{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39212/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39212","id":"gutenberg_39212","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39212","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Future life","Spiritualism"],"text":"Produced by Maria Grist, Suzanne Shell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  THERE IS NO DEATH\n\n  Works by Florence Marryat\n\n  PUBLISHED IN THE INTERNATIONAL SERIES.\n\n\n     NO.                                 CTS.\n\n     85. Blindfold,                       50\n\n    135. Brave Heart and True,            50\n\n     42. Mount Eden,                      30\n\n     13. On Circumstantial Evidence,      30\n\n    148. Risen Dead, The,                 50\n\n     77. Scarlet Sin, A,                  50\n\n    159. There Is No Death,               50\n\n\n\n\n   THERE IS NO DEATH\n\n   BY\n   FLORENCE MARRYAT\n\n   AUTHOR OF\n   \"LOVE'S CONFLICT,\" \"VERONIQUE,\" ETC., ETC.\n\n     \"There is no Death--what seems so is transition.\n     This life of mortal breath\n     Is but a suburb of the Life Elysian\n     Whose portal we call----Death.\"--Longfellow.\n\n\n   NEW YORK\n   NATIONAL BOOK COMPANY\n   3, 4, 5 AND 6 MISSION PLACE\n\n\n   Copyright, 1891,\n   by\n   United States Book Company\n\n\n\n\nTHERE IS NO DEATH.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFAMILY GHOSTS.\n\n\nIt has been strongly impressed upon me for some years past to write an\naccount of the wonderful experiences I have passed through in my\ninvestigation of the science of Spiritualism. In doing so I intend to\nconfine myself to recording facts. I will describe the scenes I have\nwitnessed with my own eyes, and repeat the words I have heard with my\nown ears, leaving the deduction to be drawn from them wholly to my\nreaders. I have no ambition to start a theory nor to promulgate a\ndoctrine; above all things I have no desire to provoke an argument. I\nhave had more than enough of arguments, philosophical, scientific,\nreligious, and purely aggressive, to last a lifetime; and were I called\nupon for my definition of the rest promised to the weary, I should\nreply--a place where every man may hold his own opinion, and no one is\npermitted to dispute it.\n\nBut though I am about to record a great many incidents that are so\nmarvellous as to be almost incredible, I do not expect to be\ndisbelieved, except by such as are capable of deception themselves.\nThey--conscious of their own infirmity--invariably believe that other\npeople must be telling lies. Byron wrote, \"He is a fool who denies that\nwhich he cannot disprove;\" and though Carlyle gives us the comforting\nassurance that the population of Great Britain consists \"chiefly of\nfools,\" I pin my faith upon receiving credence from the few who are not\nso.\n\nWhy should I be disbelieved? When the late Lady Brassey published the\n\"Cruise of the _Sunbeam_,\" and Sir Samuel and Lady Baker related their\nexperiences in Central Africa, and Livingstone wrote his account of the\nwonders he met with whilst engaged in the investigation of the source of\nthe Nile, and Henry Stanley followed up the story and added thereto, did\nthey anticipate the public turning up its nose at their narrations, and\ndeclaring it did not believe a word they had written? Yet their readers\nhad to accept the facts they offered for credence, on their authority\nalone. Very few of them had even _heard_ of the places described before;\nscarcely one in a thousand could, either from personal experience or\nacquired knowledge, attest the truth of the description. What was\nthere--for the benefit of the general public--to _prove_ that the\n_Sunbeam_ had sailed round the world, or that Sir Samuel Baker had met\nwith the rare beasts, birds, and flowers he wrote of, or that\nLivingstone and Stanley met and spoke with those curious, unknown tribes\nthat never saw white men till they set eyes on them? Yet had any one of\nthose writers affirmed that in his wanderings he had encountered a gold\nfield of undoubted excellence, thousands of fortune-seekers would have\nleft their native land on his word alone, and rushed to secure some of\nthe glittering treasure.\n\nWhy? Because the authors of those books were persons well known in\nsociety, who had a reputation for veracity to maintain, and who would\nhave been quickly found out had they dared to deceive. I claim the same\ngrounds for obtaining belief. I have a well-known name and a public\nreputation, a tolerable brain, and two sharp eyes. What I have\nwitnessed, others, with equal assiduity and perseverance, may witness\nfor themselves. It would demand a voyage round the world to see all that\nthe owners of the _Sunbeam_ saw. It would demand time and trouble and\nmoney to see what I have seen, and to some people, perhaps, it would not\nbe worth the outlay. But if I have journeyed into the Debateable Land\n(which so few really believe in, and most are terribly afraid of), and\ncome forward now to tell what I have seen there, the world has no more\nright to disbelieve me than it had to disbelieve Lady Brassey. Because\nthe general public has not penetrated Central Africa, is no reason that\nLivingstone did not do so; because the general public has not seen (and\ndoes not care to see) what I have seen, is no argument against the truth\nof what I write. To those who _do_ believe in the possibility of\ncommunion with disembodied spirits, my story will be interesting\nperhaps, on account of its dealing throughout in a remarkable degree\nwith the vexed question of identity and recognition. To the\nmaterialistic portion of creation who may credit me with not being a\nbigger fool than the remainder of the thirty-eight millions of Great\nBritain, it may prove a new source of speculation and research. And for\nthose of my fellow-creatures who possess no curiosity, nor imagination,\nnor desire to prove for themselves what they cannot accept on the\ntestimony of others, I never had, and never shall have, anything in\ncommon. They are the sort of people who ask you with a pleasing smile if\nIrving wrote \"The Charge of the Light Brigade,\" and say they like\nByron's \"Sardanapalus\" very well, but it is not so funny as \"Our Boys.\"\n\nNow, before going to work in right earnest, I do not think it is\ngenerally known that my father, the late Captain Marryat, was not only a\nbeliever in ghosts, but himself a ghost-seer. I am delighted to be able\nto record this fact as an introduction to my own experiences. Perhaps\nthe ease with which such manifestations have come to me is a gift which\nI inherit from him, anyway I am glad he shared the belief and the power\nof spiritual sight with me. If there were no other reason to make me\nbold to repeat what I have witnessed, the circumstance would give me\ncourage. My father was not like his intimate friends, Charles Dickens,\nLord Lytton, and many other men of genius, highly strung, nervous, and\nimaginative. I do not believe my father had any \"nerves,\" and I think he\nhad very little imagination. Almost all his works are founded on his\npersonal experiences. His _forte_ lay in a humorous description of what\nhe had seen. He possessed a marvellous power of putting his\nrecollections into graphic and forcible language, and the very reason\nthat his books are almost as popular to-day as when they were written,\nis because they are true histories of their time. There is scarcely a\nline of fiction in them. His body was as powerful and muscular as his\nbrain. His courage was indomitable--his moral courage as well as his\nphysical (as many people remember to their cost to this day), and his\nhardness of belief on many subjects is no secret. What I am about to\nrelate therefore did not happen to some excitable, nervous, sickly\nsentimentalist, and I repeat that I am proud to have inherited his\nconstitutional tendencies, and quite willing to stand judgment after\nhim.\n\nI have heard that my father had a number of stories to relate of\nsupernatural (as they are usually termed) incidents that had occurred to\nhim, but I will content myself with relating such as were proved to be\n(at the least) very remarkable coincidences. In my work, \"The Life and\nLetters of Captain Marryat,\" I relate an anecdote of him that was\nentered in his private \"log,\" and found amongst his papers. He had a\nyounger brother, Samuel, to whom he was very much attached, and who died\nunexpectedly in England whilst my father, in command of H. M. S.\n_Larne_, was engaged in the first Burmese war. His men broke out with\nscurvy and he was ordered to take his vessel over to Pulu Pinang for a\nfew weeks in order to get the sailors fresh fruit and vegetables. As my\nfather was lying in his berth one night, anchored off the island, with\nthe brilliant tropical moonlight making everything as bright as day, he\nsaw the door of his cabin open, and his brother Samuel entered and\nwalked quietly up to his side. He looked just the same as when they had\nparted, and uttered in a perfectly distinct voice, \"Fred! I have come to\ntell you that I am dead!\" When the figure entered the cabin my father\njumped up in his berth, thinking it was some one coming to rob him, and\nwhen he saw who it was and heard it speak, he leaped out of bed with the\nintention of detaining it, but it was gone. So vivid was the impression\nmade upon him by the apparition that he drew out his log at once and\nwrote down all particulars concerning it, with the hour and day of its\nappearance. On reaching England after the war was over, the first\ndispatches put into his hand were to announce the death of his brother,\nwho had passed away at the very hour when he had seen him in the cabin.\n\nBut the story that interests me most is one of an incident which\noccurred to my father during my lifetime, and which we have always\ncalled \"The Brown Lady of Rainham.\" I am aware that this narrative has\nreached the public through other sources, and I have made it the\nfoundation of a Christmas story myself. But it is too well authenticated\nto be omitted here. The last fifteen years of my father's life were\npassed on his own estate of Langham, in Norfolk, and amongst his county\nfriends were Sir Charles and Lady Townshend of Rainham Hall. At the time\nI speak of, the title and property had lately changed hands, and the new\nbaronet had re-papered, painted, and furnished the Hall throughout, and\ncome down with his wife and a large party of friends to take possession.\nBut to their annoyance, soon after their arrival, rumors arose that the\nhouse was haunted, and their guests began, one and all (like those in\nthe parable), to make excuses to go home again. Sir Charles and Lady\nTownshend might have sung, \"Friend after friend departs,\" with due\neffect, but it would have had none on the general exodus that took place\nfrom Rainham. And it was all on account of a Brown Lady, whose portrait\nhung in one of the bedrooms, and in which she was represented as wearing\na brown satin dress with yellow trimmings, and a ruff around her\nthroat--a very harmless, innocent-looking young woman. But they all\ndeclared they had seen her walking about the house--some in the\ncorridor, some in their bedrooms, others in the lower premises, and\nneither guests nor servants would remain in the Hall. The baronet was\nnaturally very much annoyed about it, and confided his trouble to my\nfather, and my father was indignant at the trick he believed had been\nplayed upon him. There was a great deal of smuggling and poaching in\nNorfolk at that period, as he knew well, being a magistrate of the\ncounty, and he felt sure that some of these depredators were trying to\nfrighten the Townshends away from the Hall again. The last baronet had\nbeen a solitary sort of being, and lead a retired life, and my father\nimagined some of the tenantry had their own reasons for not liking the\nintroduction of revelries and \"high jinks\" at Rainham. So he asked his\nfriends to let him stay with them and sleep in the haunted chamber, and\nhe felt sure he could rid them of the nuisance. They accepted his offer,\nand he took possession of the room in which the portrait of the\napparition hung, and in which she had been often seen, and slept each\nnight with a loaded revolver under his pillow. For two days, however, he\nsaw nothing, and the third was to be the limit of his stay. On the\nthird night, however, two young men (nephews of the baronet) knocked at\nhis door as he was undressing to go to bed, and asked him to step over\nto their room (which was at the other end of the corridor), and give\nthem his opinion on a new gun just arrived from London. My father was in\nhis shirt and trousers, but as the hour was late, and everybody had\nretired to rest except themselves, he prepared to accompany them as he\nwas. As they were leaving the room, he caught up his revolver, \"in case\nwe meet the Brown Lady,\" he said, laughing. When the inspection of the\ngun was over, the young men in the same spirit declared they would\naccompany my father back again, \"in case you meet the Brown Lady,\" they\nrepeated, laughing also. The three gentlemen therefore returned in\ncompany.\n\nThe corridor was long and dark, for the lights had been extinguished,\nbut as they reached the middle of it, they saw the glimmer of a lamp\ncoming towards them from the other end. \"One of the ladies going to\nvisit the nurseries,\" whispered the young Townshends to my father. Now\nthe bedroom doors in that corridor faced each other, and each room had a\ndouble door with a space between, as is the case in many old-fashioned\ncountry houses. My father (as I have said) was in a shirt and trousers\nonly, and his native modesty made him feel uncomfortable, so he slipped\nwithin one of the _outer_ doors (his friends following his example), in\norder to conceal himself until the lady should have passed by. I have\nheard him describe how he watched her approaching nearer and nearer,\nthrough the chink of the door, until, as she was close enough for him to\ndistinguish the colors and style of her costume, he recognized the\nfigure as the facsimile of the portrait of \"The Brown Lady.\" He had his\nfinger on the trigger of his revolver, and was about to demand it to\nstop and give the reason for its presence there, when the figure halted\nof its own accord before the door behind which he stood, and holding the\nlighted lamp she carried to her features, grinned in a malicious and\ndiabolical manner at him. This act so infuriated my father, who was\nanything but lamb-like in disposition, that he sprang into the corridor\nwith a bound, and discharged the revolver right in her face. The figure\ninstantly disappeared--the figure at which for the space of several\nminutes _three_ men had been looking together--and the bullet passed\nthrough the outer door of the room on the opposite side of the corridor,\nand lodged in the panel of the inner one. My father never attempted\nagain to interfere with \"The Brown Lady of Rainham,\" and I have heard\nthat she haunts the premises to this day. That she did so at that time,\nhowever, there is no shadow of doubt.\n\nBut Captain Marryat not only held these views and believed in them from\npersonal experience--he promulgated them in his writings. There are many\npassages in his works which, read by the light of my assertion, prove\nthat he had faith in the possibility of the departed returning to visit\nthis earth, and in the theory of re-incarnation or living more than one\nlife upon it, but nowhere does he speak more plainly than in the\nfollowing extract from the \"Phantom Ship\":--\n\n\"Think you, Philip,\" (says Amine to her husband), \"that this world is\nsolely peopled by such dross as we are?--things of clay, perishable and\ncorruptible, lords over beasts and ourselves, but little better? Have\nyou not, from your own sacred writings, repeated acknowledgments and\nproofs of higher intelligences, mixing up with mankind, and acting here\nbelow? Why should what was _then_ not be _now_, and what more harm is\nthere to apply for their aid now than a few thousand years ago? Why\nshould you suppose that they were permitted on the earth then and not\npermitted now? What has become of them? Have they perished? Have they\nbeen ordered back? to where?--to heaven? If to heaven, the world and\nmankind have been left to the mercy of the devil and his agents. Do you\nsuppose that we poor mortals have been thus abandoned? I tell you\nplainly, I think not. We no longer have the communication with those\nintelligences that we once had, because as we become more enlightened we\nbecome more proud and seek them not, but that they still exist a host of\ngood against a host of evil, invisibly opposing each other, is my\nconviction.\"\n\nOne testimony to such a belief, from the lips of my father, is\nsufficient. He would not have written it unless he had been prepared to\nmaintain it. He was not one of those wretched literary cowards who we\nmeet but too often now-a-days, who are too much afraid of the world to\nconfess with their mouths the opinions they hold in their hearts. Had he\nlived to this time I believe he would have been one of the most\nenergetic and outspoken believers in Spiritualism that we possess. So\nmuch, however, for his testimony to the possibility of spirits, good and\nevil, revisiting this earth. I think few will be found to gainsay the\nassertion that where _he_ trod, his daughter need not be ashamed to\nfollow.\n\nBefore the question of Spiritualism, however, arose in modern times, I\nhad had my own little private experiences on the subject. From an early\nage I was accustomed to see, and to be very much alarmed at seeing,\ncertain forms that appeared to me at night. One in particular, I\nremember, was that of a very short or deformed old woman, who was very\nconstant to me. She used to stand on tiptoe to look at me as I lay in\nbed, and however dark the room might be, I could always see every\narticle in it, as if illuminated, whilst she remained there.\n\nI was in the habit of communicating these visions to my mother and\nsisters (my father had passed from us by that time), and always got well\nridiculed for my pains. \"Another of Flo's optical illusions,\" they would\ncry, until I really came to think that the appearances I saw were due to\nsome defect in my eye-sight. I have heard my first husband say, that\nwhen he married me he thought he should never rest for an entire night\nin his bed, so often did I wake him with the description of some man or\nwoman I had seen in the room. I recall these figures distinctly. They\nwere always dressed in white, from which circumstance I imagined that\nthey were natives who had stolen in to rob us, until, from repeated\nobservation, I discovered they only formed part of another and more\nenlarged series of my \"optical illusions.\" All this time I was very much\nafraid of seeing what I termed \"ghosts.\" No love of occult science led\nme to investigate the cause of my alarm. I only wished never to see the\n\"illusions\" again, and was too frightened to remain by myself lest they\nshould appear to me.\n\nWhen I had been married for about two years, the head-quarters of my\nhusband's regiment, the 12th Madras Native Infantry, was ordered to\nRangoon, whilst the left wing, commanded by a Major Cooper, was sent to\nassist in the bombardment of Canton. Major Cooper had only been married\na short time, and by rights his wife had no claim to sail with the\nhead-quarters for Burmah, but as she had no friends in Madras, and was\nmoreover expecting her confinement, our colonel permitted her to do so,\nand she accompanied us to Rangoon, settling herself in a house not far\nfrom our own. One morning, early in July, I was startled by receiving a\nhurried scrawl from her, containing only these words, \"Come! come!\ncome!\" I set off at once, thinking she had been taken ill, but on my\narrival I found Mrs. Cooper sitting up in bed with only her usual\nservants about her. \"What is the matter?\" I exclaimed. \"Mark is dead,\"\nshe answered me; \"he sat in that chair\" (pointing to one by the bedside)\n\"all last night. I noticed every detail of his face and figure. He was\nin undress, and he never raised his eyes, but sat with the peak of his\nforage cap pulled down over his face. But I could see the back of his\nhead and his hair, and I know it was he. I spoke to him but he did not\nanswer me, and I am _sure_ he is dead.\"\n\nNaturally, I imagined this vision to have been dictated solely by fear\nand the state of her health. I laughed at her for a simpleton, and told\nher it was nothing but fancy, and reminded her that by the last accounts\nreceived from the seat of war, Major Cooper was perfectly well and\nanticipating a speedy reunion with her. Laugh as I would, however, I\ncould not laugh her out of her belief, and seeing how low-spirited she\nwas, I offered to pass the night with her. It was a very nice night\nindeed. As soon as ever we had retired to bed, although a lamp burned in\nthe room, Mrs. Cooper declared that her husband was sitting in the same\nchair as the night before, and accused me of deception when I declared\nthat I saw nothing at all. I sat up in bed and strained my eyes, but I\ncould discern nothing but an empty arm-chair, and told her so. She\npersisted that Major Cooper sat there, and described his personal\nappearance and actions. I got out of bed and sat in the chair, when she\ncried out, \"Don't, don't! _You are sitting right on him!_\" It was\nevident that the apparition was as real to her as if it had been flesh\nand blood. I jumped up again fast enough, not feeling very comfortable\nmyself, and lay by her side for the remainder of the night, listening to\nher asseverations that Major Cooper was either dying or dead. She would\nnot part with me, and on the third night I had to endure the same ordeal\nas on the second. After the third night the apparition ceased to appear\nto her, and I was permitted to return home. But before I did so, Mrs.\nCooper showed me her pocket-book, in which she had written down against\nthe 8th, 9th, and 10th of July this sentence: \"Mark sat by my bedside\nall night.\"\n\nThe time passed on, and no bad news arrived from China, but the mails\nhad been intercepted and postal communication suspended. Occasionally,\nhowever, we received letters by a sailing vessel. At last came\nSeptember, and on the third of that month Mrs. Cooper's baby was born\nand died. She was naturally in great distress about it, and I was doubly\nhorrified when I was called from her bedside to receive the news of her\nhusband's death, which had taken place from a sudden attack of fever at\nMacao. We did not intend to let Mrs. Cooper hear of this until she was\nconvalescent, but as soon as I re-entered her room she broached the\nsubject.\n\n\"Are there any letters from China?\" she asked. (Now this question was\nremarkable in itself, because the mails having been cut off, there was\nno particular date when letters might be expected to arrive from the\nseat of war.) Fearing she would insist upon hearing the news, I\ntemporized and answered her, \"We have received none.\" \"But there is a\nletter for me,\" she continued: \"a letter with the intelligence of Mark's\ndeath. It is useless denying it. I know he is dead. He died on the 10th\nof July.\" And on reference to the official memorandum, this was found to\nbe true. Major Cooper had been taken ill on the first day he had\nappeared to his wife, and died on the third. And this incident was the\nmore remarkable, because they were neither of them young nor sentimental\npeople, neither had they lived long enough together to form any very\nstrong sympathy or accord between them. But as I have related it, so it\noccurred.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMY FIRST SEANCE.\n\n\nI had returned from India and spent several years in England before the\nsubject of Modern Spiritualism was brought under my immediate notice.\nCursorily I had heard it mentioned by some people as a dreadfully wicked\nthing, diabolical to the last degree, by others as a most amusing\npastime for evening parties, or when one wanted to get some \"fun out of\nthe table.\" But neither description charmed me, nor tempted me to pursue\nthe occupation. I had already lost too many friends. Spiritualism (so it\nseemed to me) must either be humbug or a very solemn thing, and I\nneither wished to trifle with it or to be trifled with by it. And after\ntwenty years' continued experience I hold the same opinion. I have\nproved Spiritualism _not_ to be humbug, therefore I regard it in a\nsacred light. For, _from whatever cause_ it may proceed, it opens a vast\narea for thought to any speculative mind, and it is a matter of constant\nsurprise to me to see the indifference with which the world regards it.\nThat it _exists_ is an undeniable fact. Men of science have acknowledged\nit, and the churches cannot deny it. The only question appears to be,\n\"_What_ is it, and _whence_ does the power proceed?\" If (as many clever\npeople assert) from ourselves, then must these bodies and minds of ours\npossess faculties hitherto undreamed of, and which we have allowed to\nlie culpably fallow. If our bodies contain magnetic forces sufficient to\nraise substantial and apparently living forms from the bare earth, which\nour eyes are clairvoyant enough to see, and which can articulate words\nwhich our ears are clairaudient enough to hear--if, in addition to this,\nour minds can read each other's inmost thoughts, can see what is passing\nat a distance, and foretell what will happen in the future, then are our\nhuman powers greater than we have ever imagined, and we ought to do a\ngreat deal more with them than we do. And even regarding Spiritualism\nfrom _that_ point of view, I cannot understand the lack of interest\ndisplayed in the discovery, to turn these marvellous powers of the human\nmind to greater account.\n\nTo discuss it, however, from the usual meaning given to the word,\nnamely, as a means of communication with the departed, leaves me as\npuzzled as before. All Christians acknowledge they have spirits\nindependent of their bodies, and that when their bodies die, their\nspirits will continue to live on. Wherein, then, lies the terror of the\nidea that these liberated spirits will have the privilege of roaming the\nuniverse as they will? And if they argue the _impossibility_ of their\nreturn, they deny the records which form the only basis of their\nreligion. No greater proof can be brought forward of the truth of\nSpiritualism than the truth of the Bible, which teems and bristles with\naccounts of it from beginning to end. From the period when the Lord God\nwalked with Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, and the angels came to\nAbram's tent, and pulled Lot out of the doomed city; when the witch of\nEndor raised up Samuel, and Balaam's ass spoke, and Ezekiel wrote that\nthe hair of his head stood up because \"a spirit\" passed before him, to\nthe presence of Satan with Jesus in the desert, and the reappearance of\nMoses and Elias, the resurrection of Christ Himself, and His talking and\neating with His disciples, and the final account of John being caught up\nto Heaven to receive the Revelations--_all is Spiritualism, and nothing\nelse_. The Protestant Church that pins its faith upon the Bible, and\nnothing but the Bible, cannot deny that the spirits of mortal men have\nreappeared and been recognized upon this earth, as when the graves\nopened at the time of the Christ's crucifixion, and \"many bodies of\nthose that were dead arose and went into the city, and were seen of\nmany.\" The Catholic Church does not attempt to deny it. All her legends\nand miracles (which are disbelieved and ridiculed by the Protestants\naforesaid) are founded on the same truth--the miraculous or supernatural\nreturn (as it is styled) of those who are gone, though I hope to make my\nreaders believe, as I do, that there is nothing miraculous in it, and\nfar from being _super_natural it is only a continuation of Nature.\nPutting the churches and the Bible, however, on one side, the History of\nNations proves it to be possible. There is not a people on the face of\nthe globe that has not its (so-called) superstitions, nor a family\nhardly, which has not experienced some proofs of spiritual communion\nwith earth. Where learning and science have thrust all belief out of\nsight, it is only natural that the man who does not believe in a God nor\na Hereafter should not credit the existence of spirits, nor the\npossibility of communicating with them. But the lower we go in the scale\nof society, the more simple and childlike the mind, the more readily\ndoes such a faith gain credence, and the more stories you will hear to\njustify belief. It is just the same with religion, which is hid from the\nwise and prudent, and revealed to babes.\n\nIf I am met here with the objection that the term \"Spiritualism\" has\nbeen at times mixed up with so much that is evil as to become an\noffence, I have no better answer to make than by turning to the\nirrefragable testimony of the Past and Present to prove that in all\nages, and of all religions, there have been corrupt and demoralized\nexponents whose vices have threatened to pull down the fabric they lived\nto raise. Christianity itself would have been overthrown before now, had\nwe been unable to separate its doctrine from its practice.\n\nI held these views in the month of February, 1873, when I made one of a\nparty of friends assembled at the house of Miss Elizabeth Philip, in\nGloucester Crescent, and was introduced to Mr. Henry Dunphy of the\n_Morning Post_, both of them since gone to join the great majority. Mr.\nDunphy soon got astride of his favorite hobby of Spiritualism, and gave\nme an interesting account of some of the _seances_ he had attended. I\nhad heard so many clever men and women discuss the subject before, that\nI had begun to believe on their authority that there must be \"something\nin it,\" but I held the opinion that sittings in the dark must afford so\nmuch liberty for deception, that I would engage in none where I was not\npermitted the use of my eyesight.\n\nI expressed myself somewhat after this fashion to Mr. Dunphy. He\nreplied, \"Then the time has arrived for you to investigate Spiritualism,\nfor I can introduce you to a medium who will show you the faces of the\ndead.\" This proposal exactly met my wishes, and I gladly accepted it.\nAnnie Thomas (Mrs. Pender Cudlip,) the novelist, who is an intimate\nfriend of mine, was staying with me at the time and became as eager as I\nwas to investigate the phenomena. We took the address Mr. Dunphy gave us\nof Mrs. Holmes, the American medium, then visiting London, and lodging\nin Old Quebec Street, Portman Square, but we refused his introduction,\npreferring to go _incognito_. Accordingly, the next evening, when she\nheld a public _seance_, we presented ourselves at Mrs. Holmes' door; and\nhaving first removed our wedding-rings, and tried to look as virginal as\npossible, sent up our names as Miss Taylor and Miss Turner. I am\nperfectly aware that this medium was said afterwards to be\nuntrustworthy. So may a servant who was perfectly honest, whilst in my\nservice, leave me for a situation where she is detected in theft. That\ndoes not alter the fact that she stole nothing from me. I do not think I\nknow _a single medium_ of whom I have not (at some time or other) heard\nthe same thing, and I do not think I know a single woman whom I have not\nalso, at some time or other, heard scandalized by her own sex, however\npure and chaste she may imagine the world holds her. The question\naffects me in neither case. I value my acquaintances for what they are\n_to me_, not for what they may be to others; and I have placed trust in\nmy media from what I individually have seen and heard, and proved to be\ngenuine in their presence, and not from what others may imagine they\nhave found out about them. It is no detriment to my witness that the\nmedia I sat with cheated somebody else, either before or after. My\nbusiness was only to take care that _I_ was not cheated, and I have\nnever, in Spiritualism, accepted anything at the hands of others that I\ncould not prove for myself.\n\nMrs. Holmes did not receive us very graciously on the present occasion.\nWe were strangers to her--probably sceptics, and she eyed us rather\ncoldly. It was a bitter night, and the snow lay so thick upon the ground\nthat we had some difficulty in procuring a hansom to take us from\nBayswater to Old Quebec Street. No other visitors arrived, and after a\nlittle while Mrs. Holmes offered to return our money (ten shillings), as\nshe said if she did sit with us, there would probably be no\nmanifestations on account of the inclemency of the weather. (Often since\nthen I have proved her assertion to be true, and found that any extreme\nof heat or cold is liable to make a _seance_ a dead failure).\n\nBut Annie Thomas had to return to her home in Torquay on the following\nday, and so we begged the medium to try at least to show us something,\nas we were very curious on the subject. I am not quite sure what I\nexpected or hoped for on this occasion. I was full of curiosity and\nanticipation, but I am sure that I never thought I should see any face\nwhich I could recognize as having been on earth. We waited till nine\no'clock in hopes that a circle would be formed, but as no one else came,\nMrs. Holmes consented to sit with us alone, warning us, however, several\ntimes to prepare for a disappointment. The lights were therefore\nextinguished, and we sat for the usual preliminary dark _seance_, which\nwas good, perhaps, but has nothing to do with a narrative of facts,\nproved to be so. When it concluded, the gas was re-lit and we sat for\n\"Spirit Faces.\"\n\nThere were two small rooms connected by folding doors. Annie Thomas and\nI, were asked to go into the back room--to lock the door communicating\nwith the landings, and secure it with our own seal, stamped upon a piece\nof tape stretched across the opening--to examine the window and bar the\nshutter inside--to search the room thoroughly, in fact, to see that no\none was concealed in it--and we did all this as a matter of business.\nWhen we had satisfied ourselves that no one could enter from the back,\nMr. and Mrs. Holmes, Annie Thomas, and I were seated on four chairs in\nthe front room, arranged in a row before the folding doors, which were\nopened, and a square of black calico fastened across the aperture from\none wall to the other. In this piece of calico was cut a square hole\nabout the size of an ordinary window, at which we were told the spirit\nfaces (if any) would appear. There was no singing, nor noise of any sort\nmade to drown the sounds of preparation, and we could have heard even a\nrustle in the next room. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes talked to us of their\nvarious experiences, until, we were almost tired of waiting, when\nsomething white and indistinct like a cloud of tobacco smoke, or a\nbundle of gossamer, appeared and disappeared again.\n\n\"They are coming! I _am_ glad!\" said Mrs. Holmes. \"I didn't think we\nshould get anything to-night,\"--and my friend and I were immediately on\nthe tiptoe of expectation. The white mass advanced and retreated several\ntimes, and finally settled before the aperture and opened in the\nmiddle, when a female face was distinctly to be seen above the black\ncalico. What was our amazement to recognize the features of Mrs. Thomas,\nAnnie Thomas' mother. Here I should tell my readers that Annie's father,\nwho was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and captain of the coastguard at\nMorston in Norfolk, had been a near neighbor and great friend of my\nfather, Captain Marryat, and their children had associated like brothers\nand sisters. I had therefore known Mrs. Thomas well, and recognized her\nat once, as, of course, did her daughter. The witness of two people is\nconsidered sufficient in law. It ought to be accepted by society. Poor\nAnnie was very much affected, and talked to her mother in the most\nincoherent manner. The spirit did not appear able to answer in words,\nbut she bowed her head or shook it, according as she wished to say \"yes\"\nor \"no.\" I could not help feeling awed at the appearance of the dear old\nlady, but the only thing that puzzled me was the cap she wore, which was\nmade of white net, quilled closely round her face, and unlike any I had\never seen her wear in life. I whispered this to Annie, and she replied\nat once, \"It is the cap she was buried in,\" which settled the question.\nMrs. Thomas had possessed a very pleasant but very uncommon looking\nface, with bright black eyes, and a complexion of pink and white like\nthat of a child. It was some time before Annie could be persuaded to let\nher mother go, but the next face that presented itself astonished her\nquite as much, for she recognized it as that of Captain Gordon, a\ngentleman whom she had known intimately and for a length of time. I had\nnever seen Captain Gordon in the flesh, but I had heard of him, and knew\nhe had died from a sudden accident. All I saw was the head of a\ngood-looking, fair, young man, and not feeling any personal interest in\nhis appearance, I occupied the time during which my friend conversed\nwith him about olden days, by minutely examining the working of the\nmuscles of his throat, which undeniably stretched when his head moved.\nAs I was doing so, he leaned forward, and I saw a dark stain, which\nlooked like a clot of blood, on his fair hair, on the left side of the\nforehead.\n\n\"Annie! what did Captain Gordon die of?\" I asked. \"He fell from a\nrailway carriage,\" she replied, \"and struck his head upon the line.\" I\nthen pointed out to her the blood upon his hair. Several other faces\nappeared, which we could not recognize. At last came one of a gentleman,\napparently moulded like a bust in plaster of Paris. He had a kind of\nsmoking cap upon the head, curly hair, and a beard, but from being\nperfectly colorless, he looked so unlike nature, that I could not trace\na resemblance to any friend of mine, though he kept on bowing in my\ndirection, to indicate that I knew, or had known him. I examined this\nface again and again in vain. Nothing in it struck me as familiar, until\nthe mouth broke into a grave, amused smile at my perplexity. In a moment\nI recognized it as that of my dear old friend, John Powles, whose\nhistory I shall relate _in extenso_ further on. I exclaimed \"Powles,\"\nand sprang towards it, but with my hasty action the figure disappeared.\nI was terribly vexed at my imprudence, for this was the friend of all\nothers I desired to see, and sat there, hoping and praying the spirit\nwould return, but it did not. Annie Thomas' mother and friend both came\nback several times; indeed, Annie recalled Captain Gordon so often, that\non his last appearance the power was so exhausted, his face looked like\na faded sketch in water-colors, but \"Powles\" had vanished altogether.\nThe last face we saw that night was that of a little girl, and only her\neyes and nose were visible, the rest of her head and face being\nenveloped in some white flimsy material like muslin. Mrs. Holmes asked\nher for whom she came, and she intimated that it was for me. I said she\nmust be mistaken, and that I had known no one in life like her. The\nmedium questioned her very closely, and tried to put her \"out of court,\"\nas it were. Still, the child persisted that she came for me. Mrs. Holmes\nsaid to me, \"Cannot you remember _anyone_ of that age connected with you\nin the spirit world? No cousin, nor niece, nor sister, nor the child of\na friend?\" I tried to remember, but I could not, and answered, \"No! no\nchild of that age.\" She then addressed the little spirit. \"You have made\na mistake. There is no one here who knows you. You had better move on.\"\nSo the child did move on, but very slowly and reluctantly. I could read\nher disappointment in her eyes, and after she had disappeared, she\npeeped round the corner again and looked at me, longingly. This was\n\"Florence,\" my dear _lost_ child (as I then called her), who had left me\nas a little infant of ten days old, and whom I could not at first\nrecognize as a young girl of ten years. Her identity, however, has been\nproved to me since, beyond all doubt, as will be seen in the chapter\nwhich relates my reunion with her, and is headed \"My Spirit Child.\" Thus\nended the first _seance_ at which I ever assisted, and it made a\npowerful impression upon my mind. Mrs. Holmes, in bidding us good-night,\nsaid, \"You two ladies must be very powerful mediums. I never held so\nsuccessful a _seance_ with strangers in my life before.\" This news\nelated us--we were eager to pursue our investigations, and were\nenchanted to think we could have _seances_ at home, and as soon as Annie\nThomas took up her residence in London, we agreed to hold regular\nmeetings for the purpose. This was the _seance_ that made me a student\nof the psychological phenomena, which the men of the nineteenth century\nterm Spiritualism. Had it turned out a failure, I might now have been as\nmost men are. _Quien sabe?_ As it was, it incited me to go on and on,\nuntil I have seen and heard things which at that moment would have\nseemed utterly impossible to me. And I would not have missed the\nexperience I have passed through for all the good this world could offer\nme.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nCURIOUS COINCIDENCES.\n\n\nBefore I proceed to write down the results of my private and\npremeditated investigations, I am reminded to say a word respecting the\npermission I received for the pursuit of Spiritualism. As soon as I\nexpressed my curiosity on the subject, I was met on all sides with the\nobjection that, as I am a Catholic, I could not possibly have anything\nto do with the matter, and it is a fact that the Church strictly forbids\nall meddling with necromancy, or communion with the departed. Necromancy\nis a terrible word, is it not? especially to such people as do not\nunderstand its meaning, and only associate it with the dead of night and\ncharmed circles, and seething caldrons, and the arch fiend, in _propria\npersona_, with two horns and a tail. Yet it seems strange to me that the\nCatholic Church, whose very doctrine is overlaid with Spiritualism, and\nwho makes it a matter of belief that the Saints hear and help us in our\nprayers and the daily actions of our lives, and recommends our kissing\nthe ground every morning at the feet of our guardian angel, should\nconsider it unlawful for us to communicate with our departed relatives.\nI cannot see the difference in iniquity between speaking to John Powles,\nwho was and is a dear and trusted friend of mine, and Saint Peter of\nAlcantara, who is an old man whom I never saw in this life. They were\nboth men, both mortal, and are both spirits. Again, surely my mother who\nwas a pious woman all her life, and is now in the other world, would be\njust as likely to take an interest in my welfare, and to try and promote\nthe prospect of our future meeting, as Saint Veronica Guiliani, who is\nmy patron. Yet were I to spend half my time in prayer before Saint\nVeronica's altar, asking her help and guidance, I should be doing right\n(according to the Church), but if I did the same thing at my mother's\ngrave, or spoke to her at a _seance_, I should be doing wrong. These\ndistinctions without a difference were hard nuts to crack, and I was\nbound to settle the matter with my conscience before I went on with my\ninvestigations.\n\nIt is a fact that I have met quite as many Catholics as Protestants\n(especially of the higher classes) amongst the investigators of\nSpiritualism, and I have not been surprised at it, for who could better\nunderstand and appreciate the beauty of communications from the spirit\nworld than members of that Church which instructs us to believe in the\ncommunion of saints, as an ever-present, though invisible mystery.\nWhether my Catholic acquaintances had received permission to attend\n_seances_ or not, was no concern of mine, but I took good care to\nprocure it for myself, and I record it here, because rumors have\nconstantly reached me of people having said behind my back that I can be\n\"no Catholic\" because I am a spiritualist.\n\nMy director at that time was Father Dalgairn, of the Oratory at\nBrompton, and it was to him I took my difficulty. I was a very constant\npress writer and reviewer, and to be unable to attend and report on\nspiritualistic meetings would have seriously militated against my\nprofessional interests. I represented this to the Father, and (although\nunder protest) I received his permission to pursue the research in the\ncause of science. He did more than ease my conscience. He became\ninterested in what I had to tell him on the subject, and we had many\nconversations concerning it. He also lent me from his own library the\nlives of such saints as had heard voices and seen visions, of those in\nfact who (like myself) had been the victims of \"Optical Illusions.\"\nAmongst these I found the case of Saint Anne-Catherine of Emmerich, so\nlike my own, that I began to think that I too might turn out to be a\nsaint in disguise. It has not come to pass yet, but there is no knowing\nwhat may happen.\n\nShe used to see the spirits floating beside her as she walked to mass,\nand heard them asking her to pray for them as they pointed to \"les\ntaches sur leurs robes.\" The musical instruments used to play without\nhands in her presence, and voices from invisible throats sound in her\nears, as they have done in mine. I have only inserted this clause,\nhowever, for the satisfaction of those Catholic acquaintances with whom\nI have sat at _seances_, and who will probably be the first to exclaim\nagainst the publication of _our_ joint experiences. I trust they will\nacknowledge, after reading it, that I am not worse than themselves,\nthough I may be a little bolder in avowing my opinions.\n\nBefore I began this chapter, I had an argument with that friend of mine\ncalled Self (who has but too often worsted me in the Battle of Life), as\nto whether I should say anything about table-rapping or tilting. The\nvery fact of so common an article of furniture as a table, as an agent\nof communication with the unseen world, has excited so much ridicule and\nopens so wide a field for chicanery, that I thought it would be wiser to\ndrop the subject, and confine myself to those phases of the science or\nart, or religion, or whatever the reader may like to call it, that can\nbe explained or described on paper. The philosophers of the nineteenth\ncentury have invented so many names for the cause that makes a table\nturn round--tilt--or rap--that I feel quite unable (not being a\nphilosopher) to cope with them. It is \"magnetic force\" or \"psychic\nforce,\"--it is \"unconscious cerebration\" or \"brain-reading\"--and it is\nexceedingly difficult to tell the outside world of the private reasons\nthat convince individuals that the answers they receive are _not_\nemanations from their own brains. I shall not attempt to refute their\nreasonings from their own standpoint. I see the difficulties in the way,\nso much so that I have persistently refused for many years past to sit\nat the table with strangers, for it is only a lengthened study of the\nmatter that can possibly convince a person of its truth. I cannot,\nhowever, see the extreme folly myself of holding communication (under\nthe circumstances) through the raps or tilts of a table, or any other\nobject. These tiny indications of an influence ulterior to our own are\nnot necessarily confined to a table. I have received them through a\ncardboard box, a gentleman's hat, a footstool, the strings of a guitar,\nand on the back of my chair, even on the pillow of my bed. And which,\namongst the philosophers I have alluded to, could suggest a simpler mode\nof communication?