When I was a child, my nurse was an aged African
woman; like all her race, she was full of superstition, and she would
converse with me of mysteries, and spells, and wonderful revelations,
until my mind was filled as her own with strange superstitions and
presentiments. On one occasion, on the Sabbath day, I found her in the
orchard, seated beneath a great pear-tree, and went to her--for though
I was no longer her ward to nurse, I liked to be with her and hear her
talk. It was a beautiful day, the fruit-trees were in bloom, and the
spring-feeling in the sunshine was kindling life into activity through
all nature. She asked me to let her see my hand and she would tell me
my fortune. She pretended sagely to view every line, and here and there
to press her index finger sharply down. At length she began to speak.
"'You will not stay with your people,' she said, 'but will be a great
traveller; and when in some far-away country, you will be sick--mighty
sick; and a beautiful woman will find you, and she will nurse you, and
you will love that beautiful woman, and she will love you, and she will
marry you, and you will not come to reside with your people any more.
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