"La, me!" exclaimed the old aunt; "do tell—is that all that's troubling you so? Now, do take heart. I tell you we can get that sore spot fixed up,—cured in a mighty short time. I understand all about it. Fact is, I've had such an experience myself in my day, and I've known others have the like, and I got it all made right, and they did too, if there's any believin' folks; but some folks are curious creatures—that's true, Mary," (for that's the niece's first name); and she went on to tell her "as how" she didn't believe in witchcraft, or in seers, or "clair-ry-voy-ants" (as she called them), or in fortune-tellers, "either with the cards or without them," nor "in them as sees into things through crystals, and such like," as a general thing. But she did believe that some folks had a magic about them, by which they could peer into the future, and prevent things happening that might otherwise occur. She was a very garrulous old lady, it would seem, and overwhelmed her niece with instances enough, which she had "known" to prove valuable, of the mysterious "power of some people," to establish a general rule in favor of all seers' pretensions.
The niece was just in the mood to believe in anything that seemed likely to bring her any relief, and asked her aunt for her advice in the premises, which was given, of course, and was to the effect that they should find out a good fortune-teller, and visit her next day. But the time was short, and they had no acquaintances of whom they could inquire. The aunt sighed deeply over the fact that New Orleans was so far off; "for if it wasn't, we would go and visit old Aunt Betsy"—an aged negro woman—"right off. She's always sure and certain. I've tried her a hundred times."
"What, aunt! a hundred times?" asked Mary.
"Yes, yes, a full hundred times."
"Why, aunt, then I am afraid you do believe in fortune-tellers."
"No, no; I don't. I told you that I don't, generally speaking; but Aunt Betsy is a wonder, if she is black. She ain't any the worse for that, I tell you, no matter what the rest of the blacks are."
Any one acquainted with the character of the people, who, at the South, put their trust in prophetic old negroes and negresses, need no further hint as to the superstitious character of Mary's aunt. They are a peculiar class, the like of whom is not to be found in all the world besides. They are weaker than the idolaters of the East, and are generally a sensuous, if not sensual, class, they who worship these old negroes, and there are a great many of them. The aunt was not only superstitious, but enthusiastic—one of those magnetic creatures, who, at times, exercise a good deal of influence—a sort of "psychologic" power over others; and in Mary's state of mind, she was not much disposed to resist the aunt's advisory suggestions. She needed sympathy at the time, and was willing to accept it in whatever form presented.
With no one to inquire of as to a "successful fortune-teller," the aunt and Mary consulted the newspapers, determining to select among the advertisements the name of the "medium," or "sight-seer," or "clairvoyant," or what not, who appeared to reside in the most respectable quarters; and they were not long in determining, through the columns of the Herald, upon a Mrs. Seymour, then residing in Grand Street. This "Mrs. Seymour" was the wife of a crafty Irishman, of much intelligence, and extremely good address, by the name of Brady. This man was capable of concocting dark designs; and although his wife was also a cunning person, and was not lacking in real skill and strategy, yet it was generally supposed, as I learned on investigating this case, that he was the subtle "power behind the throne" when any great cheat or curious deviltry was performed by her. But she was a "canny" woman, after all, and as mild and attractive, when she pleased to be, as she was sharp and unscrupulous. Long experience had given her great facility in necromantic arts, and the smoothness of her tongue was something remarkable. It is supposed by most people, who are unacquainted with these sorcerers, that they are both illiterate and unintelligent. They are usually ignorant of books; but they are by no means lacking in intelligence, cultivated and sharpened by a discipline which books can hardly give.
"Mrs. Seymour" was the assumed name of the wife—her advertising sobriquet—a name well chosen, since, unlike her real name, it did not suggest her Irish origin, and therefore forbid Irish servant girls from visiting her, and leaving with her a dollar or two dollars a time for advice on the subject of their lovers, marriages, or a "new place" to work. The Irish in this country, at least, have no respect for sorcerers of Irish birth. The name, too, sounds not unaristocratic; something substantial about it; has not the appearance of being assumed, like those of "Madame Leclerque," "Madame Duponleau," and other high-sounding aliases of some fat, dumpy English or Welsh woman, or some dark weazen-faced Polish hag, whose real name is perhaps Johnson, Jones, or Thomascowitch.
"Mrs. Seymour" was a middle-sized woman, not ugly of features, not handsome, with a sort of mobile face, which could easily assume any expression which her subtle, crafty mind might suggest. Her house was a decent abode, pretty well furnished; and, in this respect, far above the character of the houses which most "mediums" and fortune-tellers inhabit, presenting a cosy, inviting appearance in the parlor. Mr. Brady, a man of wholesome face and good address, was usually at home to aid in entertaining visitors, especially ladies, who called upon "Mrs. Seymour" professionally.