\n\nI have put the question to clever men thus: \"Suppose yourself, after\nhaving been able to write and talk to me, suddenly deprived of the\npowers of speech and touch, and made invisible, so that we could not\nunderstand each other by signs, what better means than by taps or tilts\non any article, when the right word or letter is named, could you think\nof by which to communicate with me?\"\n\nAnd my clever men have never been able to propose an easier or more\nsensible plan, and if anybody can suggest one, I should very much like\nto hear of it. The following incidents all took place through the\nmuch-ridiculed tipping of the table, but managed to knock some sense out\nof it nevertheless. On looking over the note book which I faithfully\nkept when we first held _seances_ at home, I find many tests of identity\nwhich took place through my own mediumship, and which could not possibly\nhave been the effects of thought-reading. I devote this chapter to their\nrelation. I hope it will be observed with what admirable caution I have\nheaded it. I have a few drops of Scotch blood in me by the mother's\nside, and I think they must have aided me here. \"Curious coincidences.\"\nWhy, not the most captious and unbelieving critic of them all can find\nfault with so modest and unpretending a title. Everyone believes in the\noccasional possibility of \"curious coincidences.\"\n\nIt was not until the month of June, 1873, that we formed a home circle,\nand commenced regularly to sit together. We became so interested in the\npursuit, that we used to sit every evening, and sometimes till three and\nfour o'clock in the morning, greatly to our detriment, both mental and\nphysical. We seldom sat alone, being generally joined by two or three\nfriends from outside, and the results were sometimes very startling, as\nwe were a strong circle. The memoranda of these sittings, sometimes with\none party and sometimes with another, extend over a period of years, but\nI shall restrict myself to relating a few incidents that were verified\nby subsequent events.\n\nThe means by which we communicated with the influences around us was the\nusual one. We sat round the table and laid our hands upon it, and I (or\nanyone who might be selected for the purpose) spelled over the alphabet,\nand raps or tilts occurred when the desired letter was reached. This in\nreality is not so tedious a process as it may appear, and once used to\nit, one may get through a vast amount of conversation in an hour by this\nmeans. A medium is soon able to guess the word intended to be spelt, for\nthere are not so many after all in use in general conversation.\n\nSome one had come to our table on several occasions, giving the name of\n\"Valerie,\" but refusing to say any more, so we thought she was an idle\nor frivolous spirit, and had been in the habit of driving her away. One\nevening, on the 1st of July, however, our circle was augmented by Mr.\nHenry Stacke, when \"Valerie\" was immediately spelled out, and the\nfollowing conversation ensued. Mr. Stacke said to me, \"Who is this?\" and\nI replied carelessly, \"O! she's a little devil! She never has anything\nto say.\" The table rocked violently at this, and the taps spelled out.\n\n\"Je ne suis pas diable.\"\n\n\"Hullo! Valerie, so you can talk now! For whom do you come?\"\n\n\"Monsieur Stacke.\"\n\n\"Where did you meet him?\"\n\n\"On the Continent.\"\n\n\"Whereabouts?\"\n\n\"Between Dijon and Macon.\"\n\n\"How did you meet him?\"\n\n\"In a railway carriage.\"\n\n\"What where you doing there?\"\n\nHere she relapsed into French, and said,\n\n\"Ce m'est impossible de dire.\"\n\nAt this juncture Mr. Stacke observed that he had never been in a train\nbetween Dijon and Macon but once in his life, and if the spirit was with\nhim then, she must remember what was the matter with their\nfellow-passenger.\n\n\"Mais oui, oui--il etait fou,\" she replied, which proved to be perfectly\ncorrect. Mr. Stacke also remembered that two ladies in the same carriage\nhad been terribly frightened, and he had assisted them to get into\nanother. \"Valerie\" continued, \"Priez pour moi.\"\n\n\"Pourquoi, Valerie?\"\n\n\"Parce que j'ai beaucoup peche.\"\n\nThere was an influence who frequented our society at that time and\ncalled himself \"Charlie.\"\n\nHe stated that his full name had been \"Stephen Charles Bernard\nAbbot,\"--that he had been a monk of great literary attainments--that he\nhad embraced the monastic life in the reign of Queen Mary, and\napostatized for political reasons in that of Elizabeth, and been \"earth\nbound\" in consequence ever since.\n\n\"Charlie\" asked us to sing one night, and we struck up the very vulgar\nrefrain of \"Champagne Charlie,\" to which he greatly objected, asking for\nsomething more serious.\n\nI began, \"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.\"\n\n\"Why, that's as bad as the other,\" said Charlie. \"It was a ribald and\nobscene song in the reign of Elizabeth. The drunken roysterers used to\nsing it in the street as they rolled home at night.\"\n\n\"You must be mistaken, Charlie! It's a well-known Scotch air.\"\n\n\"It's no more Scotch than I am,\" he replied. \"The Scotch say they\ninvented everything. It's a tune of the time of Elizabeth. Ask Brinley\nRichards.\"\n\nHaving the pleasure of the acquaintance of that gentleman, who was the\ngreat authority on the origin of National Ballads, I applied to him for\nthe information, and received an answer to say that \"Charlie\" was right,\nbut that Mr. Richards had not been aware of the fact himself until he\nhad searched some old MSS. in the British Museum for the purpose of\nascertaining the truth.\n\nI was giving a sitting once to an officer from Aldershot, a cousin of my\nown, who was quite prepared to ridicule every thing that took place.\nAfter having teased me into giving him a _seance_, he began by cheating\nhimself, and then accused me of cheating him, and altogether tired out\nmy patience. At last I proposed a test, though with little hope of\nsuccess.\n\n\"Let us ask John Powles to go down to Aldershot,\" I said, \"and bring us\nword what your brother officers are doing.\"\n\n\"O, yes! by Jove! Capital idea! Here! you fellow Powles, cut off to the\ncamp, will you, and go to the barracks of the 84th, and let us know what\nMajor R---- is doing.\" The message came back in about three minutes.\n\"Major R---- has just come in from duty,\" spelt out Powles. \"He is\nsitting on the side of his bed, changing his uniform trousers for a pair\nof grey tweed.\"\n\n\"I'm sure that's wrong,\" said my cousin, \"because the men are never\ncalled out at this time of the day.\"\n\nIt was then four o'clock, as we had been careful to ascertain. My cousin\nreturned to camp the same evening, and the next day I received a note\nfrom him to say, \"That fellow Powles is a brick. It was quite right.\nR---- was unexpectedly ordered to turn out his company yesterday\nafternoon, and he returned to barracks and changed his things for the\ngrey tweed suit exactly at four o'clock.\"\n\nBut I have always found my friend Powles (when he _will_ condescend to\ndo anything for strangers, which is seldom) remarkably correct in\ndetailing the thoughts and actions of absentees, sometimes on the other\nside of the globe.\n\nI went one afternoon to pay an ordinary social call on a lady named Mrs.\nW----, and found her engaged in an earnest conversation on Spiritualism\nwith a stout woman and a commonplace man--two as material looking\nindividuals as ever I saw, and who appeared all the more so under a\nsultry August sun. As soon as Mrs. W---- saw me, she exclaimed, \"O! here\nis Mrs. Ross-Church. She will tell you all about the spirits. Do, Mrs.\nRoss-Church, sit down at the table and let us have a _seance_.\"\n\nA _seance_ on a burning, blazing afternoon in August, with two stolid\nand uninteresting, and worse still, _uninterested_ looking strangers,\nwho appeared to think Mrs. W---- had a \"bee in her bonnet.\" I\nprotested--I reasoned--I pleaded--all in vain. My hostess continued to\nurge, and society places the guest at the mercy of her hostess. So, in\nan evil temper, I pulled off my gloves, and placed my hands\nindifferently on the table. The following words were at once rapped\nout--\n\n\"I am Edward G----. Did you ever pay Johnson the seventeen pounds twelve\nyou received for my saddlery?\"\n\nThe gentleman opposite to me turned all sorts of colors, and began to\nstammer out a reply, whilst his wife looked very confused. I asked the\ninfluence, \"Who are you?\" It replied, \"_He_ knows! His late colonel! Why\nhasn't Johnson received that money?\" This is what I call an \"awkward\"\ncoincidence, and I have had many such occur through me--some that have\ndriven acquaintances away from the table, vowing vengeance against me,\nand racking their brains to discover _who_ had told me of their secret\npeccadilloes. The gentleman in question (whose name even I do not\nremember) confessed that the identity and main points of the message\nwere true, but he did _not_ confide to us whether Johnson had ever\nreceived that seventeen pounds twelve.\n\nI had a beautiful English greyhound, called \"Clytie,\" a gift from Annie\nThomas to me, and this dog was given to straying from my house in\nColville Road, Bayswater, which runs parallel to Portobello Road, a\nrather objectionable quarter, composed of inferior shops, one of which,\na fried fish shop, was an intolerable nuisance, and used to fill the\nair around with its rich perfume. On one occasion \"Clytie\" stayed away\nfrom home so much longer than usual, that I was afraid she was lost in\ngood earnest, and posted bills offering a reward for her. \"Charlie\" came\nto the table that evening and said, \"Don't offer a reward for the dog.\nSend for her.\"\n\n\"Where am I to send?\" I asked.\n\n\"She is tied up at the fried fish shop in Portobello Road. Send the cook\nto see.\"\n\nI told the servant in question that I had heard the greyhound was\ndetained at the fish shop, and sent her to inquire. She returned with\n\"Clytie.\" Her account was, that on making inquiries, the man in the shop\nhad been very insolent to her, and she had raised her voice in reply;\nthat she had then heard and recognized the sharp, peculiar bark of the\ngreyhound from an upper storey, and, running up before the man could\nprevent her, she had found \"Clytie\" tied up to a bedstead with a piece\nof rope, and had called in a policeman to enable her to take the dog\naway. I have often heard the assertion that Spiritualism is of no\npractical good, and, doubtless, it was never intended to be so, but this\nincident was, at least, an exception to the rule.\n\nWhen abroad, on one occasion, I was asked by a Catholic Abbe to sit with\nhim. He had never seen any manifestations before, and he did not believe\nin them, but he was curious on the subject. I knew nothing of him\nfurther than that he was a priest, and a Jesuit, and a great friend of\nmy sister's, at whose house I was staying. He spoke English, and the\nconversation was carried on in that language. He had told me beforehand\nthat if he could receive a perfectly private test, that he should never\ndoubt the truth of the manifestations again. I left him, therefore, to\nconduct the investigation entirely by himself, I acting only as the\nmedium between him and the influence. As soon as the table moved he put\nhis question direct, without asking who was there to answer it.\n\n\"Where is my chasuble?\"\n\nNow a priest's chasuble, _I_ should have said, must be either hanging in\nthe sacristy or packed away at home, or been sent away to be altered or\nmended. But the answer was wide of all my speculations.\n\n\"At the bottom of the Red Sea.\"\n\nThe priest started, but continued--\n\n\"Who put it there?\"\n\n\"Elias Dodo.\"\n\n\"What was his object in doing so?\"\n\n\"He found the parcel a burthen, and did not expect any reward for\ndelivering it.\"\n\nThe Abbe really looked as if he had encountered the devil. He wiped the\nperspiration from his forehead, and put one more question.\n\n\"Of what was my chasuble made?\"\n\n\"Your sister's wedding dress.\"\n\nThe priest then explained to me that his sister had made him a chasuble\nout of her wedding dress--one of the forms of returning thanks in the\nChurch, but that after a while it became old fashioned, and the Bishop,\ngoing his rounds, ordered him to get another. He did not like to throw\naway his sister's gift, so he decided to send the old chasuble to a\npriest in India, where they are very poor, and not so particular as to\nfashion. He confided the packet to a man called Elias Dodo, a\nsufficiently singular name, but neither he nor the priest he sent it to\nhad ever heard anything more of the chasuble, or the man who promised to\ndeliver it.\n\nA young artist of the name of Courtney was a visitor at my house. He\nasked me to sit with him alone, when the table began rapping out a\nnumber of consonants--a farrago of nonsense, it appeared to me, and I\nstopped and said so. But Mr. Courtney, who appeared much interested,\nbegged me to proceed. When the communication was finished, he said to\nme, \"This is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard. My father has\nbeen at the table talking to me in Welsh. He has told me our family\nmotto, and all about my birth-place and relations in Wales.\" I said, \"I\nnever heard you were a Welshman.\" \"Yes! I am,\" he replied, \"my real name\nis Powell. I have only adopted the name of Courtney for professional\npurposes.\"\n\nThis was all news to me, but had it not been, _I cannot speak Welsh_.\n\nI could multiply such cases by the dozen, but that I fear to tire my\nreaders, added to which the majority of them were of so strictly private\na nature that it would be impossible to put them into print. This is\nperhaps the greatest drawback that one encounters in trying to prove\nthe truth of Spiritualism. The best tests we receive are when the very\nsecrets of our hearts, which we have not confided to our nearest\nfriends, are revealed to us. I could relate (had I the permission of the\npersons most interested) the particulars of a well-known law suit, in\nwhich the requisite evidence, and names and addresses of witnesses, were\nall given though my mediumship, and were the cause of the case being\ngained by the side that came to me for \"information.\" Some of the\ncoincidences I have related in this chapter might, however, be ascribed\nby the sceptical to the mysterious and unknown power of brain reading,\nwhatever that may be, and however it may come, apart from mediumship,\nbut how is one to account for the facts I shall tell you in my next\nchapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nEMBODIED SPIRITS.\n\n\nI was having a sitting one day in my own house with a lady friend, named\nMiss Clark, when a female spirit came to the table and spelt out the\nname \"Tiny.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" I asked, \"and for whom do you come?\"\n\n\"I am a friend of Major M----\" (mentioning the full name), \"and I want\nyour help.\"\n\n\"Are you any relation to Major M----?\"\n\n\"I am the mother of his child.\"\n\n\"What do you wish me to do for you?\"\n\n\"Tell him he must go down to Portsmouth and look after my daughter. He\nhas not seen her for years. The old woman is dead, and the man is a\ndrunkard. She is falling into evil courses. He must save her from them.\"\n\n\"What is your real name?\"\n\n\"I will not give it. There is no need. He always called me 'Tiny.'\"\n\n\"How old is your daughter.\"\n\n\"Nineteen! Her name is Emily! I want her to be married. Tell him to\npromise her a wedding trousseau. It may induce her to marry.\"\n\nThe influence divulged a great deal more on the subject which I cannot\nwrite down here. It was an account of one of those cruel acts of\nseduction by which a young girl had been led into trouble in order to\ngratify a man's selfish lust, and astonished both Miss Clark and myself,\nwho had never heard of such a person as \"Tiny\" before. It was too\ndelicate a matter for me to broach to Major M---- (who was a married\nman, and an intimate friend of mine), but the spirit came so many times\nand implored me so earnestly to save her daughter, that at last I\nventured to repeat the communication to him. He was rather taken aback,\nbut confessed it was true, and that the child, being left to his care,\nhad been given over to the charge of some common people at Portsmouth,\nand he had not enquired after it for some time past. Neither had he ever\nheard of the death of the mother, who had subsequently married, and had\na family. He instituted inquiries, however, at once, and found the\nstatement to be quite true, and that the girl Emily, being left with no\nbetter protection than that of the drunken old man, had actually gone\nastray, and not long after she was had up at the police court for\nstabbing a soldier in a public-house--a fit ending for the unfortunate\noffspring of a man's selfish passions. But the strangest part of the\nstory to the uninitiated will lie in the fact that the woman whose\nspirit thus manifested itself to two utter strangers, who knew neither\nher history nor her name, was at the time _alive_, and living with her\nhusband and family, as Major M---- took pains to ascertain.\n\nAnd now I have something to say on the subject of communicating with the\nspirits of persons still in the flesh. This will doubtless appear the\nmost incomprehensible and fanatical assertion of all, that we wear our\nearthly garb so loosely, that the spirits of people still living in this\nworld can leave the body and manifest themselves either visibly or\norally to others in their normal condition. And yet it is a fact that\nspirits have so visited myself (as in the case I have just recorded),\nand given me information of which I had not the slightest previous idea.\nThe matter has been explained to me after this fashion--that it is not\nreally the spirit of the living person who communicates, but the spirit,\nor \"control,\" that is nearest to him: in effect what the Church calls\nhis \"guardian angel,\" and that this guardian angel, who knows his inmost\nthoughts and desires better even than he knows them himself, is equally\ncapable of speaking in his name. This idea of the matter may shift the\nmarvel from one pair of shoulders to another, but it does not do away\nwith it. If I can receive information of events before they occur (as I\nwill prove that I have), I present a nut for the consideration of the\npublic jaw, which even the scientists will find difficult to crack. It\nwas at one time my annual custom to take my children to the sea-side,\nand one summer, being anxious to ascertain how far the table could be\nmade to act without the aid of \"unconscious cerebration,\" I arranged\nwith my friends, Mr. Helmore and Mrs. Colnaghi, who had been in the\nhabit of sitting with us at home, that _we_ should continue to sit at\nthe sea-side on Tuesday evenings as theretofore, and _they_ should sit\nin London on the Thursdays, when I would try to send them messages\nthrough \"Charlie,\" the spirit I have already mentioned as being\nconstantly with us.\n\nThe first Tuesday my message was, \"Ask them how they are getting on\nwithout us,\" which was faithfully delivered at their table on the\nfollowing Thursday. The return message from them which \"Charlie\" spelled\nout for us on the second Tuesday, was: \"Tell her London is a desert\nwithout her,\" to which I emphatically, if not elegantly, answered,\n\"Fiddle-de-dee!\" A few days afterwards I received a letter from Mr.\nHelmore, in which he said, \"I am afraid 'Charlie' is already tired of\nplaying at postman, for to all our questions about you last Thursday, he\nwould only rap out, 'Fiddle-de-dee.'\"\n\nThe circumstance to which this little episode is but an introduction\nhappened a few days later. Mr. Colnaghi and Mr. Helmore, sitting\ntogether as usual on Thursday evening, were discussing the possibility\nof summoning the spirits of _living persons_ to the table, when\n\"Charlie\" rapped three times to intimate they could.\n\n\"Will you fetch some one for us, Charlie?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Whom will you bring?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Ross-Church.\"\n\n\"How long will it take you to do so?\"\n\n\"Fifteen minutes.\"\n\nIt was in the middle of the night when I must have been fast asleep, and\nthe two young men told me afterwards that they waited the results of\ntheir experiment with much trepidation, wondering (I suppose) if I\nshould be conveyed bodily into their presence and box their ears well\nfor their impertinence. Exactly fifteen minutes afterwards, however, the\ntable was violently shaken and the words were spelt out. \"I am Mrs.\nRoss-Church. How _dared_ you send for me?\" They were very penitent (or\nthey said they were), but they described my manner as most arbitrary,\nand said I went on repeating, \"Let me go back! Let me go back! There is\na great danger hanging over my children! I must go back to my children!\"\n(And here I would remark _par parenthese_, and in contradiction of the\nguardian angel theory, that I have always found that whilst the spirits\nof the departed come and go as they feel inclined, the spirits of the\nliving invariably _beg_ to be sent back again or permitted to go, as if\nthey were chained by the will of the medium.) On this occasion I was so\npositive that I made a great impression on my two friends, and the next\nday Mr. Helmore sent me a cautiously worded letter to find out if all\nwas well with us at Charmouth, but without disclosing the reason for his\ncuriosity.\n\nThe _facts_ are, that on the morning of _Friday_, the day _after_ the\n_seance_ in London, my seven children and two nurses were all sitting in\na small lodging-house room, when my brother-in-law, Dr. Henry Norris,\ncame in from ball practice with the volunteers, and whilst exhibiting\nhis rifle to my son, accidentally discharged it in the midst of them,\nthe ball passing through the wall within two inches of my eldest\ndaughter's head. When I wrote the account of this to Mr. Helmore, he\ntold me of my visit to London and the words I had spelt out on the\noccasion. But how did I know of the occurrence the _night before_ it\ntook place? And if I--being asleep and unconscious--did _not_ know of\nit, \"Charlie\" must have done so.\n\nMy aerial visits to my friends, however, whilst my body was in quite\nanother place, have been made still more palpable than this. Once, when\nliving in the Regent's Park, I passed a very terrible and painful night.\nGrief and fear kept me awake most of the time, and the morning found me\nexhausted with the emotion I had gone through. About eleven o'clock\nthere walked in, to my surprise, Mrs. Fitzgerald (better known as a\nmedium under her maiden name of Bessie Williams), who lived in the\nGoldhawk Road, Shepherd's Bush. \"I couldn't help coming to you,\" she\ncommenced, \"for I shall not be easy until I know how you are after the\nterrible scene you have passed through.\" I stared at her. \"Whom have you\nseen?\" I asked. \"Who has told you of it?\" \"Yourself,\" she replied. \"I\nwas waked up this morning between two and three o'clock by the sound of\nsobbing and crying in the front garden. I got out of bed and opened the\nwindow, and then I saw you standing on the grass plat in your\nnight-dress and crying bitterly. I asked you what was the matter, and\nyou told me so and so, and so and so.\" And here followed a detailed\naccount of all that had happened in my own house on the other side of\nLondon, with the _very words_ that had been used, and every action that\nhad happened. I had seen no one and spoken to no one between the\noccurrence and the time Mrs. Fitzgerald called upon me. If her story was\nuntrue, _who_ had so minutely informed her of a circumstance which it\nwas to the interest of all concerned to keep to themselves?\n\nWhen I first joined Mr. d'Oyley Carte's \"Patience\" Company in the\nprovinces, to play the part of \"Lady Jane,\" I understood I was to have\nfour days' rehearsal. However, the lady whom I succeeded, hearing I had\narrived, took herself off, and the manager requested I would appear the\nsame night of my arrival. This was rather an ordeal to an artist who had\nnever sung on the operatic stage before, and who was not note perfect.\nHowever, as a matter of obligation, I consented to do my best, but I was\nvery nervous. At the end of the second act, during the balloting scene,\nLady Jane has to appear suddenly on the stage, with the word \"Away!\" I\nforget at this distance of time whether I made a mistake in pitching the\nnote a third higher or lower. I know it was not out of harmony, but it\nwas sufficiently wrong to send the chorus astray, and bring my heart up\ninto my mouth. It never occurred after the first night, but I never\nstood at the wings again waiting for that particular entrance but I\n\"girded my loins together,\" as it were, with a kind of dread lest I\nshould repeat the error. After a while I perceived a good deal of\nwhispering about me in the company, and I asked poor Federici (who\nplayed the colonel) the reason of it, particularly as he had previously\nasked me to stand as far from him as I could upon the stage, as I\nmagnetized him so strongly that he couldn't sing if I was near him.\n\"Well! do you know,\" he said to me in answer, \"that a very strange thing\noccurs occasionally with reference to you, Miss Marryat. While you are\nstanding on the stage sometimes, you appear seated in the stalls.\nSeveral people have seen it beside myself. I assure you it is true.\"\n\n\"But _when_ do you see me?\" I enquired with amazement.\n\n\"It's always at the same time,\" he answered, \"just before you run on at\nthe end of the second act. Of course it's only an appearance, but it's\nvery queer.\" I told him then of the strange feelings of distrust of\nmyself I experienced each night at that very moment, when my spirit\nseems to have preceded myself upon the stage.\n\nI had a friend many years ago in India, who (like many other friends)\nhad permitted time and separation to come between us, and alienate us\nfrom each other. I had not seen him nor heard from him for eleven years,\nand to all appearance our friendship was at an end. One evening the\nmedium I have alluded to above, Mrs. Fitzgerald, who was a personal\nfriend of mine, was at my house, and after dinner she put her feet up on\nthe sofa--a very unusual thing for her--and closed her eyes. She and I\nwere quite alone in the drawing-room, and after a little while I\nwhispered softly, \"Bessie, are you asleep?\" The answer came from her\ncontrol \"Dewdrop,\" a wonderfully sharp Red Indian girl. \"No! she's in a\ntrance. There's somebody coming to speak to you! I don't want him to\ncome. He'll make the medium ill. But it's no use. I see him creeping\nround the corner now.\"\n\n\"But why should it make her ill?\" I argued, believing we were about to\nhold an ordinary _seance_.\n\n\"Because he's a _live_ one, he hasn't passed over yet,\" replied Dewdrop,\n\"and live ones always make my medium feel sick. But it's no use. I can't\nkeep him out. He may as well come. But don't let him stay long.\"\n\n\"Who is he, Dewdrop?\" I demanded curiously.\n\n\"_I_ don't know! Guess _you_ will! He's an old friend of yours, and his\nname is George.\" Whereupon Bessie Fitzgerald laid back on the sofa\ncushions, and Dewdrop ceased to speak. It was some time before there was\nany result. The medium tossed and turned, and wiped the perspiration\nfrom her forehead, and pushed back her hair, and beat up the cushions\nand threw herself back upon them with a sigh, and went through all the\npantomime of a man trying to court sleep in a hot climate. Presently she\nopened her eyes and glanced languidly around her. Her unmistakable\nactions and the name \"George\" (which was that of my friend, then\nresident in India) had naturally aroused my suspicions as to the\nidentity of the influence, and when Bessie opened her eyes, I asked\nsoftly, \"George, is that you?\" At the sound of my voice the medium\nstarted violently and sprung into a sitting posture, and then, looking\nall round the room in a scared manner, she exclaimed, \"Where am I? Who\nbrought me here?\" Then catching sight of me, she continued, \"Mrs.\nRoss-Church!--Florence! Is this _your_ room? O! let me go! _Do_ let me\ngo!\"\n\nThis was not complimentary, to say the least of it, from a friend whom I\nhad not met for eleven years, but now that I had got him I had no\nintention of letting him go, until I was convinced of his identity. But\nthe terror of the spirit at finding himself in a strange place seemed so\nreal and uncontrollable that I had the greatest difficulty in persuading\nhim to stay, even for a few minutes. He kept on reiterating, \"Who\nbrought me here? I did not wish to come. Do let me go back. I am so very\ncold\" (shivering convulsively), \"so very, _very_ cold.\"\n\n\"Answer me a few questions,\" I said, \"and then you shall go. Do you know\nwho I am?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, you are Florence.\"\n\n\"And what is your name?\" He gave it at full length. \"And do you care for\nme still?\"\n\n\"Very much. But let me go.\"\n\n\"In a minute. Why do you never write to me?\"\n\n\"There are reasons. I am not a free agent. It is better as it is.\"\n\n\"I don't think so. I miss your letters very much. Shall I ever hear from\nyou again?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"And see you?\"\n\n\"Yes; but not yet. Let me go now. I don't wish to stay. You are making\nme very unhappy.\"\n\nIf I could describe the fearful manner in which, during this\nconversation, he glanced every moment at the door, like a man who is\nafraid of being discovered in a guilty action, it would carry with it to\nmy readers, as it did to me, the most convincing proof that the medium's\nbody was animated by a totally different influence from her own. I kept\nthe spirit under control until I had fully convinced myself that he knew\neverything about our former friendship and his own present surroundings;\nand then I let him fly back to India, and wondered if he would wake up\nthe next morning and imagine he had been laboring under nightmare.\n\nThese experiences with the spirits of the living are certainly amongst\nthe most curious I have obtained. On more than one occasion, when I\nhave been unable to extract the truth of a matter from my acquaintances\nI have sat down alone, as soon as I believed them to be asleep, and\nsummoned their spirits to the table and compelled them to speak out.\nLittle have they imagined sometimes how I came to know things which they\nhad scrupulously tried to hide from me. I have heard that the power to\nsummons the spirits of the living is not given to all media, but I have\nalways possessed it. I can do so when they are awake as well as when\nthey are asleep, though it is not so easy. A gentleman once _dared_ me\nto do this with him, and I only conceal his name because I made him look\nridiculous. I waited till I knew he was engaged at a dinner-party, and\nthen about nine o'clock in the evening I sat down and summoned him to\ncome to me. It was some little time before he obeyed, and when he did\ncome, he was eminently sulky. I got a piece of paper and pencil, and\nfrom his dictation I wrote down the number and names of the guests at\nthe dinner-table, also the dishes of which he had partaken, and then in\npity for his earnest entreaties I let him go again. \"You are making me\nridiculous,\" he said, \"everyone is laughing at me.\"\n\n\"But why? What are you doing?\" I urged.\n\n\"I am standing by the mantel-piece, and I have fallen fast asleep,\" he\nanswered. The next morning he came pell-mell into my presence.\n\n\"What did you do to me last night?\" he demanded. \"I was at the Watts\nPhilips, and after dinner I went fast asleep with my head upon my hand,\nstanding by the mantel-piece, and they were all trying to wake me and\ncouldn't. Have you been playing any of your tricks upon me?\"\n\n\"I only made you do what you declared I couldn't,\" I replied. \"How did\nyou like the white soup and the turbot, and the sweetbreads, etc., etc.\"\n\nHe opened his eyes at my nefariously obtained knowledge, and still more\nwhen I produced the paper written from his dictation. This is not a\nusual custom of mine--it would not be interesting enough to pursue as a\ncustom--but I am a dangerous person to _dare_ to do anything.\n\nThe old friend whose spirit visited me through Mrs. Fitzgerald had lost\na sister to whom he was very tenderly attached before he made my\nacquaintance, and I knew little of her beyond her name. One evening,\nnot many months after the interview with him which I have recorded, a\nspirit came to me, giving the name of my friend's sister, with this\nmessage, \"My brother has returned to England, and would like to know\nyour address. Write to him to the Club, Leamington, and tell him where\nto find you.\" I replied, \"Your brother has not written to me, nor\ninquired after me for the last eleven years. He has lost all interest in\nme, and I cannot be the first to write to him, unless I am sure that he\nwishes it.\"\n\n\"He has _not_ lost all interest in you,\" said the spirit; \"he thinks of\nyou constantly, and I hear him pray for you. He wishes to hear from\nyou.\"\n\n\"That may be true,\" I replied, \"but I cannot accept it on your\nauthority. If your brother really wishes to renew our acquaintance, let\nhim write and tell me so.\"\n\n\"He does not know your address, and I cannot get near enough to him to\ninfluence him.\"\n\n\"Then things must remain as they are,\" I replied somewhat testily. \"I am\na public person. He can find out my address, if he chooses to do so.\"\n\nThe spirit seemed to reflect for a moment; then she rapped out, \"Wait,\nand I will fetch my brother. He shall come here himself and tell you\nwhat he thinks about it.\" In a short time there was a different movement\nof the table, and the name of my old friend was given. After we had\nexchanged a few words, and I had told him I required a test of his\nidentity, he asked me to get a pencil and paper, and write from his\ndictation. I did as he requested, and he dictated the following\nsentence, \"Long time, indeed, has passed since the days you call to\nmind, but time, however long, does not efface the past. It has never\nmade me cease to think of and pray for you as I felt you, too, did think\nof and pray for me. Write to the address my sister gave you. I want to\nhear from you.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the perspicuity and apparent genuineness of this\nmessage, it was some time before I could make up my mind to follow the\ndirections it gave me. My pride stood in the way to prevent it. _Ten\ndays afterwards_, however, having received several more visits from the\nsister, I did as she desired me, and sent a note to her brother to the\nLeamington Club. The answer came by return of post, and contained\n(amongst others) _the identical words_ he had told me to write down.\nWill Mr. Stuart Cumberland, or any other clever man, explain to me\n_what_ or _who_ it was that had visited me ten days beforehand, and\ndictated words which could hardly have been in my correspondent's brain\nbefore he received my letter? I am ready to accept any reasonable\nexplanation of the matter from the scientists, philosophers, chemists,\nor arguists of the world, and I am open to conviction, when my sense\nconvinces me, that their reasoning is true. But my present belief is,\nthat not a single man or woman will be found able to account on any\nordinary grounds for such an extraordinary instance of \"unconscious\ncerebration.\"\n\nBeing subject to \"optical illusions,\" I naturally had several with\nregard to my spirit child, \"Florence,\" and she always came to me clothed\nin a white dress. One night, however, when I was living alone in the\nRegent's Park, I saw \"Florence\" (as I imagined) standing in the centre\nof the room, dressed in a green riding habit slashed with orange color,\nwith a cavalier hat of grey felt on her head, ornamented with a long\ngreen feather and a gold buckle. She stood with her back to me, but I\ncould see her profile as she looked over her shoulder, with the skirt of\nher habit in her hand. This being a most extraordinary attire in which\nto see \"Florence,\" I felt curious on the subject, and the next day I\nquestioned her about it.\n\n\"Florence!\" I said, \"why did you come to me last night in a green riding\nhabit?\"\n\n\"I did not come to you last night, mother! It was my sister Eva.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I exclaimed, \"is anything wrong with her?\"\n\n\"No! she is quite well.\"\n\n\"How could she come to me then?\"\n\n\"She did not come in reality, but her thoughts were much with you, and\nso you saw her spirit clairvoyantly.\"\n\nMy daughter Eva, who was on the stage, was at that time fulfilling a\nstock engagement in Glasgow, and very much employed. I had not heard\nfrom her for a fortnight, which was a most unusual occurrence, and I had\nbegun to feel uneasy. This vision made me more so, and I wrote at once\nto ask her if all was as it should be. Her answer was to this effect: \"I\nam so sorry I have had no time to write to you this week, but I have\nbeen so awfully busy. We play 'The Colleen Bawn' here next week, and I\nhave had to get my dress ready for 'Anne Chute.' It's so effective. I\nwish you could see it. _A green habit slashed with orange, and a grey\nfelt hat with a long green feather and a big gold buckle._ I tried it on\nthe other night, and it looked so nice, etc., etc.\"\n\nWell, my darling girl had had her wish, and I _had_ seen it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nOPTICAL ILLUSIONS.\n\n\nAs I have alluded to what my family termed my \"optical illusions,\" I\nthink it as well to describe a few of them, which appeared by the\ncontext to be something more than a mere temporary disturbance of my\nvisual organs. I will pass over such as might be traced, truly or\notherwise, to physical causes, and confine myself to those which were\nsubsequently proved to be the reflection of something that, unknown to\nme, had gone before. In 1875 I was much engaged in giving dramatic\nreadings in different parts of the country, and I visited Dublin for the\nfirst time in my life, for that purpose, and put up at the largest and\nbest-frequented hotel there. Through the hospitality of the residents\nand the duties of my professional business, I was engaged both day and\nnight, and when I _did_ get to bed, I had every disposition to sleep, as\nthe saying is, like a \"top.\" But there was something in the hotel that\nwould not let me do so. I had a charming bedroom, cheerful, bright and\npretty, and replete with every comfort, and I would retire to rest \"dead\nbeat,\" and fall off to sleep at once, to be waked perhaps half-a-dozen\ntimes a night by that inexplicable something (or nothing) that rouses me\nwhenever I am about to enjoy an \"optical illusion,\" and to see figures,\nsometimes one, sometimes two or three, sometimes a whole group standing\nby my bedside and gazing at me with looks of the greatest astonishment,\nas much as to ask what right I had to be there. But the most remarkable\npart of the matter to me was, that all the figures were those of men,\nand military men, to whom I was too well accustomed to be able to\nmistake. Some were officers and others soldiers, some were in uniform,\nothers in undress, but they all belonged to the army, and they all\nseemed to labor under the same feeling of intense surprise at seeing\n_me_ in the hotel. These apparitions were so life-like and appeared so\nfrequently, that I grew quite uncomfortable about them, for however\nmuch one may be used to see \"optical illusions,\" it is not pleasant to\nfancy there are about twenty strangers gazing at one every night as one\nlies asleep. Spiritualism is, or was, a tabooed subject in Dublin, and I\nhad been expressly cautioned not to mention it before my new\nacquaintances. However, I could not keep entire silence on this subject,\nand dining _en famille_ one day, with a hospitable family of the name of\nRobinson, I related to them my nightly experiences at the hotel. Father,\nmother, and son exclaimed simultaneously. \"Good gracious,\" they said,\n\"don't you know that that hotel was built on the site of the old\nbarracks? The house immediately behind it, which formed part of the old\nbuilding, was vacated by its last tenants on account of its being\nhaunted. Every evening at the hour the soldiers used to be marched up to\nbed, they heard the tramp, tramp, tramp of the feet ascending the\nstaircase.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" I replied, \"but they _knew_ their house stood on the site\nof the barracks, and _I didn't_.\"\n\nMy eldest daughter was spending a holiday with me once after my second\nmarriage, and during the month of August. She had been very much\noverworked, and I made her lie in bed till noon. One morning I had been\nto her room at that hour to wake her, and on turning to leave it (in the\nbroad daylight, remember), I encountered a man on the landing outside\nher door. He was dressed in a white shirt with black studs down the\nfront, and a pair of black cloth trousers. He had dark hair and eyes,\nand small features; altogether, he struck me as having rather a sinister\nand unpleasant appearance. I stood still, with the open door in my hand,\nand gazed at him. He looked at me also for a minute, and then turned and\nwalked upstairs to an upper storey where the nursery was situated,\nbeckoning me, with a jerk of his hand, to follow him. My daughter\n(remarking a peculiar expression in my eyes, which I am told they assume\non such occasions) said, \"Mother! what do you see?\"\n\n\"Only a spirit,\" I answered, \"and he has gone upstairs.\"\n\n\"Now, what _is_ the good of seeing them in that way,\" said Eva, rather\nimpatiently (for this dear child always disliked and avoided\nSpiritualism), and I was fain to confess that I really did _not_ know\nthe especial good of encountering a sinister-looking gentleman in shirt\nand trousers, on a blazing noon in August. After which the circumstance\npassed from my mind, until recalled again.\n\nA few months later I had occasion to change the children's nurse, and\nthe woman who took her place was an Icelandic girl named Margaret\nThommassen, who had only been in England for three weeks. I found that\nshe had been educated far above the average run of domestic servants,\nand was well acquainted with the writings of Swedenborg and other\nauthors. One day as I walked up the nursery stairs to visit the children\nin bed, I encountered the same man I had seen outside my daughter's\nroom, standing on the upper landing, as though waiting my approach. He\nwas dressed as before, but this time his arms were folded across his\nbreast and his face downcast, as though he were unhappy about something.\nHe disappeared as I reached the landing, and I mentioned the\ncircumstance to no one. A few days later, Margaret Thommassen asked me\ntimidly if I believed in the possibility of the spirits of the departed\nreturning to this earth. When I replied that I did, she appeared\noverjoyed, and said she had never hoped to find anyone in England to\nwhom she could speak about it. She then gave me a mass of evidence on\nthe subject which forms a large part of the religion of the Icelanders.\nShe told me that she felt uneasy about her eldest brother, to whom she\nwas strongly attached. He had left Iceland a year before to become a\nwaiter in Germany, and had promised faithfully that so long as he lived\nshe should hear from him every month, and when he failed to write she\nmust conclude he was dead. Margaret told me she had heard nothing from\nhim now for three months, and each night when the nursery light was put\nout, someone came and sat at the foot of her bed and sighed. She then\nproduced his photograph, and to my astonishment I recognized at once the\nman who had appeared to me some months before I knew that such a woman\nas Margaret Thommassen existed. He was taken in a shirt and trousers,\njust as I had seen him, and wore the same repulsive (to me) and sinister\nexpression. I then told his sister that I had already seen him twice in\nthat house, and she grew very excited and anxious to learn the truth. In\nconsequence I sat with her in hopes of obtaining some news of her\nbrother, who immediately came to the table, and told her that he was\ndead, with the circumstances under which he had died, and the address\nwhere she was to write to obtain particulars. And on Margaret Thommassen\nwriting as she was directed, she obtained the practical proofs of her\nbrother's death, without which this story would be worthless.\n\nMy sister Cecil lives with her family in Somerset, and many years ago I\nwent down there to visit her for the first time since she had moved into\na new house which I had never seen before. She put me to sleep in the\nguest chamber, a large, handsome room, just newly furnished by Oetzmann.\nBut I could not sleep in it. The very first night some one walked up and\ndown the room, groaning and sighing close to my ears, and he, she, or it\nespecially annoyed me by continually touching the new stiff counterpane\nwith a \"scrooping\" sound that set my teeth on edge, and sent my heart up\ninto my mouth. I kept on saying, \"Go away! Don't come near me!\" for its\nproximity inspired me with a horror and repugnance which I have seldom\nfelt under similar circumstances. I did not say anything at first to my\nsister, who is rather nervous on the subject of \"bogies,\" but on the\nthird night I could stand it no longer, and told her plainly the room\nwas haunted, and I wished she would put me in her dressing-room, or with\nher servants, sooner than let me remain there, as I could get no rest.\nThen the truth came out, and she confessed that the last owner of the\nhouse had committed suicide in that very room, and showed me the place\non the boards, underneath the carpet, where the stain of his blood still\nremained. A lively sort of room to sleep all alone in.\n\nAnother sister of mine, Blanche, used to live in a haunted house in\nBruges, of which a description will be found in the chapter headed, \"The\nStory of the Monk.\" Long, however, before the monk was heard of, I could\nnot sleep in her house on account of the disturbances in my room, for\nwhich my sister used to laugh at me. But even when my husband, Colonel\nLean, and I stayed there together, it was much the same. One night I\nwaked him to see the figure of a woman, who had often visited me,\nstanding at the foot of the bed. She was quaintly attired in a sort of\nleathern boddice or jerkin, laced up the front over a woollen petticoat\nof some dark color. She wore a cap of Mechlin lace, with the large flaps\nat the side, adopted by Flemish women to this day; her hair was combed\ntightly off her forehead, and she wore a profusion of gold ornaments.\n\nMy husband could describe her as vividly as I did, which proves how\nplainly the apparition must have shown itself. I waked on several\noccasions to see this woman busy (apparently) with the contents of an\nold carved oak armoir which stood in a corner of the room, and which, I\nsuppose, must have had something to do with herself. My eldest son\njoined me at Bruges on this occasion. He was a young fellow of twenty,\nwho had never practised, nor even enquired into Spiritualism--fresh from\nsea, and about as free from fear or superstitious fancies as a mortal\ncould be. He was put to sleep in a room on the other side of the house,\nand I saw from the first that he was grave about it, but I did not ask\nhim the reason, though I felt sure, from personal experience, that he\nwould hear or see something before long. In a few days he came to me and\nsaid--\n\n\"Mother! I'm going to take my mattress into the colonel's dressing-room\nto-night and sleep there.