On our entrance, after saluting the fortune-teller, each of us laid a French crown on the table at which she was seated. This coin had become quite current among us, since the French troops had penetrated into our colony; and it was even said they purchased supplies with it, from certain of our own people. As we had paid the highest price ever given, for these glimpses into futurity, we thought ourselves entitled to have the pages of the sealed book freely opened to us. “Do you wish to see me together; or shall I communicate with one at a time?” demanded Doortje, in her husky, sepulchral voice; which, it struck me, obtained its peculiar tones partly from nature, and partly from art. It was settled that she should commence with Mr. Worden; but, that all might remain in the room the whole time. While we were talking over this point, Doortje's eyes were by no means fixed, but, I remarked, that they wandered from person to person; like those of one who was gathering information. Many persons do not believe, at all, in the art of the fortune-teller; but insist that there is nothing more in it than trick and management; pretending that this very woman kept the blacks of the town in pay, to bring her information; and that she never told anything of the past, which was true, that had not been previously communicated to herself. I shall not pretend to affirm that the art goes as far as many imagine; but, it strikes me, that it is very presuming, to deny that there is some truth in these matters. I do not wish to appear credulous; though, at the same time, I hold it to be wrong to deny our testimony to facts that we are convinced are true. [29] Doortje commenced by shuffling an exceedingly dirty pack of cards; which had probably been used five hundred times, on similar duty. She next caused Mr. Worden to cut these cards; when a close and musing examination succeeded. All this time, not a syllable was said; though we were startled by a low whistle, from the woman; which brought the raven upon her shoulder. “Well, Mother,” cried Mr. Worden, with a little impatience, at what he fancied mummery, “I am dying to hear what _has_ happened, that I may put the more faith in what _is_ to happen. Tell me something of the crop of wheat, I put into the ground, last autumn; how many bushels I sowed, and on how many acres; whether on new land, or on old?” “Ay, ay, you have sowed!--and you have sowed!” answered the woman, on a high key, for her; “but your seed fell among tares, and on the flinty ground; and you'll never reap a soul among 'em all! Broadcast may you sow--but narrow will be your harvest.” The Rev. Mr. Worden gave a loud hem--placed his arms akimbo--and seemed determined to brazen it out; though, I could easily perceive, that he felt excessively awkward. “How is it, with my cattle? and shall I send much mutton to market, this season?”