has gone wrong, and I'll tell you why. The other night I
woke up and went to my bedroom window to see what kind of a night it
was--rash, stupid fool that I was! What do you think I saw?" "A
burglar?" "Not a bit of it--I wouldn't have cared a pin for a brace of
'em. I saw the new moon through glass! That's why everything's gone
wrong with me. What a fool I was!" "What a fool you _are_!" I
ejaculated, as I jumped into a hansom for room 13, recalling to mind
that my fellow-worker was not the only humorist who has been
superstitious.

Albert Smith, the well-known author and entertainer, was very
superstitious, and a curious incident has been related me by a friend
who was present one night when Smith startled his friends by a most
extraordinary instance of his fear of the supernatural. It was in the
smoking-room of the old Fielding Club, on New Year's Eve, 1854. The
bells were just ringing in the New Year when Smith suddenly started up
and cried, "We are thirteen! Ring, ring for a waiter, or some of us will
die before the year is out!" Before the attendant arrived the fatal New
Year came in, and Smith's cup of bitterness was full to overflowing. Out
of curiosity my friend wrote the names of all those present in his
pocket-book. Half of them were ordered to the Crimean War, and fought
throughout the campaign. No doubt Smith eagerly scanned the lists of
killed and wounded in the papers, for as the waiter did not arrive in
time to break the unlucky number, one of them was sure to meet his
death. However, all the officers returned safe and sound, and most of
them are alive now. The first man to depart this life was Albert Smith
himself, and this did not happen until six and a half years afterwards.

Correspondence from the superstitious and anti-superstitious poured in
upon me. But I select a note received by the President some time before
the dinner as the most interesting:

"CHRISTIANIA, NORWAY.

"SIR,--I see you are going to have an anniversary dinner on the
13th of this month, and I take the liberty to send you the
following:

"In 1873, March 20th, I left Liverpool in the steamship _Atlantic_,
then bound for New York. On the 13th day, the 1st of April, we went
on the rocks near Halifax, Nova Scotia. Out of nearly 1,000 human
beings, 580 were frozen to death or drowned.

"The first day out from Liverpool some ladies at my table
discovered that we were thirteen, and in