\" I asked him why. He replied, \"It's impossible\nto stay in that room any longer. I wouldn't mind if they'd let me sleep,\nbut they won't. There's something walks about half the night, whispering\nand muttering, and touching the bed-clothes, and though I don't believe\nin any of your rubbishy spirits, I'll be 'jiggered' if I sleep there any\nlonger.\" So he was not \"jiggered\" (whatever that may be), as he refused\nto enter the room again.\n\nI cannot end this chapter more appropriately than by relating a very\nremarkable case of \"optical illusion\" which was seen by myself alone. It\nwas in the month of July, 1880, and I had gone down alone to Brighton\nfor a week's quiet. I had some important literary work to finish, and\nthe exigencies of the London season made too many demands upon my time.\nSo I packed up my writing materials, and took a lodging all to myself,\nand set hard to work. I used to write all day and walk in the evening.\nIt was light then till eight or nine o'clock, and the Esplanade used to\nbe crowded till a late hour. I was pushing my way, on the evening of the\n9th of July, through the crowd, thinking of my work more than anything\nelse, when I saw, as I fully thought, my step-son, Francis Lean, leaning\nwith his back against the palings at the edge of the cliff and smiling\nat me. He was a handsome lad of eighteen who was supposed to have sailed\nin his ship for the Brazils five months before. But he had been a wild\nyoung fellow, causing his father much trouble and anxiety, and my first\nimpression was one of great annoyance, thinking naturally that, since I\nsaw him there, he had never sailed at all, but run away from his ship at\nthe last moment. I hastened up to him, therefore, but as I reached his\nside, he turned round quite methodically, and walked quickly down a\nflight of steps that led to the beach. I followed him, and found myself\namongst a group of ordinary seamen mending their nets, but I could see\nFrancis nowhere. I did not know what to make of the occurrence, but it\nnever struck me that it was not either the lad himself or some one\nremarkably like him. The same night, however, after I had retired to bed\nin a room that was unpleasantly brilliant with the moonlight streaming\nin at the window, I was roused from my sleep by someone turning the\nhandle of my door, and there stood Francis in his naval uniform, with\nthe peaked cap on his head, smiling at me as he had done upon the cliff.\nI started up in bed intending to speak to him, when he laid his finger\non his lips and faded away. This second vision made me think something\nmust have happened to the boy, but I determined not to say anything to\nmy husband about it until it was verified. Shortly after my return to\nLondon, we were going, in company with my own son (also a sailor), to\nsee his ship which was lying in the docks, when, as we were driving\nthrough Poplar, I again saw my stepson Francis standing on the pavement,\nand smiling at me. That time I spoke. I said to Colonel Lean, \"I am sure\nI saw Francis standing there. Do you think it is possible he may not\nhave sailed after all?\" But Colonel Lean laughed at the idea. He\nbelieved it to be a chance likeness I had seen. Only the lad was too\ngood-looking to have many duplicates in this world. We visited the\nseaside after that, and in September, whilst we were staying at\nFolkestone, Colonel Lean received a letter to say that his son Francis\nhad been drowned by the upsetting of a boat in the surf of the Bay of\nCallao, in the Brazils, _on the 9th of July_--the day I had seen him\ntwice in Brighton, two months before we heard that he was gone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nON SCEPTICISM.\n\n\nThere are two classes of people who have done more harm to the cause of\nSpiritualism than the testimony of all the scientists has done good, and\nthose are the enthusiasts and the sceptics. The first believe everything\nthey see or hear. Without giving themselves the trouble to obtain proofs\nof the genuineness of the manifestations, they rush impetuously from one\nacquaintance to the other, detailing their experience with so much\nexaggeration and such unbounded faith, that they make the absurdity of\nit patent to all. They are generally people of low intellect, credulous\ndispositions, and weak nerves. They bow down before the influences as if\nthey were so many little gods descended from heaven, instead of being,\nas in the majority of instances, spirits a shade less holy than our own,\nwho, for their very shortcomings, are unable to rise above the\natmosphere that surrounds this gross and material world. These are the\nsort of spiritualists whom _Punch_ and other comic papers have very\njustly ridiculed. Who does not remember the picture of the afflicted\nwidow, for whom the medium has just called up the departed Jones?\n\n\"Jones,\" she falters, \"are you happy?\"\n\n\"Much happier than I was down here,\" growls Jones.\n\n\"O! then you _must_ be in heaven!\"\n\n\"On the contrary, quite the reverse,\" is the reply.\n\nWho also has not sat a _seance_ where such people have not made\nthemselves so ridiculous as to bring the cause they profess to adore\ninto contempt and ignominy. Yet to allow the words and deeds of fools to\naffect one's inward and private conviction of a matter would be\ntantamount to giving up the pursuit of everything in which one's fellow\ncreatures can take a part.\n\nThe second class to which I alluded--the sceptics--have not done so much\ninjury to Spiritualism as the enthusiasts, because they are as a rule,\nso intensely bigoted and hard-headed, and narrow-minded, that they\noverdo their protestations, and render them harmless. The sceptic\nrefuses to believe _anything_, because he has found out _one_ thing to\nbe a fraud. If one medium deceives, all the mediums must deceive. If one\n_seance_ is a failure, none can be successful. If he gains no\nsatisfactory test of the presence of the spirits of the departed, no one\nhas ever gained such a test. Now, such reason is neither just nor\nlogical. Again, a sceptic fully expects _his_ testimony to be accepted\nand believed, yet he will never believe any truth on the testimony of\nanother person. And if he is told that, given certain conditions, he can\nsee this or hear the other, he says, \"No! I will see it and hear it\nwithout any conditions, or else I will proclaim it all a fraud.\" In like\nmanner, we might say to a savage, on showing him a watch, \"If you will\nkeep your eye on those hands, you will see them move round to tell the\nhours and minutes,\" and he should reply, \"I must put the watch into\nboiling water--those are my conditions--and if it won't go then, I will\nnot believe it can go at all.\"\n\nI don't mind a man being a sceptic in Spiritualism. I don't see how he\ncan help (considering the belief in which we are reared) being a\nsceptic, until he has proved so strange a matter for himself. But I _do_\nobject to a man or a woman taking part in a _seance_ with the sole\nintention of detecting deceit, not _when_ it has happened, but before it\nhas happened--of bringing an argumentative, disputatious mind, full of\nthe idea that it is going to be tricked and humbugged into (perhaps) a\nprivate circle who are sitting (like Rosa Dartle) \"simply for\ninformation,\" and scattering all the harmony and good-will about him\nbroadcast. He couldn't do it to a human assembly without breaking up the\nparty. Why should he expect to be more kindly welcomed by a spiritual\none? I have seen an immense deal of courtesy shown under such\ncircumstances to men whom I should have liked to see kicked downstairs.\nI have seen them enter a lady's private drawing-room, by invitation, to\nwitness manifestations which were never, under any circumstances, made a\nmeans of gain, and have heard them argue, and doubt, and contradict,\nuntil they have given their hostess and her friends the lie to their\nfaces. And the world in general would be quite ready to side with these\n(so-called) gentlemen, not because their word or their wisdom was\nbetter worth than that of their fellow guests, but because they\nprotested against the truth of a thing which it had made up its mind to\nbe impossible. I don't mind a sceptic myself, as I said before, but he\nmust be unbiassed, which few sceptics are. As a rule, they have decided\nthe question at issue for themselves before they commence to investigate\nit.\n\nI find that few people outside the pale of Spiritualism have heard of\nthe Dialectical Society, which was a scientific society assembled a few\nyears ago for the sole purpose of enquiring into the truth of the\nmatter. It was composed of forty members,--ten lawyers, ten scientists,\nten clergymen, and ten chemists (I think that was the arrangement), and\nthey held forty _seances_, and the published report at the close of them\nwas, that not one of these men of learning and repute could find any\nnatural cause for the wonders he had witnessed. I know that there are a\nthousand obstacles in the way of belief. The extraordinarily\ncontradictory manner in which Protestants are brought up, to believe in\none and the same breath that spirits were common visitants to earth at\nthe periods of which the Bible treats, but that it is impossible they\ncan return to it now, although the Lord is the same yesterday, to-day,\nand for ever. The conditions of darkness for the creation of\nmaterialized spirits, and the resemblance they sometimes bear to the\nmedium, are two fearful stumbling-blocks. Yet one must know that _all_\nthings are created in the dark, and that even a seed cannot sprout if\nyou let the light in upon it, while as for the resemblance between the\nspirit and the medium, from whom it takes the material being that\nenables it to appear, if investigators would only persevere with their\nenquiries, they would find, as I have, that that is a disappointment\nwhich has its remedy in Time. When people call on me to explain such\nthings, I can only say that I know no more how they come than they do,\nor that I know how _I_ came, a living, sentient creature, into the\nworld. Besides (as I have said before), I write these pages to tell only\n_what I have seen_, and not to argue how it came to pass that I saw it.\n\nI have a little story to tell here which powerfully illustrates the\nforegoing remarks. The lines,\n\n    \"A woman convinced against her will\n    Is of the same opinion still,\"\n\nmight have been penned with as much truth of sceptics. Men who are\nsceptical, _i.e._, so thoroughly wrapt up in conceit of their powers of\njudgment and determination that it becomes impossible for them to\nbelieve themselves mistaken, will deny the evidence of all their senses\nsooner than confess they may be in the wrong. Such an one may be a\nclever scientist or a shrewd man of business, but he can never be a\ngenius. For genius is invariably humble of its own powers, and,\ntherefore, open to conviction. But the lesser minds, who are only equal\nto grasping such details as may have been drummed into them by sheer\nforce of study, appear to have no capability of stretching beyond a\ncertain limit. They are hedged in and cramped by the opinions in which\nthey have been reared, or that they have built up for themselves out of\nthe petty material their brain affords them, and have lost their powers\nof elasticity. \"Thus far shalt thou go and no further,\" seems to be the\nfiat pronounced on too many men's reasoning faculties. Instead of\nbelieving the power of God and the resources of nature to be\nillimitable, they want to keep them within the little circle that\nencompasses their own brains. \"I can't see it, and therefore it cannot\nbe.\" There was a time when I used to take the trouble to try and\nconvince such men, but I have long ceased to do so. It is quite\nindifferent to me what they believe or don't believe. And with such\nminds, even if they _were_ convinced of its possibility, they would\nprobably make no good use of spiritual intercourse. For there is no\ndoubt it can be turned to evil uses as well as to good.\n\nSome years ago I was on friendly terms with a man of this sort. He was a\ndoctor, accounted clever in his profession, and I knew him to be an able\narguist, and thought he had common sense enough not to eat his own\nwords, but the sequel proved that I was mistaken. We had several\nconversations together on Spiritualism, and as Dr. H---- was a complete\ndisbeliever in the existence of a God and a future life, I was naturally\nnot surprised to find that he did not place any credence in the account\nI gave him of my spiritualistic experiences. Many medical men attribute\nsuch experiences entirely to a diseased condition of mind or body.\n\nBut when I asked Dr. H---- what he should think if he saw them with his\nown eyes, I confess I was startled to hear him answer that he should\nsay his eyes deceived him. \"But if you heard them speak?\" I continued.\n\n\"I should disbelieve my ears.\"\n\n\"And if you touched and handled them?\"\n\n\"I should mistrust my sense of feeling.\"\n\n\"Then by what means,\" I argued, \"do you know that I am Florence Marryat?\nYou can only see me and hear me and touch me! What is there to prevent\nyour senses misleading you at the present moment?\"\n\nBut to this argument Dr. H---- only returned a pitying smile, professing\nto think me, on this point at least, too feeble-minded to be worthy of\nreply, but in reality not knowing what on earth to say. He often,\nhowever, recurred to the subject of Spiritualism, and on several\noccasions told me that if I could procure him the opportunity of\nsubmitting a test which he might himself suggest, he should be very much\nobliged to me. It was about this time that a young medium named William\nHaxby, now passed away, went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Olive in Ainger\nTerrace, and we were invited to attend a _seance_ given by him. Mrs.\nOlive, when giving the invitation, informed me that Mr. Haxby had been\nvery successful in procuring direct writing in sealed boxes, and she\nasked me, if I wished to try the experiment, to take a secured box, with\nwriting materials in it, to the _seance_, and see what would happen to\nit.\n\nHere was, I thought, an excellent opportunity for Dr. H----'s test, and\nI sent for him and told him what had been proposed. I urged him to\nprepare the test entirely by himself, and to accompany me to the\n_seance_ and see what occurred,--to all of which he readily consented.\nIndeed, he became quite excited on the subject, being certain it would\nprove a failure; and in my presence he made the following\npreparations:--\n\nI. Half a sheet of ordinary cream-laid note-paper and half a cedar-wood\nblack lead pencil were placed in a jeweller's cardwood box.\n\nII. The lid of the box was carefully glued down all round to the bottom\npart.\n\nIII. The box was wrapt in white writing paper, which was gummed over it.\n\nIV. It was tied eight times with a peculiar kind of silk made for tying\nup arteries, and the eight knots were knots known to (as Dr. H----\ninformed me) medical men only.\n\nV. Each of the eight knots was sealed with sealing-wax, and impressed\nwith Dr. H----'s crest seal, which he always wore on his watch-chain.\n\nVI. The packet was again folded in brown paper, and sealed and tied to\npreserve the inside from injury.\n\nWhen Dr. H---- had finished it, he said to me, \"If the spirits (or\nanybody) can write on that paper without cutting the silk, _I will\nbelieve whatever you wish_.\" I asked, \"Are you _quite_ sure that the\npacket could not be undone without your detecting it?\" His answer\nwas--\"That silk is not to be procured except from a medical man; it is\nmanufactured expressly for the tying of arteries; and the knots I have\nmade are known only to medical men. They are the knots we use in tying\narteries. The seal is my own crest, which never leaves my watch-chain,\nand I defy anyone to undo those knots without cutting them, or to tie\nthem again, if cut. I repeat--if your friends can make, or cause to be\nmade, the smallest mark on that paper, and return me the box in the\ncondition it now is, _I will believe anything you choose_.\" And I\nconfess I was very dubious of the result myself, and almost sorry that I\nhad subjected the doctor's incredulity to so severe a test.\n\nOn the evening appointed we attended the _seance_, Dr. H---- taking the\nprepared packet with him. He was directed to place it under his chair,\nbut he tied a string to it and put it under his foot, retaining the\nother end of the string in his hand. The meeting was not one for\nfavorably impressing an unbeliever in Spiritualism. There were too many\npeople present, and too many strangers. The ordinary manifestations, to\nmy mind, are worse than useless, unless they have been preceded by\nextraordinary ones; so that the doctor returned home more sceptical than\nbefore, and I repented that I had taken him there. One thing had\noccurred, however, that he could not account for. The packet which he\nhad kept, as he thought, under his foot the whole time, was found, at\nthe close of the meeting, to have disappeared. Another gentleman had\nbrought a sealed box, with paper and pencil in it, to the _seance_; and\nat the close it was opened in the presence of all assembled, and found\nto contain a closely written letter from his deceased wife. But the\ndoctor's box had evaporated, and was nowhere to be found. The door of\nthe room had been locked all the time, and we searched the room\nthoroughly, but without success. Dr. H---- was naturally triumphant.\n\n\"They couldn't undo _my_ knots and _my_ seals,\" he said, exulting over\nme, \"and so they wisely did not return the packet. Both packets were of\ncourse taken from the room during the sitting by some confederate of the\nmedium. The other one was easily managed, and put back again--_mine_\nproved unmanageable, and so they have retained it. I _knew_ it would be\nso!\"\n\nAnd he twinkled his eyes at me as much as to say, \"I have shut _you_ up.\nYou will not venture to describe any of the marvels you have seen to me\nafter this.\" Of course the failure did not discompose me, nor shake my\nbelief. I never believed spiritual beings to be omnipotent, omnipresent,\nnor omniscient. They had failed before, and doubtless they would fail\nagain. But if an acrobatic performer fails to turn a double somersault\non to another man's head two or three times, it does not falsify the\nfact that he succeeds on the fourth occasion. I was sorry that the test\nhad been a failure, for Dr. H----'s sake, but I did not despair of\nseeing the box again. And at the end of a fortnight it was left at my\nhouse by Mr. Olive, with a note to say that it had been found that\nmorning on the mantel-piece in Mr. Haxby's bedroom, and he lost no time\nin returning it to me. It was wrapt in the brown paper, tied and sealed,\napparently just as we had carried it to the _seance_ in Ainger Terrace;\nand I wrote at once to Dr. H---- announcing its return, and asking him\nto come over and open it in my presence. He came, took the packet in his\nhand, and having stripped off the outer wrapper, examined it carefully.\nThere were four tests, it may be remembered, applied to the packet.\n\nI. The arterial silk, procurable only from a medical man.\n\nII. The knots to be tied only by medical men.\n\nIII. Dr. H----'s own crest, always kept on his watch chain, as a seal.\n\nIV. The lid of the cardboard box, glued all round to the bottom part.\n\nAs the doctor scrutinized the silk, the knots, and the seals, I watched\nhim narrowly.\n\n\"Are you _quite sure_,\" I asked, \"that it is the same paper in which you\nwrapt it?\"\n\n\"I am _quite sure_.\"\n\n\"And the same silk?\"\n\n\"Quite sure.\"\n\n\"Your knots have not been untied?\"\n\n\"I am positive that they have not.\"\n\n\"Nor your seal been tampered with?\"\n\n\"Certainly not! It is just as I sealed it.\"\n\n\"Be careful, Dr. H----,\" I continued. \"Remember I shall write down all\nyou say.\"\n\n\"I am willing to swear to it in a court of justice,\" he replied.\n\n\"Then will you open the packet?\"\n\nDr. H---- took the scissors and cut the silk at each seal and knot, then\ntore off the gummed white writing paper (which was as fresh as when he\nhad put it on), and tried to pull open the card-board box. But as he\ncould not do this in consequence of the lid being glued down, he took\nout his penknife and cut it all round. As he did so, he looked at me and\nsaid, \"Mark my words. There will be nothing written on the paper. It is\nimpossible!\"\n\nHe lifted the lid, and behold _the box was empty_! The half sheet of\nnotepaper and the half cedar wood pencil had both _entirely\ndisappeared_. Not a crumb of lead, nor a shred of paper remained behind.\nI looked at the doctor, and the doctor looked completely bewildered.\n\n\"_Well!_\" I said, interrogatively.\n\nHe shifted about--grew red--and began to bluster.\n\n\"What do you make of it?\" I asked. \"How do you account for it?\"\n\n\"In the easiest way in the world,\" he replied, trying to brave it out.\n\"It's the most transparent deception I ever saw. They've kept the thing\na fortnight and had time to do anything with it. A child could see\nthrough this. Surely your bright wits can want no help to an\nexplanation.\"\n\n\"I am not so bright as you give me credit for,\" I answered. \"Will you\nexplain your meaning to me?\"\n\n\"With pleasure. They have evidently made an invisible slit in the\njoining of the box cover, and with a pair of fine forceps drawn the\npaper through it, bit by bit. For the pencil, they drew that by the same\nmeans to the slit and then pared it, little by little, with a lancet,\ntill they could shake out the fragments.\"\n\n\"That must have required very careful manipulation,\" I observed.\n\n\"Naturally. But they've taken a fortnight to do it in.\"\n\n\"But how about the arterial silk?\" I said.\n\n\"They must have procured some from a surgeon.\"\n\n\"And your famous knots?\"\n\n\"They got some surgeon to tie them!\"\n\n\"But your crest and seal?\"\n\n\"Oh! they must have taken a facsimile of that in order to reproduce it.\nIt is very cleverly done, but quite explicable!\"\n\n\"But you told me before you opened the packet that you would take your\noath in a court of justice it had not been tampered with.\"\n\n\"I was evidently deceived.\"\n\n\"And you really believe, then, that an uneducated lad like Mr. Haxby\nwould take the trouble to take impressions of seals and to procure\narterial silk and the services of a surgeon, in order, not to mystify or\nconvert _you_, but to gratify _me_, whose box he believes it to be.\"\n\n\"I am sure he has done so!\"\n\n\"But just now you were equally sure he had _not_ done so. Why should you\ntrust your senses in one case more than in the other? And if Mr. Haxby\nhas played a trick on me, as you suppose, why did you not discover the\nslit when you examined the box, before opening?\"\n\n\"Because my eyes misled me!\"\n\n\"Then after all,\" I concluded, \"the best thing you can say of yourself\nis that you--a man of reputed science, skill, and sense, and with a\nstrong belief in your own powers--are unable to devise a test in which\nyou shall not be outwitted by a person so inferior to yourself in age,\nintellect and education as young Haxby. But I will give you another\nchance. Make up another packet in any way you like. Apply to it the\nseverest tests which your ingenuity can devise, or other men of genius\ncan suggest to you, and let me give it to Haxby and see if the contents\ncan be extracted, or tampered with a second time.\"\n\n\"It would be useless,\" said Dr. H----. \"If they were extracted through\nthe iron panels of a fireproof safe, I would not believe it was done by\nany but natural means.\"\n\n\"Because you do not _wish_ to believe,\" I argued.\n\n\"You are right,\" he confessed, \"I do _not_ wish to believe. If you\nconvinced me of the truth of Spiritualism, you would upset all the\ntheories I have held for the best part of my life. I don't believe in a\nGod, nor a soul, nor a future existence, and I would rather not believe\nin them. We have quite enough trouble, in my opinion, in this life,\nwithout looking forward to another, and I would rather cling to my\nbelief that when we die we have done with it once and for ever.\"\n\nSo there ended my attempt to convince Dr. H----, and I have often\nthought since that he was but a type of the genus sceptic. In this\nworld, we mostly believe what we want to believe, and the thought of a\nfuture troubles us in proportion to the lives we lead here. It must\noften strike spiritualists (who mostly look forward to the day of their\ndeparture for another world, as a schoolboy looks forward to the\ncommencement of the holidays) as a very strange thing, that people, as a\nrule, evince so little curiosity on the subject of Spiritualism. The\nidea of the spirits of the departed returning to this world to hold\ncommunication with their friends may be a new and startling one to them,\nbut the very wonder of it would make one expect to see them evince a\nlittle interest in a matter which concerns us all. Yet the generality of\nCarlyle's British millions either pooh-pooh the notion as too utterly\nridiculous for their exalted minds to entertain, or inform you, with\nsuperior wisdom, that if Spiritualism is true, they cannot see the use\nof it, and have no craving for any further knowledge. If these same\npeople expected to go to Canada or Australia in a few months' time, how\neagerly they would ask questions concerning their future home, and\nprocure the best information on what to do, whilst they remained in\nEngland, in order to fit themselves for the journey and the change.\n\nBut a journey to the other world--to the many worlds which perhaps await\nus--a certain proof that we shall live again (or rather, that we shall\nnever die but need only time and patience and well-living here to\nreunite us to the dear one gone before)--_that_ is a subject not worthy\nof our trying to believe--of not sufficient importance for us to take\nthe trouble of ascertaining. I pity from my soul the men and women who\nhave no dead darling buried in their hearts whom they _know_ they shall\nmeet in a home of God's own choosing when this life ends.\n\nThe old, cold faiths have melted away beneath the sun of Progress. We\ncan no longer be made to believe, like little children, in a shadowy\nindefinite Heaven where the saints sit on damp clouds with harps in\ntheir hands forever singing psalms and hymns and heavenly songs. That\nsort of existence could be a Heaven to none, and to most it would be a\nHell. We do not accept it now, any more than we do the other place, with\nits typical fire and brimstone, and pitch-forking devils with horns and\ntails. But what has Religion given us instead? Those whose common-sense\nwill not permit them to believe in the parson's Heaven and Hell\ngenerally believe (like Dr. H----) in nothing at all. But Spiritualism,\nearnestly and faithfully followed, leaves us in no doubt. Spiritualists\nknow where they are going to. The spheres are almost as familiar to them\nas this earth--it is not too much to say that many live in them as much\nas they do here, and often they seem the more real, as they are the more\nlasting of the two. Spiritualists are in no manner of doubt _who_ their\neyes will see when opening on another phase of life. _They_ do not\nexpect to be carried straight up into Abraham's bosom, and lie snugly\nthere, whilst revengeful demons are torturing those who were, perhaps,\nnearest and dearest to them down below. They have a better and more\nsubstantial religion than that--a revelation that teaches them that the\nworks we do in the flesh must bear their fruit in the spirit, and that\nno tardy deathbed repentance, no crying out for mercy because Justice is\nupon us, like an unruly child howling as soon as the stick is produced\nfor chastisement--will avail to wipe off the sins we have indulged in\nupon earth. They know their expiation will be a bitter one, yet not\nwithout Hope, and that they will be helped, as well as help others, in\nthe upward path that leads to ultimate perfection. The teaching of\nSpiritualism is such as largely to increase belief in our Divine\nFather's love, our Saviour's pity, and the angels' ministering help. But\nit does more than this, more than any religion has done before. It\naffords the _proof_--the only proof we have ever received, and our\nfinite natures can accept--of a future existence. The majority of\nChristians _hope_ and _trust_, and say they _believe_. It is the\nSpiritualist only that _knows_.\n\nI think that the marvellous indifference displayed by the crowd to\nascertain these truths for themselves must be due, in a large number of\ninstances, to the unnatural but universal fear which is entertained of\nDeath and all things connected with it. The same people who loudly\ndeclaim again the possibility of seeing a \"ghost,\" shudder at the idea\nof doing so. The creature whom they have adored and waited on with\ntenderest devotion passes away, and they are afraid to enter the room\nwhere his body lies. That which they clung to and wept over yesterday,\nthey fear to look at or touch to-day, and the idea that he would return\nand speak to them would inspire them with horror. But why afraid of an\nimpossibility? Their very fears should teach them that there is a cause.\nFrom numerous notes made on the subject I have invariably found that\nthose who have had the opportunity of testing the reality of\nSpiritualism, and either rejected or denied it, have been selfish,\nworldly, and cold-hearted people who neither care, nor are cared for, by\nthose who have passed on to another sphere. Plenty of love is sure to\nbring you plenty of proof. The mourners, who have lost sight of what is\ndearest to them, and would give all they possess for one more look at\nthe face they loved so much, or one more tone of the voice that was\nmusic to their ears, are only too eager and grateful to hear of a way by\nwhich their longings may be gratified, and would take any trouble and go\nto any expense to accomplish what they desire.\n\nIt is this intense yearning to speak again with those that have left us,\non the part of the bereaved, that has led to chicanery on the part of\nmedia in order to gratify it. Wherever money is to be made,\nunfortunately cheating will step in; but because some tradesmen will\nsell you brass for gold is no reason to vote all jewellers thieves. The\naccount of the raising of Samuel by the witch of Endor is an instance\nthat my argument is correct. The witch was evidently an impostor, for\nshe had no expectation of seeing Samuel, and was frightened by the\napparition she had evoked; but Spiritualism must be a truth, because it\nwas Samuel himself who appeared and rebuked Saul for calling him back to\nthis earth. What becomes, in the face of this story, of the impassable\ngulf between the earthly and spiritual spheres? That atheists who\nbelieve in nothing should not believe in Spiritualism is credible,\nnatural, and consistent. But that Christians should reject the theory is\ntantamount to acknowledging that they found their hopes of salvation\nupon a lie. There is no way of getting out of it. If it be _impossible_\nthat the spirits of the departed can communicate with men, the Bible\nmust be simply a collection of fabulous statements; if it be _wrong_ to\nspeak with spirits, all the men whose histories are therein related were\nsinners, and the Almighty helped them to sin; and if all the spirits who\nhave been heard and seen and touched in modern times are devils sent on\nearth to lure us to our destruction, how are we to distinguish between\nthem and the Greatest Spirit of all, who walked with mortal Adam and Eve\nin the garden of Eden. \"O! yes!\" I think I hear somebody cry, \"but that\nwas in the Bible;\" as if the Bible were a period or a place. And did it\never strike you that there is something else recorded in the Bible? \"And\nHe did not many miracles there because of their _unbelief_.\" And yet\nChrist came to call \"not the righteous but the sinners to repentance.\"\nSurely, then, the unbelieving required the conviction of the miracles\nmore than those who knew Him to be God. Yet there He did them not,\n_because_ of their unbelief, because their _scepticism_ produced a\ncondition in which miracles could not be wrought. And yet the nineteenth\ncentury is surprised because a sceptic, whose jarring element upsets all\nunion and harmony, is not an acceptable addition to a spiritual meeting,\nand that the miracles of the present--gross and feeble, compared to\nthose of the past, because worked by grosser material though grosser\nagents--ceased to be manifested when his unbelief intrudes itself upon\nthem.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE STORY OF JOHN POWLES.\n\n\nOn the 4th of April, 1860, there died in India a young officer in the\n12th Regiment M.N.I., of the name of John Powles. He was an intimate\nfriend of my first husband for several years before his death, and had\nconsequently become intimate with me; indeed, on several occasions he\nshared our house and lived with us on the terms of a brother. I was very\nyoung at that time and susceptible to influence of all sorts--extremely\nnervous, moreover, on the subject of \"ghosts,\" and yet burning with\ncuriosity to learn something of the other world--a topic which it is\nmost difficult to induce anybody to discuss with you. People will talk\nof dress, or dinner, or their friend's private affairs--of anything, in\nfact, sooner than Death and Immortality and the world to come which we\nmust all inevitably enter. Even parsons--the legalized exponents of what\nlies beyond the grave--are no exceptions to the rule. When the bereaved\nsufferer goes to them for comfort, they shake their heads and \"hope\" and\n\"trust,\" and say \"God's mercy has no limits,\" but they cannot give him\none reasonable proof to rest upon that Death is but a name. John Powles,\nhowever, though a careless and irreligious man, liked to discuss the\nUnseen. We talked continually on the subject, even when he was\napparently in perfect health, and he often ended our conversation by\nassuring me that should he die first (and he always prophesied truly\nthat he should not reach the age of thirty) he would (were such a thing\npossible) come back to me. I used to laugh at the absurdity of the idea,\nand remind him how many friends had made the same promise to each other\nand never fulfilled it. For though I firmly believed that such things\n_had_ been, I could not realize that they would ever happen to me, or\nthat I should survive the shock if they did. John Powles' death at the\nlast was very sudden, although the disease he died of was of long\nstanding. He had been under the doctor's hands for a few days when he\ntook an unexpected turn for the worse, and my husband and myself, with\nother friends, were summoned to his bedside to say good-bye to him. When\nI entered the room he said to me, \"So you see it has come at last. Don't\nforget what I said to you about it.\" They were his last intelligible\nwords to me, though for several hours he grasped my dress with his hand\nto prevent my leaving him, and became violent and unmanageable if I\nattempted to quit his side. During this time, in the intervals of his\ndelirium, he kept on entreating me to sing a certain old ballad, which\nhad always been a great favorite with him, entitled \"Thou art gone from\nmy gaze.\" I am sure if I sung that song once during that miserable day,\nI must have sung it a dozen times. At last our poor friend fell into\nconvulsions which recurred with little intermission until his death,\nwhich took place the same evening.\n\nHis death and the manner of it caused me a great shock. He had been a\ntrue friend to my husband and myself for years, and we both mourned his\nloss very sincerely. That, and other troubles combined, had a serious\neffect upon my health, and the doctors advised my immediate return to\nEngland. When an officer dies in India, it is the custom to sell all his\nminor effects by auction. Before this took place, my husband asked me if\nthere was anything belonging to John Powles that I should like to keep\nin remembrance of him. The choice I made was a curious one. He had\npossessed a dark green silk necktie, which was a favorite of his, and\nwhen it became soiled I offered to turn it for him, when it looked as\ngood as new. Whereupon he had worn it so long that it was twice as dirty\nas before, so I turned it for him the second time, much to the amusement\nof the regiment. When I was asked to choose a keepsake of him, I said,\n\"Give me the green tie,\" and I brought it to England with me.\n\nThe voyage home was a terrible affair. I was suffering mentally and\nphysically, to such a degree that I cannot think of the time without a\nshudder. John Powles' death, of course, added to my distress, and during\nthe many months that occupied a voyage \"by long sea,\" I hoped and\nexpected that his spirit would appear to me. With the very strong belief\nin the possibility of the return to earth of the departed--or rather, I\nshould say, with my strong belief _in_ my belief--I lay awake night\nafter night, thinking to see my lost friend, who had so often promised\nto come back to me. I even cried aloud to him to appear and tell me\nwhere he was, or what he was doing, but I never heard or saw a single\nthing. There was silence on every side of me. Ten days only after I\nlanded in England I was delivered of a daughter, and when I had somewhat\nrecovered my health and spirits--when I had lost the physical weakness\nand nervous excitability, to which most medical men would have\nattributed any mysterious sights or sounds I might have experienced\nbefore--then I commenced to _know_ and to _feel_ that John Powles was\nwith me again. I did not see him, but I felt his presence. I used to lie\nawake at night, trembling under the consciousness that he was sitting at\nmy bedside, and I had no means of penetrating the silence between us.\nOften I entreated him to speak, but when a low, hissing sound came close\nto my ear, I would scream with terror and rush from my room. All my\ndesire to see or communicate with my lost friend had deserted me. The\nvery idea was a terror. I was horror-struck to think he had returned,\nand I would neither sleep alone nor remain alone. I was advised to try a\nlivelier place than Winchester (where I then resided), and a house was\ntaken for me at Sydenham. But there, the sense of the presence of John\nPowles was as keen as before, and so, at intervals, I continued to feel\nit for the space of several years--until, indeed, I became an inquirer\ninto Spiritualism as a science.\n\nI have related in the chapter that contains an account of my first\n_seance_, that the only face I recognized as belonging to me was that of\nmy friend John Powles, and how excited I became on seeing it. It was\nthat recognition that brought back all my old longing and curiosity to\ncommunicate with the inhabitants of the Unseen World. As soon as I\ncommenced investigations in my home circle, John Powles was the very\nfirst spirit who spoke to me through the table, and from that time until\nthe present I have never ceased to hold communion with him. He is very\nshy, however, (as he was, whilst with us) of conversing before\nstrangers, and seldom intimates his presence except I am alone. At such\ntimes, however, he will talk by the hour of all such topics as\ninterested him during his earth life.\n\nSoon after it became generally known that I was attending _seances_, I\nwas introduced to Miss Showers, the daughter of General Showers of the\nBombay Army. This young lady, besides being little more than a child--I\nthink she was about sixteen when we met--was not a professional medium.\nThe _seances_ to which her friends were invited to witness the\nextraordinary manifestations that took place in her presence were\nstrictly private. They offered therefore an enormous advantage to\ninvestigators, as the occurrences were all above suspicion, whilst Miss\nShowers was good enough to allow herself to be tested in every possible\nway. I shall have occasion to refer more particularly to Miss Showers'\nmediumship further on--at present, therefore, I will confine myself to\nthose occasions which afforded proofs of John Powles' presence.\n\nMrs. and Miss Showers were living in apartments when I visited them, and\nthere was no means nor opportunity of deceiving their friends, even had\nthey had any object in doing so. I must add also, that they knew nothing\nof my Indian life nor experiences, which were things of the past long\nbefore I met them. At the first sitting Miss Showers gave me for \"spirit\nfaces,\" she merely sat on a chair behind the window curtains, which were\npinned together half-way up, so as to leave a V-shaped opening at the\ntop. The voice of \"Peter\" (Miss Showers' principal control) kept talking\nto us and the medium from behind the curtains all the time, and making\nremarks on the faces as they appeared at the opening. Presently he said\nto me, \"Mrs. Ross-Church, here's a fellow says his name is Powles, and\nhe wants to speak to you, only he doesn't like to show himself because\nhe's not a bit like what he used to be.\" \"Tell him not to mind that,\" I\nanswered, \"I shall know him under any circumstances.\" \"Well! if he was\nanything like that, he was a beauty,\" exclaimed Peter; and presently a\nface appeared which I could not, by any stretch of imagination, decide\nto resemble in the slightest degree my old friend. It was hard, stiff\nand unlifelike. After it had disappeared, Peter said, \"Powles says if\nyou'll come and sit with Rosie (Miss Showers) often, he'll look quite\nlike himself by-and-by,\" and of course I was only too anxious to accept\nthe invitation.\n\nAs I was setting out another evening to sit with Miss Showers, the\nthought suddenly occurred to me to put the green necktie in my pocket.\nMy two daughters accompanied me on that occasion, but I said nothing to\nthem about the necktie. As soon as we had commenced, however, Peter\ncalled out, \"Now, Mrs. Ross-Church, hand over that necktie. Powles is\ncoming.\" \"What necktie?\" I asked, and he answered, \"Why Powles' necktie,\nof course, that you've got in your pocket. He wants you to put it round\nhis neck.\" The assembled party looked at me inquisitively as I produced\nthe tie. The face of John Powles appeared, very different from the time\nbefore, as he had his own features and complexion, but his hair and\nbeard (which were auburn during life) appeared phosphoric, as though\nmade of living fire. I mounted on a chair and tied the necktie round his\nthroat, and asked him if he would kiss me. He shook his head. Peter\ncalled out, \"Give him your hand.\" I did so, and as he kissed it, his\nmoustaches _burned_ me. I cannot account for it. I can only relate the\nfact. After which he disappeared with the necktie, which I have never\nseen since, though we searched the little room for it thoroughly.\n\nThe next thing I have to relate about John Powles is so startling that I\ndread the criticism it will evoke; but if I had not startling stories to\ntell, I should not consider them worth writing down. I left my house in\nBayswater one Sunday evening to dine with Mr. and Mrs. George Neville in\nRegent's Park Terrace, to have a _seance_ afterwards with Miss Showers.\nThere was a large company present, and I was placed next to Miss Showers\nat table. During dinner she told me complainingly that her mother had\ngone to Norwood to spend the night, and she (Rosie) was afraid of\nsleeping alone, as the spirits worried her so. In a moment it flashed\nacross me to ask her to return to Bayswater and sleep with me, for I was\nmost desirous of testing her powers when we were alone together. Miss\nShowers accepted my invitation, and we arranged that she should go home\nwith me. After dinner, the guests sat for a _seance_, but to everybody's\nsurprise and disappointment, nothing occurred. It was one o'clock in the\nmorning when Miss Showers and I entered a cab to return to Bayswater. We\nhad hardly started when we were greeted with a loud peal of laughter\nclose to our ears. \"What's the matter, Peter?\" demanded Miss Showers.\n\"I can't help laughing,\" he replied, \"to think of their faces when no\none appeared! Did you suppose I was going to let you waste all your\npower with them, when I knew I was going home with you and Mrs.\nRoss-Church? I mean to show you what a real good _seance_ is to-night.\"\n\nWhen we reached home I let myself in with a latchkey. The house was\nfull, for I had seven children, four servants, and a married sister\nstaying with me; but they were all in bed and asleep. It was cold\nweather, and when I took Miss Showers into my bedroom a fire was burning\nin the grate. My sister was occupying a room which opened into mine; but\nI locked her door and my own, and put the keys under my pillow. Miss\nShowers and I then undressed and got into bed. When we had extinguished\nthe gas, we found the room was, comparatively speaking, light, for I had\nstirred the fire into a blaze, and a street lamp just opposite the\nwindow threw bars of light through the venetian blinds, right across the\nceiling. As soon as Miss Showers had settled herself in bed, she said,\n\"I wonder what Peter is going to do,\" and I replied, \"I hope he won't\nstrip off the bed-clothes.\" We were lying under four blankets, a\ncounterpane, and an eider-down _duvet_, and as I spoke, the whole mass\nrose in the air, and fell over the end of the bed, leaving us quite\nunprotected. We got up, lit a candle, and made the bed again, tucking\nthe clothes well in all round, but the minute we laid down the same\nthing was repeated. We were rather cross the second time, and abused\nPeter for being so disagreeable, upon which the voice declared he\nwouldn't do it any more, but we shouldn't have provoked him to try. I\nsaid, \"You had much better shew yourself to us, Peter. That is what I\nwant you to do.\" He replied, \"Here I am, my dear, close to you!\" I\nturned my head, and there stood a dark figure beside the bed, whilst\nanother could be plainly distinguished walking about the room. I said,\n\"I can't see your face,\" and he replied, \"I'll come nearer to you!\" Upon\nthis the figure rose in the air until it hung suspended, face downward,\nover the bed. In this position it looked like a huge bat with outspread\nwings. It was still indistinct, except as to substance, but Peter said\nwe had exhausted all the phosphorus in our bodies by the long evening we\nhad spent, and left him nothing to light himself up with. After a while\nhe lowered himself on to the bed, and lay between Miss Showers and\nmyself on the outside of the _duvet_. To this we greatly objected, as he\nwas very heavy and took up a great deal of room; but it was some time\nbefore he would go away.\n\nDuring this manifestation, the other spirit, whom Peter called the\n\"Pope,\" kept walking about and touching everything in the room, which\nwas full of ornaments; and Peter called out several times, \"Take care,\nPope! take care! Don't break Mrs. Ross-Church's things.\" The two made so\nmuch noise that they waked my sister in the adjoining room, and she\nknocked at the door, asking in an alarmed voice, \"Florence! _whom_ have\nyou there? You will wake the whole house.