Come like shadows so depart."
Shakspeare.
The insatiable desire to penetrate the dark veil of futurity, which pervades all classes, from the highest to the lowest, renders the occupation of the Fortune-Teller one of considerable profit. In no part of the world are there so many professors of the art, as in Ireland. The most insignificant village has its cunning person, of one sex or the other, whose province generally is to cure bewitched cattle, be well acquainted with all the scandalous gossip of the vicinity, and give advice and assistance in all delicate and difficult affairs of the heart; added to which, in some instances, a "trifle of smugglin'," and in all, the vending of interdicted drink: Potieen, that had never seen the ill-looking face of a gauger; a kind of liquid fire you might weaken with aquafortis, that would scrape the throat of an unaccustomed drinker as if he had swallowed a coarse file, but which our seasoned tipplers "toss off," glass after glass, without a grin, their indurated palates receiving it like so much water.
The class of individuals who take up, or are instructed in the mysteries of Fortune-telling, combine rather antagonistic elements. They are generally the shrewdest, cunningest, cleverest, laziest people you can find. Studying, and understanding to a charm, the most assailable points of human nature, they obtain from their applicants, by circuitous questioning, the precise nature of their expectations; then dexterously "crossing the scent," with an entirely different subject, astonish them at last by expounding their very thoughts. Nor are the old-established mysteries, the appliances and incantations omitted, although they necessarily must be of a simple and curious nature; the great oracle, the cards, is brought into requisition on all occasions, varied by a mystic examination of tea-grounds, melted lead, and indeed, sometimes in imitation of the ancient soothsayer, facilis descensus, by the sacrifice of some poor old cat.
Bridget Fallow, or Biddy na Dhioul, as she was most commonly designated, was an extraordinary specimen of the genus. Many a heart-breaking was averted through her agency, and numberless the strange doings ascribed to her powers of witchcraft. The love-stricken "from all parts of the country round," a comprehensive Irish phrase, signifying a circuit of some twelve or fourteen miles, consulted ould Biddy, daily. Immense was her mystic reputation, and very many the "fippenny bits," the smallest piece of coin that could be obtained to "cross her hand," did she sweep into her greasy pocket, from the credulous of either sex.
It would be difficult to describe accurately the temple of this particular dispenser of fortune. Bent nearly double, partly from age, and partly to give greater effect to her divinations (for the older a witch appears, the more credit is given to her skill), she sat, or rather crouched in a small, dimly-lighted room, surrounded by some dozen cats, of all ages and complexions, from playful kittendom to grave and reverend cat-hood; black, white, pie-ball'd, skew-ball'd, foxy, tortoise-shell, and tab. Now, those companions of Biddy's were held in especial horror by her visitors, who firmly believed them to be familiar demons, attendant on her will. But never were animals so libelled, for they were in truth, as frolicsome and mundane specimens of the feline, as ever ran after a ball of worsted. Biddy was fond of her cats, and though naturalists doubt the sincerity of cat-love, they certainly appeared to be greatly attached to her; night and day did those three generations of puss gambol about her; perhaps, indicating their preference for still life, they looked upon Biddy, as, in rigid mobility, she sat motionless and silent, inly enjoying their pranks, as merely a portion of the furniture, and so had as much right to jump on her shoulder, and hunt each other's tail, over and about her as upon anything else in the room. Certain it is they did not respect her a whit more than an old table, and Biddy, delighted with such familiarity, put no restraint on their impertinence. A dingy curtain, reaching half-way across the room, concealed a large, rudely-finished mirror-frame, which Biddy found extremely useful on several occasions. There were none of the awe-compelling accessories of the magic art, no alligator stuffed, no hissing cauldron, no expensive globes; nothing, save an old black-letter folio, Biddy's universal book of reference, and a terribly dirty pack of cards, the marks nearly effaced from constant use, being the second, which, in a long life of fortune-telling, she had ever consulted. Adapting her mode of operations to the wish of her applicant, Biddy had various ways of penetrating the clouds of futurity, enumerating them to the curious visitor as follows: "Wirra, thin, it's welcome that yez are to ould Biddy na Dhioul; may you niver know sickness, sorrow, poverty, or disthress. It's myself that can tell yer fortune, whativer it is. I can tell it be the stars, or the cards, be the tay-grounds, coffee-grounds, meltid lead, or baccy-ashes; be signs, an' moles, an' dhrames; be the witch's glass, or be yer own good-lookin' hand."
The great secret of Biddy's success was, that all her auguries presaged some amount of good, and it was observed that the larger the piece of silver with which her hand was crossed, the more extensive was the fortune predicted. A "fippenny-bit," might produce a "smart boy for a husband," but "half a crown" would insure a "jaunting car," or, hint obliquely at "the young masther," give mysterious foreshadowings of "silken gounds," and an "iligant family of childher." A cute old soul was Biddy, and extensive the knowledge experience had given her of the pregnable points of general character. Why should we not give her a call?
I'll just tell you a few secrets, known only to two or three individuals besides myself, and as some of them will be very likely to need Biddy's assistance, we shall unceremoniously accompany them on their visit.
It is Sunday; mass is just over; the sober gravity of the morning (for no people are more earnest in the performance of their religious duties during the time so allotted, than are the Irish peasantry), is beginning to change to a general aspect of enjoyment. The girls in their neat, clean dresses, are tripping along homeward; and many a bonnet and shawl, or calico dress, is descanted upon, praised or censured according to the opinion of the speaker, for the universal duty of the feminine chapel or church-goer, is to criticise at intervals the dresses of her neighbors.
"Athin, Mary," says one, "did you ever see such a pattern of a gound as Miss Machree had on her back this blessed day; if it hadn't as many colors in it as would make nigh hand half a dozen rainbows, I hope I may turn into a nagur. I declare to my goodness, I wouldn't give my ould washed-out gound for two of the likes of it."