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A peach-cheeked witch, a cherry-lipped conjuress; a Circe, with only enough charms to make a respectable photograph, might with impunity have called him a counterfeiter, or a horse-thief, or even a thimble-rigger; or might have told him that he would, upon opportunity, garotte his grandmother for the small price of seventy cents and her snuff-box; or that he was in the habit of attending funerals to pick the pockets of the mourners, and of going to church that he might steal the pennies from the poor-box, all this would he have borne uncomplainingly from a woman; but these unpalatable statements from one of the masculine gender would be “most tolerable and not to be endured.”
Johannes turned moodily away, feeling that the conjuress, his future bride, the renovator of his broken fortunes, and the ready relief to his present necessities, was as far distant as ever. Tells all about Mrs. Seymour, the Clairvoyant, of No. 110 Spring Street, and what she had to say. MRS. SEYMOUR, CLAIRVOYANT, No. 110 SPRING STREET.
It is now her boast that she has as “respectable a connexion” as any one in the trade, and that she has as great a number of “regular, reliable customers,” as any conjuress in America. She says that most of her “regular customers” visit her once in six weeks, six being with her a favorite number, and she not undertaking to guarantee her business predictions for a greater length of time.
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