\" When I replied, \"Never mind,\nit's only spirits,\" she gave one fell shriek and dived under her\nbed-clothes. She maintains to this day that she fully believed the steps\nand voices to be human. At last the manifestations became so rapid, as\nmany as eight and ten hands touching us at once, that I asked Miss\nShowers if she would mind my tying hers together. She was very amiable\nand consented willingly. I therefore got out of bed again, and having\nsecurely fastened her hands in the sleeves of the nightdress she wore, I\nsewed them with needle and thread to the mattress. Miss Showers then\nsaid she felt sleepy, and with her back to me--a position she was\nobliged to maintain on account of her hands being sewn down--she\napparently dropt off to sleep, though I knew subsequently she was in a\ntrance.\n\nFor some time afterwards nothing occurred, the figures had disappeared,\nthe voices ceased, and I thought the _seance_ was over. Presently,\nhowever, I felt a hand laid on my head and the fingers began to gently\nstroke and pull the short curls upon my forehead. I whispered, \"Who is\nthis?\" and the answer came back, \"Don't you know me? I am Powles! At\nlast--at last--after a silence of ten years I see you and speak with you\nagain, face to face.\" \"How can I tell this is _your_ hand?\" I said.\n\"Peter might be materializing a hand in order to deceive me.\" The hand\nimmediately left my head and the _back_ of it passed over my mouth, when\nI felt it was covered with short hair. I then remembered how hairy John\nPowles' hands had become from exposure to the Indian sun whilst\nshooting, and how I had nicknamed him \"Esau\" in consequence. I\nrecollected also that he had dislocated the left wrist with a cricket\nball. \"Let me feel your wrist,\" I said, and my hand was at once placed\non the enlarged bone. \"I want to trace your hand to where it springs\nfrom,\" I next suggested; and on receiving permission I felt from the\nfingers and wrist to the elbow and shoulder, where it terminated _in the\nmiddle of Miss Showers' back_. Still I was not quite satisfied, for I\nused to find it very hard to believe in the identity of a person I had\ncared for. I was so terribly afraid of being deceived. \"I want to see\nyour face,\" I continued. \"I cannot show you my face to-night,\" the voice\nreplied, \"but you shall feel it;\" and the face, with beard and\nmoustaches, was laid for a moment against my own. Then the hand was\nreplaced on my hair, and whilst it kept on pulling and stroking my\ncurls, John Powles' own voice spoke to me of everything that had\noccurred of importance when he and I were friends on earth. Fancy, two\npeople who were intimately associated for years, meeting alone after a\nlong and painful separation, think of all the private things they would\ntalk about together, and you will understand why I cannot write down the\nconversation that took place between us that night here. In order to\nconvince me of his identity, John Powles spoke of all the troubles I had\npassed through and was then enduring--he mentioned scenes, both sad and\nmerry, which we had witnessed together; he recalled incidents which had\nslipped my memory, and named places and people known only to ourselves.\nHad I been a disbeliever in Spiritualism, that night must have made a\nconvert of me. Whilst the voice, in the well-remembered tones of my old\nfriend, was speaking, and his hand wandered through my hair, Miss\nShowers continued to sleep, or to appear to sleep, with her back towards\nme, and her hands sewn into her nightdress sleeves, and the sleeves sewn\ndown to the bed. But had she been wide awake and with both hands free,\nshe could not have spoken to me in John Powles' unforgotten voice of\nthings that had occurred when she was an infant and thousands of miles\naway. And I affirm that the voice spoke to me of things that no one but\nJohn Powles could possibly have known. He did not fail to remind me of\nthe promise he had made, and the many times he had tried to fulfil it\nbefore, and he assured me he should be constantly with me from that\ntime. It was daylight before the voice ceased speaking, and then both\nMiss Showers and I were so exhausted, we could hardly raise our heads\nfrom the pillows. I must not forget to add that when we _did_ open our\neyes again upon this work-a-day world, we found there was hardly an\narticle in the room that had not changed places. The pictures were all\nturned with their faces to the wall--the crockery from the washstand was\npiled in the fender--the ornaments from the mantel-piece were on the\ndressing-table--in fact, the whole room was topsy-turvy.\n\nWhen Mr. William Fletcher gave his first lecture in England, in the\nSteinway Hall, my husband, Colonel Lean, and I, went to hear him. We had\nnever seen Mr. Fletcher before, nor any of his family, nor did he know\nwe were amongst the audience. Our first view of him was when he stepped\nupon the platform, and we were seated quite in the body of the hall,\nwhich was full. It was Mr. Fletcher's custom, after his lecture was\nconcluded, to describe such visions as were presented to him, and he\nonly asked in return that if the people and places were recognized,\nthose who recognized them would be brave enough to say so, for the sake\nof the audience and himself. I can understand that strangers who went\nthere and heard nothing that concerned themselves would be very apt to\nimagine it was all humbug, and that those who claimed a knowledge of the\nvisions were simply confederates of Mr. Fletcher. But there is nothing\nmore true than that circumstances alter cases. I entered Steinway Hall\nas a perfect stranger, and as a press-writer, quite prepared to expose\ntrickery if I detected it. And this is what I heard. After Mr. Fletcher\nhad described several persons and scenes unknown to me, he took out a\nhandkerchief and began to wipe his face, as though he were very warm.\n\n\"I am no longer in England, now,\" he said. \"The scene has quite changed,\nand I am taken over the sea, thousands of miles away, and I am in a\nchamber with all the doors and windows open. Oh! how hot it is! I think\nI am somewhere in the tropics. O! I see why I have been brought here! It\nis to see a young man die! This is a death chamber. He is lying on a\nbed. He looks very pale, and he is very near death, but he has only been\nill a short time. His hair is a kind of golden chestnut color, and he\nhas blue eyes. He is an Englishman, and I can see the letter 'P' above\nhis head. He has not been happy on earth, and he is quite content to\ndie. He pushes all the influences that are round his bed away from him.\nNow I see a lady come and sit down beside him. He holds her hand, and\nappears to ask her to do something, and I hear a strain of sweet music.\nIt is a song he has heard in happier times, and on the breath of it his\nspirit passes away. It is to this lady he seems to come now. She is\nsitting on my left about half way down the hall. A little girl, with her\nhands full of blue flowers, points her out to me. The little girl holds\nup the flowers, and I see they are woven into a resemblance of the\nletter F. She tells me that is the initial letter of her mother's name\nand her own. And I see this message written.\n\n\"'To my dearest friend, for such you ever were to me from the beginning.\nI have been with you through all your time of trial and sorrow, and I am\nrejoiced to see that a happier era is beginning for you. I am always\nnear you. The darkness is fast rolling away, and happiness will succeed\nit. Pray for me, and I shall be near you in your prayers. I pray God to\nbless you and to bless me, and to bring us together again in the summer\nland.'\n\n\"And I see the spirit pointing with his hand far away, as though to\nintimate that the happiness he speaks of is only the beginning of some\nthat will extend to a long distance of time. I see this scene more\nplainly than any I have ever seen before.\"\n\nThese words were written down at the time they were spoken. Colonel Lean\nand I were sitting in the very spot indicated by Mr. Fletcher, and the\nlittle girl with the blue flowers was my spirit child, \"Florence,\" whose\nhistory I shall give in the next chapter. But my communications with\nJohn Powles, though very extraordinary, were not satisfactory to me. I\nam the \"Thomas, surnamed Didymus,\" of the spiritualistic world, who\nwants to see and touch and handle before I can altogether believe. I\nwanted to meet John Powles and talk with him face to face, and it seemed\nsuch an impossibility for him to materialize in the light that, after\nhis two failures with Miss Showers, he refused to try. I was always\nworrying him to tell me if we should meet in the body before I left this\nworld, and his answer was always, \"Yes! but not just yet!\" I had no idea\nthen that I should have to cross the Atlantic before I saw my dear old\nfriend again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nMY SPIRIT CHILD.\n\n\nThe same year that John Powles died, 1860, I passed through the greatest\ntrouble of my life. It is quite unnecessary to my narrative to relate\nwhat that trouble was, nor how it affected me, but I suffered terribly\nboth in mind and body, and it was chiefly for this reason that the\nmedical men advised my return to England, which I reached on the 14th of\nDecember, and on the 30th of the same month a daughter was born to me,\nwho survived her birth for only ten days. The child was born with a most\npeculiar blemish, which it is necessary for the purpose of my argument\nto describe. On the left side of the upper lip was a mark as though a\nsemi-circular piece of flesh had been cut out by a bullet-mould, which\nexposed part of the gum. The swallow also had been submerged in the\ngullet, so that she had for the short period of her earthly existence to\nbe fed by artificial means, and the jaw itself had been so twisted that\ncould she have lived to cut her teeth, the double ones would have been\nin front. This blemish was considered to be of so remarkable a type that\nDr. Frederick Butler of Winchester, who attended me, invited several\nother medical men, from Southampton and other places, to examine the\ninfant with him, and they all agreed that _a similar case had never come\nunder their notice before_. This is a very important factor in my\nnarrative. I was closely catechized as to whether I had suffered any\nphysical or mental shock, that should account for the injury to my\nchild, and it was decided that the trouble I had experienced was\nsufficient to produce it. The case, under feigned names, was fully\nreported in the _Lancet_ as something quite out of the common way. My\nlittle child, who was baptized by the name of \"Florence,\" lingered until\nthe 10th of January, 1861, and then passed quietly away, and when my\nfirst natural disappointment was over I ceased to think of her except as\nof something which \"might have been,\" but never would be again. In this\nworld of misery, the loss of an infant is soon swallowed up in more\nactive trouble. Still I never quite forgot my poor baby, perhaps because\nat that time she was happily the \"one dead lamb\" of my little flock. In\nrecounting the events of my first _seance_ with Mrs. Holmes, I have\nmentioned how a young girl much muffled up about the mouth and chin\nappeared, and intimated that she came for me, although I could not\nrecognize her. I was so ignorant of the life beyond the grave at that\nperiod, that it never struck me that the baby who had left me at ten\ndays old had been growing since our separation, until she had reached\nthe age of ten years. I could not interpret Longfellow (whom I consider\none of the sublimest spiritualists of the age) as I can now.\n\n    \"Day after day we think what she is doing,\n      In those bright realms of air:\n    Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,\n      Behold her grown more fair.\n\n               . . . . .\n\n    \"Not as a child shall we again behold her:\n      For when, with rapture wild,\n    In our embraces we again enfold her,\n      She will not be a child;\n    But a fair maiden in her father's mansion,\n      Clothed with celestial grace.\n    And beautiful with all the soul's expansion,\n      Shall we behold her face!\"\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe first _seance_ made such an impression on my mind that two nights\nafterwards I again presented myself (this time alone) at Mrs. Holmes'\nrooms to attend another. It was a very different circle on the second\noccasion. There were about thirty people present, all strangers to each\nother, and the manifestations were proportionately ordinary. Another\nprofessional medium, a Mrs. Davenport, was present, as one of her\ncontrols, whom she called \"Bell,\" had promised, if possible, to show her\nface to her. As soon, therefore, as the first spirit face appeared\n(which was that of the same little girl that I had seen before), Mrs.\nDavenport exclaimed, \"There's 'Bell,'\" \"Why!\" I said, \"that's the little\nnun we saw on Monday.\" \"O! no! that's my 'Bell,'\" persisted Mrs.\nDavenport. But Mrs. Holmes took my side, and was positive the spirit\ncame for me. She told me she had been trying to communicate with her\nsince the previous _seance_. \"I know she is nearly connected with you,\"\nshe said. \"Have you never lost a relation of her age?\" \"_Never!_\" I\nreplied; and at that declaration the little spirit moved away,\nsorrowfully as before.\n\nA few weeks after I received an invitation from Mr. Henry Dunphy (the\ngentleman who had introduced me to Mrs. Holmes) to attend a private\n_seance_, given at his own house in Upper Gloucester Place, by the\nwell-known medium Florence Cook. The double drawing-rooms were divided\nby velvet curtains, behind which Miss Cook was seated in an arm-chair,\nthe curtains being pinned together half-way up, leaving a large aperture\nin the shape of a V. Being a complete stranger to Miss Cook, I was\nsurprised to hear the voice of her control direct that _I_ should stand\nby the curtains and hold the lower parts together whilst the forms\nappeared above, lest the pins should give way, and necessarily from my\nposition I could hear every word that passed between Miss Cook and her\nguide. The first face that showed itself was that of a man unknown to\nme; then ensued a kind of frightened colloquy between the medium and her\ncontrol. \"Take it away. Go away! I don't like you. Don't touch me--you\nfrighten me! Go away!\" I heard Miss Cook exclaim, and then her guide's\nvoice interposed itself, \"Don't be silly, Florrie. Don't be unkind. It\nwon't hurt you,\" etc., and immediately afterwards the same little girl I\nhad seen at Mrs. Holmes' rose to view at the aperture of the curtains,\nmuffled up as before, but smiling with her eyes at me. I directed the\nattention of the company to her, calling her again my \"little nun.\" I\nwas surprised, however, at the evident distaste Miss Cook had displayed\ntowards the spirit, and when the _seance_ was concluded and she had\nregained her normal condition, I asked her if she could recall the faces\nshe saw under trance. \"Sometimes,\" she replied. I told her of the\n\"little nun,\" and demanded the reason of her apparent dread of her. \"I\ncan hardly tell you,\" said Miss Cook; \"I don't know anything about her.\nShe is quite a stranger to me, but her face is not fully developed, I\nthink. There is _something wrong about her mouth_. She frightens me.\"\n\nThis remark, though made with the utmost carelessness, set me thinking,\nand after I had returned home, I wrote to Miss Cook, asking her to\ninquire of her guides _who_ the little spirit was.\n\nShe replied as follows:\n\n\"Dear Mrs. Ross-Church, I have asked 'Katie King,' but she cannot tell\nme anything further about the spirit that came through me the other\nevening than that she is a young girl closely connected with yourself.\"\n\nI was not, however, yet convinced of the spirit's identity, although\n\"John Powles\" constantly assured me that it _was_ my child. I tried hard\nto communicate with her at home, but without success. I find in the\nmemoranda I kept of our private _seances_ at that period several\nmessages from \"Powles\" referring to \"Florence.\" In one he says, \"Your\nchild's want of power to communicate with you is not because she is too\npure, but because she is too weak. She will speak to you some day. She\nis _not_ in heaven.\" This last assertion, knowing so little as I did of\na future state, both puzzled and grieved me. I could not believe that an\ninnocent infant was not in the Beatific Presence--yet I could not\nunderstand what motive my friend could have in leading me astray. I had\nyet to learn that once received into Heaven no spirit could return to\nearth, and that a spirit may have a training to undergo, even though it\nhas never committed a mortal sin. A further proof, however, that my dead\nchild had never died was to reach me from a quarter where I least\nexpected it. I was editor of the magazine _London Society_ at that time,\nand amongst my contributors was Dr. Keningale Cook, who had married\nMabel Collins, the now well-known writer of spiritualistic novels. One\nday Dr. Cook brought me an invitation from his wife (whom I had never\nmet) to spend Saturday to Monday with them in their cottage at Redhill,\nand I accepted it, knowing nothing of the proclivities of either of\nthem, and they knowing as little of my private history as I did of\ntheirs. And I must take this opportunity to observe that, at this\nperiod, I had never made my lost child the subject of conversation even\nwith my most intimate friends. The memory of her life and death, and the\ntroubles that caused it, was not a happy one, and of no interest to any\nbut myself. So little, therefore, had it been discussed amongst us that\nuntil \"Florence\" reappeared to revive the topic, my _elder children were\nignorant_ that their sister had been marked in any way differently from\nthemselves. It may, therefore, be supposed how unlikely it was that\nutter strangers and public media should have gained any inkling of the\nmatter. I went down to Redhill, and as I was sitting with the Keningale\nCooks after dinner, the subject of Spiritualism came on the _tapis_, and\nI was informed that the wife was a powerful trance medium, which much\ninterested me, as I had not, at that period, had any experience of her\nparticular class of mediumship. In the evening we \"sat\" together, and\nMrs. Cook having become entranced, her husband took shorthand notes of\nher utterances. Several old friends of their family spoke through her,\nand I was listening to them in the listless manner in which we hear the\nconversation of strangers, when my attention was aroused by the medium\nsuddenly leaving her seat, and falling on her knees before me, kissing\nmy hands and face, and sobbing violently the while. I waited in\nexpectation of hearing who this might be, when the manifestations as\nsuddenly ceased, the medium returned to her seat, and the voice of one\nof her guides said that the spirit was unable to speak through excess of\nemotion, but would try again later in the evening. I had almost\nforgotten the circumstance in listening to other communications, when I\nwas startled by hearing the word \"_Mother!_\" sighed rather than spoken.\nI was about to make some excited reply, when the medium raised her hand\nto enjoin silence, and the following communication was taken down by Mr.\nCook as she pronounced the words. The sentences in parentheses are my\nreplies to her.\n\n\"Mother! I am 'Florence.' I must be very quiet. I want to feel I have a\nmother still. I am so lonely. Why should I be so? I cannot speak well. I\nwant to be like one of you. I want to feel I have a mother and sisters.\nI am so far away from you all now.\"\n\n(\"But I always think of you, my dear dead baby.\")\n\n\"That's just it--your _baby_. But I'm not a baby now. I shall get\nnearer. They tell me I shall. I do not know if I can come when you are\nalone. It's all so dark. I know you are there, but _so dimly_. I've\ngrown _all by myself_. I'm not really unhappy, but I want to get nearer\nyou. I know you think of me, but you think of me as a baby. You don't\nknow me as I _am_. You've seen me, because in my love I have forced\nmyself upon you. I've not been amongst the flowers yet, but I shall be,\nvery soon now; but I want _my mother_ to take me there. All has been\ngiven me that can be given me, but I cannot receive it, except in so\nfar----\"\n\nHere she seemed unable to express herself.\n\n(\"Did the trouble I had before your birth affect your spirit,\nFlorence?\")\n\n\"Only as things cause each other. I was with you, mother, all through\nthat trouble. I should be nearer to you, _than any child you have_, if I\ncould only get close to you.\"\n\n(\"I can't bear to hear you speak so sadly, dear. I have always believed\nthat _you_, at least, were happy in Heaven.\")\n\n\"I am _not_ in Heaven! But there will come a day, mother--I can laugh\nwhen I say it--when we shall go to heaven _together_ and pick blue\nflowers--_blue flowers_. They are so good to me here, but if your eye\ncannot bear the daylight you cannot see the buttercups and daisies.\"\n\nI did not learn till afterwards that in the spiritual language blue\nflowers are typical of happiness. The next question I asked her was if\nshe thought she could write through me.\n\n\"I don't seem able to write through you, but why, I know not.\"\n\n(\"Do you know your sisters, Eva and Ethel?\")\n\n\"No! no!\" in a weary voice. \"The link of sisterhood is only through the\nmother. That kind of sisterhood does not last, because there is a\nhigher.\"\n\n(\"Do you ever see your father?\")\n\n\"No! he is far, far away. I went once, not more. Mother, dear, he'll\nlove me when he comes here. They've told me so, and they always tell\ntruth here! I am but a child, yet not so very little. I seem composed of\ntwo things--a child in ignorance and a woman in years. Why can't I speak\nat other places? I have wished and tried! I've come very near, but it\nseems so easy to speak now. This medium seems so different.\"\n\n(\"I wish you could come to me when I am alone, Florence.\")\n\n\"You _shall_ know me! I _will_ come, mother, dear. I shall always be\nable to come here. I _do_ come to you, but not in the same way.\"\n\nShe spoke in such a plaintive, melancholy voice that Mrs. Cook, thinking\nshe would depress my spirits, said, \"Don't make your state out to be\nsadder than it really is.\" Her reply was very remarkable.\n\n\"_I am, as I am!_ Friend! when you come here, if you find that sadness\n_is_, you will not be able to alter it by plunging into material\npleasures. _Our sadness makes the world we live in._ It is not deeds\nthat make us wrong. It is the state in which _we were born_. Mother! you\nsay I died sinless. That is nothing. I was born _in a state_. Had I\nlived, I should have caused you more pain than you can know. I am better\nhere. I was not fit to battle with the world, and they took me from it.\nMother! you won't let this make you sad. You must not.\"\n\n(\"What can I do to bring you nearer to me?\")\n\n\"I don't know what will bring me nearer, but I'm helped already by just\ntalking to you. There's a ladder of brightness--every step. I believe\nI've gained just one step now. O! the Divine teachings are so\nmysterious. Mother! does it seem strange to you to hear your 'baby' say\nthings as if she knew them? I'm going now. Good-bye!\"\n\nAnd so \"Florence\" went. The next voice that spoke was that of a guide of\nthe medium, and I asked her for a personal description of my daughter as\nshe then appeared. She replied, \"Her face is downcast. We have tried to\ncheer her, but she is very sad. It is the _state in which she was born_.\nEvery physical deformity is the mark of a condition. A weak body is not\nnecessarily the mark of a weak spirit, but the _prison_ of it, because\nthe spirit might be too passionate otherwise. You cannot judge in what\nway the mind is deformed because the body is deformed. It does not\nfollow that a canker in the body is a canker in the mind. But the mind\nmay be too exuberant--may need a canker to restrain it.\"\n\nI have copied this conversation, word for word, from the shorthand notes\ntaken at the time of utterance; and when it is remembered that neither\nMrs. Keningale Cook nor her husband knew that I had lost a child--that\nthey had never been in my house nor associated with any of my\nfriends--it will at least be acknowledged, even by the most sceptical,\nthat it was a very remarkable coincidence that I should receive such a\ncommunication from the lips of a perfect stranger. Only once after this\ndid \"Florence\" communicate with me through the same source. She found\ncongenial media nearer home, and naturally availed herself of them. But\nthe second occasion was almost more convincing than the first. I went\none afternoon to consult my solicitor in the strictest confidence as to\nhow I should act under some very painful circumstances, and he gave me\nhis advice. The next morning as I sat at breakfast, Mrs. Cook, who was\nstill living at Redhill, ran into my room with an apology for the\nunceremoniousness of her visit, on the score that she had received a\nmessage for me the night before which \"Florence\" had begged her to\ndeliver without delay. The message was to this effect: \"Tell my mother\nthat I was with her this afternoon at the lawyer's, and she is _not_ to\nfollow the advice given her, as it will do harm instead of good.\" Mrs.\nCook added, \"I don't know to what 'Florence' alludes, of course, but I\nthought it best, as I was coming to town, to let you know at once.\"\n\nThe force of this anecdote does not lie in the context. The mystery is\ncontained in the fact of a secret interview having been overheard and\ncommented upon. But the truth is, that having greater confidence in the\ncounsel of my visible guide than in that of my invisible one, I abided\nby the former, and regretted it ever afterwards.\n\nThe first conversation I held with \"Florence\" had a great effect upon\nme. I knew before that my uncontrolled grief had been the cause of the\nuntimely death of her body, but it had never struck me that her spirit\nwould carry the effects of it into the unseen world. It was a warning to\nme (as it should be to all mothers) not to take the solemn\nresponsibility of maternity upon themselves without being prepared to\nsacrifice their own feelings for the sake of their children. \"Florence\"\nassured me, however, that communion with myself in my improved condition\nof happiness would soon lift her spirit from its state of depression,\nand consequently I seized every opportunity of seeing and speaking with\nher. During the succeeding twelve months I attended numerous _seances_\nwith various media, and my spirit child (as she called herself) never\nfailed to manifest through the influence of any one of them, though, of\ncourse, in different ways. Through some she touched me only, and always\nwith an infant's hand, that I might recognize it as hers, or laid her\nmouth against mine that I might feel the scar upon her lip; through\nothers she spoke, or wrote, or showed her face, but I never attended a\n_seance_ at which she omitted to notify her presence. Once at a dark\ncircle, held with Mr. Charles Williams, after having had my dress and\nthat of my next neighbor, Lady Archibald Campbell, pulled several times\nas if to attract our attention, the darkness opened before us, and there\nstood my child, smiling at us like a happy dream, her fair hair waving\nabout her temples, and her blue eyes fixed on me. She was clothed in\nwhite, but we saw no more than her head and bust, about which her hands\nheld her drapery. Lady Archibald Campbell saw her as plainly as I did.\nOn another occasion Mr. William Eglinton proposed to me to try and\nprocure the spirit-writing on his arm. He directed me to go into another\nroom and write the name of the friend I loved best in the spirit world\nupon a scrap of paper, which I was to twist up tightly and take back to\nhim. I did so, writing the name of \"John Powles.\" When I returned to Mr.\nEglinton, he bared his arm, and holding the paper to the candle till it\nwas reduced to tinder, rubbed his flesh with the ashes. I knew what was\nexpected to ensue. The name written on the paper was to reappear in red\nor white letters on the medium's arm. The sceptic would say it was a\ntrick of thought-reading, and that, the medium knowing what I had\nwritten, had prepared the writing during my absence. But to his surprise\nand mine, when at last he shook the ashes from his arm, we read, written\nin a bold, clear hand, the words--\"Florence is the dearest,\" as though\nmy spirit child had given me a gentle rebuke for writing any name but\nher own. It seems curious to me now to look back and remember how\nmelancholy she used to be when she first came back to me, for as soon as\nshe had established an unbroken communication between us, she developed\ninto the merriest little spirit I have ever known, and though her\nchildhood has now passed away, and she is more dignified and thoughtful\nand womanly, she always appears joyous and happy. She has manifested\nlargely to me through the mediumship of Mr. Arthur Colman. I had known\nher, during a dark _seance_ with a very small private circle (the medium\nbeing securely held and fastened the while) run about the room, like the\nchild she was, and speak to and kiss each sitter in turn, pulling off\nthe sofa and chair covers and piling them up in the middle of the table,\nand changing the ornaments of everyone present--placing the gentlemen's\nneckties round the throats of the ladies, and hanging the ladies'\nearrings in the buttonholes of the gentlemen's coats--just as she might\nhave done had she been still with us, a happy, petted child, on earth. I\nhave known her come in the dark and sit on my lap and kiss my face and\nhands, and let me feel the defect in her mouth with my own. One bright\nevening on the 9th of July--my birthday--Arthur Colman walked in quite\nunexpectedly to pay me a visit, and as I had some friends with me, we\nagreed to have a _seance_. It was impossible to make the room dark, as\nthe windows were only shaded by venetian blinds, but we lowered them,\nand sat in the twilight. The first thing we heard was the voice of\n\"Florence\" whispering--\"A present for dear mother's birthday,\" when\nsomething was put into my hand. Then she crossed to the side of a lady\npresent and dropped something into her hand, saying, \"And a present for\ndear mother's friend!\" I knew at once by the feel of it that what\n\"Florence\" had given me was a chaplet of beads, and knowing how often,\nunder similar circumstances, articles are merely carried about a room, I\nconcluded it was one which lay upon my drawing-room mantel-piece, and\nsaid as much. I was answered by the voice of \"Aimee,\" the medium's\nnearest control.\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" she said, \"'Florence' has given you a chaplet you\nhave never seen before. She was exceedingly anxious to give you a\npresent on your birthday, so I gave her the beads which were buried with\nme. They came from my coffin. I held them in my hand. All I ask is, that\nyou will not shew them to Arthur until I give you leave. He is not well\nat present, and the sight of them will upset him.\"\n\nI was greatly astonished, but, of course, I followed her instructions,\nand when I had an opportunity to examine the beads, I found that they\nreally were strangers to me, and had not been in the house before. The\npresent my lady friend had received was a large, unset topaz. The\nchaplet was made of carved wood and steel. It was not till months had\nelapsed that I was given permission to show it to Arthur Colman. He\nimmediately recognized it as the one he had himself placed in the hands\nof \"Aimee\" as she lay in her coffin, and when I saw how the sight\naffected him, I regretted I had told him anything about it. I offered to\ngive the beads up to him, but he refused to receive them, and they\nremain in my possession to this day.\n\nBut the great climax that was to prove beyond all question the personal\nidentity of the spirit who communicated with me, with the body I had\nbrought into the world, was yet to come. Mr. William Harrison, the\neditor of the _Spiritualist_ (who, after seventeen years' patient\nresearch into the science of Spiritualism, had never received a personal\nproof of the return of his own friends, or relations) wrote me word that\nhe had received a message from his lately deceased friend, Mrs. Stewart,\nto the effect that if he would sit with the medium, Florence Cook, and\none or two harmonious companions, she would do her best to appear to him\nin her earthly likeness and afford him the test he had so long sought\nafter. Mr. Harrison asked me, therefore, if I would join him and Miss\nKidlingbury--the secretary to the British National Association of\nSpiritualists--in holding a _seance_ with Miss Cook, to which I agreed,\nand we met in one of the rooms of the Association for that purpose. It\nwas a very small room, about 8 feet by 16 feet, was uncarpeted and\ncontained no furniture, so we carried in three cane-bottomed chairs for\nour accommodation. Across one corner of the room, about four feet from\nthe floor, we nailed an old black shawl, and placed a cushion behind it\nfor Miss Cook to lean her head against. Miss Florence Cook, who is a\nbrunette, of a small, slight figure, with dark eyes and hair which she\nwore in a profusion of curls, was dressed in a high grey merino,\nornamented with crimson ribbons. She informed me previous to sitting,\nthat she had become restless during her trances lately, and in the habit\nof walking out amongst the circle, and she asked me as a friend (for\nsuch we had by that time become) to scold her well should such a thing\noccur, and order her to go back into the cabinet as if she were \"a child\nor a dog;\" and I promised her I would do so. After Florence Cook had sat\ndown on the floor, behind the black shawl (which left her grey merino\nskirt exposed), and laid her head against the cushion, we lowered the\ngas a little, and took our seats on the three cane chairs. The medium\nappeared very uneasy at first, and we heard her remonstrating with the\ninfluences for using her so roughly. In a few minutes, however, there\nwas a tremulous movement of the black shawl, and a large white hand was\nseveral times thrust into view and withdrawn again. I had never seen\nMrs. Stewart (for whom we were expressly sitting) in this life, and\ncould not, therefore, recognize the hand; but we all remarked how large\nand white it was. In another minute the shawl was lifted up, and a\nfemale figure crawled on its hands and knees from behind it, and then\nstood up and regarded us. It was impossible, in the dim light and at the\ndistance she stood from us, to identify the features, so Mr. Harrison\nasked if she were Mrs. Stewart. The figure shook its head. I had lost a\nsister a few months previously, and the thought flashed across me that\nit might be her. \"Is it you, Emily?\" I asked; but the head was still\nshaken to express a negative, and a similar question on the part of Miss\nKidlingbury, with respect to a friend of her own, met with the same\nresponse. \"Who _can_ it be?\" I remarked curiously to Mr. Harrison.\n\n\"Mother! don't you know me?\" sounded in \"Florence's\" whispering voice. I\nstarted up to approach her, exclaiming, \"O! my darling child! I never\nthought I should meet you here!\" But she said, \"Go back to your chair,\nand I will come to you!\" I reseated myself, and \"Florence\" crossed the\nroom and sat down _on my lap_. She was more unclothed on that occasion\nthan any materialized spirit I have ever seen. She wore nothing on her\nhead, only her hair, of which she appears to have an immense quantity,\nfell down her back and covered her shoulders. Her arms were bare and her\nfeet and part of her legs, and the dress she wore had no shape or style,\nbut seemed like so many yards of soft thick muslin, wound round her body\nfrom the bosom to below the knees. She was a heavy weight--perhaps ten\nstone--and had well-covered limbs. In fact, she was then, and has\nappeared for several years past, to be, in point of size and shape, so\nlike her eldest sister Eva, that I always observe the resemblance\nbetween them. This _seance_ took place at a period when \"Florence\" must\nhave been about seventeen years old.\n\n\"Florence, my darling,\" I said, \"is this _really_ you?\" \"Turn up the\ngas,\" she answered, \"and look at my mouth.\" Mr. Harrison did as she\ndesired, and we all saw distinctly _that peculiar defect on the lip_\nwith which she was born--a defect, be it remembered, which some of the\nmost experienced members of the profession had affirmed to be \"_so rare\nas never to have fallen under their notice before_.\" She also opened her\nmouth that we might see she had no gullet. I promised at the\ncommencement of my book to confine myself to facts, and leave the\ndeduction to be drawn from them to my readers, so I will not interrupt\nmy narrative to make any remarks upon this incontrovertible proof of\nidentity. I know it struck me dumb, and melted me into tears. At this\njuncture Miss Cook, who had been moaning and moving about a good deal\nbehind the black shawl, suddenly exclaimed, \"I can't stand this any\nlonger,\" and walked out into the room. There she stood in her grey dress\nand crimson ribbons whilst \"Florence\" sat on my lap in white drapery.\nBut only for a moment, for directly the medium was fully in view, the\nspirit sprung up and darted behind the curtain. Recalling Miss Cook's\ninjunctions to me, I scolded her heartily for leaving her seat, until\nshe crept back, whimpering, to her former position. The shawl had\nscarcely closed behind her before \"Florence\" reappeared and clung to me,\nsaying, \"Don't let her do that again. She frightens me so.\" She was\nactually trembling all over. \"Why, Florence,\" I replied. \"Do you mean to\ntell me you are frightened of your medium? In this world it is we poor\nmortals who are frightened of the spirits.\" \"I am afraid she will send\nme away, mother,\" she whispered. However, Miss Cook did not disturb us\nagain, and \"Florence\" stayed with us for some time longer. She clasped\nher arms round my neck, and laid her head upon my bosom, and kissed me\ndozens of times. She took my hand and spread it out, and said she felt\nsure I should recognize her hand when she thrust it outside the curtain,\nbecause it was so much like my own. I was suffering much trouble at that\ntime, and \"Florence\" told me the reason God had permitted her to show\nherself to me in her earthly deformity was so that I might be sure that\nshe was herself, and that Spiritualism was a truth to comfort me.\n\"Sometimes you doubt, mother,\" she said, \"and think your eyes and ears\nhave misled you; but after this you must never doubt again. Don't fancy\nI am like this in the spirit land. The blemish left me long ago. But I\nput it on to-night to make you certain. Don't fret, dear mother.\nRemember _I_ am always near you. No one can take _me_ away. Your earthly\nchildren may grow up and go out into the world and leave you, but you\nwill always have your spirit child close to you.\" I did not, and cannot,\ncalculate for how long \"Florence\" remained visible on that occasion.\nMr. Harrison told me afterwards that she had remained for nearly twenty\nminutes. But her undoubted presence was such a stupendous fact to me,\nthat I could only think that _she was there_--that I actually held in my\narms the tiny infant I had laid with my own hands in her coffin--that\nshe was no more dead than I was myself, but had grown to be a woman. So\nI sat, with my arms tight round her, and my heart beating against hers,\nuntil the power decreased, and \"Florence\" was compelled to give me a\nlast kiss and leave me stupefied and bewildered by what had so\nunexpectedly occurred. Two other spirits materialized and appeared after\nshe had left us, but as neither of them was Mrs. Stewart, the _seance_,\nas far as Mr. Harrison was concerned, was a failure. I have seen and\nheard \"Florence\" on numerous occasions since the one I have narrated,\nbut not with the mark upon her mouth, which she assures me will never\ntrouble either of us again. I could fill pages with accounts of her\npretty, caressing ways and her affectionate and sometimes solemn\nmessages; but I have told as much of her story as will interest the\ngeneral reader. It has been wonderful to me to mark how her ways and\nmode of communication have changed with the passing years. It was a\nsimple child who did not know how to express itself that appeared to me\nin 1873. It is a woman full of counsel and tender warning that comes to\nme in 1890. But yet she is only nineteen. When she reached that age,\n\"Florence\" told me she should never grow any older in years or\nappearance, and that she had reached the climax of womanly perfection in\nthe spirit world. Only to-night--the night before Christmas Day--as I\nwrite her story, she comes to me and says, \"Mother! you must not give\nway to sad thoughts. The Past is past. Let it be buried in the blessings\nthat remain to you.\"\n\nAnd amongst the greatest of those blessings I reckon my belief in the\nexistence of my spirit-child.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE STORY OF EMILY.\n\n\nMy sister Emily was the third daughter of my late father, and several\nyears older than myself. She was a handsome woman--strictly speaking,\nperhaps, the handsomest of the family, and quite unlike the others. She\nhad black hair and eyes, a pale complexion, a well-shaped nose, and\nsmall, narrow hands and feet. But her beauty had slight detractions--so\nslight, indeed, as to be imperceptible to strangers, but well known to\nher intimate friends. Her mouth was a little on one side, one shoulder\nwas half an inch higher than the other, her fingers were not quite\nstraight, nor her toes, and her hips corresponded with her shoulders.\nShe was clever, with a versatile, all-round talent, and of a very happy\nand contented disposition. She married Dr. Henry Norris of Charmouth, in\nDorset, and lived there many years before her death. She was an\nexcellent wife and mother, a good friend, and a sincere Christian;\nindeed, I do not believe that a more earnest, self-denying, better woman\never lived in this world. But she had strong feelings, and in some\nthings she was very bigoted. One was Spiritualism. She vehemently\nopposed even the mention of it, declared it to be diabolical, and never\nfailed to blame me for pursuing such a wicked and unholy occupation. She\nwas therefore about the last person whom I should have expected to take\nadvantage of it to communicate with her friends.\n\nMy sister Emily died on the 20th of April, 1875. Her death resulted from\na sudden attack of pleurisy, and was most unexpected. I was sitting at\nan early dinner with my children on the same day when I received a\ntelegram from my brother-in-law to say, \"Emily very ill; will telegraph\nwhen change occurs,\" and I had just despatched an answer to ask if I\nshould go down to Charmouth, or could be of any use, when a second\nmessage arrived, \"All is over. She died quietly at two o'clock.\" Those\nwho have received similar shocks will understand what I felt. I was\nquite stunned, and could not realize that my sister had passed away from\nus, so completely unanticipated had been the news. I made the necessary\narrangements for going down to her funeral, but my head was filled with\nnothing but thoughts of Emily the while, and conjectures of _how_ she\nhad died and of _what_ she had died (for that was, as yet, unknown to\nme), and what she had thought and said; above all, what she was thinking\nand feeling at that moment. I retired to rest with my brain in a whirl,\nand lay half the night wide awake, staring into the darkness, and\nwondering where my sister was. _Now_ was the time (if any) for my\ncerebral organs to play me a trick, and conjure up a vision of the\nperson I was thinking of. But I saw nothing; no sound broke the\nstillness; my eyes rested only on the darkness. I was quite\ndisappointed, and in the morning I told my children so. I loved my\nsister Emily dearly, and I hoped she would have come to wish me\ngood-bye. On the following night I was exhausted by want of sleep and\nthe emotion I had passed through, and when I went to bed I was very\nsleepy. I had not been long asleep, however, before I was waked up--I\ncan hardly say by what--and there at my bedside stood Emily, smiling at\nme. When I lost my little \"Florence,\" Emily had been unmarried, and she\nhad taken a great interest in my poor baby, and nursed her during her\nshort lifetime, and, I believe, really mourned her loss, for (although\nshe had children of her own) she always wore a little likeness of\n\"Florence\" in a locket on her watch-chain. When Emily died I had of\ncourse been for some time in communication with my spirit-child, and\nwhen my sister appeared to me that night, \"Florence\" was in her arms,\nwith her head resting on her shoulder. I recognized them both at once,\nand the only thing which looked strange to me was that Emily's long\nblack hair was combed right back in the Chinese fashion, giving her\nforehead an unnaturally high appearance. This circumstance made the\ngreater impression on me, because we all have such high foreheads with\nthe hair growing off the temples that we have never been able to wear it\nin the style I speak of. With this exception my sister looked beautiful\nand most happy, and my little girl clung to her lovingly. Emily did not\nspeak aloud, but she kept on looking down at \"Florence,\" and up at me,\nwhilst her lips formed the words, \"Little Baby,\" which was the name by\nwhich she had always mentioned my spirit-child. In the morning I\nmentioned what I had seen to my elder girls, adding, \"I hardly knew dear\nAunt Emily, with her hair scratched back in that fashion.\"\n\nThis apparition happened on the Wednesday night, and on the Friday\nfollowing I travelled down to Charmouth to be present at the funeral,\nwhich was fixed for Saturday. I found my sister Cecil there before me.\nAs soon as we were alone, she said to me, \"I am so glad you came to-day.\nI want you to arrange dear Emily nicely in her coffin. The servants had\nlaid her out before my arrival, and she doesn't look a bit like herself.\nBut I haven't the nerve to touch her.\" It was late at night, but I took\na candle at once and accompanied Cecil to the death-chamber. Our sister\nwas lying, pale and calm, with a smile upon her lips, much as she had\nappeared to me, and with _all her black hair combed back from her\nforehead_. The servants had arranged it so, thinking it looked neater.\nIt was impossible to make any alteration till the morning, but when our\ndear sister was carried to her grave, her hair framed her dead face in\nthe wavy curls in which it always fell when loose; a wreath of flowering\nsyringa was round her head, a cross of violets on her breast, and in her\nwaxen, beautifully-moulded hands, she held three tall, white lilies. I\nmention this because she has come to me since with the semblance of\nthese very flowers to ensure her recognition. After the funeral, my\nbrother-in-law gave me the details of her last illness. He told me that\non the Monday afternoon, when her illness first took a serious turn and\nshe became (as he said) delirious, she talked continually to her father,\nCaptain Marryat (to whom she had been most reverentially attached), and\nwho, she affirmed, was sitting by the side of the bed. Her conversation\nwas perfectly rational, and only disjointed when she waited for a reply\nto her own remarks. She spoke to him of Langham and all that had\nhappened there, and particularly expressed her surprise at his having _a\nbeard_, saying, \"Does hair grow up there, father?