_A Prediction Fulfilled._
At the time of the American war, a gentleman (a mere youth) entered the
army, and saw some little service. One day, during an engagement, he
was, in the hurry and confusion of it, knocked down; and a soldier,
setting his foot upon his chest in passing over him, hurt him so
exceedingly that he became senseless; upon recovering, he found himself
still stretched on the ground, and a singular, looking female stood
beside him, who, as he opened his eyes, exclaimed in an ill-boding
voice, "Ay, young man, mark my words: _that_ hurt will be the
death of you in your forty-second year." He immediately recognised in
this old raven one of those _soothsayers_ who usually followed the
army, and gained a livelihood by their oracular powers. Mr. L. certainly
did _mark_ her words, inasmuch as returning to England, he quitted
the army, entered the church, and amongst other red-coat reminiscences,
used frequently to mention (and mention but to ridicule) the American
soothsayer's prediction. Nevertheless, true it is, that he did die in
his forty-second year, and of a disease in his _chest_ too,
although he had never suffered from the hurt beyond the period at which
he received it.
_Imagination._
The measles (it is pretty well known to all voyagers) is at St. Helena a
hideous and fatal disorder, although generally mild at the Cape, which
is about a fortnight's sail from the former island: every ship,
therefore, from the Cape, upon touching at St. Helena, undergoes
examination, and, if the measles are known to be prevalent at the former
place, is put into quarantine, and no officer, however urgent his
business may be, allowed to land without making oath or affidavit that
he has not been on shore at the Cape, or approached an infected person.
Some years since, a naval officer, acquainted with the then governor of
St. Helena, General P----n, was invited to dine with him, and met at
dinner another officer from another vessel, who, it is to be presumed,
had eluded undergoing the usual precautionary measures, and was perhaps
ignorant of their existence, since he mentioned, during the repast, that
the measles were prevailing at Cape Town, and admitted that he had
entered it. Now, he had just arrived at St. Helena, and though he
expressly stated that he had not gone near any infected person, poor
Mrs. P----, uttering a shriek, fled from the table, exclaiming that she
knew she should have the measles; in fact, she immediately fell sick of
that disorder, (and died, I think I understood.) All her family took it,
and it raged through the island, proving dreadfully destructive.
_Mysterious Incident._
It was the wedding day of Mr. and Mrs. Terry, (I mean the _actual_,
not the anniversary wedding-day,) and the jocund bridegroom, bride, and
their guests were assembled about noon in the drawing-room, when a
servant entered, and said a gentleman had called, and wished to speak to
Mr. T.; that he was waiting below stairs, and would not come up, because
he came upon very particular business. Mr. Terry, desiring his company
to excuse him for a few minutes, quitted the room. One hour elapsed--no
bridegroom; two hours--he did not appear;--three--four--he was not
returned: the bride's mind misgave her, and the hymeneal guests were
quite alarmed: the servants declared that they had seen their master and
the gentleman walk into the garden, from whence they were not returned.
Now, a high brick wall, in which there was no outlet, and over which no
person could climb except by a ladder, enclosed the garden, which, when
searched, was empty, whilst, at the same time, Mr. Terry and his
_friend_, "_the gentleman_," could not have walked out at the
hall-door without being, from its situation, seen and heard by the
servants in the kitchen. Time fled--and he did not return--no!--and
although his lady lived to be nearly ninety years of age, she
_never_ gained tidings again of the spouse, thus so mysteriously
spirited away!
_Raising the Wind._
The superstitions of sailors are not few, as those assert who are
conversant in maritime affairs. Amongst others, is the custom, pretty
well known, of _whistling for a wind_. A gentleman told me, that, on his
first voyage, being then very young, and ignorant of sea usages, he was
in the habit of walking the deck a great deal, "and whistling as he
went," perhaps "for want of thought"--perhaps for lack of something
better to do. Shortly, he fancied that the captain of the vessel seemed
not a little annoyed whenever this took place, although he kept a
respectful silence upon the subject. At length Mr. ---- resolved to
speak to him himself: and, accordingly, one day, when it blew a pretty
brisk gale, said, "I observe, captain, that you appear particularly
uneasy whenever I whistle."--"To say the truth, sir, I _am_ just _now_,"
replied he. "On a fair, still day, whistle as much as you please; but,
when there is a wind like this, _we don't like to have any more
called._"--_New London Literary Gaz._
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