contrast to most of the dens of the fairer-skinned witches heretofore encountered by the cash delegate.

The sable one entered into conversation, and a few minutes were passed in cheerful chat, in the course of which she thus referred to the scapegrace husband of one of her numerous daughters: “They think Anson is dead, but I can’t station him dead. I think he’s at sea somewhere, or in a foreign land, but I can’t station him dead. He might as well be under ground for all the good he is, for he is such a poor, mis’able, drinkin’ feller that he aint no use, but, after all, I can’t run him dead.”

At last, the object of the visit was mentioned, and, to the individual’s great surprise, Mrs. Grommer positively and peremptorily refused to give him the benefit of her prophetic powers.

She said: “It aint no use; I never does for gentlemen. I does sometimes for ladies, but I can’t do it for gentlemen.” Remonstrance and entreaty were alike useless; she was immovable. At last, she said she would call her “old man,” who could tell fortunes as well as she could, but she added, with a determined shake of the head: “He’ll do it, but he will charge you a dollar; and he wont do it under, neither.” When her hearer expressed his willingness to learn his future fate by the masculine medium, she addressed him thus: “You station there, in that chair, and I’ll send him.” The disappointed one “stationed” in the designated chair, and awaited the coming of the “old man.” He soon appeared and seated himself, ready to begin.

“Old Man” Grommer is a professor of the whitewashing branch of decorative art. He occasionally relaxes his noble mind from the arduous mental labor attendant upon the successful carrying on of his regular business, and condescends to earn an easy dollar by fortune-telling. He is a shrewd-looking old man,with a dash of white blood in his composition; his hair curls tightly all over his head, but is elaborated on each side of his face into a single hard-twisted ringlet; short crisped whiskers, streaked with grey, encircle his face, and an imperial completes his hirsute attractions; his cheeks and forehead are marked with the small-pox.

He was attired in a grey and striped dress, the peculiarity of which was that the coat and vest were bound with wide stripes of black velvet. He speaks with but little of the peculiar negro dialect, except when he forgets himself for an instant, and unguardedly relapses into the old habits, which he has evidently carefully endeavored to overcome. He looked at his visitor very sharply for a minute or two, while he pretended to be abstractedly shuffling the cards; and collecting his valuable thoughts, at last he remarked:

“I s’pose you want me to run the cards for you?” The reply was in the affirmative, and the colored prophet concentrated his mind and began. Slowly he dealt the cards, and spake as follows:

“You don’t believe in fortunes, my son—I see that. Must tell you what I see here—can’t help it—if I see it in the cards, must tell you. You’ve had great deal trouble, my son; more comin’. Can’t help it; mus’ tell you. I see trouble in de cards; I see razackly what it is.”

Here he suddenly stopped, and resuming his guarded manner, continued: “You’ve lost something, my son; something that you think a great deal of. Now I don’t like to tell about lost things; I’se ’fraid I’ll get myself into a snare; I’d rather not say nothing about it; fear I’ll get myself into trouble.” His auditor here gave him the most positive assurances that he should never be called into court to identify the thief of the missing article, and that he should be held free from all harm; whereupon he consented to impart the following information:

“Dis thing you lost is something that hangs up on a nail—something bright and round—you thinks a great deal of it, my son—when it went away it had on a bright guard—hasn’t got a bright guard on now;got a black guard—you see I knows all about de article, my son, and I can tell you razackly where de article is—but I’se rather not tell you ’bout it, my son; ’fraid I’ll run myself into a snare; dat’s the truth, my son, rather no say nothin’ ’bout de article.”

Being again assured of safety, he went on: “Well, my son, I’ll tell you ’bout this yer thing. Has you got any boys in yer employ? No. Got two girls have you? One of dem girls is light-haired and de other is dark—the light one is de one who comes in your room in your boarding-house every morning when you’se gone away—’cause you lives in a boardin’ house, I sees that—can see it in the cards, can always tell razackly. If you make a fuss about dat article you make your landlady feel bad. You has accused somebody of taking that article, but you ’cused de wrong person. The light-haired girl is who’s got that article. Can’t help it, my son, must tell you—de light-haired girl is de person. Mebbe she’s put it back, my son, I’ll see.”

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