\" I was the more\nimpressed by this account, because Dr. Norris, like most medical men,\nattributed the circumstance entirely to the distorted imagination of a\nwandering brain. And yet my father (whom I have never seen since his\ndeath) has been described to me by various clairvoyants, and always as\n_wearing a beard_, a thing he never did during his lifetime, as it was\nthe fashion then for naval officers to wear only side whiskers. In all\nhis pictures he is represented as clean shorn, and as he was so well\nknown a man, one would think that (were they dissembling) the\nclairvoyants, in describing his personal characteristics, would follow\nthe clue given by his portraits.\n\nFor some time after my sister Emily's death I heard nothing more of her,\nand for the reasons I have given, I never expected to see her again\nuntil we met in the spirit-world. About two years after her death,\nhowever, my husband, Colonel Lean, bought two tickets for a series of\n_seances_ to be held in the rooms of the British National Association of\nSpiritualists under the mediumship of Mr. William Eglinton. This was\nthe first time we had ever seen or sat with Mr. Eglinton, but we had\nheard a great deal of his powers, and were curious to test them. On the\nfirst night, which was a Saturday, we assembled with a party of twelve,\nall complete strangers, in the rooms I have mentioned, which were\ncomfortably lighted with gas. Mr. Eglinton, who is a young man inclined\nto stoutness, went into the cabinet, which was placed in the centre of\nus, with spectators all round it. The cabinet was like a large cupboard,\nmade of wood and divided into two parts, the partition being of\nwire-work, so that the medium might be padlocked into it, and a curtain\ndrawn in front of both sides. After a while, a voice called out to us\nnot to be frightened, as the medium was coming out to get more power,\nand Mr. Eglinton, in a state of trance and dressed in a suit of evening\nclothes, walked out of the cabinet and commenced a tour of the circle.\nHe touched every one in turn, but did not stop until he reached Colonel\nLean, before whom he remained for some time, making magnetic passes down\nhis face and figure. He then turned to re-enter the cabinet, but as he\ndid so, some one moved the curtain from inside and Mr. Eglinton\n_actually held the curtain to one side to permit the materialized form\nto pass out_ before he went into the cabinet himself. The figure that\nappeared was that of a woman clothed in loose white garments that fell\nto her feet. Her eyes were black and her long black hair fell over her\nshoulders. I suspected at the time who she was, but each one in the\ncircle was so certain she came for him or for her, that I said nothing,\nand only mentally asked if it were my sister that I might receive a\nproof of her identity. On the following evening (Sunday) Colonel Lean\nand I were \"sitting\" together, when Emily came to the table to assure us\nthat it was she whom we had seen, and that she would appear again on\nMonday and show herself more clearly. I asked her to think of some means\nby which she could prove her identity with the spirit that then spoke to\nus, and she said, \"I will hold up my right hand.\" Colonel Lean cautioned\nme not to mention this promise to any one, that we might be certain of\nthe correctness of the test. Accordingly, on the Monday evening we\nassembled for our second _seance_ with Mr. Eglinton, and the same form\nappeared, and walking out much closer to us, _held up the right hand_.\nColonel Lean, anxious not to be deceived by his own senses, asked the\ncompany what the spirit was doing. \"Cannot you see?\" was the answer.\n\"She is holding up her hand.\" On this occasion Emily came with all her\nold characteristics about her, and there would have been no possibility\nof mistaking her (at least on my part) without the proof she had\npromised to give us.\n\nThe next startling assurance we received of her proximity happened in a\nmuch more unexpected manner. We were staying, in the autumn of the\nfollowing year, at a boarding-house in the Rue de Vienne at Brussels,\nwith a large party of English visitors, none of whom we had ever seen\ntill we entered the house. Amongst them were several girls, who had\nnever heard of Spiritualism before, and were much interested in\nlistening to the relation of our experiences on the subject. One evening\nwhen I was not well, and keeping my own room, some of these young ladies\ngot hold of Colonel Lean and said, \"Oh! do come and sit in the dark with\nus and tell us ghost stories.\" Now sitting in the dark and telling ghost\nstories to five or six nice looking girls is an occupation few men would\nobject to, and they were all soon ensconced in the dark and deserted\n_salle-a-manger_. Amongst them was a young girl of sixteen, Miss Helen\nHill, who had never shown more interest than the rest in such matters.\nAfter they had been seated in the dark for some minutes, she said to\nColonel Lean, \"Do you know, I can see a lady on the opposite side of the\ntable quite distinctly, and she is nodding and smiling at you.\" The\ncolonel asked what the lady was like. \"She is very nice looking,\"\nreplied the girl, \"with dark eyes and hair, but she seems to want me to\nnotice her ring. She wears a ring with a large blue stone in it, of such\na funny shape, and she keeps on twisting it round and round her finger,\nand pointing to it. Oh! now she has got up and is walking round the\nroom. Only fancy! she is holding up her feet for me to see. They are\nbare and very white, but her toes are crooked!\" Then Miss Hill became\nfrightened and asked them to get a light. She declared that the figure\nhad come up, close to her, and torn the lace off her wrists. And when\nthe light was procured and her dress examined, a frill of lace that had\nbeen tacked into her sleeve that morning had totally disappeared. The\nyoung ladies grew nervous and left the room, and Colonel Lean, thinking\nthe description Helen Hill had given of the spirit tallied with that of\nmy sister Emily, came straight up to me and surprised me by an abrupt\nquestion as to whether she had been in the habit of wearing any\nparticular ring (for he had not seen her for several years before her\ndeath). I told him that her favorite ring was an uncut turquoise--so\nlarge and uneven that she used to call it her \"potato.\" \"Had she any\npeculiarity about her feet?\" he went on, eagerly. \"Why do you wish to\nknow?\" I said. \"She had crooked toes, that is all.\" \"Good heavens!\" he\nexclaimed, \"then she has been with us in the _salle-a-manger_.\" I have\nnever met Miss Hill since, and I am not in a position to say if she has\nevinced any further possession of clairvoyant power; but she certainly\ndisplayed it on that occasion to a remarkable degree; for she had never\neven heard of the existence of my sister Emily, and was very much\ndisturbed and annoyed when told that the apparition she had described\nwas reality and not imagination.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE GREEN LADY.\n\n\nThe story I have to tell now happened a very short time ago, and every\ndetail is as fresh in my mind as if I had heard and seen it yesterday.\nMrs. Guppy-Volckman has been long known to the spiritualistic world as a\nvery powerful medium, also as taking a great private interest in\nSpiritualism, which all media do not. Her means justify her, too, in\ngratifying her whims; and hearing that a certain house in Broadstairs\nwas haunted, she became eager to ascertain the truth. The house being\nempty, she procured the keys from the landlord, and proceeded on a\nvoyage of discovery alone. She had barely recovered, at the time, from a\nmost dangerous illness, which had left a partial paralysis of the lower\nlimbs behind it; it was therefore with considerable difficulty that she\ngained the drawing-room of the house, which was on the first floor, and\nwhen there she abandoned her crutches, and sat down on the floor to\nrecover herself. Mrs. Volckman was now perfectly alone. She had closed\nthe front door after her, and she was moreover almost helpless, as it\nwas with great difficulty that she could rise without assistance. It was\non a summer's evening towards the dusky hour, and she sat on the bare\nfloor of the empty house waiting to see what might happen. After some\ntime (I tell this part of the story as I received it from her lips) she\nheard a rustling or sweeping sound, as of a long silk train coming down\nthe uncarpeted stairs from the upper storey. The room in which she sat\ncommunicated with another, which led out upon the passage, and it was\nnot long before the door between these two apartments opened and the\nfigure of a woman appeared. She entered the room in which Mrs. Volckman\nsat, very cautiously, and commenced to walk round it, feeling her way\nalong the walls as though she were blind or tipsy. She was dressed in a\ngreen satin robe that swept behind her--round the upper part of her body\nwas a kind of scarf of glistening white material, like silk gauze--and\non her head was a black velvet cap, or coif, from underneath which her\nlong black hair fell down her back. Mrs. Volckman, although used all her\nlife to manifestations and apparitions of all sorts, told me she had\nnever felt so frightened at the sight of one before. She attempted to\nrise, but feeling her incapability of doing so quickly, she screamed\nwith fear. As soon as she did so, the woman turned round and ran out of\nthe room, apparently as frightened as herself. Mrs. Volckman got hold of\nher crutches, scrambled to her feet, found her way downstairs, and\nreached the outside of the house in safety. Most people would never have\nentered it again. She, on the contrary, had an interview with the\nlandlord, and actually, then and there, purchased a lease of the house\nand entered upon possession, and as soon as it was furnished and ready\nfor occupation, she invited a party of friends to go down and stay with\nher at Broadstairs, and make the acquaintance of the \"Green Lady,\" as we\nhad christened her. Colonel Lean and I were amongst the visitors, the\nothers consisting of Lady Archibald Campbell, Miss Shaw, Mrs. Olive,\nMrs. Bellew, Colonel Greck, Mr. Charles Williams, and Mr. and Mrs. Henry\nVolckman, which, with our host and hostess, made up a circle of twelve.\nWe assembled there on a bright day in July, and the house, with its\nlarge rooms and windows facing the sea, looked cheerful enough. The room\nin which Mrs. Volckman had seen the apparition was furnished as a\ndrawing-room, and the room adjoining it, which was divided by a\n_portiere_ only from the larger apartment, she had converted for\nconvenience sake into her bedroom. The first evening we sat it was about\nseven o'clock, and so light that we let down all the venetians, which,\nhowever, did little to remedy the evil. We had no cabinet, nor curtains,\nnor darkness, for it was full moon at the time, and the dancing,\nsparkling waves were quite visible through the interstices of the\nvenetians. We simply sat round the table, holding hands in an unbroken\ncircle and laughing and chatting with each other. In a few minutes Mrs.\nVolckman said something was rising beside her from the carpet, and in a\nfew more the \"Green Lady\" was visible to us all standing between the\nmedium and Mr. Williams. She was just as she had been described to us,\nboth in dress and appearance, but her face was as white and as cold as\nthat of a corpse, and her eyes were closed. She leaned over the table\nand brought her face close to each of us in turn, but she seemed to have\nno power of speech. After staying with us about ten minutes, she sunk as\nshe had risen, through the carpet, and disappeared. The next evening,\nunder precisely similar circumstances, she came again. This time she had\nevidently gained more vitality in a materialized condition, for when I\nurged her to tell me her name, she whispered, though with much\ndifficulty, \"Julia!\" and when Lady Archibald observed that she thought\nshe had no hands, the spirit suddenly thrust out a little hand, and\ngrasped the curls on her forehead with a violence that gave her pain.\nUnfortunately, Mr. Williams' professional engagements compelled him to\nleave us on the following day, and Mrs. Volckman had been too recently\nill to permit her to sit alone, so that we were not able to hold another\n_seance_ for the \"Green Lady\" during our visit. But we had not seen the\nlast of her. One evening Mrs. Bellew and I were sitting in the bay\nwindow of the drawing-room, just \"between the lights,\" and discussing a\nvery private matter indeed, when I saw (as I thought) my hostess maid\nraise the _portiere_ that hung between the apartments and stand there in\na listening attitude. I immediately gave Mrs. Volckman the hint. \"Let us\ntalk of something else,\" I said, in a low voice. \"Jane is in your\nbedroom.\" \"O! no! she's not,\" was the reply. \"But I saw her lift the\n_portiere_,\" I persisted; \"she has only just dropped it.\" \"You are\nmistaken,\" replied my hostess, \"for Jane has gone on the beach with the\nchild.\" I felt sure I had _not_ been mistaken, but I held my tongue and\nsaid no more. The conversation was resumed, and as we were deep in the\ndelicate matter, the woman appeared for the second time.\n\n\"Mrs. Volckman,\" I whispered, \"Jane is really there. She has just looked\nin again.\"\n\nMy friend rose from her seat. \"Come with me,\" she said, \"and I will\nconvince you that you are wrong.\"\n\nI followed her into the bedroom, where she showed me that the door\ncommunicating with the passage was locked _inside_.\n\n\"Now, do you see,\" she continued, \"that no one but the 'Green Lady'\ncould enter this room but through the one we are sitting in.\"\n\n\"Then it must have been the 'Green Lady,'\" I replied, \"for I assuredly\nsaw a woman standing in the doorway.\"\n\n\"That is likely enough,\" said Mrs. Volckman; \"but if she comes again she\nshall have the trouble of drawing back the curtains.\"\n\nAnd thereupon she unhooped the _portiere_, which consisted of two\ncurtains, and drew them right across the door. We had hardly regained\nour seats in the bay window before the two curtains were sharply drawn\naside, making the brass rings rattle on the rod, and the \"Green Lady\"\nstood in the opening we had just passed through. Mrs. Volckman told her\nnot to be afraid, but to come out and speak to us; but she was\napparently not equal to doing so, and only stood there for a few minutes\ngazing at us. I imprudently left my seat and approached her, with a view\nto making overtures of friendship, when she dropped the curtains over\nher figure. I passed through them immediately to the other side, and\nfound the bedroom empty and the door locked inside, as before.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE MONK.\n\n\nA lady named Uniacke, a resident in Bruges, whilst on a visit to my\nhouse in London, met and had a _seance_ with William Eglinton, with\nwhich she was so delighted that she immediately invited him to go and\nstay with her abroad, and as my husband and I were about to cross over\nto Bruges to see my sister, who also resided there, we travelled in\ncompany--Mr. Eglinton living at Mrs. Uniacke's home, whilst we stayed\nwith our own relations. Mrs. Uniacke was a medium herself, and had\nalready experienced some very noisy and violent demonstrations in her\nown house. She was, therefore, quite prepared for her visitor, and had\nfitted up a spare room with a cabinet and blinds to the windows, and\neverything that was necessary. But, somewhat to her chagrin, we were\ninformed at the first sitting by Mr. Eglinton's control, \"Joey,\" that\nall future _seances_ were to take place at my sister's house instead. We\nwere given no reason for the change; we were simply told to obey it. My\nsister's house was rather a peculiar one, and I have already alluded to\nit, and some of the sights and sounds by which it was haunted, in the\nchapter headed \"Optical Illusions.\" The building is so ancient that the\noriginal date has been completely lost. A stone set into one of the\nwalls bore an inscription to the effect that it was restored in the year\n1616. And an obsolete plan of the city shows it to have stood in its\npresent condition in 1562. Prior to that period, however, probably about\nthe thirteenth century, it is supposed, with three houses on either side\nof it, to have formed a convent, but no printed record remains of the\nfact. Beneath it are subterraneous passages, choked with rubbish, which\nlead, no one knows whither. I had stayed in this house several times\nbefore, and always felt unpleasant influences from it, as I have\nrelated, especially in a large room on the lower floor, then used as a\ndrawing-room, but which is said to have formed, originally, the chapel\nto the convent. Others had felt the influence beside myself, though we\nnever had had reason to suppose that there was any particular cause for\nit. When we expressed curiosity, however, to learn why \"Joey\" desired us\nto hold our _seance_ in my sister's house, he told us that the medium\nhad not been brought over to Bruges for _our_ pleasure or edification,\nbut that there was a great work to be done there, and Mrs. Uniacke had\nbeen expressly influenced to invite him over, that the purposes of a\nhigher power than his own should be accomplished. Consequently, on the\nfollowing evening Mrs. Uniacke brought Mr. Eglinton over to my sister's\nhouse, and \"Joey\" having been asked to choose a room for the sitting,\nselected an _entresol_ on the upper floor, which led by two short\npassages to the bedrooms. The bedroom doors being locked a dark curtain\nwas hung at the entrance of one of these passages, and \"Joey\" declared\nit was a first-rate cabinet. We then assembled in the drawing-room, for\nthe purposes of music and conversation, for we intended to hold the\n_seance_ later in the evening. The party consisted only of the medium,\nMrs. Uniacke, my sister, my husband, and myself. After I had sung a song\nor two, Mr. Eglinton became restless and moved away from the piano,\nsaying the influence was too strong for him. He began walking up and\ndown the room, and staring fixedly at the door, before which hung a\n_portiere_. Several times he exclaimed with knitted brows, \"What is the\nmatter with that door? There is something very peculiar about it.\" Once\nhe approached it quickly, but \"Joey's\" voice was heard from behind the\n_portiere_, saying, \"Don't come too near.\" Mr. Eglinton then retreated\nto a sofa, and appeared to be fighting violently with some unpleasant\ninfluence. He made the sign of the cross, then extended his fingers\ntowards the door, as though to exorcise it: finally he burst into a\nmocking, scornful peal of laughter that lasted for some minutes. As it\nconcluded, a diabolical expression came over his face. He clenched his\nhands, gnashed his teeth, and commenced to grope in a crouching position\ntowards the door. We concluded he wished to get up to the room where the\ncabinet was, and let him have his way. He crawled, rather than walked,\nup the steep turret stairs, but on reaching the top, came to himself\nsuddenly and fell back several steps. My husband, fortunately, was just\nbehind him and saved him from a fall. He complained greatly of the\ninfluence and of a pain in his head, and we sat at the table to receive\ndirections. In a few seconds the same spirit had taken possession of\nhim. He left the table and groped his way towards the bedrooms,\nlistening apparently to every sound, and with his hand holding an\nimaginary knife which was raised every now and then as if to strike. The\nexpression on Mr. Eglinton's face during this possession is too horrible\nto describe. The worst passions were written as legibly there as though\nthey had been labelled. There was a short flight of stairs leading from\nthe _entresol_ to the corridor, closed at the head by a padded door,\nwhich we had locked for fear of accident. When, apparently in pursuit of\nhis object, the spirit led the medium up to this door and he found it\nfastened, his moans were terrible. Half-a-dozen times he made his weary\nround of the room, striving to get downstairs to accomplish some end,\nand to return to us moaning and baffled. At this juncture, he was so\nexhausted that one of his controls, \"Daisy,\" took possession of him and\ntalked with us for some time. We asked \"Daisy\" what the spirit was like\nthat had controlled Mr. Eglinton last, and she said she did not like\nhim--he had a bad face, no hair on the top of his head, and a long black\nfrock. From this we concluded he had been a monk or a priest. When\n\"Daisy\" had finished speaking to us \"Joey\" desired Mr. Eglinton to go\ninto the cabinet; but as soon as he rose, the same spirit got possession\nagain and led him grovelling as before towards the bedrooms. His\n\"guides\" therefore carried him into the cabinet before our eyes. He was\nelevated far above our heads, his feet touching each of us in turn; he\nwas then carried past the unshaded window, which enabled us to judge of\nthe height he was from the ground, and finally over a large table, into\nthe cabinet.\n\nNothing, however, of consequence occurred, and \"Joey\" advised us to take\nthe medium downstairs to the supper room.\n\nAccordingly we adjourned there, and during supper Mr. Eglinton appeared\nto be quite himself, and laughed with us over what had taken place. As\nsoon as the meal was over, however, the old restlessness returned on\nhim, and he began pacing up and down the room, walking out every now and\nthen into the corridor. In a few minutes we perceived that the uneasy\nspirit again controlled him, and we all followed. He went steadily\ntowards the drawing-room, but, on finding himself pursued, turned back,\nand three times pronounced emphatically the word \"Go.\" He then entered\nthe drawing-room, which was in darkness, and closed the door behind him,\nwhilst we waited outside. In a little while he reopened it, and speaking\nin quite a different voice, said \"Bring a light! I have something to say\nto you.\" When we reassembled with a lamp we found the medium controlled\nby a new spirit, whom \"Joey\" afterwards told us was one of his highest\nguides. Motioning us to be seated, he stood before us and said, \"I have\nbeen selected from amongst the controls of this medium to tell you the\nhistory of the unhappy being who has so disturbed you this evening. He\nis present now, and the confession of his crime through my lips will\nhelp him to throw off the earthbound condition to which it has condemned\nhim. Many years ago, the house in which we now stand was a convent, and\nunderneath it were four subterraneous passages running north, south,\neast, and west, which communicated with all parts of the town. (I must\nhere state that Mr. Eglinton had not previously been informed of any\nparticulars relating to the former history of my sister's home, neither\nwere Mrs. Uniacke or myself acquainted with it.)\n\n\"In this convent there lived a most beautiful woman--a nun, and in one\nof the neighboring monasteries a priest who, against the strict law of\nhis Church, had conceived and nourished a passion for her. He was an\nItalian who had been obliged to leave his own country, for reasons best\nknown to himself, and nightly he would steal his way to this house, by\nmeans of one of the subterraneous passages, and attempt to overcome the\nnun's scruples, and make her listen to his tale of love; but she, strong\nin the faith, resisted him. At last, maddened one day by her repeated\nrefusals, and his own guilty passion, he hid himself in one of the\nnorthern rooms in the upper story of this house, and watched there in\nthe dark for her to pass him on her way from her devotions in the\nchapel; but she did not come. Then he crept downstairs stealthily, with\na dagger hid beneath his robes, and met her in the hall. He conjured her\nagain to yield to him, but again she resisted, and he stabbed her within\nthe door on the very spot where the medium first perceived him. Her\npure soul sought immediate consolation in the spirit spheres, but his\nhas been chained down ever since to the scene of his awful crime. He\ndragged her body down the secret stairs (which are still existent) to\nthe vaults beneath, and hid it in the subterraneous passage.\n\n\"After a few days he sought it again, and buried it. He lived many years\nafter, and committed many other crimes, though none so foul as this. It\nis his unhappy spirit that asks your prayers to help it to progress. It\nis for this purpose that we were brought to this city, that we might aid\nin releasing the miserable soul that cannot rest.\"\n\nI asked, \"By what name shall we pray for him?\"\n\n\"Pray for 'the distressed Being.' Call him by no other name.\"\n\n\"What is your own name?\"\n\n\"I prefer to be unknown. May God bless you all and keep you in the way\nof prayer and truth and from all evil courses, and bring you to\neverlasting life. Amen.\"\n\nThe medium then walked up to the spot he had indicated as the scene of\nthe murder, and knelt there for some minutes in prayer.\n\nThus concluded the first _seance_ at which the monk was introduced to\nus. But the next day as I sat at the table with my sister only, the name\nof \"Hortense Dupont\" was given us, and the following conversation was\nrapped out.\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am the nun. I did love him. I couldn't help it. It is such a relief\nto think that he will be prayed for.\"\n\n\"When did he murder you?\"\n\n\"In 1498.\"\n\n\"What was his name?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you.\"\n\n\"His age.\"\n\n\"Thirty-five!\"\n\n\"And yours.\"\n\n\"Twenty-three.\"\n\n\"Are you coming to see us to-morrow?\"\n\n\"I am not sure.\"\n\nOn that evening, by \"Joey's\" orders, we assembled at seven. Mr. Eglinton\ndid not feel the influence in the drawing-room that day, but directly he\nentered the _seance_ room, he was possessed by the same spirit. His\nactions were still more graphic than on the first occasion. He watched\nfrom the window for the coming of his victim through the courtyard, and\nthen recommenced his crawling stealthy pursuit, coming back each time\nfrom the locked door that barred his egress with such heart-rending\nmoans that no one could have listened to him unmoved. At last, his agony\nwas so great, as he strove again and again, like some dumb animal, to\npass through the walls that divided him from the spot he wished to\nvisit, whilst the perspiration streamed down the medium's face with the\nstruggle, that we attempted to make him speak to us. We implored him in\nFrench to tell us his trouble, and believe us to be his friends; but he\nonly pushed us away. At last we were impressed to pray for him, and\nkneeling down, we repeated all the well-known Catholic prayers. As we\ncommenced the \"De Profundis\" the medium fell prostrate on the earth, and\nseemed to wrestle with his agony. At the \"Salve Regina\" and \"Ave Maria\"\nhe lifted his eyes to heaven and clasped his hands, and in the \"Pater\nNoster\" he appeared to join. But directly we ceased praying the evil\npassions returned, and his face became distorted in the thirst for\nblood. It was an experience that no one who had seen could ever forget.\nAt last my sister fetched a crucifix, which we placed upon his breast.\nIt had not been there many seconds before a different expression came\nover his face. He seized it in both hands, straining it to his eyes,\nlips, and heart, holding it from him at arm's length, then passionately\nkissing it, as we repeated the \"Anima Christi.\" Finally, he held the\ncrucifix out for each of us to kiss; a beautiful smile broke out on the\nmedium's face, and the spirit passed out of him.\n\nMr. Eglinton awoke on that occasion terribly exhausted. His face was as\nwhite as a sheet, and he trembled violently. His first words were: \"They\nare doing something to my forehead. Burn a piece of paper, and give me\nthe ashes.\" He rubbed them between his eyes, when the sign of the cross\nbecame distinctly visible, drawn in deep red lines upon his forehead.\nThe controls then said, exhausted as Mr. Eglinton was, we were to place\nhim in the cabinet, as their work was not yet done. He was accordingly\nled in trance to the arm-chair behind the curtain, whilst we formed a\ncircle in front of him. In a few seconds the cabinet was illuminated,\nand a cross of fire appeared outside of it. This manifestation having\nbeen seen twice, the head and shoulders of a nun appeared floating\noutside the curtain. Her white coif and \"chin-piece\" were pinned just as\nthe \"_religieuses_\" are in the habit of pinning them, and she seemed\nvery anxious to show herself, coming close to each of us in turn, and\nre-appearing several times. Her face was that of a young and pretty\nwoman. \"Joey\" said, \"That's the nun, but you'll understand that this is\nonly a preliminary trial, preparatory to a more perfect\nmaterialization.\" I asked the apparition if she were the \"Hortense\nDupont\" that had communicated through me, and she nodded her head\nseveral times in acquiescence. Thus ended our second _seance_ with the\nMonk of Bruges.\n\nOn the third day we were all sitting at supper in my sister's house at\nabout ten o'clock at night, when loud raps were heard about the room,\nand on giving the alphabet, \"Joey\" desired us to go upstairs and sit,\nand to have the door at the head of the staircase (which we had hitherto\nlocked for fear of accidents) left open; which we accordingly did. As\nsoon as we were seated at the table, the medium became entranced, and\nthe same pantomime which I have related was gone through. He watched\nfrom the window that looked into the courtyard, and silently groped his\nway round the room, until he had crawled on his stomach up the stairs\nthat led to the padded door. When he found, however, that the obstacle\nthat had hitherto stood in his way was removed (by its being open) he\ndrew a long breath and started away for the winding turret staircase,\nlistening at the doors he passed to find out if he were overheard. When\nhe came to the stairs, in descending which we had been so afraid he\nmight hurt himself, he was carried down them in the most wonderful\nmanner, only placing his hand on the balustrades, and swooping to the\nbottom in one flight. We had placed a lamp in the hall, so that as we\nfollowed him we could observe all his actions. When he reached the\nbottom of the staircase he crawled on his stomach to the door of the\ndrawing-room (originally the chapel) and there waited and listened,\ndarting back into the shadow every time he fancied he heard a sound.\nImagine our little party of four in that sombre old house, the only\nones waking at that time of night, watching by the ghastly light of a\nturned-down lamp the acting of that terrible tragedy. We held our breath\nas the murderer crouched by the chapel door, opening it noiselessly to\npeep within, and then, retreating with his imaginary dagger in his hand,\nready to strike as soon as his victim appeared. At last she seemed to\ncome. In an instant he had sprung to meet her, stabbing her first in a\nhalf-stooping attitude, and then, apparently, finding her not dead, he\nrose to his full height and stabbed her twice, straight downwards. For a\nmoment he seemed paralyzed at what he had done, starting back with both\nhands clasped to his forehead. Then he flung himself prostrate on the\nsupposed body, kissing the ground frantically in all directions.\nPresently he woke to the fear of detection, and raised the corpse\nsuddenly in his arms. He fell once beneath the supposed weight, but\nstaggering to his feet again, seized and dragged it, slipping on the\nstone floor as he went, to the head of the staircase that led to the\ncellars below, where the mouth of one of the subterraneous passages was\nstill to be seen. The door at the head of this flight was modern, and he\ncould not undo the lock, so, prevented from dragging the body down the\nsteps, he cast himself again upon it, kissing the stone floor of the\nhall and moaning. At last he dragged himself on his knees to the spot of\nthe murder, and began to pray. We knelt with him, and as he heard our\nvoices he turned on his knees towards us with outstretched hands. I\nsuggested that he wanted the crucifix again, and went upstairs to fetch\nit, when the medium followed me. When I had found what I sought, he\nseized it from me eagerly, and carrying it to the window, whence he had\nso often watched, fell down again upon his knees. After praying for some\ntime he tried to speak to us. His lips moved and his tongue protruded,\nbut he was unable to articulate. Suddenly he seized each of our hands in\nturn in both of his own, and wrung them violently. He tried to bless us,\nbut the words would not come. The same beautiful smile we had seen the\nnight before broke out over his countenance, the crucifix dropped from\nhis hands, and he fell prostrate on the floor. The next moment Mr.\nEglinton was asking us where he was and what on earth had happened to\nhim, as he felt so queer. He declared himself fearfully exhausted, but\nsaid he felt that a great calm and peace had come over him\nnotwithstanding the weakness, and he believed some great good had been\naccomplished. He was not again entranced, but \"Joey\" ordered the light\nto be put out, and spoke to us in the direct voice as follows:--\n\n\"I've just come to tell you what I know you will be very glad to hear,\nthat through the medium's power, and our power, and the great power of\nGod, the unhappy spirit who has been confessing his crime to you is\nfreed to-night from the heaviest part of his burden--the being\nearth-chained to the spot. I don't mean to say that he will go away at\nonce to the spheres, because he's got a lot to do still to alter the\nconditions under which he labors, but the worst is over. This was the\nspecial work Mr. Eglinton was brought to Bruges to do, and Ernest and I\ncan truly say that, during the whole course of our control of him, we\nhave never had to put forth our own powers, nor to ask so earnestly for\nthe help of God, as in the last three days. You have all helped in a\ngood work,--to free a poor soul from earth, and to set him on the right\nroad, and _we_ are grateful to you and to the medium, as well as he. He\nwill be able to progress rapidly now until he reaches his proper sphere,\nand hereafter the spirits of himself and the woman he murdered will work\ntogether to undo for others the harm they brought upon themselves. She\nis rejoicing in her high sphere at the work we have done for him, and\nwill be the first to help and welcome him upward. There are many more\nearth-bound spirits in this house and the surrounding houses who are\nsuffering as he was, though not to the same extent, nor for the same\nreason. But they all ask for and need your help and your prayers, and\nthis is the greatest and noblest end of Spiritualism--to aid poor,\nunhappy spirits to free themselves from earth and progress upwards.\nAfter a while when this spirit can control the medium with calmness, he\nwill come himself and tell you, through him, all his history and how he\ncame to fall. Meanwhile, we thank you very much for allowing us to draw\nso much strength from you and helping us with your sympathy, and I hope\nyou will believe me always to remain, your loving friend, Joey.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis account, with very little alteration, was published in the\n_Spiritualist_ newspaper, August 29th, 1879, when the _seances_ had\njust occurred. There is a sequel to the story, however, which is almost\nas remarkable as itself, and which has not appeared in print till now.\nFrom Bruges on this occasion my husband and I went to Brussels, where we\ndiverted ourselves by means very dissimilar to anything so grave as\nSpiritualism. There were many sales going on in Brussels at that moment,\nand one of our amusements was to make a tour of the salerooms and\ninspect the articles put up for competition. During one of these visits\nI was much taken by a large oil pointing, in a massive frame, measuring\nsome six or seven feet square. It represented a man in the dress of a\nFranciscan monk--_i.e._, a brown serge robe, knotted with cords about\nthe waist--kneeling in prayer with outstretched hands upon a mass of\nburning embers. It was labelled in the catalogue as the picture of a\nSpanish monk of the order of Saint Francis Xavier, and was evidently a\npainting of some value. I was drawn to go and look at it several days in\nsuccession before the sale, and I told my husband that I coveted its\npossession. He laughed at me and said it would fetch a great deal more\nmoney than we could afford to give for it, in which opinion I\nacquiesced. The day of the sale, however, found us in our places to\nwatch the proceedings, and when the picture of the monk was put up I bid\na small sum for it. Col. Lean looked at me in astonishment, but I\nwhispered to him that I was only in fun, and I should stop at a hundred\nfrancs. The bidding was very languid, however, and to my utter\namazement, the picture was knocked down to me for _seventy-two francs_.\nI could hardly believe that it was true. Directly the sale was\nconcluded, the brokers crowded round me to ask what I would take for the\npainting, and they told me they had not thought of bidding until it\nshould have reached a few hundred francs. But I told them I had got my\nbargain, and I meant to stick by it. When we returned next day to make\narrangements for its being sent to us, the auctioneer informed us that\nthe frame alone in which it had been sent for sale had cost three\nhundred francs, so that I was well satisfied with my purchase. This\noccurrence took place a short time before we returned to England, where\nwe arrived long before the painting, which, with many others, was left\nto follow us by a cheaper and slower route.\n\nThe Sunday after we reached home (having seen no friends in the\nmeanwhile), we walked into Steinway Hall to hear Mr. Fletcher's\nlecture. At its conclusion he passed as usual into a state of trance,\nand described what he saw before him. In the midst of mentioning people,\nplaces, and incidents unknown to us, he suddenly exclaimed: \"Now I see a\nvery strange thing, totally unlike anything I have ever seen before, and\nI hardly know how to describe it. A man comes before me--a\nforeigner--and in a dress belonging to some monastic order, a brown robe\nof coarse cloth or flannel, with a rope round his waist and beads\nhanging, and bare feet and a shaved head. He is dragging a picture on to\nthe platform, a very large painting in a frame, and it looks to me like\na portrait of himself, kneeling on a carpet of burning wood. No! I am\nwrong. The man tells me the picture is _not_ a portrait of himself, but\nof the founder of his Order, and it is in the possession of some people\nin this hall to-night. The man tells me to tell these people that it was\n_his_ spirit that influenced them to buy this painting at some place\nover the water, and he did so in order that they might keep it in\nremembrance of what they have done for him. And he desires that they\nshall hang that picture in some room where they may see it every day,\nthat they may never forget the help which spirits on this earth may\nrender by their prayers to spirits that have passed away. And he offers\nthem through me his heartfelt thanks for the assistance given him, and\nhe says the day is not far off when he shall pray for himself and for\nthem, that their kindness may return into their own bosoms.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe oil painting reached England in safety some weeks afterwards, and\nwas hung over the mantel-piece in our dining-room, where it remained, a\nfamiliar object to all our personal acquaintances.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF MISS SHOWERS.\n\n\nSome time before I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Showers, I heard,\nthrough friends living in the west of England, of the mysterious and\nmarvellous powers possessed by a young lady of their acquaintance, who\nwas followed by voices in the air, which held conversations with her,\nand the owners of which were said to have made themselves visible. I\nlistened with curiosity, the more so, as my informants utterly\ndisbelieved in Spiritualism, and thought the phenomena were due to\ntrickery. At the same time I conceived a great desire to see the girl of\nsixteen, who, for no gain or apparent object of her own, was so clever\nas to mystify everyone around her; and when she and her mother came to\nLondon, I was amongst the first to beg for an introduction, and I shall\nnever forget the experiences I had with her. She was the first _private_\nmedium through whom my personal friends returned to converse with me;\nand no one but a Spiritualist can appreciate the blessing of spiritual\ncommunications through a source that is above the breath of suspicion. I\nhave already written at length about Miss Showers in \"The story of John\nPowles.\" She was a child, compared to myself, whose life had hardly\ncommenced when mine was virtually over, and neither she, nor any member\nof her family, had ever had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with\neven the names of my former friends. Yet (as I have related) John Powles\nmade Miss Showers his especial mouthpiece, and my daughter \"Florence\"\n(then a little child) also appeared through her, though at long\nintervals, and rather timidly. Her own controls, however, or cabinet\nspirits (as they call them in America)--_i.e._, such spirits as are\nalways about the medium, and help the strangers to appear--\"Peter,\"\n\"Florence,\" \"Lenore,\" and \"Sally,\" were very familiar with me, and\nafforded me such facilities of testing their medium as do not often fall\nto the lot of inquirers. Indeed, at one time, they always requested\nthat I should be present at their _seances_, so that I considered myself\nto be highly favored. And I may mention here that Miss Showers and I\nwere so much _en rapport_ that her manifestations were always much\nstronger in my presence. We could not sit next each other at an ordinary\ntea or supper table, when we had no thought of, or desire to hold a\n_seance_, without manifestations occurring in the full light. A hand,\nthat did not belong to either of us, would make itself apparent under\nthe table-cloth between us--a hand with power to grasp ours--or our feet\nwould be squeezed or kicked beneath the table, or fingers would suddenly\nappear, and whisk the food off our plates. Some of their jests were\ninconvenient. I have had the whole contents of a tumbler, which I was\nraising to my lips, emptied over my dress. It was generally known that\nour powers were sympathetic, and at last \"Peter\" gave me leave, or,\nrather, ordered me to sit in the cabinet with \"Rosie,\" whilst the\nmanifestations went on outside. He used to say he didn't care for me any\nmore than if I had been \"a spirit myself.\" One evening \"Peter\" called me\ninto the cabinet (which was simply a large box cupboard at one end of\nthe dining-room) before the _seance_ began, and told me to sit down at\nthe medium's feet and \"be a good girl and keep quiet.\" Miss Showers was\nin a low chair, and I sat with my arms resting on her lap. She did not\nbecome entranced, and we talked the whole time together. Presently,\nwithout any warning, two figures stood beside us. I could not have said\nwhere they came from. I neither saw them rise from the floor nor descend\nfrom the ceiling. There was no beginning to their appearance. In a\nmoment they were simply _there_--\"Peter\" and \"Florence\" (not my child,\nbut Miss Showers' control of the same names).\n\n\"Peter\" sent \"Florence\" out to the audience, where we heard her speaking\nto them and their remarks upon her (there being only a thin curtain hung\nbefore the entrance of the cabinet), but he stayed with us himself. We\ncould not see him distinctly in the dim light, but we could distinctly\nhear and feel him. He changed our ornaments and ribbons, and pulled the\nhair-pins out of our hair, and made comments on what was going on\noutside. After a while \"Florence\" returned to get more power, and both\nspirits spoke to and touched us at the same time. During the whole of\nthis _seance_ my arms rested on Miss Showers' lap, and she was awake and\ntalking to me about the spirits.\n\nOne evening, at a sitting at Mr. Luxmore's house in Hyde Park Square,\nthe spirit \"Florence\" had been walking amongst the audience in the\nlighted front drawing-room for a considerable time--even sitting at the\npiano and accompanying herself whilst she sung us a song in what she\ncalled \"the planetary language.\" She greatly resembled her medium on\nthat occasion, and several persons present remarked that she did so. I\nsuppose the inferred doubt annoyed her, for before she finally left us\nshe asked for a light, and a small oil lamp was brought to her which she\nplaced in my hand, telling me to follow her and look at her medium,\nwhich I accordingly did. \"Florence\" led the way into the back\ndrawing-room, where I found Miss Showers reposing in an arm-chair. The\nfirst sight of her terrified me. For the purpose of making any change in\nher dress as difficult as possible, she wore a high, tight-fitting black\nvelvet frock, fastened at the back, and high Hessian boots, with\ninnumerable buttons. But she now appeared to be shrunk to half her usual\nsize, and the dress hung loosely on her figure. Her arms had\ndisappeared, but putting my hands up the dress sleeves, I found them\ndiminished to the size of those of a little child--the fingers reaching\nonly to where the elbows had been. The same miracle had happened to her\nfeet, which only occupied half her boots. She looked in fact like the\nmummy of a girl of four or six years old. The spirit told me to feel her\nface. The forehead was dry, rough, and burning hot, but from the chin\nwater was dropping freely on to the bosom of her dress. \"Florence\" said\nto me, \"I wanted _you_ to see her, because I know you are brave enough\nto tell people what you have seen.\"\n\nThere was a marked difference in the personality of the two influences\n\"Florence\" and \"Lenore,\" although both at times resembled Miss Showers,\nand sometimes more than others. \"Florence\" was taller than her medium,\nand a very beautiful woman. \"Lenore\" was much shorter and smaller, and\nnot so pretty, but more vivacious and pert. By the invitation of Mrs.\nMacdougal Gregory, I attended several _seances_ with Miss Showers at her\nresidence in Green Street, when these spirits appeared. \"Lenore\" was\nfond of saying that she wouldn't or couldn't come out unless _I_ held\nher hand, or put my arm round her waist. To tell the truth, I didn't\ncare for the distinction, for this influence was very peculiar in some\nthings, and to me she always appeared \"uncanny,\" and to leave an\nunpleasant feeling behind her. She was seldom completely formed, and\nwould hold up a foot which felt like wet clay, and had no toes to it, or\nnot the proper quantity. On occasions, too, there was a charnel-house\nsmell about her, as if she had been buried a few weeks and dug up again,\nan odor which I have never smelt from any materialized spirit before or\nafter. One evening at Mrs. Gregory's, when \"Lenore\" had insisted upon\nwalking round the circle supported by my arm, I nearly fainted from the\nsmell. It resembled nothing but that of a putrid corpse, and when she\nreturned to the cabinet, I was compelled to leave the room and retch\nfrom the nausea it had caused me. It was on this occasion that the\nsitters called \"Lenore\" so many times back into the circle, that all the\npower was gone, and she was in danger of melting away before their eyes.