“I remember, when I was a boy,” said ----, “I sailed out of Dover in a by-boat under Captain Hammond over to Calais, and Bullun, and Ostend; and there was an ould woman who they used to call Mother Mount, lived at the back of the York Hotel, and she constantly placed herself on the steps of her door observationing the people that passed up and down the street. Captain Hammond never went past the house but he jeered her for a witch, and every body said she was one; till one day, just as we were going across with a good freight of passengers, the ould Jezabel spoke some hard words to the skipper, as he was coming down to the craft to sail out of the harbour. He made no more to do but to spit at her. ‘The curse of the defenceless and childless widow be upon you!’ she cried out. ‘You are bound across the channel, but there are those will be there before you. You will think yourself secure, but woe, and danger, and wreck, shall come at a time when you think not of it, for my curse is upon you!’ The captain came on board in no very gentle humour, and away we went with a flowing sheet for Calais. Our passage was short, but we struck very heavily in crossing the bar, though the water was as smooth as a mill-pond, and every timber in the craft sneered again. The mate, fearing she would gripe-to and run upon the pier-head, was going to ease the throat-halliards; but the captain hollaed out, ‘Hold on till all’s blue; it’s only Mother Mount at her tricks.’ Well, at last we got safe in and hauled alongside the key in the outer-harbour, where we made fast stem and starn and cleared decks.” “Upon my word, that’s a tough yarn,” said I; “and so you really think it was Mother Mount that bumped you ashore in that fashion.”