_Imagination._

The measles (it is pretty well known to all voyagers) is at St. Helena a
hideous and fatal disorder, although generally mild at the Cape, which
is about a fortnight's sail from the former island: every ship,
therefore, from the Cape, upon touching at St. Helena, undergoes
examination, and, if the measles are known to be prevalent at the former
place, is put into quarantine, and no officer, however urgent his
business may be, allowed to land without making oath or affidavit that
he has not been on shore at the Cape, or approached an infected person.
Some years since, a naval officer, acquainted with the then governor of
St. Helena, General P----n, was invited to dine with him, and met at
dinner another officer from another vessel, who, it is to be presumed,
had eluded undergoing the usual precautionary measures, and was perhaps
ignorant of their existence, since he mentioned, during the repast, that
the measles were prevailing at Cape Town, and admitted that he had
entered it. Now, he had just arrived at St. Helena, and though he
expressly stated that he had not gone near any infected person, poor
Mrs. P----, uttering a shriek, fled from the table, exclaiming that she
knew she should have the measles; in fact, she immediately fell sick of
that disorder, (and died, I think I understood.) All her family took it,
and it raged through the island, proving dreadfully destructive.


_Mysterious Incident._

It was the wedding day of Mr. and Mrs. Terry, (I mean the _actual_,
not the anniversary wedding-day,) and the jocund bridegroom, bride, and
their guests were assembled about noon in the drawing-room, when a
servant entered, and said a gentleman had called, and wished to speak to