\nStill they entreated her to remain with them a little longer. At last\nshe grew impatient, and complained to me of their unreasonableness. She\nwas then raised from the floor--actually floating just outside the\ncurtain--and she asked me to put my hands up her skirts and convince\nmyself that she was half-dematerialized. I did as she told me, and felt\nthat she had _no legs_, although she had been walking round the room a\nfew minutes before. I could feel nothing but the trunk of a body, which\nwas completely lifted off the ground. Her voice, too, had grown faint\nand her face indistinct, and in another moment she had totally\ndisappeared.\n\nOne evening at Mrs. Gregory's, after the _seance_ was concluded,\n\"Florence\" looked round the curtain and called to me to come inside of\nit. I did so and found myself in total darkness. I said, \"What's the\ngood of my coming here? I can't see anything.\" \"Florence\" took me by one\nhand, and answered, \"I will lead you! Don't be afraid.\" Then some one\nelse grasped my other hand, and \"Peter's\" voice said, \"We've got you\nsafe. We want you to feel the medium.\" The two figures led me between\nthem to the sofa on which Miss Showers was lying. They passed my hand\nall over her head and body. I felt, as before, her hands and feet\nshrunk to half their usual size, but her heart appeared to have become\nproportionately increased. When my hand was placed upon it, it was\nleaping up and down violently, and felt like a rabbit or some other live\nanimal bounding in her bosom. Her brain was burning as before, but her\nextremities were icy cold. There was no doubt at all of the abnormal\ncondition into which the medium had been thrown, in order to produce\nthese strong physical manifestations which were borrowed, for the time\nbeing, from her life, and could never (so they informed me) put the\n_whole_ of what they borrowed back again. This seems to account for the\ninvariable deterioration of health and strength that follows physical\nmanifestations in both sexes. These were the grounds alone on which they\nexplained to me the fact that, on several occasions, when the\nmaterialized spirit has been violently seized and held apart from the\nmedium, it has been found to have become, or been changed into the\nmedium, and always with injury to the latter--as in the case of Florence\nCook being seized by Mr. Volckman and Sir George Sitwell. Mr. Volckman\nconcluded because when he seized the spirit \"Katie King,\" he found he\nwas holding Florence Cook, that the latter must have impersonated the\nformer; yet I shall tell you in its proper place how I have sat in the\nsame room with \"Katie King,\" whilst Miss Cook lay in a trance between\nus. The medium nearly lost her life on the occasion alluded to, from the\nsudden disturbance of the mysterious link that bound her to the spirit.\nI have had it from the lips of the Countess of Caithness, who was one of\nthe sitters, and stayed with Miss Cook till she was better, that she was\nin convulsions the whole night after, and that it was some time before\nthey believed she would recover. If a medium could simulate a\nmaterialized spirit, it is hardly likely that she would (or could)\nsimulate convulsions with a medical man standing by her bedside. \"You\nsee,\" said Miss Showers' \"Florence,\" whilst pointing out to me the\ndecreased size of her medium under trance, \"that 'Rosie' is half her\nusual size and weight. _I_ have borrowed the other half from her, which,\ncombined with contributions from the sitters, goes to make up the body\nin which I shew myself to you. If you seize and hold me tight, you _are_\nholding her, _i.e._, half of her, and you increase the action of the\nvital half to such a degree that, if the two halves did not reunite, you\nwould kill her. You see that I can detach certain particles from her\norganism for my own use, and when I dematerialize, I restore these\nparticles to her, and she becomes once more her normal size. You only\nhurry the reunion by violently detaining me, so as to injure her. But\nyou might drive her mad, or kill her in the attempt, because the\nparticles of brain, or body, might become injured by such a violent\ncollision. If you believe I can take them from her (as you see I do) in\norder to render my invisible body visible to you, why can't you believe\nI can make them fly together again on the approach of danger. And\ngranted the one power, I see no difficulty in acknowledging the other.\"\n\nOne day Mrs. Showers invited me to assist at a _seance_ to be given\nexpressly for friends living at a distance. When I reached the house,\nhowever, I found the friends were unable to be present, and the meeting\nwas adjourned. Mrs. Showers apologized for the alteration of plan, but I\nwas glad of it. I had often sat with \"Rosie\" in company with others, and\nI wanted to sit with her quite alone, or rather to sit with her in a\nroom quite alone, and see what would spontaneously occur, without any\nsolicitation on our parts. We accordingly annexed the drawing-room for\nour sole use--locked the door, extinguished the lights, and sat down on\na sofa side by side, with our arms round each other. The manifestations\nthat followed were not all nice ones. They formed an experience to be\npassed through once, but not willingly repeated, and I should not relate\nthem here, excepting that they afford so strong a proof that they were\nproduced by a power outside and entirely distinct from our own--a power,\nwhich having once called into action, we had no means of repressing. We\nhad sat in the dark for some minutes, without hearing or seeing\nanything, when I thoughtlessly called out, \"Now, Peter, do your worst,\"\nand extending my arms, singing, \"Come! for my arms are empty.\" In a\nmoment a large, heavy figure fell with such force into my outstretched\narms as to bruise my shoulder--it seemed like a form made of wood or\niron, rather than flesh and blood--and the rough treatment that ensued\nfor both of us is almost beyond description. It seemed as if the room\nwere filled with materialized creatures, who were determined to let us\nknow they were not to be trifled with. Our faces and hands were slapped,\nour hair pulled down, and our clothes nearly torn off our backs. My silk\nskirt being separate from the bodice was torn off at the waistband, and\nthe trimming ripped from it, and Miss Showers' muslin dress was also\nmuch damaged. We were both thoroughly frightened, but no expostulations\nor entreaties had any effect with our tormentors. At the same time we\nheard the sound as of a multitude of large birds or bats swooping about\nthe room. The fluttering of wings was incessant, and we could hear them\n\"scrooping\" up and down the walls. In the midst of the confusion,\n\"Rosie\" was whisked out of my arms (for fright had made us cling tighter\nthan ever together) and planted on the top of a table at some distance\nfrom me, at which she was so frightened she began to cry, and I called\nout, \"Powles, where are you? Can't you stop them?\" My appeal was heard.\nPeter's voice exclaimed, \"Hullo! here's Powles coming!\" and all the\nnoise ceased. We heard the advent of my friend, and in another moment he\nwas smoothing down the ruffled hair and arranging the disordered dresses\nand telling me to light the gas and not be frightened. As soon as I\ncould I obeyed his directions and found Rosie sitting doubled up in the\ncentre of the table, but the rest of the room and furniture in its usual\ncondition. \"Peter\" and his noisy crowd had vanished--so had \"Powles,\"\nand there was nothing but our torn skirts and untidy appearance to prove\nthat we had not been having an unholy dream. \"Peter\" is not a wicked\nspirit--far from it--but he is a very earthly and frivolous one. But\nwhen we consider that nine-tenths of the spirits freed from the flesh\nare both earthly and frivolous (if not worse), I know not what right we\nhave to expect to receive back angels in their stead.\n\nAt one time when my sister Blanche (who was very sceptical as to the\npossibility of the occurrences I related having taken place before me)\nwas staying in my house at Bayswater, I asked Miss Showers if she would\ngive us a _seance_ in my own home, to which she kindly assented. This\nwas an unusual concession on her part, because, in consequence of\nseveral accidents and scandals that had occurred from media being\nforcibly detained (as I have just alluded to), her mother was naturally\naverse to her sitting anywhere but in their own circle. However, on my\npromising to invite no strangers, Mrs. Showers herself brought her\ndaughter to my house. We had made no preparation for the _seance_ except\nby opening part of the folding doors between the dining-room and study,\nand hanging a curtain over the aperture. But I had carefully locked the\ndoor of the study, so that there should be no egress from it excepting\nthrough the dining-room, and had placed against the locked door a heavy\nwriting-table laden with books and ornaments to make \"assurance doubly\nsure.\" We sat first in the drawing-room above, where there was a piano.\nThe lights were extinguished, and Miss Showers sat down to the\ninstrument and played the accompaniment to a very simple melody, \"Under\nthe willow she's sleeping.\" Four voices, sometimes alone and sometimes\n_all together_, accompanied her own. One was a baritone, supposed to\nproceed from \"Peter,\" the second, a soprano, from \"Lenore.\" The third\nwas a rumbling bass, from an influence who called himself \"The Vicar of\nCroydon,\" and sung in a fat, unctuous, and conceited voice; and the\nfourth was a cracked and quavering treble, from another spirit called\n\"The Abbess.\" These were the voices, Mrs. Showers told me, that first\nfollowed her daughter about the house in Devonshire, and gained her such\nan unenviable notoriety there. The four voices were perfectly distinct\nfrom one another, and sometimes blended most ludicrously and tripped\neach other up in a way which made the song a medley--upon which each one\nwould declare it was the fault of the other. \"The Vicar of Croydon\"\nalways required a great deal of solicitation before he could be induced\nto exhibit his powers, but having once commenced, it was difficult to\nmake him leave off again, whereas \"The Abbess\" was always complaining\nthat they would not allow her to sing the solos. An infant's voice also\nsung some baby songs in a sweet childish treble, but she was also very\nshy and seldom was heard, in comparison with the rest. \"All\nventriloquism!\" I hear some reader cry. If so, Miss Showers ought to\nhave made a fortune in exhibiting her talent in public. I have heard the\nbest ventriloquists in the world, but I never heard one who could\nproduce _four_ voices at the same time.\n\nAfter the musical portion of the _seance_ was over, we descended to the\ndining-room, where the gas was burning, and the medium passed through\nit to the secured study, where a mattress was laid upon the floor for\nher accommodation. \"Florence\" was the first to appear, tall and\nbeautiful in appearance, and with upraised eyes like a nun. She measured\nher height against the wall with me, and we found she was the taller of\nthe two by a couple of inches,--my height being five feet six, the\nmedium's five feet, and the spirit's five feet eight, an abnormal height\nfor a woman. \"Lenore\" came next, very short indeed, looking like a child\nof four or six, but she grew before our eyes, until her head was on a\nlevel with mine. She begged us all to observe that she had _not_ got on\n\"Rosie's\" petticoat body. She said she had borrowed it on one occasion,\nand Mrs. Showers had recognized it, and slipped upstairs in the middle\nof the _seance_ and found it missing from her daughter's chest of\ndrawers, and that she had been so angry in consequence (fearing Rosie's\nhonor might be impeached) that she said if \"Lenore\" did not promise\nnever to do so again, she should not be allowed to assist at the\n_seances_ at all. So Miss \"Lenore,\" in rather a pert and defiant mood,\nbegged Mrs. Showers to see that what she wore was her own property, and\nnot that of the medium. She was succeeded on that occasion by a strange\nbeing, totally different from the other two, who called herself \"Sally,\"\nand said she had been a cook. She was one of those extraordinary\ninfluences for whose return to earth one can hardly account; quick, and\nclever, and amusing as she could be, but with an unrefined wit and\nmanner, and to all appearance, more earthly-minded than ourselves. But\ndo we not often ask the same question with respect to those still\nexistent here below? What were they born for? What good do they do? Why\nwere they ever permitted to come? God, without whose permission nothing\nhappens, alone can answer it.\n\nWe had often to tease \"Peter\" to materialize and show himself, but he\ninvariably refused, or postponed the work to another occasion. His\nexcuse was that the medium being so small, he could not obtain\nsufficient power from her to make himself appear as a big man, and he\ndidn't like to come, \"looking like a girl in a billycock hat.\" \"I came\nonce to Mrs. Showers,\" he said, \"and she declared I was 'Rosie' dressed\nup, and so I have resolved never to show myself again.\" At the close of\nthat _seance_, however, \"Peter\" asked me to go into the study and see\nhim wake the medium. When I entered it and made my way up to the\nmattress, I found Miss Showers extended on it in a deep sleep, whilst\n\"Peter,\" materialized, sat at her feet. He made me sit down next to him\nand take his hand and feel his features with my own hand. Then he\nproceeded to rouse \"Rosie\" by shaking her and calling her by name,\nholding me by one hand, as he did so. As Miss Showers yawned and woke up\nfrom her trance, the hand slipped from mine, and \"Peter\" evaporated.\nWhen she sat up I said to her gently, \"I am here! Peter brought me in\nand was sitting on the mattress by my side till just this moment.\" \"Ha,\nha!\" laughed his voice close to my ear, \"and I'm here still, my dears,\nthough you can't see me.\"\n\nWho can account for such things? I have witnessed them over and over\nagain, yet I am unable, even to this day, to do more than believe and\nwonder.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF WILLIAM EGLINTON.\n\n\nIn the stones I have related of \"Emily\" and \"The Monk\" I have alluded\nfreely to the wonderful powers exhibited by William Eglinton, but the\nmarvels there spoken of were by no means the only ones I have witnessed\nthrough his mediumship. At the _seance_ which produced the apparition of\nmy sister Emily, Mr. Eglinton's control \"Joey\" made himself very\nfamiliar. \"Joey\" is a remarkably small man--perhaps two-thirds lighter\nin weight than the medium--and looks more like a little jockey than\nanything else, though he says he was a clown whilst in this world, and\nclaims to be the spirit of the immortal Joe Grimaldi. He has always\nappeared to us clothed in a tight-fitting white dress like a woven\njersey suit, which makes him look still smaller than he is. He usually\nkeeps up a continuous chatter, whether visible or invisible, and is one\nof the cleverest and kindest controls I know. He is also very\ndevotional, for which the public will perhaps give him as little credit\nnow as they did whilst he was on earth. On the first occasion of our\nmeeting in the Russell Street Rooms he did not show himself until quite\nthe last, but he talked incessantly of and for the other spirits that\nappeared. My sister was, as I have said, the first to show herself--then\ncame an extraordinary apparition. On the floor, about three feet from\nthe cabinet, appeared a head--only the head and throat of a dark man,\nwith black beard and moustaches, surmounted by the white turban usually\nworn by natives. It did not speak, but the eyes rolled and the lips\nmoved, as if it tried to articulate, but without success. \"Joey\" said\nthe spirit came for Colonel Lean, and was that of a foreigner who had\nbeen decapitated. Colonel Lean could not recognize the features; but,\nstrange to say, he had been present at the beheading of two natives in\nJapan who had been found guilty of murdering some English officers, and\nwe concluded from \"Joey's\" description that this must be the head of\none of them. I knelt down on the floor and put my face on a level with\nthat of the spirit, that I might assure myself there was no body\nattached to it and concealed by the curtain of the cabinet, and I can\naffirm that it was _a head only_, resting on the neck--that its eyes\nmoved and its features worked, but that there was nothing further on the\nfloor. I questioned it, and it evidently tried hard to speak in return.\nThe mouth opened and the tongue was thrust out, and made a sort of dumb\nsound, but was unable to form any words, and after a while the head sunk\nthrough the floor and disappeared. If this was not one of the\npleasantest apparitions I have seen, it was one of the most remarkable.\nThere was no possibility of trickery or deception. The decapitated head\nrested in full sight of the audience, and had all the peculiarities of\nthe native appearance and expression. After this the figures of two or\nthree Englishmen came, friends of others of the audience--then \"Joey\"\nsaid he would teach us how to \"make muslin.\" He walked right outside the\ncabinet, a quaint little figure, not much bigger than a boy of twelve or\nthirteen, with a young, old face, and dressed in the white suit I have\ndescribed. He sat down by me and commenced to toss his hands in the air,\nas though he were juggling with balls, saying the while, \"This is the\nway we make ladies' dresses.\" As he did so, a small quantity of muslin\nappeared in his hands, which he kept on moving in the same manner,\nwhilst the flimsy fabric increased and increased before our eyes, until\nit rose in billows of muslin above \"Joey's\" head and fell over his body\nto his feet, and enveloped him until he was completely hidden from view.\nHe kept on chattering till the last moment from under the heap of snowy\nmuslin, telling us to be sure and \"remember how he made ladies'\ndresses\"--when, all of a sudden, in the twinkling of an eye, the heap of\nmuslin rose into the air, and before us stood the tall figure of\n\"Abdullah,\" Mr. Eglinton's Eastern guide. There had been no darkness, no\npause to effect this change. The muslin had remained on the spot where\nit was fabricated until \"Joey\" evaporated, and \"Abdullah\" rose up from\nbeneath it. Now \"Abdullah\" is not a spirit to be concealed easily. He is\nsix foot two--a great height for a native--and his high turban adds to\nhis stature. He is a very handsome man, with an aquiline nose and\nbright black eyes--a Persian, I believe, by birth, and naturally dark\nin complexion. He does not speak English, but \"salaams\" continually, and\nwill approach the sitters when requested, and let them examine the\njewels, of which he wears a large quantity in his turban and ears and\nround his throat, or to show them and let them feel that he has lost one\narm, the stump being plainly discernible through his thin clothing.\n\"Abdullah\" possesses all the characteristics of the Eastern nation,\nwhich are unmistakable to one who, like myself, has been familiar with\nthem in the flesh. His features are without doubt those of a Persian; so\nis his complexion. His figure is long and lithe and supple, as that of a\ncat, and he can bend to the ground and rise again with the utmost ease\nand grace. Anybody who could pretend for a moment to suppose that Mr.\nEglinton by \"making up\" could personate \"Abdullah\" must be a fool. It\nwould be an impossibility, even were he given unlimited time and\nassistance, to dress for the character. There is a peculiar boneless\nelasticity in the movements of a native which those who have lived in\nthe East know that no Englishmen can imitate successfully. \"Abdullah's\"\nhand and feet also possess all the characteristics of his nationality,\nbeing narrow, long and nerveless, although I have heard that he can give\nrather too good a grip with his one hand when he chooses to exert his\npower or to show his dislike to any particular sitter. He has always,\nhowever, shown the utmost urbanity towards us, but he is not a\nparticularly friendly or familiar spirit. When \"Abdullah\" had retired on\nthis occasion, \"Joey\" drew back the curtain that shaded the cabinet, and\nshowed us his medium and himself. There sat Mr. Eglinton attired in\nevening dress, with the front of his shirt as smooth and spotless as\nwhen it left the laundress' hands, lying back in his chair in a deep\nsleep, whilst little Joey sat astride his knee, his white suit\ncontrasting strangely with his medium's black trousers. Whilst in this\nposition he kissed Mr. Eglinton several times, telling him to wake up,\nand not look so sulky; then, having asked if we all saw him distinctly,\nand were satisfied he was not the medium, he bade God bless us, and the\ncurtains closed once more upon this incomprehensible scene. Mr. Eglinton\nsubsequently became an intimate friend of ours, and we often had the\npleasure of sitting with him, but we never saw anything more wonderful\n(to my mind) than we did on our first acquaintance. When he accompanied\nus to Bruges (as told in the history of the \"Monk\"), \"Joey\" took great\ntrouble to prove to us incontrovertibly that he is not an \"emanation,\"\nor double, of his medium, but a creature completely separate and wholly\ndistinct. My sister's house being built on a very old-fashioned\nprinciple, had all the bedrooms communicating with each other. The\nentresol in which we usually assembled formed the connecting link to a\nseries of six chambers, all of which opened into each other, and the\nentrance to the first and last of which was from the entresol.\n\nWe put Mr. Eglinton into No. 1, locking the connecting door with No. 2,\nso that he had no exit except into our circle as we sat round the\ncurtain, behind which we placed his chair. \"Joey\" having shown himself\noutside the curtain, informed us he was going through the locked door at\nthe back into our bedrooms, Nos. 2, 3 and 4, and would bring us\nsomething from each room.\n\nAccordingly, in another minute we heard his voice in No. 2, commenting\non all he saw there; then he passed into No. 3, and so on, making a tour\nof the rooms, until he appeared at the communicating door of No. 5, and\nthrew an article taken from each room into the entresol. He then told us\nto lift the curtain and inspect the medium, which we did, finding him\nfast asleep in his chair, with the door behind him locked. \"Joey\" then\nreturned by the way he had gone, and presented himself once more outside\nthe cabinet, the key of the locked door being all the time in our\npossession.\n\n\"Ernest\" is another well-known control of Mr. Eglinton's, though he\nseldom appears, except to give some marvellous test or advice. He is a\nvery earnest, deep-feeling spirit, like his name, and his symbol is a\ncross of light; sometimes large and sometimes small, but always bright\nand luminous. \"Ernest\" seldom shows his whole body. It is generally only\nhis face that is apparent in the midst of the circle, a more convincing\nmanifestation for the sceptic or inquirer than any number of bodies\nwhich are generally attributed to the chicanery of the medium. \"Ernest\"\nalways speaks in the direct voice in a gentle, bass tone, entirely\ndistinct from \"Joey's\" treble, and his appearance is usually indicative\nof a harmonious and successful meeting. \"Daisy,\" a North American\nIndian girl, is another control of William Eglinton's, but I have only\nheard her speak in trance. I do not know which of these spirits it is\nwho conducts the manifestations of writing on the arm, with which Mr.\nEglinton is very successful; sometimes it seems to be one, and sometimes\nthe other. As he was sitting with our family at supper one evening, I\nmentally asked \"Joey\" to write something on some part of his body where\nhis hand could not reach. This was in order to prove that the writing\nhad not been prepared by chemical means beforehand, as some people are\napt to assert. In a short time Mr. Eglinton was observed to stop eating,\nand grow very fidgety and look uncomfortable, and on being questioned as\nto the cause, he blushed and stammered, and could give no answer. After\na while he rose from table, and asked leave to retire to his room. The\nnext morning he told us that he had been so uneasy at supper, it had\nbecome impossible for him to sit it out; that on reaching his room he\nhad found that his back, which irritated him as though covered with a\nrash, _had a sentence written across it_, of which he could only make\nout a few words by looking at it backwards in a glass; and as there were\nonly ladies in the house beside himself, he could not call in an\ninterpreter to his assistance. One day, without consulting him, I placed\na small card and a tiny piece of black lead between the leaves of a\nvolume of the _Leisure Hour_, and asked him to hold the book with me on\nthe dining table. I never let the book out of my hand, and it was so\nthick that I had difficulty afterwards in finding my card (from the\ncorner of which I had torn a piece) again. Mr. Eglinton sat with me in\nthe daylight with the family about, and all he did was to place his hand\non mine, which rested on the book. The perspiration ran down his face\nwhilst he did so, but there was no other sign of power, and, honestly, I\ndid not expect to find any writing on my card. When I had shaken it out\nof the leaves of the book, however, I found a letter closely written on\nit from my daughter \"Florence\" to this effect:--\n\n     \"Dear Mama,--I am so glad to be able to communicate with you again,\n     and to demonstrate by actual fact that I am really present. Of\n     course, you quite understand that I do not write this myself.\n     'Charlie' is present with me, and so are many more, and we all\n     unite in sending you our love.\n                                   \"Your daughter, Florence.\"\n\nMr. Eglinton's mediumship embraces various phases of phenomena, as may\nbe gathered from his own relations of them, and the testimony of his\nfriends. A narrative of his spiritual work, under the title of \"'Twixt\ntwo Worlds,\" has been written and published by Mr. John T. Farmer, and\ncontains some exhaustive descriptions of, and testimonies to, his\nundoubtedly wonderful gifts. In it appear several accounts written by\nmyself, and which, for the benefit of such of my readers as have not\nseen the book in question, I will repeat here. The first is that of the\n\"Monk,\" given _in extenso_, as I have given it in the eleventh chapter\nof this book. The second is of a _seance_ held on the 5th September,\n1884. The circle consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, Colonel and Mrs.\nWynch, Mr. and Mrs. Russell-Davies, Mr. Morgan, and Colonel Lean and\nmyself, and was held in Mr. Eglinton's private chambers in Quebec\nStreet. We sat in the front drawing-room, with one gas-burner alight,\nand the door having been properly secured, Mr. Eglinton went into the\nback room, which was divided by curtains from the front. He had not left\nus a couple of minutes before a man stepped out through the _portiere_,\nand walked right into the midst of us. He was a large, stout man, and\nvery dark, and most of the sitters remarked that he had a very peculiar\nsmell. No one recognized him, and after appearing two or three times he\nleft, and was _immediately_ succeeded by a woman, very much like him,\nwho also had to leave us without any recognition. These two spirits,\nbefore taking a final leave, came out _together_, and seemed to examine\nthe circle curiously. After a short interval a much smaller and slighter\nman came forward, and darted in a peculiar slouching attitude round the\ncircle. Colonel Lean asked him to shake hands. He replied by seizing his\nhand, and nearly dragging him off his seat. He then darted across the\nroom, and gave a similar proof of his muscular power to Mr. Stewart. But\nwhen I asked him to notice _me_, he took my hand and squeezed it firmly\nbetween his own. He had scarcely disappeared before \"Abdullah,\" with his\none arm and his six feet two of height, stood before us, and salaamed\nall round. Then came my daughter Florence, a girl of nineteen by that\ntime, very slight and feminine in appearance. She advanced two or three\ntimes, near enough to touch me with her hand, but seemed fearful to\napproach nearer. But the next moment she returned, dragging Mr.\nEglinton after her. He was in deep trance, breathing with difficulty,\nbut \"Florence\" held him by the hand and brought him up to my side, when\nhe detached my hands from those of the sitters either side of me, and\nmaking me stand up, he placed my daughter in my arms. As she stood\nfolded in my embrace, she whispered a few words to me relative to a\nsubject _known to no one but myself_, and she placed my hand upon her\nheart, that I might feel she was a living woman. Colonel Lean asked her\nto go to him. She tried and failed, but having retreated behind the\ncurtain to gather strength, she appeared the second time _with Mr.\nEglinton_, and calling Colonel Lean to her, embraced him. This is one of\nthe most perfect instances on record of a spirit form being seen\ndistinctly by ten witnesses with the medium under gas. The next\nmaterialization that appeared was for Mr. Stewart. This gentleman was\nnewly arrived from Australia, and a stranger to Mr. Eglinton. As soon as\nhe saw the female form, who beckoned him to the _portiere_ to speak to\nher, he exclaimed, \"My God! Pauline,\" with such genuine surprise and\nconviction as were unmistakable. The spirit then whispered to him, and\nputting her arms round his neck, affectionately kissed him. He turned\nafter a while, and addressing his wife, told her that the spirit bore\nthe very form and features of their niece Pauline, whom they had lost\nthe year before. Mr. Stewart expressed himself entirely satisfied with\nthe identity of his niece, and said she looked just as she had done\nbefore she was taken ill. I must not omit to say that the medium also\nappeared with this figure, making the third time of showing himself in\none evening with the spirit form.\n\nThe next apparition, being the seventh that appeared, was that of a\nlittle child apparently about two years old, who supported itself in\nwalking by holding on to a chair. I stooped down, and tried to talk to\nthis baby, but it only cried in a fretful manner, as though frightened\nat finding itself with strangers, and turned away. The attention of the\ncircle was diverted from this sight by seeing \"Abdullah\" dart between\nthe curtains, and stand with the child in our view, whilst Mr. Eglinton\nappeared at the same moment between the two forms, making a _tria juncta\nin uno_.\n\nThus ended the _seance_. The second one of which I wrote took place on\nthe 27th of the same month, and under very similar circumstances. The\ncircle this time consisted of Mrs. Wheeler, Mr. Woods, Mr. Gordon, The\nHonorable Gordon Sandeman, my daughter Eva, my son Frank, Colonel Lean,\nand myself. Mr. Eglinton appeared on this occasion to find some\ndifficulty in passing under control, and he came out so frequently into\nthe circle to gather power, that I guessed we were going to have\nuncommonly good manifestations. The voice of \"Joey,\" too, begged us\nunder _no circumstances whatever_, to lose hands, as they were going to\ntry something very difficult, and we might defeat their efforts at the\nvery moment of victory. When the medium was at last under control in the\nback drawing room, a tall man, with an uncovered head of dark hair, and\na large beard, appeared and walked up to a lady in the company. She was\nvery much affected by the recognition of the spirit, which she affirmed\nto be that of her brother. She called him by name and kissed him, and\ninformed us, that he was just as he had been in earth life. Her emotion\nwas so great, we thought she would have fainted, but after a while she\nbecame calm again. We next heard the notes of a clarionet. I had been\ntold that Mr. Woods (a stranger just arrived from the Antipodes) had\nlost a brother under peculiarly distressing circumstances, and that he\nhoped (though hardly expected) to see his brother that evening. It was\nthe first time I had ever seen Mr. Woods; yet so remarkable was the\nlikeness between the brothers, that when a spirit appeared with a\nclarionet in his hand, I could not help knowing who it was, and\nexclaimed, \"Oh, Mr. Woods, there is your brother!\" The figure walked up\nto Mr. Woods and grasped his hand. As they appeared thus with their\nfaces turned to one another, they were _strikingly_ alike both in\nfeature and expression. This spirit's head was also bare, an unusual\noccurrence, and covered with thick, crisp hair. He appeared twice, and\nsaid distinctly, \"God bless you!\" each time to his brother. Mrs.\nWheeler, who had known the spirit in earth life, was startled by the\ntone of the voice, which she recognized at once; and Mr. Morgan, who had\nbeen an intimate friend of his in Australia, confirmed the recognition.\nWe asked Mr. Woods the meaning of the clarionet, which was a black one,\nhandsomely inlaid with silver. He told us his brother had been an\nexcellent musician, and had won a similar instrument as a prize at some\nmusical competition. \"But,\" he added wonderingly, \"his clarionet is\nlocked up in my house in Australia.\" My daughter \"Florence\" came out\nnext, but only a little way, at which I was disappointed, but \"Joey\"\nsaid they were reserving the strength for a manifestation further on. He\nthen said, \"Here comes a friend for Mr. Sandeman,\" and a man, wearing\nthe masonic badge and scarf, appeared, and made the tour of the circle,\ngiving the masonic grip to those of the craft present. He was a good\nlooking young man, and said he had met some of those present in\nAustralia, but no one seemed to recognize him. He was succeeded by a\nmale figure, who had materialized on the previous occasion. As he passed\nthrough the curtain, a female figure appeared beside him, bearing a very\nbright light, as though to show him the way. She did not come beyond the\n_portiere_, but every one in the room saw her distinctly. On account of\nthe dress and complexion of the male figure, we had wrongly christened\nhim \"The Bedouin;\" but my son, Frank Marryat, who is a sailor, now found\nout he was an East Indian by addressing him in Hindustani, to which he\nresponded in a low voice. Some one asked him to take a seat amongst us,\nupon which he seized a heavy chair in one hand and flourished it above\nhis head. He then squatted, native fashion, on his haunches on the floor\nand left us, as before, by vanishing suddenly.\n\n\"Joey\" now announced that they were going to try the experiment of\n\"_showing us how the spirits were made from the medium_.\" This was the\ncrowning triumph of the evening. Mr. Eglinton appeared in the very midst\nof us in trance. He entered the room backwards, and as if fighting with\nthe power that pushed him in, his eyes were shut, and his breath was\ndrawn with difficulty. As he stood thus, holding on to a chair for\nsupport, an airy mass like a cloud of tobacco smoke was seen on his left\nhip, his legs became illuminated by lights travelling up and down them,\nand a white film settled about his head and shoulders. The mass\nincreased, and he breathed harder and harder, whilst invisible hands\n_pulled the filmy drapery out of his hip_ in long strips, that\namalgamated as soon as formed, and fell to the ground to be succeeded by\nothers. The cloud continued to grow thicker, and we were eagerly\nwatching the process, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the mass had\nevaporated, and a spirit, full formed, stood beside him. No one could\nsay _how_ it had been raised in the very midst of us, nor whence it\ncame, but _it was there_. Mr. Eglinton then retired with the new-born\nspirit behind the curtains, but in another moment he came (or he was\nthrown out) amongst us again, and fell upon the floor. The curtains\nopened again, and the full figure of \"Ernest\" appeared and raised the\nmedium by the hand. As he saw him, Mr. Eglinton fell on his knees, and\n\"Ernest\" drew him out of sight. Thus ended the second of these two\nwonderful _seances_. Thus published reports of them were signed with the\nfull names and addresses of those who witnessed them.\n\nWilliam Eglinton's powers embrace various phases of phenomena, amongst\nwhich levitation is a common occurrence; indeed, I do not think I have\never sat with him at a _seance_ during which he has _not_ been\nlevitated. I have seen him on several occasions rise, or be carried,\ninto the air, so that his head touched the ceiling, and his feet were\nabove the sitters' heads. On one occasion whilst sitting with him a\nperfectly new manifestation was developed. As each spirit came the name\nwas announced, written on the air in letters of fire, which moved round\nthe circle in front of the sitters. As the names were those of friends\nof the audience and not of friends of Mr. Eglinton, and the phenomenon\nended with a letter written to me in the same manner on private affairs,\nit could not be attributed to a previously arranged trick. I have\naccompanied Mr. Eglinton, in the capacity of interpreter, to a\nprofessional _seance_ in Paris consisting of some forty persons, not one\nof whom could speak a word of English whilst he was equally ignorant of\nforeign languages. And I have heard French and German spirits return\nthrough him to converse with their friends, who were radiant with joy at\ncommunicating with them again, whilst their medium could not (had he\nbeen conscious) have understood or pronounced a single word of all the\nnews he was so glibly repeating. I will conclude this testimony to his\npowers by the account of a sitting with him for slate writing--that much\nabused and most maligned manifestation. Because a few ignorant\npig-headed people who have never properly investigated the science of\nSpiritualism decide that a thing cannot be, \"because it can't,\" men of\nhonor and truth are voted charlatans and tricksters, and those who\nbelieve in them fools and blind. The day will dawn yet when it will be\nseen which of the two classes best deserve the name.\n\nSome years ago, when I first became connected in business with Mr. Edgar\nLee of the _St. Stephen's Review_, I found him much interested in the\nsubject of Spiritualism, though he had never had an opportunity of\ninvestigating it, and through my introduction I procured him a test\n_seance_ with William Eglinton. We met one afternoon at the medium's\nhouse in Nottingham Place for that purpose, and sat at an ordinary table\nin the back dining-room for slate-writing. The slate used on the\noccasion (as Mr. Lee had neglected to bring his own slate as requested)\nwas one which was presented to Mr. Eglinton by Mr. Gladstone. It\nconsisted of two slates of medium size, set in mahogany frames, with box\nhinges, and which, when shut, were fastened with a Bramah lock and key.\nOn the table cloth was a collection of tiny pieces of different colored\nchalk. In the front room, which was divided from us by folding doors,\nwere some bookcases. Mr. Eglinton commenced by asking Mr. Lee to go into\nthe front room by himself, and select, in his mind's eye, any book he\nchose as the one from which extracts should be given. Mr. Lee having\ndone as he was told, returned to his former place beside us, without\ngiving a hint as to which book he had selected. Mr. Gladstone's slate\nwas then delivered over to him to clean with sponge and water; that\ndone, he was directed to choose four pieces of chalk and place them\nbetween the slates, to lock them and retain the key. The slates were\nleft on the table in the sight of all; Mr. Lee's hand remained on them\nall the time. All that Mr. Eglinton did was to place _his_ hand above\nMr. Lee's.\n\n\"You chose, I think,\" he commenced, \"four morsels of chalk--white, blue,\nyellow and red. Please say which word, on which line, on which page of\nthe book you selected just now, the white chalk shall transcribe.\"\n\nMr. Lee answered (I forget the exact numbers) somewhat in this wise,\n\"The 3rd word on the 15th line of the 102nd page,\" he having, it must be\nremembered, no knowledge of the contents of the volume, which he had not\neven touched with his hand. Immediately he had spoken, a scratching\nnoise was heard between the two slates. When it ceased, Mr. Eglinton put\nthe same question with regard to the blue, yellow and red chalks, which\nwas similarly responded to. He then asked Mr. Lee to unlock the slates,\nread the words, and then fetch the book he had selected, and compare\nnotes, and in each instance the word had been given correctly. Several\nother experiments were then made, equally curious, the number of Mr.\nLee's watch, which he had not taken from his pocket, and which he said\nhe did not know himself, being amongst them. Then Mr. Eglinton said to\nMr. Lee, \"Have you any friend in the spirit-world from whom you would\nlike to hear? If so, and you will mentally recall the name, we will try\nand procure some writing from him or her.\" (I must say here that these\ntwo were utter strangers to each other, and had met for the first time\nthat afternoon, and indeed [as will be seen by the context] _I_ had a\nvery slight knowledge of Mr. Edgar Lee myself at that time.) Mr. Lee\nthought for a moment, and then replied that there was a dead friend of\nhis from whom he should like to hear. The cleaning and locking process\nwas gone through again, and the scratching re-commenced, and when it\nconcluded, Mr. Lee unlocked the slates and read a letter to this\neffect:--\n\n     \"My Dear Will,--I am quite satisfied with your decision respecting\n     Bob. By all means, send him to the school you are thinking of. He\n     will get on better there. His education requires more pushing than\n     it gets at present. Thanks for all you have done for him. God bless\n     you.--Your affectionate cousin,                        R. Tasker.\"\n\nI do not pretend to give the exact words of this letter; for though they\nwere afterwards published, I have not a copy by me. But the gist of the\nexperiment does not lie in the exactitude of the words. When I saw the\nslate, I looked at Mr. Lee in astonishment.\n\n\"Who is it for?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is all right,\" he replied; \"it is for me. It is from my cousin, who\nleft his boy in my charge. _My real name is William Tasker._\"\n\nNow, I had never heard it hinted before that Edgar Lee was only a _nom\nde plume_, and the announcement came on me as a genuine surprise. So\nsatisfied was Mr. William Tasker Edgar Lee with his experimental\n_seance_, that he had the slate photographed and reproduced in the _St.\nStephen's Review_, with an account of the whole proceedings, which were\nsufficient to make any one stop for a moment in the midst of the world's\nharassing duties and think.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF ARTHUR COLMAN.\n\n\nArthur Colman was so intimate a friend of Mr. Eglinton's, and so much\nassociated with him in my thoughts in the days when I first knew them\nboth, that it seems only natural that I should write of him next. His\npowers were more confined to materialization than Eglinton's, but in\nthat he excelled. He is the most wonderful materializing medium I ever\nmet in England; but of late years, owing to the injury it did him in his\nprofession, he has been compelled, in justice to himself, to give up\nsitting for physical manifestations, and, indeed, sitting at all, except\nto oblige his friends. I cannot but consider this decision on his part\nas a great public loss; but until the public takes more interest in the\nnext world than they do in this, it will not make it worth the while of\nsuch as Mr. Colman to devote their lives, health and strength to their\nenlightenment. For to be a good physical medium means literally to part,\nlittle by little, with one's own life, and no man can be expected to do\nso much for the love of a set of unbelievers and sceptics, who will use\nup all his powers, and then go home to call him a rogue and a cheat and\na trickster. If, as I am persuaded, each one of us is surrounded by the\ninfluences we gather of our own free-will about us--the loving and\nnoble-hearted by angels, the selfish and unbelieving by devils--and we\nconsider how the latter preponderate over the former in this world, is\nit to be wondered at that most _seances_ are conducted by an assemblage\nof evil spirits brought there by the sitters themselves? Sceptical,\nblasphemous and sensual men and women collect together to try and find\nout the falsehood, _not the truth_, of Spiritualism, and are tricked by\nthe very influences that attend their footsteps and direct their daily\nlives; and therein lies the danger of Spiritualism as a pursuit, taken\nup out of curiosity rather than a desire to learn. It gives increased\npower to the evil that surrounds ourselves, and the devil that goes out\nof us returns with seven other devils worse than himself. The drunkard,\nwho, by giving rein to a weakness which he knows he should resist, has\nattracted to him the spirits of drunkards gone before, joins a _seance_,\nand by the collaboration of forces, as it were, bestows increased power\non the guides he has chosen for himself to lead him into greater evil.\nThis dissertation, however, called forth by the never-ceasing wonder I\nfeel at the indifference of the world towards such sights as I have\nseen, has led me further than I intended from the subject of my chapter.\n\nArthur Colman is a young man of delicate constitution and appearance,\nwho was at one time almost brought down to death's door by the demands\nmade by physical phenomena upon his strength; but since he has given up\nsitting, he has regained his health, and looks quite a different person.\nThis fact proves of itself what a tax is laid upon the unfortunate\nmedium for such manifestations. Since he has resolved, however, never to\nsit again, I am all the more anxious to record what I have seen through\nhim, probably for the last time. When I first knew my husband Colonel\nLean, he had seen nothing of Spiritualism, and was proportionately\ncurious, and naturally a little sceptical on the subject, or, rather let\nme say, incredulous. He was hardly prepared to receive all the marvels I\ntold him of without proof; and Mr. Colman's guide, \"Aimee,\" was very\nanxious to convince him of their truth. She arranged, therefore, a\n_seance_ at which he was to be present, and which was to be held at the\nhouse of Mr. and Mrs. George Neville. The party dined there together\npreviously, and consisted only of Mr. and Mrs. Neville, Arthur Colman,\nColonel Lean, and myself. As we were in the drawing-room, however, after\ndinner, and before we had commenced the _seance_, an American lady, who\nwas but slightly known to any of us, was announced. We had particularly\nwished to have no strangers present, and her advent proportionately\nannoyed us, but we did not know on what excuse to get rid of her. She\nwas a pushing sort of person; and when Mrs. Neville told her we were\ngoing to hold a _seance_, as a sort of hint that she might take her\nleave, it only made her resolve to stay; indeed, she declared she had\nhad a premonition of the fact. She said that whilst in her own room that\nmorning, a figure had appeared standing by her bed, dressed in blue and\nwhite, like the pictures of the Virgin Mary, and that all day she had\nhad an impression that she must spend the evening with the Nevilles, and\nshe should hear something more about it. We could not get rid of the\nlady, so we were obliged to ask her to remain and assist at the\n_seance_, which she had already made up her mind to do, so we commenced\nour preparations. The two drawing-rooms communicated by folding doors,\nwhich were opened, and a _portiere_ drawn across the opening. In the\nback room we placed Mr. Colman's chair. He was dressed in a light grey\nsuit, which we secured in the following manner:--His hands were first\nsewn inside the sleeves of the coat, then his arms were placed behind\nhis back, and the coat sleeves sewn together to the elbow. We then sewed\nhis trouser legs together in the same way. We then tied him round the\nthroat, waist and legs with _white cotton_, which the least movement on\nhis part would break, and the ends of each ligament were sealed to the\nwall of the room with wax and stamped with my seal with \"_Florence\nMarryat_\" on it. Considering him thus secure, without any _possibility_\nof escape unless we discovered it, we left him in the back room, and\narranged ourselves on a row of five chairs before the _portiere_ in the\nfront one, which was lighted by a single gas-burner. I sat at the head\nof the row, then the American lady, Mrs. Neville, Colonel Lean and Mr.