Respecting the prediction of the plague, I presume that if any prominent personage should, at any time, predict a great calamity to a great metropolis, to take place "_within ten years, more or less_," there necessarily would be something during that time, of a calamitous nature, that might seem to verify their prediction. Besides, we should take into consideration how many predictions are never verified. Dr. Lamb, Dee, Bell, and others prophesied earthquakes to shake up London at various times in 1203, 1598, 1760, etc., which never occurred, to any great extent.
Supposing a great tidal wave should devastate our coast, within ten years even, would not Professor Agassiz be immortalized thereby, although he never predicted it, except in the imaginative and mulish brains of certain individuals, who will have it that he did so predict?
In London, at the present day, it is estimated that nearly two thousand persons, male and female, gain a livelihood under the guise of fortune-telling. Some of them are "seers," or "astrologers," "seventh sons," clairvoyants, etc.
From the London Telegraph of the year 1871 we gather the following description of a few of the most prominent of these, with their arrest and trial, as fortune-telling is there, as elsewhere, proscribed by law:--
"First was arraigned 'Professor Zendavesta,' otherwise John Dean Bryant, aged fifty, and described as a 'botanist.' He was charged with having told a woman's fortune, for the not very extravagant sum of thirteen cents. Two married women, it seems, instructed by the police, went to No. 3 Homer Street, Marylebone, and paid sixpence each to a woman, who gave them a bone ticket in return. One might have imagined that it was a spiritualist's _seance_, but for the fact that the fee for admittance was sixpence, and not one guinea. Professor Zendavesta shook hands with one of the women, and warmly inquired after her health. She told him she was in trouble about her husband, which was false, and he bade her be of good cheer, and made an appointment to meet her on another day. Subsequently, two constables went to Bryant's house, and on going into a room on the ground floor, found thirty or forty young women seated there. The ladies began to scream, and there was a rush for the door; while the police, who seemed to labor under the impression that to attend an astrological lecture was as illegal an act as that of being present at a cock-fight or a common gambling-house, stopped several of the women, and made them give their names and addresses. The walls of the apartment were covered with pictures of Life and Death, with the 'nativities of several royal and illustrious personages, and of Constance Kent.' It is a wonder that the horoscopes of Heliogabalus and Jack the Painter should have been lacking. Then there was a medicine chest containing bottles and memoranda of nativities; also a 'magic mirror, with a revolving cylinder,' showing the figures of men and women, old and young. Of course the collection included a 'book of fate.' This was the case against Bryant.