\nNeville. I am not sure how long we waited for the manifestations; but I\ndo not think it was many minutes before a female figure glided from the\nside of the curtain and took a vacant chair by my side. I said, \"_Who is\nthis?_\" and she whispered, \"_Florence_,\" and laid her head down on my\nshoulder, and kissed my neck. I was turning towards her to distinguish\nher features more fully, when I became aware that a second figure was\nstanding in front of me, and \"Florence\" said \"Mother, there is Powles;\"\nand at the same time, as he bent down to speak to me, his beard touched\nmy face. I had not had time to draw the attention of my friends to the\nspirits that stood by me, when I was startled by hearing one exclamation\nafter another from the various sitters. The American lady called out,\n\"There's the woman that came to me this morning.\" Mr. Neville said,\n\"That is my father,\" and Colonel Lean was asking some one if he would\nnot give his name, I looked down the line of sitters. Before Colonel\nLean there stood an old man with a long, white beard; a somewhat similar\nfigure was in front of Mr. Neville. Before the dark curtain appeared a\nwoman dressed in blue and white, like a nun; and meanwhile, \"Florence\"\nand \"Powles\" still maintained their station by my side. As if this were\nnot enough of itself to turn a mortal's brain, the _portiere_ was at the\nsame moment drawn aside, and there stood Arthur Colman in his grey suit,\nfreed from all his bonds, but under the control of \"Aimee,\" who called\nout joyously to my husband, \"_Now, Frank, will you believe?_\" She\ndropped the curtain, the apparitions glided or faded away, and we passed\ninto the back drawing-room, to find Mr. Colman still in trance, just as\nwe had left him, and _with all the seals and stitches_ intact. Not a\nthread of them all was broken. This is the largest number of spirits I\nhave ever seen at one time with one medium. I have seen two materialized\nspirits at a time, and even three, from Mr. Williams and Miss Showers\nand Katie Cook; but on this occasion there were five apparent with the\nmedium, all standing together before us. And this is the sort of thing\nthat the majority of people do not consider it worth their while to take\na little trouble to see. I have already related how successfully\n\"Florence\" used to materialize through this medium, and numerous\nfriends, utterly unknown to him, have revisited us through his means.\nHis trance mediumship is as wonderful as his physical phenomena; some\npeople might think more so. Amongst others, two spirits have come back\nto us through Mr. Colman, neither of whom he knew in this life, and both\nof whom are, in their way, too characteristic to be mistaken. One is\nPhillis Glover the actress; the other my stepson, Francis Lean, who was\ndrowned by an accident at sea. Phillis Glover was a woman who led a very\neventful life, chiefly in America, and was a versatile genius in\nconversation, as in everything else. She was peculiar also, and had a\nhalf-Yankee way of talking, and a store of familiar sayings and\nanecdotes, which she constantly introduced into her conversation. She\nwas by no means an ordinary person whilst in this life, and in order to\nimitate her manner and speech successfully, one would need to be as\nclever a person as herself. And, without wishing to derogate from the\npowers of Mr. Colman's mind, he knows, and I know, that Phillis Glover\nwas cleverer than either of us. When her influence or spirit therefore\nreturns through him, it is quite unmistakable. It is not only that she\nretains all her little tricks of voice and feature and manner (which Mr.\nColman has never seen), but she alludes to circumstances that took place\nin this life and people she was associated with here that he has never\nheard of. More, she will relate her old stories and anecdotes, and sing\nher old songs, and give the most incontrovertible tests of her identity,\neven to recalling facts and incidents that have entirely passed from our\nminds. When she appears through him, it is Phillis Glover we are sitting\nwith again and talking with, as familiarly as we did in the days gone\nby. \"Francis,\" in his way too, is quite as remarkable. The circumstances\nof his death and the events leading to it were unknown to us, till he\nrelated them through Mr. Colman; and he speaks to us of the contents of\nprivate letters, and repeats conversations and alludes to circumstances\nand names that are known only to him and ourselves. He had a peculiar\nmanner also--quick and nervous--and a way of cutting his words short,\nwhich his spirit preserves to the smallest particular, and which furnish\nthe strongest proofs possible of his identity to those who knew him here\nbelow. But these are but a very few amongst the innumerable tests\nfurnished by Arthur Colman's occult powers of the assured possibility of\ncommunicating with the spirits of those gone before us.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF MRS. GUPPY VOLCKMAN.\n\n\nThe mediumship of this lady is so well known, and has been so\nuniversally attested, that nothing I can write of could possibly add to\nher fame; and as I made her acquaintance but a short time before she\nrelinquished sitting for manifestations, I have had but little\nexperience of her powers, but such as I enjoyed were very remarkable. I\nhave alluded to them in the story of \"The Green Lady,\" whose apparition\nwas due solely to Mrs. Guppy Volckman's presence, and on that occasion\nshe gave us another wonderful proof of her mediumship. A sheet was\nprocured and held up at either end by Mr. Charles Williams and herself.\nIt was held in the light, in the centre of the room, forming a white\nwall of about five feet high, _i.e._, as high as their arms could\nconveniently reach. _Both_ the hands of Mrs. Volckman and Mr. Williams\nwere placed _outside_ the sheet, so that no trickery might be suspected\nthrough their being concealed. In a short time the head of a woman\nappeared above the sheet, followed by that of a man, and various pairs\nof hands, both large and small, which bobbed up and down, and seized the\nhands of the spectators, whilst the faces went close to the media, as if\nwith the intention of kissing them. This frightened Mrs. Volckman, so\nthat she frequently screamed and dropped her end of the sheet, which,\nhad there been any deception, must inevitably have exposed it. It seemed\nto make no difference to the spirits, however, who reappeared directly\nthey had the opportunity, and made her at last so nervous that she threw\nthe sheet down and refused to hold it any more. The faces were\nlife-size, and could move their eyes and lips; the hands were some as\nlarge as a man's, and covered with hair, and others like those of a\nwoman or child. They had all the capability of working the fingers and\ngrasping objects presented to them; whilst the four hands belonging to\nthe media were kept in sight of the audience, and could not have worked\nmachinery even if they could have concealed it.\n\nThe first time I was introduced to Mrs. Volckman (then Mrs. Guppy) was\nat a _seance_ at her own house in Victoria Road, where she had assembled\na large party of guests, including several names well known in art and\nliterature. We sat in a well-lighted drawing-room, and the party was so\nlarge that the circle round the table was three deep. Mrs. Mary Hardy,\nthe American medium (since dead), was present, and the honors of the\nmanifestations may be therefore, I conclude, divided between the two\nladies. The table, a common deal one, made for such occasions, with a\nround hole of about twenty inches in diameter in the middle of it, was\ncovered with a cloth that hung down, and was nailed to the ground,\nleaving only the aperture free. (I must premise that this cloth had been\nnailed down by a committee of the gentlemen visitors, in order that\nthere might be no suspicion of a confederate hidden underneath it.) We\nthen sat round the table, but without placing our hands on it. In a\nshort time hands began to appear through the open space in the table,\nall sorts of hands, from the woman's taper fingers and the baby's\ndimpled fist, to the hands of old and young men, wrinkled or muscular.\nSome of the hands had rings on the fingers, by which the sitters\nrecognized them, some stretched themselves out to be grasped; and some\nappeared in pairs, clasped together or separate. One hand took a glove\nfrom a sitter and put it on the other, showing the muscular force it\npossessed by the way in which it pressed down each finger and then\nbuttoned the glove. Another pair of hands talked through the dumb\nalphabet to us, and a third played on a musical instrument. I was\nleaning forward, before I had witnessed the above, peering inquisitively\ndown the hole, and saying, \"I wonder if they would have strength to take\nanything down with them,\" when a large hand suddenly appeared and very\nnearly took _me_ down, by seizing my nose as if it never meant to let go\nagain. At all events, it took me a peg or two down, for I remember it\nbrought the tears into my eyes with the force it exhibited. After the\nhands had ceased to appear, the table was moved away, and we sat in a\ncircle in the light. Mrs. Guppy did not wish to take a part in the\n_seance_, except as a spectator, so she retired to the back\ndrawing-room with the Baroness Adelma Vay and other visitors, and left\nMrs. Hardy with the circle in the front. Suddenly, however, she was\nlevitated and carried in the sight of us all into the midst of our\ncircle. As she felt herself rising in the air, she called out, \"Don't\nlet go hands for Heaven's sake.\" We were standing in a ring, and I had\nhold of the hand of Prince Albert of Solms. As Mrs. Guppy came sailing\nover our heads, her feet caught his neck and mine, and in our anxiety to\ndo as she had told us, we gripped tight hold of each other, and were\nthrown forward on our knees by the force with which she was carried past\nus into the centre. This was a pretty strong proof to us, whatever it\nmay be to others, that our senses did not deceive us when we thought we\nsaw Mrs. Guppy over our heads in the air. The influence that levitated\nher, moreover, placed her on a chair with such a bump that it broke the\ntwo front legs off. As soon as Mrs. Guppy had rejoined us, the order was\ngiven to put out the light and to wish for something. We unanimously\nasked for flowers, it being the middle of December, and a hard frost.\nSimultaneously we smelt the smell of fresh earth, and were told to light\nthe gas again, when the following extraordinary sight met our view. In\nthe middle of the sitters, still holding hands, was piled up _on the\ncarpet_ an immense quantity of mould, which had been torn up apparently\nwith the roots that accompanied it. There were laurestinus, and laurels,\nand holly, and several others, just as they had been pulled out of the\nearth and thrown down in the midst of us. Mrs. Guppy looked anything but\npleased at the state of her carpet, and begged the spirits would bring\nsomething cleaner next time. They then told us to extinguish the lights\nagain, and each sitter was to wish _mentally_ for something for himself.\nI wished for a yellow butterfly, knowing it was December, and as I\nthought of it, a little cardboard box was put into my hand. Prince\nAlbert whispered to me, \"Have you got anything?\" \"Yes,\" I said; \"but not\nwhat I asked for. I expect they have given me a piece of jewellery.\"\nWhen the gas was re-lit, I opened the box, and there lay _two yellow\nbutterflies_; dead, of course, but none the less extraordinary for that.\nI wore at that _seance_ a tight-fitting, high white muslin dress, over a\ntight petticoat body. The dress had no pocket, and I carried my\nhandkerchief, a fine cambric one, in my hand. When the _seance_ was\nover, I found this handkerchief had disappeared, at which I was vexed,\nas it had been embroidered for me by my sister Emily, then dead. I\ninquired of every sitter if they had seen it, even making them turn out\ntheir pockets in case they had taken it in mistake for their own, but it\nwas not to be found, and I returned home, as I thought, without it. What\nwas my surprise on removing my dress and petticoat bodice to find the\nhandkerchief, neatly folded into a square of about four inches,\n_between_ my stays and the garment beneath them; placed, moreover, over\nthe smallest part of my waist, where no fingers could have penetrated\neven had my dress been loose. My woman readers may be able better than\nthe men to appreciate the difficulty of such a manoeuvre by mortal\nmeans; indeed it would have been quite impossible for myself or anybody\nelse to place the handkerchief in such a position without removing the\nstays. And it was folded so neatly also, and placed so smoothly, that\nthere was not a crumple in the cambric.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF FLORENCE COOK.\n\n\nIn writing of my own mediumship, or the mediumship of any other person,\nI wish it particularly to be understood that I do not intend my\nnarrative to be, by any means, an account of _all seances_ held under\nthat control (for were I to include everything that I have seen and\nheard during my researches into Spiritualism, this volume would swell to\nunconscionable dimensions), but only of certain events which I believe\nto be remarkable, and not enjoyed by every one in like measure. Most\npeople have read of the ordinary phenomena that take place at such\nmeetings. My readers, therefore, will find no description here of\nmarvels which--whether true or false--can be accounted for upon natural\ngrounds. Miss Florence Cook, now Mrs. Elgie Corner, is one of the media\nwho have been most talked of and written about. Mr. Alfred Crookes took\nan immense interest in her, and published a long account of his\ninvestigation of Spiritualism under her mediumship. Mr. Henry Dunphy, of\nthe _Morning Post_, wrote a series of papers for _London Society_ (of\nwhich magazine I was then the editor), describing her powers, and the\nproof she gave of them. The first time I ever met Florence Cook was in\nhis private house, when my little daughter appeared through her (_vide_\n\"The Story of my Spirit Child\"). On that occasion, as we were sitting at\nsupper after the _seance_--a party of perhaps thirty people--the whole\ndinner-table, with everything upon it, rose bodily in the air to a level\nwith our knees, and the dishes and glasses swayed about in a perilous\nmanner, without, however, coming to any permanent harm. I was so much\nastonished at, and interested by, what I saw that evening, that I became\nmost anxious to make the personal acquaintance of Miss Cook. She was the\nmedium for the celebrated spirit, \"Katie King,\" of whom so much has been\nbelieved and disbelieved, and the _seances_ she gave at her parents'\nhouse in Hackney for the purpose of seeing this figure alone used to be\ncrowded by the cleverest and most scientific men of the day, Sergeants\nCox and Ballantyne, Mr. S. C. Hall, Mr. Alfred Crookes, and many others,\nbeing on terms of the greatest intimacy with her. Mr. William Harrison,\nof the _Spiritualist_ paper, was the one to procure me an introduction\nto the family and an entrance to the _seances_, for which I shall always\nfeel grateful to him.\n\nFor the benefit of the uninitiated, let me begin by telling _who_ \"Katie\nKing\" was supposed to be. Her account of herself was that her name was\n\"Annie Owens Morgan;\" that she was the daughter of Sir Henry Morgan, a\nfamous buccaneer who lived about the time of the Commonwealth, and\nsuffered death upon the high seas, being, in fact, a pirate; that she\nherself was about twelve years old when Charles the First was beheaded;\nthat she married and had two little children; that she committed more\ncrimes than we should like to hear of, having murdered men with her own\nhands, but yet died quite young, at about two or three and twenty. To\nall questions concerning the reason of her reappearance on earth, she\nreturned but one answer, That it was part of the work given her to do to\nconvince the world of the truth of Spiritualism. This was the\ninformation I received from her own lips. She had appeared to the Cooks\nsome years before I saw her, and had become so much one of the family as\nto walk about the house at all times without alarming the inmates. She\noften materialized and got into bed with her medium at night, much to\nFlorrie's annoyance; and after Miss Cook's marriage to Captain Corner,\nhe told me himself that he used to feel at first as if he had married\ntwo women, and was not quite sure which was his wife of the two.\n\nThe order of these _seances_ was always the same. Miss Cook retired to a\nback room, divided from the audience by a thin damask curtain, and\npresently the form of \"Katie King\" would appear dressed in white, and\nwalk out amongst the sitters in gaslight, and talk like one of\nthemselves. Florence Cook (as I mentioned before) is a very small,\nslight brunette, with dark eyes and dark curly hair and a delicate\naquiline nose. Sometimes \"Katie\" resembled her exactly; at others, she\nwas totally different. Sometimes, too, she measured the same height as\nher medium; at others, she was much taller. I have a large photograph\nof \"Katie\" taken under limelight. In it she appears as the double of\nFlorrie Cook, yet Florrie was looking on whilst the picture was taken. I\nhave sat for her several times with Mr. Crookes, and seen the tests\napplied which are mentioned in his book on the subject. I have seen\nFlorrie's dark curls _nailed down to the floor_, outside the curtain, in\nview of the audience, whilst \"Katie\" walked about and talked with us. I\nhave seen Florrie placed on the scale of a weighing machine constructed\nby Mr. Crookes for the purpose, behind the curtain, whilst the balance\nremained in sight. I have seen under these circumstances that the medium\nweighed eight stone in a normal condition, and that as soon as the\nmaterialized form was fully developed, the balance ran up to four stone.\nMoreover, I have seen both Florrie and \"Katie\" together on several\noccasions, so I can have no doubt on the subject that they were two\nseparate creatures. Still, I can quite understand how difficult it must\nhave been for strangers to compare the strong likeness that existed\nbetween the medium and the spirit, without suspecting they were one and\nthe same person. One evening \"Katie\" walked out and perched herself upon\nmy knee. I could feel she was a much plumper and heavier woman than Miss\nCook, but she wonderfully resembled her in features, and I told her so.\n\"Katie\" did not seem to consider it a compliment. She shrugged her\nshoulders, made a grimace, and said, \"I know I am; I can't help it, but\nI was much prettier than that in earth life. You shall see, some\nday--you shall see.\" After she had finally retired that evening, she put\nher head out at the curtain again and said, with the strong lisp she\nalways had, \"I want Mrs. Ross-Church.\" I rose and went to her, when she\npulled me inside the curtain, when I found it was so thin that the gas\nshining through it from the outer room made everything in the inner\nquite visible. \"Katie\" pulled my dress impatiently and said, \"Sit down\non the ground,\" which I did. She then seated herself in my lap, saying,\n\"And now, dear, we'll have a good 'confab,' like women do on earth.\"\nFlorence Cook, meanwhile, was lying on a mattress on the ground close to\nus, wrapped in a deep trance. \"Katie\" seemed very anxious I should\nascertain beyond doubt that it was Florrie. \"Touch her,\" she said, \"take\nher hand, pull her curls. Do you see that it is Florrie lying there?\"\nWhen I assured her I was quite satisfied there was no doubt of it, the\nspirit said, \"Then look round this way, and see what I was like in earth\nlife.\" I turned to the form in my arms, and what was my amazement to see\na woman fair as the day, with large grey or blue eyes, a white skin, and\na profusion of golden red hair. \"Katie\" enjoyed my surprise, and asked\nme, \"Ain't I prettier than Florrie now?\" She then rose and procured a\npair of scissors from the table, and cut off a lock of her own hair and\na lock of the medium's, and gave them to me. I have them safe to this\nday. One is almost black, soft and silky; the other a coarse golden red.\nAfter she had made me this present, \"Katie\" said, \"Go back now, but\ndon't tell the others to-night, or they'll all want to see me.\" On\nanother very warm evening she sat on my lap amongst the audience, and I\nfelt perspiration on her arm. This surprised me; and I asked her if, for\nthe time being, she had the veins, nerves, and secretions of a human\nbeing; if blood ran through her body, and she had a heart and lungs. Her\nanswer was, \"I have everything that Florrie has.\" On that occasion also\nshe called me after her into the back room, and, dropping her white\ngarment, stood perfectly naked before me. \"Now,\" she said \"you can see\nthat I am a woman.\" Which indeed she was, and a most beautifully-made\nwoman too; and I examined her well, whilst Miss Cook lay beside us on\nthe floor. Instead of dismissing me this time, \"Katie\" told me to sit\ndown by the medium, and, having brought me a candle and matches, said I\nwas to strike a light as soon as she gave three knocks, as Florrie would\nbe hysterical on awaking, and need my assistance. She then knelt down\nand kissed me, and I saw she was still naked. \"Where is your dress,\nKatie?\" I asked. \"Oh that's gone,\" she said; \"I've sent it on before\nme.\" As she spoke thus, kneeling beside me, she rapped three times on\nthe floor. I struck the match almost simultaneously with the signal; but\nas it flared up, \"Katie King\" was gone like a flash of lightning, and\nMiss Cook, as she had predicted, awoke with a burst of frightened tears,\nand had to be soothed into tranquillity again. On another occasion\n\"Katie King\" was asked at the beginning of the _seance_, by one of the\ncompany, to say _why_ she could not appear in the light of more than one\ngasburner. The question seemed to irritate her, and she replied, \"I have\ntold you all, several times before, that I can't stay under a searching\nlight. I don't know _why_; but I can't, and if you want to prove the\ntruth of what I say, turn up all the gas and see what will happen to me.\nOnly remember, it you do there will be no _seance_ to-night, because I\nshan't be able to come back again, and you must take your choice.\"\n\nUpon this assertion it was put to the vote if the trial should be made\nor not, and all present (Mr. S. C. Hall was one of the party) decided we\nwould prefer to witness the effect of a full glare of gas upon the\nmaterialized form than to have the usual sitting, as it would settle the\nvexed question of the necessity of gloom (if not darkness) for a\nmaterializing _seance_ for ever. We accordingly told \"Katie\" of our\nchoice, and she consented to stand the test, though she said afterwards\nwe had put her to much pain. She took up her station against the\ndrawing-room wall, with her arms extended as if she were crucified. Then\nthree gas-burners were turned on to their full extent in a room about\nsixteen feet square. The effect upon \"Katie King\" was marvellous. She\nlooked like herself for the space of a second only, then she began\ngradually to melt away. I can compare the dematerialization of her form\nto nothing but a wax doll melting before a hot fire. First, the features\nbecame blurred and indistinct; they seemed to run into each other. The\neyes sunk in the sockets, the nose disappeared, the frontal bone fell\nin. Next the limbs appeared to give way under her, and she sank lower\nand lower on the carpet like a crumbling edifice. At last there was\n_nothing but her head_ left above the ground--then a heap of white\ndrapery only, which disappeared with a whisk, as if a hand had pulled it\nafter her--and we were left staring by the light of three gas-burners at\nthe spot on which \"Katie King\" had stood.\n\nShe was always attired in white drapery, but it varied in quality.\nSometimes it looked like long cloth; at others like mull muslin or\njaconet; oftenest it was a species of thick cotton net. The sitters were\nmuch given to asking \"Katie\" for a piece of her dress to keep as a\nsouvenir of their visit; and when they received it, would seal it up\ncarefully in an envelope and convey it home; and were much surprised on\nexamining their treasure to find it had totally disappeared.\n\n\"Katie\" used to say that nothing material about her could be made to\nlast without taking away some of the medium's vitality, and weakening\nher in consequence. One evening, when she was cutting off pieces of her\ndress rather lavishly, I remarked that it would require a great deal of\nmending. She answered, \"I'll show you how we mend dresses in the Spirit\nWorld.\" She then doubled up the front breadth of her garment a dozen\ntimes, and cut two or three round holes in it. I am sure when she let it\nfall again there must have been thirty or forty holes, and \"Katie\" said,\n\"Isn't that a nice cullender?\"\n\nShe then commenced, whilst we stood close to her, to shake her skirt\ngently about, and in a minute it was as perfect as before, without a\nhole to be seen. When we expressed our astonishment, she told me to take\nthe scissors and cut off her hair. She had a profusion of ringlets\nfalling to her waist that night. I obeyed religiously, hacking the hair\nwherever I could, whilst she kept on saying, \"Cut more! cut more! not\nfor yourself, you know, because you can't take it away.\"\n\nSo I cut off curl after curl, and as fast as they fell to the ground,\n_the hair grew again upon her head_. When I had finished, \"Katie\" asked\nme to examine her hair, to see if I could detect any place where I had\nused the scissors, and I did so without any effect. Neither was the\nsevered hair to be found. It had vanished out of sight. \"Katie\" was\nphotographed many times, by limelight, by Mr. Alfred Crookes, but her\nportraits are all too much like her medium to be of any value in\nestablishing her claim to a separate identity. She had always stated she\nshould not appear on this earth after the month of May, 1874; and\naccordingly, on the 21st, she assembled her friends to say \"Good-bye\" to\nthem, and I was one of the number. \"Katie\" had asked Miss Cook to\nprovide her with a large basket of flowers and ribbons, and she sat on\nthe floor and made up a bouquet for each of her friends to keep in\nremembrance of her.\n\nMine, which consists of lilies of the valley and pink geranium, looks\nalmost as fresh to-day, nearly seventeen years after, as it did when she\ngave it to me. It was accompanied by the following words, which \"Katie\"\nwrote on a sheet of paper in my presence:--\n\n     \"From Annie Owen de Morgan (_alias_ 'Katie') to her friend Florence\n     Marryat Ross-Church. With love. _Pensez a moi._\n     \"_May 21st, 1874._\"\n\nThe farewell scene was as pathetic as if we had been parting with a dear\ncompanion by death. \"Katie\" herself did not seem to know how to go. She\nreturned again and again to have a last look, especially at Mr. Alfred\nCrookes, who was as attached to her as she was to him. Her prediction\nhas been fulfilled, and from that day, Florence Cook never saw her again\nnor heard anything about her. Her place was shortly filled by another\ninfluence, who called herself \"Marie,\" and who danced and sung in a\ntruly professional style, and certainly as Miss Cook never either danced\nor sung. I should not have mentioned the appearance of this spirit, whom\nI only saw once or twice, excepting for the following reason. On one\noccasion Miss Cook (then Mrs. Corner) was giving a public _seance_ at\nthe rooms of the National British Association of Spiritualists, at which\na certain Sir George Sitwell, a very young man, was present, and at\nwhich he declared that the medium cheated, and that the spirit \"Marie\"\nwas herself, dressed up to deceive the audience. Letters appeared in the\nnewspapers about it, and the whole press came down upon Spiritualists,\nand declared them all to be either knaves or fools. These notices were\npublished on the morning of a day on which Miss Cook was engaged to give\nanother public _seance_, at which I was present. She was naturally very\nmuch cut up about them. Her reputation was at stake; her honor had been\ncalled into question, and being a proud girl, she resented it bitterly.\nHer present audience was chiefly composed of friends; but, before\ncommencing, she put it to us whether, whilst under such a stigma, she\nhad better not sit at all. We, who had all tested her and believed in\nher, were unanimous in repudiating the vile charges brought against her,\nand in begging the _seance_ should proceed. Florrie refused, however, to\nsit unless some one remained in the cabinet with her, and she chose me\nfor the purpose. I was therefore tied to her securely with a stout rope,\nand we remained thus fastened together for the whole of the evening.\nUnder which conditions \"Marie\" appeared, and sung and danced outside the\ncabinet, just as she had done to Sir George Sitwell whilst her medium\nremained tied to me. So much for men who decide a matter before they\nhave sifted it to the bottom. Mrs. Elgie Corner has long since given up\nmediumship either private or public, and lives deep down in the heart\nof Wales, where the babble and scandal of the city affect her no longer.\nBut she told me, only last year, that she would not pass through the\nsuffering she had endured on account of Spiritualism again for all the\ngood this world could give her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF KATIE COOK.\n\n\nIn the matter of producing physical phenomena the Cooks are a most\nremarkable family, all three daughters being powerful media, and that\nwithout any solicitation on their part. The second one, Katie, is by no\nmeans the least powerful of the three, although she has sat more\nprivately than her sister Florence, and not had the same scientific\ntests (I believe) applied to her. The first time I had an opportunity of\ntesting Katie's mediumship was at the private rooms of Signor Rondi, in\na circle of nine or ten friends. The apartment was small and sparsely\nfurnished, being an artist's studio. The gas was kept burning, and\nbefore the sitting commenced the door was locked and strips of paper\npasted over the opening inside. The cabinet was formed of a window\ncurtain nailed across one corner of the room, behind which a chair was\nplaced for the medium, who is a remarkably small and slight girl--much\nslighter than her sister Florence--with a thin face and delicate\nfeatures. She was dressed, on this occasion, in a tight-fitting black\ngown and Hessian boots that buttoned half-way to her knee, and which,\nshe informed me, she always wore when sitting (just as Miss Showers\ndid), because they had each eighteen buttons, which took a long time to\nfasten and unfasten. The party sat in a semicircle, close outside the\ncurtain, and the light was lowered, but not extinguished. There was no\ndarkness, and no holding of hands. I mention these facts to show how\nvery simple the preparations were. In a few minutes the curtain was\nlifted, and a form, clothed in white, who called herself \"Lily,\" was\npresented to our view. She answered several questions relative to\nherself and the medium; and perceiving some doubt on the part of some of\nthe sitters, she seated herself on my knee, I being nearest the curtain,\nand asked me to feel her body, and tell the others how differently she\nwas made from the medium. I had already realized that she was much\nheavier than Katie Cook, as she felt like a heavy girl of nine or ten\nstone. I then passed my hand up and down her figure. She had full\nbreasts and plump arms and legs, and could not have been mistaken by the\nmost casual observers for Miss Cook. Whilst she sat on my knee, however,\nshe desired my husband and Signor Rondi to go inside the curtain and\nfeel that the medium was seated in her chair. When they did so, they\nfound Katie was only half entranced. She thrust her feet out to view,\nand said, \"I am not 'Lily;' feel my boots.\" My husband had, at the same\nmoment, one hand on Miss Cook's knee, and the other stretched out to\nfeel the figure seated on my lap. There remained no doubt in _his_ mind\nof there being two bodies there at the same time. Presently \"Lily\"\npassed her hand over my dress, and remarked how nice and warm it was,\nand how she wished she had one on too. I asked her, \"Are you cold?\" and\nshe said, \"Wouldn't you be cold if you had nothing but this white thing\non?\" Half-jestingly, I took my fur cloak, which was on a sofa close by,\nand put it round her shoulders, and told her to wear it. \"Lily\" seemed\ndelighted. She exclaimed, \"Oh, how warm it is! May I take it away with\nme?\" I said, \"Yes, if you will bring it back before I go home. I have\nnothing else to wear, remember.\" She promised she would, and left my\nside. In another moment she called out, \"Turn up the gas!\" We did so.\n\"Lily\" was gone, and so was my large fur cloak! We searched the little\nroom round for it. It had entirely disappeared. There was a locked\ncupboard in which Signor Rondi kept drawing materials. I insisted on its\nbeing opened, although he declared it had not been unlocked for weeks,\nand we found it full of dust and drawing blocks, but nothing else, so\nthe light was again lowered, and the _seance_ resumed. In a short time\nthe heavy cloak was flung, apparently from the ceiling, evidently from\nsomewhere higher than my head, and fell right over it.\n\nI laid it again on the sofa, and thought no more about it until I\nreturned home. I then found, to my astonishment, and considerably to my\nannoyance, that the fur of my cloak (which was a new one) was all coming\nout. My dress was covered with it, and from that day I was never able to\nwear the cloak again. \"Lily\" said she had _de_-materialized it, to take\nit away. Of the truth of that assertion I had no proof, but I am quite\nsure that she did not put it together again when she brought it back. An\narmy of moths encamped in it could not have damaged it more, and I can\nvouch that until that evening the fur had been as perfect as when I\npurchased it.\n\nI think my next sitting with Katie Cook was at a _seance_ held in Museum\nStreet, and on the invitation of Mr. Chas. Blackburn, who is one of the\nmost earnest friends of Spiritualism, and has expended a large amount of\nmoney in its research. The only other guests were my husband, and\nGeneral and Mrs. Maclean. We sat round a small uncovered table with the\ngas burning and _without a cabinet_, Miss Katie Cook had a seat between\nGeneral Maclean and myself, and we made sure of her proximity to us\nduring the whole _seance_. In fact, I never let go of her hand, and even\nwhen she wished to use her pocket-handkerchief, she had to do it with my\nhand clinging to her own. Neither did she go into a trance. We spoke to\nher occasionally during the sitting, and she answered us, though in a\nvery subdued voice, as she complained of being sick and faint. In about\ntwenty minutes, during which the usual manifestations occurred, the\nmaterialized form of \"Lily\" appeared _in the middle of the table_, and\nspoke to us and kissed us all in turn. Her face was very small, and she\nwas _only formed to the waist_, but her flesh was quite firm and warm.\nWhilst \"Lily\" occupied the table in the full sight of all the sitters,\nand I had my hand upon Miss Cook's figure (for I kept passing my hand up\nand down from her face to her knees, to make sure it was not only a hand\nI held), some one grasped my chair from behind and shook it, and when I\nturned my head and spoke, in a moment one arm was round my neck and one\nround the neck of my husband, who sat next to me, whilst the voice of my\ndaughter \"Florence\" spoke to us both, and her long hair and her soft\nwhite dress swept over our faces and hands. Her hair was so abundant and\nlong, that she shook it out over my lap, that I might feel its length\nand texture. I asked \"Florence\" for a piece of her hair and dress, and\nscissors not being forthcoming, \"Lily\" materialized more fully, and\nwalked round from the other side of the table and cut off a piece of\n\"Florence's\" dress herself with my husband's penknife, but said they\ncould not give me the hair that time. The two spirits remained with us\nfor, perhaps, half an hour or more, whilst General Maclean and I\ncontinued to hold Miss Cook a prisoner. The power then failing, they\ndisappeared, but every one present was ready to take his oath that two\npresences had been with us that never entered at the door. The room was\nsmall and unfurnished, the gas was burning, the medium sat for the whole\ntime in our sight. Mrs. Maclean and I were the only other women present,\nyet two girls bent over and kissed us, spoke to us, and placed their\nbare arms on our necks at one and the same time. There was again also a\nmarked difference between the medium and the materializations. I have\nalready described her appearance. Both of these spirits had plump faces\nand figures, my daughter \"Florence's\" hands especially being large and\nfirm, and her loose hair nearly down to her knees.\n\nI had the pleasure of holding another _seance_ with Katie Cook in the\nsame rooms, when a new manifestation occurred. She is (as I have said) a\nvery small woman, with very short arms. I am, on the contrary, a very\nlarge woman, with very long arms, yet the arm of the hand I held was\nelongated to such an extent that it reached the sitters on the other\nside of the table, where it would have been impossible for mine to\nfollow it. I should think the limb must have been stretched to thrice\nits natural length, and that in the sight of everybody. I sat again with\nKatie Cook in her own house, where, if trickery is employed, she had\nevery opportunity of tricking us, but the manifestations were much the\nsame, and certainly not more marvellous than those she had exhibited in\nthe houses of strangers. \"Lily\" and \"Florence\" both appeared at the same\ntime, under circumstances that admitted of no possibility of fraud. My\nhusband and I were accompanied on that occasion by our friends, Captain\nand Mrs. Kendal, and the order of sitting round the table was as\nfollows:--Myself, Katie, Captain K., Florence Cook, my husband, Mrs.\nCook, Mrs. Kendal. Each member of the family, it will be observed, was\nheld between two detectives, and their hands were not once set free. I\nmust say also that the _seance_ was a free one, courteously accorded us\non the invitation of Mrs. Cook; and if deception had been intended, we\nand our friends might just as well have been left to sit with Katie\nalone, whilst the other members of the family superintended the\nmanifestation of the \"ghosts\" outside. Miss Florence Cook, indeed (Mrs.\nCorner), objected at first to sitting with us, on the score that her\nmediumship usually neutralized that of her sister, but her mother\ninsisted on her joining the circle, lest any suspicion should be excited\nby her absence. The Cooks, indeed, are, all of them, rather averse to\nsitting than not, and cordially agree in disliking the powers that have\nbeen thrust upon them against their own will.\n\nThese influences take possession of them, unfitting them for more\npractical work, and they must live. This is, I believe, the sole reason\nthat they have never tried to make money by the exercise of their\nmediumship. But I, for one, fully believe them when they tell me that\nthey consider the fact of their being media as the greatest misfortune\nthat has ever happened to them. On the occasion of this last _seance_,\ncherries and rosebuds were showered in profusion on the table during the\nevening. These may easily be believed to have been secreted in the room\nbefore the commencement of the sitting, and produced at the proper\nopportunity, although the hands of everybody interested in their\nproduction were fast held by strangers. But it is less easy to believe\nthat a lady of limited income, like Mrs. Cook, should go to such an\nexpense for an unpaid _seance_, for the purpose of making converts of\npeople who were strangers to her. Mediumship pays very badly as it is. I\nam afraid it would pay still worse if the poor media had to purchase the\nmeans for producing the phenomena, especially when, in a town like\nLondon, they run (as in this instance) to hothouse fruit and flowers.\n\nOne more example of Katie Cook's powers and I have done. We were\nassembled one evening by the invitation of Mr. Charles Blackburn at his\nhouse, Elgin Crescent. We sat in a small breakfast room on the basement\nfloor, so small, indeed, for the size of the party, that as we encircled\na large round table, the sitters' backs touched the wall on either side,\nthus entirely preventing any one crossing the room whilst we were\nestablished there. The only piece of furniture of any consequence in the\nroom, beside the chairs and table, was a trichord cabinet piano,\nbelonging to Mrs. Cook (who was keeping house at the time for Mr.\nBlackburn), and which she much valued.\n\nKatie Cook sat amongst us as usual. In the middle of the _seance_ her\ncontrol \"Lily,\" who was materialized, called out, \"Keep hands fast.\nDon't let go, whatever you do!\" And at the same time, without seeing\nanything (for we were sitting in complete darkness), we became conscious\nthat something large and heavy was passing or being carried over our\nheads. One of the ladies of the party became nervous, and dropped her\nneighbor's hand with a cry of alarm, and, at the same moment, a weighty\nbody fell with a fearful crash on the other side of the room. \"Lily\"\nexclaimed, \"Some one has let go hands,\" and Mrs. Cook called out; \"Oh!\nit's my piano.\" Lights were struck, when we found the cabinet piano had\nactually been carried from its original position right over our heads to\nthe opposite side of the room, where it had fallen on the floor and been\nseriously damaged. The two carved legs were broken off, and the sounding\nboard smashed in. Any one who had heard poor Mrs. Cook's lamentations\nover the ruin of her favorite instrument, and the expense it would\nentail to get it restored, would have felt little doubt as to whether\n_she_ had been a willing victim to this unwelcome proof of her\ndaughter's physical mediumship.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF BESSIE FITZGERALD.\n\n\nOne evening I went to have a cup of tea with my friend Miss Schonberg at\nShepherd's Bush, when she proposed that we should go and have a _seance_\nwith Mrs. Henry Jencken (Kate Fox), who lived close by. I hailed the\nidea, as I had heard such great things of the medium in question, and\nnever had an opportunity of testing them. Consequently, I was\nproportionately disappointed when, on sending round to her house to ask\nif she could receive us that evening, we received a message to say that\nMr. Jencken, her husband, had died that morning, and she could see no\none. Miss Schonberg and I immediately cast about in our minds to see\nwhat we should do with our time, and she suggested we should call on\nMrs. Fitzgerald. \"Who is Mrs. Fitzgerald?\" I queried. \"A wonderful\nmedium,\" replied my friend, \"whom I met at Mrs. Wilson's last week, and\nwho gave me leave to call on her. Let us go together.\" And accordingly\nwe set forth for Mrs. Fitzgerald's residence in the Goldhawk Road. I\nonly mention these circumstances to show how utterly unpremeditated was\nmy first visit to her. We arrived at her house, and were ushered into a\nsitting-room, Miss Schonberg only sending up her name. In a few minutes\nthe door opened, and a small, fair woman, dressed in black velvet,\nentered the room. Miss Schonberg saluted her, and was about to tender\nsome explanation regarding _my_ presence there, when Mrs. Fitzgerald\nwalked straight up to me and took my hand. Her eyes seemed to dilate and\ncontract, like the opening and shutting off of a light, in a manner\nwhich I have often seen since, and she uttered rapidly, \"You have been\nmarried once; you have been married twice; and you will be married a\nthird time.\" I answered, \"If you know anything, Mrs. Fitzgerald, you\nmust know that I am very much attached to my husband, and that your\ninformation can give me no pleasure to hear.\" \"No!\" she said, \"no! I\nsuppose not, but you cannot alter Fate.\" She then proceeded to speak of\nthings in my past life which had had the greatest influence over the\nwhole of it, occurrences of so private and important a nature that it\nbecomes impossible to write them down here, and for that very reason\ndoubly convincing to the person whom they concern. Presently Mrs.\nFitzgerald wandered to her piano, and commenced to play the air of the\nballad so firmly connected in my mind with John Powles, \"Thou art gone\nfrom my gaze,\" whilst she turned and nodded at me saying, \"_He's_ here!\"\nIn fact, after a couple of hours' conversation with her, I felt that\nthis stranger in the black velvet dress had turned out every secret of\nmy life, and laid it naked and bare before me. I was wonderfully\nattracted to her. Her personality pleased me; her lonely life, living\nwith her two babies in the Goldhawk Road, made me anxious to give her\nsociety and pleasure, and her wonderful gifts of clairvoyance and trance\nmediumship, all combined to make me desire her friendship, and I gave\nher a cordial invitation to my house in the Regent's Park, where for\nsome years she was a constant visitor, and always sure of a hearty\nwelcome. It was due to her kindness that I first had the opportunity to\nstudy trance mediumship at my leisure, and in a short time we became so\nfamiliar with her most constant control, \"Dewdrop,\" a Red Indian girl,\nand so accustomed to speak through Mrs. Fitzgerald with our own friends\ngone before, that we welcomed her advent to our house as the signal for\nholding a spiritual party. For the sake of the uninitiated and curious,\nI think I had better here describe what is meant by trance mediumship. A\nperson thus gifted has the power of giving him or herself up to the\ncontrol of the influences in command, who send him or her off to sleep,\na sleep so deep and so like death that the spirit is actually parted\n_pro tem_ from the body, which other spirits, sometimes living, but far\noftener dead, enter and use as if it were their own. I have mentioned in\nmy chapter on \"Embodied Spirits\" how my living friend in India conversed\nwith me through Bessie Fitzgerald in this way, also how \"Florence\" spoke\nto me through the unconscious lips of Mabel Keningale Cook.\n\nOf course, I am aware that it would be so easy for a medium simply to\nclose her eyes, and, professing to be entranced, talk a lot of\ncommonplaces, which open-mouthed fools might accept as a new gospel,\nthat it becomes imperative to test this class of media strictly by _what\nthey utter_, and to place no faith in them until you are convinced that\nthe matters they speak of cannot possibly have been known to any one\nexcept the friend whose mouthpiece they profess to be. All this I fully\nproved for myself from repeated trials and researches; but the\nunfortunate part of it is, that the more forcible and convincing the\nprivate proof, the more difficult it is to place it before the public. I\nmust content myself, therefore, with saying that some of my dead friends\n(so called) came back to me so frequently through Bessie Fitzgerald, and\nfamiliarized themselves so completely with my present life, that I\nforgot sometimes that they had left this world, and flew to them (or\nrather to Bessie) to seek their advice or ask their sympathy as\nnaturally as if she were their earthly form. Of these my daughter\n\"Florence\" was necessarily the most often with me, and she and \"Dewdrop\"\ngenerally divided the time which Mrs. Fitzgerald spent with us between\nthem. I never saw a control so completely identified with its medium as\n\"Dewdrop\" was with Bessie. It was difficult at times to know which was\nwhich, and one could never be certain until she spoke whether the spirit\nor the medium had entered the house. When she _did_ speak, however,\nthere was no mistaking them. Their characters were so different. Bessie\nFitzgerald, a quiet, soft spoken little woman, devoted to her children,\nand generally unobtrusive; \"Dewdrop,\" a Sioux Indian girl, wary and deep\nas her tribe and cute and saucy as a Yankee, with an amount of devilry\nin her that must at times have proved very inconvenient. She used to\nplay Mrs. Fitzgerald tricks in those days that might have brought her\ninto serious trouble, such as controlling her whilst travelling in an\nomnibus, and talking her Yankee Indian to the passengers until she had\nmade their hair stand on end, with the suspicion that they had a lunatic\nfor a companion. One evening we had a large and rather \"swell\" evening\nparty, chiefly composed of ladies and gentlemen of the theatrical\nprofession, and entirely of non-spiritualists, excepting ourselves. Mrs.\nFitzgerald had been invited to this party, and declined, because it was\nout of her line. We were therefore rather astonished, when all the\nguests were assembled, to hear her name announced and see her enter the\nroom in a morning dress. Directly I cast eyes upon her, however, I saw\nthat it was not herself, but \"Dewdrop.\" The stride with which she\nwalked, the waggish way she rolled from side to side, the devilry in her\neye, all betokened the Indian control. To make matters worse, she went\nstraight up to Colonel Lean, and, throwing herself on the ground at his\nfeet, affectionately laid her head upon his knee, and said, \"I'se come\nto the party.\" Imagine the astonishment of our guests! I was obliged at\nonce, in defence of my friend, to explain to them how matters stood; and\nthough they looked rather incredulous, they were immensely interested,\nand \"Dewdrop's\" visit proved to be _the_ event of the evening. She\ntalked to each one separately, telling them home truths, and prophesying\ntheir future in a way that made their cheeks go pale with fright, or red\nwith conscious shame, and there was quite a contest between the men as\nto who should take \"Dewdrop\" down to the supper table. When there, she\nmade herself particularly lively, making personal remarks aloud that\nwere, in some instances, rather trying to listen to, and which Bessie\nFitzgerald would have cut out her tongue sooner than utter. She ate,\ntoo, of dishes which would have made Bessie ill for a week. This was\nanother strange peculiarity of \"Dewdrop's\" control. She not only ousted\nthe spirit; she regulated the internal machinery of her medium's body.\nBessie in her normal condition was a very delicate woman with a weak\nheart and lungs, and obliged to be most careful in her diet. She ate\nlike a sparrow, and of the simplest things. \"Dewdrop,\" on the other\nhand, liked indigestible food, and devoured it freely; yet Bessie has\ntold me that she never felt any inconvenience from the food amalgamated\nwith her system whilst under \"Dewdrop's\" control. One day when Mrs.\nFitzgerald was dining with us, we had some apples at dessert, which she\nwould have liked to partake of, but was too much afraid of the after\nconsequences. \"I _dare_ not,\" she said; \"if I were to eat a raw apple, I\nshould have indigestion for a week.\" She took some preserved ginger\ninstead; and we were proceeding with our dessert, when I saw her hand\nsteal out and grasp an apple. I looked in her face. \"Dewdrop\" had taken\nher place. \"Dewdrop,\" I said, authoritatively, \"you must not eat that.\nYou will hurt Bessie. Put it down directly.\"\n\n\"I shan't,\" replied \"Dewdrop,\" drawing the dish towards her; \"I like\napples. I'm always wanting 'Medy' to eat them, and she won't, so she\nmust go away till I've had as many as I want.\" And in effect she ate\nthree or four of them, and Bessie would never have been cognizant of the\nfact unless I had informed her. On the occasion of the party to which\nshe came uninvited, \"Dewdrop\" remained with us to the very last, and\nwent home in a cab, and landed Mrs. Fitzgerald at her house without her\nbeing aware that she had ever left it. At that time we were constantly\nat each other's houses, and many an evening have I spent alone with\nBessie in the Goldhawk Road, her servant out marketing and her little\nchildren asleep in the room overhead. Her baby was then a great fat\nfellow of about fifteen months old, who was given to waking and crying\nfor his mother. If \"Dewdrop\" were present, she was always very impatient\nwith these interruptions. \"Bother dat George,\" she would say; \"I must go\nup and quiet him.\" Then she would disappear for a few minutes, while\nBessie woke and talked to me, and then, in the twinkling of an eye,\n\"Dewdrop\" would be back again. One day, apparently, \"George\" would not\nbe comforted, for on \"Dewdrop's\" return she said to me, \"It's no good;\nI've had to bring him down. He's on the mat outside the door;\" and\nthere, sure enough, we found the poor baby wailing in his nightshirt.\nNot being able to walk, how he had been spirited from the top storey to\nthe bottom I leave my readers to determine. Bessie's little girl Mabel\npromised to be as wonderful a medium as her mother. She would come in\nfrom the garden flushed from her play with the \"spirit-children,\" of\nwhom she talked as familiarly as of her little neighbors next door. I\nhave watched her playing at ball with an invisible child, and have seen\nthe ball thrown, arrested half-way in the air, and then tossed back\nagain just as if a living child had been Mab's opponent. I had lost\nseveral infants from premature birth during my second marriage, and the\neldest of these, a girl, appeared to be a constant companion of Mabel's.\nShe was always talking of what \"Mrs. Lean's girl\" (as she called her)\nhad done and said; and one day she had a violent fit of weeping because\nher mother would not promise to buy her a frock like the one \"Mrs.\nLean's girl\" wore.\n\n_Apropos_ of these still-born children, I had a curious experience with\nMrs. Fitzgerald. I had had no idea until then that children so born\npossessed any souls, or lived again, but \"Florence\" undeceived me when\nshe told me she had charge of her little brothers and sisters. She even\nprofessed to know the names by which they were known in the spirit\nworld. When a still-born baby is launched upon the other side, she said\nit is delivered over to the nearest relative of its parent, to be called\nby what name he may choose. Thus my first girl was christened by Colonel\nLean's mother \"Gertrude,\" after a bosom friend of hers, and my second my\nfather named \"Joan,\" as he said it was his favorite female name. Upon\nsubsequent inquiry, we found that Mrs. Lean _had_ a friend called\n\"Gertrude,\" and that \"Joan\" was distinctly Captain Marryat's _beau\nideal_ of a woman's name. However, that signified but little. I became\nvery curious to see or speak with these unknown babies of mine, and used\nto worry \"Florence\" to bring them to me. She would expostulate with me\nafter this fashion: \"Dear mother, be reasonable. Remember what babies\nthey are, and that this world is quite strange to them. When your\nearthly children were small you never allowed them to be brought down\nbefore strangers, for fear they should cry. 'Gertie' and 'Yonnie' would\nbehave just the same if I brought them back to you now.\" However, I went\non teasing her till she made the attempt, and \"Gertie\" returned through\nMrs. Fitzgerald. It was a long time before we could coax her to remain\nwith us, and when she overcame her first shyness, it was like talking to\na little savage. \"Gertie\" didn't know the meaning of anything, or the\nnames of anything. Her incessant questions of \"What's a father?\" \"What a\nmother?\" \"What's a dog?\" were very difficult to answer; but she would\nchatter about the spirit-world, and what she did there, as glibly as\npossible. She told us that she knew her brother Francis (the lad who was\ndrowned at sea) very well, and she \"ran races, and Francis 'chivied'\nher; and when he caught her, he held her under the fountain, and the\nspray wetted her frock, and made it look like silver.\" The word\n\"_chivied_\" sounding to me very much of a mundane character, I asked\n\"Gertie\" where she learned it; and she said, \"Francis says 'chivy,' so\n_I_ may,\" and it was indeed a common expression with him. \"Gertie\" took,\nafter a while, such a keen interest in my ornaments and china, rather to\ntheir endangerment, that I bought a doll to see if she would play with\nit. At first she was vastly delighted with the \"little spirit,\" as she\ncalled it, and nursed it just as a mortal child would have done. But\nwhen she began to question me as to the reason the doll did not look at\nher, or answer her, or move about, and I said it was because it was not\nalive, she was dreadfully disappointed. \"_Not alive!_\" she echoed;\n\"didn't God make it?\" and when I replied in the negative, she threw it\nto the other end of the room, and would never look at it again.\n\n\"Gertie\" was about five years old at this period, and seemed to have a\ngreat idea of her own importance. She always announced herself as \"The\nPrincess Gertie,\" and was very dignified in her behavior. One day, when\na lady friend was present when \"Gertie\" came and asked her to kiss her,\nshe extended her hand instead of her face, saying, \"You may kiss my\nhand.\"\n\n\"Yonnie\" (as \"Joan\" called herself) was but eighteen months old, and\nused to manifest herself, _roaring_ like a child forcibly dragged before\nstrangers, and the only word we could ever extract from her was\n\"Sugar-plums.\" Accordingly, I invested in some for her benefit, with\nwhich she filled her mouth so full as nearly to choke the medium, and\n\"Florence\" rebuked me seriously for my carelessness, and threatened\nnever to bring \"Yonnie\" down to this earth again. There had been three\nother children--boys--whom I was equally anxious to see again, but, for\nsome inexplicable reason, \"Florence\" said it was impossible that they\ncould manifest. The little girls, however, came until we were quite\nfamiliar with them. I am aware that all this must sound very childish,\nbut had it not borne a remarkable context, I should not have related it.\nAll the wonder of it will be found later on.\n\nMrs. Fitzgerald suffered very much at this time from insomnia, which she\nalways declared was benefitted after a visit to me. I proposed one\nnight, therefore, when she had stayed with us later than usual, that she\nshould remain and share my bed, and return home in the morning. She\nconsented, and at the usual hour we retired to rest together, I taking\ncare to lock the bedroom door and keep the gas burning; indeed, Bessie\nwas so nervous of what she might see that she would not have remained in\nthe dark for any consideration. The bed we occupied was what is called a\nhalf tester, with a canopy and curtains on either side. As soon as ever\nBessie got into it, she burrowed under the clothes like a dormouse, and\nwent fast asleep. I was too curious to see what might happen to follow\nher example, so my head remained on the pillow, and my eyes wide open,\nand turning in every direction. Presently I saw the curtains on the\nopposite side of the bed gently shaken, next a white hand and arm\nappeared round them, and was passed up and down the ridge that\nrepresented Bessie Fitzgerald's body; finally, after several times\nstepping forward and retreating again, a female figure emerged and\nwalked to the foot of the bedstead and stood there regarding me. She\nwas, to all appearance, as solidly formed as any human creature could\nbe, and she was as perfectly distinct as though seen by daylight. Her\nhead and bust reminded me at once of the celebrated \"Clytie,\" they were\nso classically and beautifully formed. Her hair and skin were fair, her\neyes luminously liquid and gentle, her whole attitude one of modest\ndignity. She was clothed in some creamy white material, thick and soft,\nand intermixed with dull gold. She wore no ornaments, but in her right\nhand she carried a long branch of palm, or olive, or myrtle, something\ntall and tapering, and of dark green. She scarcely could be said to\nsmile at me, but there was an indescribable appearance of peace and\ntranquillity about her. When I described this apparition to Bessie in\nthe morning, she recognized it at once as that of her control,\n\"Goodness,\" whom she had seen clairvoyantly, but she affirmed that I was\nthe only person who had ever given her a correct description of this\ninfluence, which was the best and purest about her. After \"Goodness\" had\nremained in the same position for a few minutes, she walked back again\nbehind the curtain, which served as a cabinet, and \"Florence\" came out\nand had a whispered conversation with me. Next a dark face, but only a\nface, said to be that of \"Dewdrop,\" peeped out four or five times, and\ndisappeared again; then a voice said, \"No more! good-night,\" and I\nturned round to where Bessie lay sleeping beside me, and went to sleep\nmyself. After that, she often came, when suffering worse than usual from\ninsomnia, to pass the night with me, as she said my magnetism caused her\nto sleep, and similar manifestations always occurred when we were alone\nand together.\n\nMrs. Fitzgerald's mediumship was by no means used, however, for the sole\npurpose of gratifying curiosity or foretelling the future. She was a\nwonderful medical diagnoser, and sat for a long time in the service of a\nwell-known medical man. She would be ensconced in a corner of his\nwaiting-room and tell him the exact disease of each patient that\nentered. She told me she could see the inside of everybody as perfectly\nas though they were made of glass. This gift, however, induced her to\ntake on a reflection (as it were) of the disease she diagnosed, and\nafter a while her failing strength compelled her to give it up. Her\ncontrol \"Dewdrop\" was what she called herself, \"a metal spirit,\" _i.e._,\nher advice was very trustworthy with regard to all speculations and\nmonetary transactions. Many stockbrokers and city men used regularly to\nconsult Bessie before they engaged in any speculation, and she received\nmany valuable presents in return for her assistance in \"making a pile.\"\nOne gentleman, indeed, settled a large sum of money when he died on her\nlittle son in gratitude for the fortune \"Dewdrop\" had helped him to\naccumulate. Persons who sneer at Spiritualism and declare it to be\nuseless, little know how much advantage is taken of spiritual\nforethought and prevision by those who believe in it. I have never been\nsorry but when I have neglected to follow the advice of a medium whom I\nhad proved to be trustworthy.\n\nIn the autumn of 1883 I introduced my own entertainment of \"Love\nLetters\" to the provincial British public, and it had an immediate and\nundeniable success. My engagements poured in rapidly, and I had already\nbooked dates for the whole spring of 1884, when Mr. Edgar Bruce offered\nme an engagement at the Prince of Wales' (then the Prince's) Theatre,\nabout to be opened in Piccadilly. I had been anxiously waiting to obtain\nan engagement on the London boards, and was eager to accept it; still, I\ndid not know if I would be wise in relinquishing my provincial\nengagements. I wrote to Bessie to ask \"Dewdrop\" what I should do; the\nanswer was, \"Don't accept, only a flash in the pan.\" Thereupon I sent to\nMr. Bruce to ask how long the engagement was likely to last, and his\nanswer was that he expected \"The Palace of Truth\" to run a year at\nleast, and at any rate I was to consider myself one of a \"stock\ncompany.\" Thereupon I cancelled all my entertainment engagements,\nreturned to London, appeared at the Prince's Theatre for just _eleven_\n_weeks_, and got into four law suits with my disappointed patrons for my\ntrouble.\n\nIt is one of the commonest remarks made by stupid people, \"If the\nspirits know anything, let them tell me the name of the winner of the\nDerby, and then I will believe them,\" etc. I was speaking of this once\nto \"Dewdrop,\" and she said, \"We _could_ tell if we choose, but we are\nnot allowed to do so. If Spiritualism was generally used for such\nthings, all the world would rush to it in order to cheat one another.\nBut if you will promise me not to open it until after the Derby is run,\nI will give you the name of the winner now in a sealed envelope, to\nprove that what I say is the truth.\" We gave her the requisite\nmaterials, and she made a few pencil marks on a piece of paper, and\nsealed it up. It was the year that \"Shotover\" won the Derby. The day\nafter the race, we opened the envelope and found the drawing of a man\nwith a gun in his hand, a hedge, and a bird flying away on the other\nside; very sketchy, but perfectly intelligible to one who could read\nbetween the lines.\n\nI was at the theatre one night with Bessie in a box, when I found out\nthat \"Dewdrop\" had taken her place. \"Dewdrop\" was very fond of going to\nthe play, and her remarks were so funny and so naive as to keep one\nconstantly amused. Presently, between the acts, she said to me, \"Do you\nsee that man in the front row of the stalls with a bald head, sitting\nnext to the old lady with a fat neck?\" I replied I did. \"Now you watch,\"\nsaid \"Dewdrop;\" \"I'm going down there to have some fun. First I'll\ntickle the old man's head, and then I'll scratch the old woman's neck.\nNow, you and 'Medie' watch.\" The next moment Bessie spoke to me in her\nown voice, and I told her what \"Dewdrop\" proposed to do. \"Oh, poor\nthings!\" she said, compassionately, \"how she will torment them!\" To\nwatch what followed was a perfect farce. First, the old man put his hand\nup to his bald head, and then he took out his handkerchief and flicked\nit, then he rubbed it, and finally _scrubbed_ it to alleviate the\nincreasing irritation. Then the old lady began the same business with\nher neck, and finding it of no avail, glared at the old man as if she\nthought _he_ had done it; in fact, they were both in such evident\ntorture that there was no doubt \"Dewdrop\" had kept her promise. When she\nreturned to me she said, \"There! didn't you see me walking along the\nfront row of stalls, in my moccasins and beads and feathers, and all my\nwar-paint on, tickling the old fellow's head?\" \"I didn't _see_ you,\n'Dewdrop,'\" I answered, \"but I'm sure you were there.\" \"Ah! but the old\nfellow _felt_ me, and so did the old girl,\" she replied.\n\nBessie Fitzgerald is now Mrs. Russell Davies, and carries on her\n_seances_ in Upper Norwood. No one who attends them can fail to feel\ninterested in the various phenomena he will meet with there.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF LOTTIE FOWLER.\n\n\nAs I was introduced to Lottie Fowler many years before I met Bessie\nFitzgerald, I suppose the account of her mediumship should have come\nfirst; but I am writing this veracious narrative on no fixed or\nartificial plan, but just as it occurs to me, though not from memory,\nbecause notes were taken of every particular at the time of occurrence.\nIn 1874 I was largely employed on the London Press, and constantly sent\nto report on anything novel or curious, and likely to afford matter for\nan interesting article. It was for such a purpose that I received an\norder from one of the principal newspapers in town to go and have a\ncomplimentary _seance_ with an American clairvoyant newly arrived in\nEngland, Miss Lottie Fowler. Until I received my directions I had never\nheard the medium's name, and I knew very little of clairvoyance. She was\nlodging in Conduit Street, and I reached her house one morning as early\nas ten o'clock, and sent in a card with the name of the paper only\nwritten on it. I was readily admitted. Miss Fowler was naturally anxious\nto be noticed by the press and introduced to London society. I found her\na stylish-looking, well-dressed woman of about thirty, with a pleasant,\nintelligent face. Those of my readers who have only met her since\nsickness and misfortune made inroads on her appearance may smile at my\ndescription, but I repeat that seventeen years ago Lottie Fowler was\nprosperous and energetic-looking. She received me very cordially, and\nasked me into a little back parlor, of which, as it was summer weather,\nboth the windows and doors were left open. Here, in the sunshine, she\nsat down and took my hand in hers, and began chatting of what she wished\nand hoped to do in London. Suddenly her eyes closed and her head fell\nback. She breathed hard for a few minutes, and then sat up, still with\nher eyes closed, and began to talk in a high key, and in broken English.\nThis was her well-known control, \"Annie,\" without doubt one of the best\nclairvoyants living. She began by explaining to me that she had been a\nGerman girl in earth life, and couldn't speak English properly, but I\nshould understand her better when I was more familiar with her. She then\ncommenced with my birth by the sea, described my father's personality\nand occupation, spoke of my mother, my brothers and sisters, my\nillnesses, my marriage, and my domestic life. Then she said, \"Wait! now\nI'll go to your house, and tell you what I see there.\" She then repeated\nthe names of all my children, giving a sketch of the character of each\none, down to the \"baby with the flower name,\" as she called my little\nDaisy. After she had really exhausted the subject of my past and\npresent, she said, \"You'll say I've read all this out of your mind, so\nnow I'll tell you what I see in the future. You'll be married a second\ntime.\" Now, at this period I was editing a fashionable magazine, and\ndrew a large number of literary men around me. I kept open house on\nTuesday evenings, and had innumerable friends, and I _may_ (I don't say\nI _had_), but I may have sometimes speculated what my fate might be in\nthe event of my becoming free. The _seance_ I speak of took place on a\nWednesday morning; and when \"Annie\" told me I should be married a second\ntime, my thoughts involuntarily took to themselves wings, I suppose, for\nshe immediately followed up her assertion by saying, \"No! not to the man\nwho broke the tumbler at your house last night. You will marry another\nsoldier.\" \"No, thank-you,\" I exclaimed; \"no more army men for me. I've\nhad enough of soldiers to last me a lifetime.\" \"Annie\" looked very\ngrave. \"You _will_ marry another soldier,\" she reiterated; \"I can see\nhim now, walking up a terrace. He is very tall and big, and has brown\nhair cut quite short, but so soft and shiny. At the back of his head he\nlooks as sleek as a mole. He has a broad face, a pleasant, smiling face,\nand when he laughs he shows very white teeth. I see him knocking at your\ndoor. He says, 'Is Mrs. Ross-Church at home?' 'Yes, sir.' Then he goes\ninto a room full of books. 'Florence, my wife is dead. Will you be my\nwife?' And you say 'Yes.'\" \"Annie\" spoke so naturally, and I was so\nastonished at her knowledge of my affairs, that it never struck me till\nI returned home that she had called me by my name, which had been kept\ncarefully from her. I asked her, \"When will my husband die?\" \"I don't\nsee his death anywhere,\" she answered. \"But how can I marry again unless\nhe dies?\" I said. \"I don't know, but I can't tell you what I don't see.\nI see a house all in confusion, papers are thrown about, and everything\nis topsy-turvy, and two people are going different ways; and, oh, there\nis so much trouble and so many tears! But I don't see any death\nanywhere.\"\n\nI returned home, very much astonished at all Miss Fowler had said\nregarding my past and present, but very incredulous with respect to her\nprophecies for the future. Yet, three years afterwards, when much of\nwhat she told me had come to pass, I was travelling from Charing Cross\nto Fareham with Mr. Grossmith, to give our entertainment of \"_Entre\nNous_,\" when the train stopped as usual to water at Chatham. On the\nplatform stood Colonel Lean, in uniform, talking to some friends. I had\nnever set eyes on him till that moment; but I said at once to Mr.\nGrossmith, \"Do you see that officer in the undress uniform? That is the\nman Lottie Fowler told me I should marry.\" Her description had been so\nexact that I recognized him at once. Of course, I got well laughed at,\nand was ready after a while to laugh at myself. Two months afterwards,\nhowever, I was engaged to recite at the Literary Institute at Chatham,\nwhere I had never set foot in my life before. Colonel Lean came to the\nRecital, and introduced himself to me. He became a visitor at my house\nin London (which, by the by, had been changed for one in a _terrace_),\nand two years afterwards, in, June 1879, we were married. I have so far\novercome a natural scruple to make my private affairs public, in justice\nto Lottie Fowler. It is useless narrating anything to do with the\nsupernatural (although I have been taught that this is a wrong term, and\nthat nothing that exists is _above_ nature, but only a continuation of\nit), unless one is prepared to prove that it was true. Lottie Fowler did\nnot make a long stay in England on that occasion. She returned to\nAmerica for some time, and I was Mrs. Lean before I met her again. The\nsecond visit was a remarkable one. I had been to another medium, who had\nmade me very unhappy by some prophecies with regard to my husband's\nhealth; indeed, she had said he would not live a couple of years, and I\nwas so excited about it that my friend Miss Schonberg advised our going\nthen and there to see Lottie Fowler, who had just arrived in England,\nand was staying in Vernon Place, Bloomsbury; and though it was late at\nnight, we set off at once. The answer to our request to see Miss Fowler\nwas that she was too tired to receive any more visitors that day. \"Do\nask her to see me,\" I urged. \"I won't detain her a moment; I only want\nto ask her one question.\" Upon this, we were admitted, and found Lottie\nnearly asleep. \"Miss Fowler,\" I began, \"you told me five years ago that\nI should be married a second time. Well, I _am_ married, and now they\ntell me I shall loose my husband.\" And then I told her how ill he was,\nand what the doctors said, and what the medium said. \"You told me the\ntruth before,\" I continued; \"tell it me now. Will he die?\" Lottie took a\nlocket containing his hair in her hand for a minute, and then replied\nconfidently, \"They know nothing about it. He will not die--that is not\nyet--not for a long while.\" \"But _when_?\" I said, despairingly. \"Leave\nthat to God, child,\" she answered, \"and be happy now.\" And in effect\nColonel Lean recovered from his illness, and became strong and hearty\nagain. But whence did Miss Fowler gain the confidence to assert that a\nman whom she had never seen, nor even heard of, should recover from a\ndisease which the doctors pronounced to be mortal? From that time Lottie\nand I became fast friends, and continue so to this day. It is a\nremarkable thing that she would never take a sixpence from me in payment\nfor her services, though I have sat with her scores of times, nor would\nshe accept a present, and that when she has been sorely in need of\nfunds. She said she had been told she should never prosper if she\ntouched my money. She has one of the most grateful and affectionate and\ngenerous natures possible, and has half-starved herself for the sake of\nothers who lived upon her. I have seen her under sickness, and poverty,\nand trouble, and I think she is one of the kindest-hearted and best\nwomen living, and I am glad of even this slight opportunity to bear\ntestimony to her disposition. At one time she had a large and\nfashionable _clientele_ of sitters, who used to pay her handsomely for a\n_seance_, but of late years her clients have fallen off, and her\nfortunes have proportionately decreased. She has now returned to the\nSouthern States of America, and says she has seen the last of England.\nAll I can say is, that I consider her a great personal loss as a referee\nin all business matters as well as a prophet for the future. She also,\nlike Bessie Fitzgerald, is a great medical diagnoser. She was largely\nconsulted by physicians about the Court at the time of the Prince of\nWales' dangerous illness, and predicted his recovery from the\ncommencement. It was through her mediumship that the body of the late\nLord Lindesay of Balcarres, which was stolen from the family vault, was\neventually recovered; and the present Lord Lindesay gave her a beautiful\nlittle watch, enamelled and set in diamonds, in commemoration of the\nevent. She predicted the riot that took place in London some years ago,\nand the Tay Bridge disaster; but who is so silly as to believe the\nprophecies of media now-a-days? There has hardly been an event in my\nlife, since I have known Lottie Fowler, that she has not prepared me for\nbeforehand, but the majority of them are too insignificant to interest\nthe reader. One, however, the saddest I have ever been called upon to\nencounter, was wonderfully foretold. In February, 1886, Lottie (or\nrather, \"Annie\") said to me, \"There is a great trouble in store for you,\nFlorris\" (she always called me \"Florris\"); \"you are passing under black\nclouds, and there is a coffin hanging over you. It will leave your\nhouse.\" This made me very uneasy. No one lived in my house but my\nhusband and myself. I asked, \"Is it my own coffin?\" \"No!\" \"Is it my\nhusband's?\" \"No; it is that of a much younger person.\"\n\nI questioned her very closely, but she would not tell me any more, and I\ntried to dismiss the idea from my mind. Still it would constantly recur,\nfor I knew, from experience, how true her predictions were. At last I\nfelt as if I could bear the suspense no longer, and I went to her and\nsaid, \"You _must_ tell me that the coffin you spoke of is not for one of\nmy children, or the uncertainty will drive me mad.\" \"Annie\" thought a\nminute, and then said slowly, \"No; it is not for one of your children.\"\n\"Then I can bear anything else,\" I replied. The time went on, and in\nApril an uncle of mine died. I rushed again to Lottie Fowler. \"Is _this_\nthe death you prophesied?\" I asked her. \"No,\" she replied; \"the coffin\nmust leave your house. But this death will be followed by another in the\nfamily,\" which it was within the week. The following February my\nnext-door neighbors lost their only son. I had known the boy for years,\nand I was very sorry for them. As I was watching the funeral\npreparations from my bedroom window, I saw the coffin carried out of the\nhall door, which adjoined mine with only a railing between. Knowing that\nmany prophetical media _see_ the future in a series of pictures, it\nstruck me that Lottie must have seen this coffin leaving, and mistaken\nthe house for mine. I went to her again. This proves how the prediction\nhad weighed all this time upon my mind. \"Has not the death you spoke of\ntaken place _now_?\" I asked her. \"Has not the coffin left my house?\"\n\"No,\" she answered; \"it will be a relative, one of the family. It is\nmuch nearer now than it was.\" I felt uncomfortable, but I would not\nallow it to make me unhappy. \"Annie\" had said it was not one of my own\nchildren, and so long as they were spared I felt strong enough for\nanything.\n\nIn the July following my eldest daughter came to me in much distress.\nShe had heard of the death of a friend, one who had been associated with\nher in her professional life, and the news had shocked her greatly. She\nhad always been opposed to Spiritualism. She didn't see the good of it,\nand thought I believed in it a great deal more than was necessary. I had\noften asked her to accompany me to _seances_, or to see trance media,\nand she had refused. She used to say she had no one on the other side\nshe cared to speak to. But when her young friend died, she begged me to\ntake her to a medium to hear some news of him, and we went together to\nLottie Fowler. \"Annie\" did not wait for any prompting, but opened the\nball at once. \"You've come here to ask me how you can see your friend\nwho has just passed over,\" she said. \"Well, he's all right. He's in this\nroom now, and he says you will see him very soon.\" \"To which medium\nshall I go?\" said my daughter. \"Don't go to any medium. Wait a little\nwhile, and you will see him with your own eyes.\" My daughter was a\nphysical medium herself, though I had prevented her sitting for fear it\nshould injure her health; and I believed, with her, that \"Annie\" meant\nthat her friend would manifest through her own power. She turned to me\nand said, \"Oh, mother, I shall be awfully frightened if he appears to me\nat night;\" and \"Annie\" answered, \"No, you won't be frightened when you\nsee him. You will be very pleased. Your meeting will be a source of\ngreat pleasure on both sides.\" My daughter had just signed a lucrative\nengagement, and was about to start on a provincial tour. Her next\nrequest was, \"Tell me what you see for me in the future.\" \"Annie\"\nreplied, \"I cannot see it clearly. Another day I may be able to tell you\nmore, but to-day it is all dim. Every time I try to see it a wall seems\nto rise behind your head and shut it out.\" Then she turned to me and\nsaid, \"Florris, that coffin is very near you now. It hangs right over\nyour head!\" I answered carelessly, \"I wish it would come and have done\nwith it. It is eighteen months now, Annie, since you uttered that dismal\nprophecy!\" Little did I really believe that it was to be so quickly and\nso terribly fulfilled. Three weeks after that _seance_, my beloved child\n(who was staying with me) was carried out of my house in her coffin to\nKensal Green. I was so stunned by the blow, that it was not for some\ntime after that I remembered \"Annie's\" prediction. When I asked her\n_why_ she had tortured me with the suspense of coming evil for eighteen\nmonths, she said she had been told to do so by my guardian spirits, or\nmy brain would have been injured by the suddenness of the shock. When I\nasked why she had denied it would be one of my children, she still\nmaintained that she had obeyed a higher order, because to tell the truth\nso long beforehand would have half-killed me as indeed it would. \"Annie\"\nsaid she had no idea, even during that last interview, that the death\nshe predicted was that of the girl before her. She saw her future was\nmisty, and that the coffin was over my head, but she did not connect the\ntwo facts together. In like manner I have heard almost every event of my\nfuture through Lottie Fowler's lips, and she has never yet proved to be\nwrong, except in one instance of _time_. She predicted an event for a\ncertain year and it did not take place till afterwards; and it has made\n\"Annie\" so wary, that she steadfastly refuses now to give any dates. I\nalways warn inquirers not to place faith in any given dates. The spirits\nhave told me they have _no time_ in the spheres, but judge of it simply\nas the reflection of the future appears nearer, or further, from the\nsitter's face. Thus, something that will happen years hence appears\ncloudy and far off, whilst the events of next week or next month seem\nbright and distinct, and quite near. This is a method of judging which\ncan only be gained by practice, and must at all times be uncertain and\nmisleading.\n\nI have often acted as amanuensis for Lottie Fowler, for letters are\nconstantly arriving for her from every part of the world which can only\nbe answered under trance, and she has asked me to take down the replies\nas \"Annie\" dictated them. I have answered by this means the most\nsearching questions from over the seas relating to health and money and\nlost articles whilst Lottie was fast asleep and \"Annie\" dictated the\nletters, and have received many answers thanking me for acting\ngo-between, and saying how wonderfully correct and valuable the\ninformation \"Annie\" had sent them had proved to be. Of course, it would\nbe impossible, in this paper, to tell of the constant intercourse I have\nhad with Lottie Fowler during the last ten or twelve years, and the\nmanner in which she has mapped out my future for me, preventing my\ncherishing false hopes that would never be realized, making bad bargains\nthat would prove monetary losses, and believing in apparent friendship\nthat was only a cloak for selfishness and treachery. I have learned many\nbitter lessons from her lips. I have also made a good deal of money\nthrough her means. She has told me what will happen to me between this\ntime and the time of my death, and I feel prepared for the evil and\ncontent with the good. Lottie Fowler had very bad health for some time\nbefore she left England, and it had become quite necessary that she\nshould go; but I think if the British public had known what a wonderful\nwoman was in their midst, they would have made it better worth her while\nto stay amongst them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTHE MEDIUMSHIP OF WILLIAM FLETCHER.\n\n\nIt may be remembered in the \"Story of John Powles\" that when, as a\nperfect stranger to Mr. Fletcher, I walked one evening into the Steinway\nHall, I heard him describe the circumstances of my old friend's death in\na very startling manner. It made such an impression on me that I became\nanxious to hear what more Mr. Fletcher might have to say to me in\nprivate, and for that purpose I wrote and made an appointment with him\nat his private residence in Gordon Square. I did not conceal my name,\nand I knew my name must be familiar to him; for although he had only\njust arrived from America, I am better known as an author in that\ncountry perhaps than in this. But I had no intention of gauging his\npowers by what he told me of my exterior life; and by what followed, his\nguide \"Winona\" evidently guessed my ideas upon the subject. After the\n_seance_ I wrote thus concerning it to the _Banner of Light_, a New York\nSpiritualistic paper:--\n\n\"I had seen many clairvoyants before, both in public and private, and\nhad witnessed wonderful feats of skill on their part in naming and\ndescribing concealed objects, and reading print or writing when held far\nbeyond their reach of sight; but I knew the trick of all that. If Mr.\nFletcher is going to treat me to any mental legerdemain, I thought, as I\ntook my way to Gordon Square, I shall have wasted both my time and\ntrouble upon him; and, I confess, as I approached the house, that I felt\ndoubtful whether I might not be deceived against my senses by the clever\nlecturer, whose eloquence had charmed me into desiring a more intimate\nacquaintance with him. Even the private life of a professional person\nsoon becomes public property in London; and had Mr. Fletcher wished to\nfind out my faults and failings, he had but to apply to ----, say, my\ndearest friend, or the one upon whom I had bestowed most benefits, to\nlearn the worst aspect of the worst side of my character. But the neat\nlittle page-boy answered my summons so promptly that I had no time to\nthink of turning back again; and I was ushered through a carpeted hall,\nand up a staircase into a double drawing-room, strewn with evidence that\nmy clairvoyant friend possessed not only artistic taste, but the means\nto indulge it. The back room into which I was shown was hung with\npaintings and fitted with a luxurious _causeuse_, covered with art\nneedlework, and drawn against the open window, through which might be\nseen some fine old trees in the garden below, and Mr. Fletcher's dogs\nenjoying themselves beneath their shade. Nothing could be further\nremoved from one's ideas of a haunt of mystery or magic, or the abode of\na man who was forced to descend to trickery for a livelihood. In a few\nminutes Mr. Fletcher entered the room and saluted me with the air of a\ngentleman. We did not proceed to business, however, until he had taken\nme round his rooms, and shown me his favorite pictures, including a\nportrait of Sara Bernhardt, etched by herself, in the character of Mrs.\nClarkson in _L'Etrangere_. After which we returned to the back\ndrawing-room, and without darkening the windows or adopting any\nprecautions, we took our seats upon the _causeuse_ facing each other,\nwhilst Mr. Fletcher laid his left hand lightly upon mine. In the course\nof a minute I observed several convulsive shivers pass through his\nframe, his eyes closed, and his head sunk back upon the cushions,\napparently in sleep. I sat perfectly still and silent with my hand in\nhis. Presently he reopened his eyes quite naturally, and sitting\nupright, began to speak to me in a very soft, thin, feminine voice. He\n(or rather his guide \"Winona\") began by saying that she would not waste\nmy time on facts that she might have gathered from the world, but would\nconfine herself to speaking of my inner life. Thereupon, with the most\nastonishing astuteness, she told me of my thoughts and feelings, reading\nthem off like a book. She repeated to me words and actions that had been\nsaid and done in privacy hundred of miles away. She detailed the\ncharacters of my acquaintance, showing who were true and who were false,\ngiving me their names and places of residence. She told me the motives I\nhad had for certain actions, and what was more strange, revealed truths\nconcerning myself which I had not recognized until they were presented\nto me through the medium of a perfect stranger. Every question I put to\nher was accurately answered, and I was repeatedly invited to draw\nfurther revelations from her. The fact being that I was struck almost\ndumb by what I had heard, and rendered incapable of doing anything but\nmarvel at the wonderful gift that enabled a man, not only to read each\nthought that passed through my brain, but to see, as in a mirror, scenes\nthat were being enacted miles away with the actors concerned in them and\nthe motives that animated them. \"Winona\" read the future for me as well\nas the past, and the first distinct prophecy she uttered has already\nmost unexpectedly come to pass. When I announced that I was satisfied,\nthe clairvoyant laid his head back again upon the cushions, the same\nconvulsive shudders passed through his frame, and in another minute he\nwas smiling in my face, and hoping I had a good _seance_.\"\n\nThis is part of the letter I wrote concerning Mr. Fletcher to the\n_Banner of Light_. But a description of words, however strongly put, can\nnever carry the same weight as the words themselves. So anxious am I to\nmake this statement as trustworthy as possible, however, that I will now\ngo further, and give the exact words as \"Winona\" spoke them to me on\nthat occasion, and as I took them down from her lips. _Some_ parts I\n_must_ omit, not for my own sake, but because of the treachery they\njustly ascribed to persons still living in this world. But enough will,\nI trust, remain to prove how intimately the spirit must have penetrated\nto my inner life. This is, then, the greater part of what \"Winona\" said\nto me on the 27th of June, 1879:\n\n\"You are a Child of Destiny, who never was a child. Your life is fuller\nof tragedies than any life I ever read yet. I will not tell you of the\npast _facts_, because they are known to the world, and I might have\nheard them from others. But I will speak of yourself. I have to leave\nthe earth-world when I come in contact with you, and enter a planetary\nsphere in which you dwell (and ever must dwell) _alone_. It is as if you\nwere in a room shut off from the rest of mankind. You are one of the\nworld's magnets. You have nothing really in common with the rest. You\ndraw people to you, and live upon their life; and when they have no more\nto give, nor you to demand, the liking fades on both sides. It must be\nso, because the spirit requires food the same as the body; and when the\nstore is exhausted, the affection is starved out, and the persons pass\nout of your life. You have often wondered to yourself why an\nacquaintance who seemed necessary to you to-day you can live perfectly\nwell without to-morrow. This is the reason. More than that, if you\ncontinue to cling to those whose spiritual system you have exhausted,\nthey would poison you, instead of nourishing you. You may not like it,\nbut those you value most you should oftenest part with. Separation will\nnot decrease your influence over them; it will increase it. Constant\nintercourse may be fatal to your dearest affections. You draw so much on\nothers, you _empty_ them, and they have nothing more to give you. You\nhave often wondered, too, why, after you have lived in a place a little\nwhile, you become sad, weary, and ill--not physically ill, but mentally\nso--and you feel as if you _must_ leave it, and go to another place.\nWhen you settle in this fresh place, you think at first that it is the\nvery place where you will be content to live and die; but after a little\nwhile the same weariness and faintness comes back again, and you think\nyou cannot breathe till you leave it, as you did the other. This is not\nfancy. It is because your nature has exhausted all it can draw from its\nsurroundings, and change becomes a necessity to life. You will never be\nable to live long in any place without change, and let me warn you never\nto settle yourself down anywhere with the idea of living there entirely.\nWere you forced to do so, you would soon die. You would be starved to\ndeath spiritually. All people are not born under a fate, but you were,\nand you can do very little to change it. England is the country of your\nfate. You will never prosper in health, mind, or money in a foreign\ncountry. It is good to go abroad for change, but never try to live\nthere. You are thinking of going abroad now, but you will not remain\nthere nearly so long as you anticipate. Something will arise to make you\nalter your plans--not a real trouble--but an uneasiness. The plan you\nthink of will not answer.\" (This prediction was fulfilled to the\nletter.) \"This year completes an era in your professional career--not of\nill-luck, so much as of stagnation. Your work has been rather duller of\nlate years. The Christmas of 1879 will bring you brighter fortune. Some\none who has appeared to drop you will come forward again, and take up\nyour cause, and bring you in much money.\" (This also came to pass.)\n\"You have not nearly reached the zenith of your success. It is yet to\ncome. It is only beginning. You will have another child, certainly\n_one_, but I am not sure if it will live in this world. I do not see its\nearth-life, but I see you in that condition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Your nervous system was for many years strung up to its highest\ntension--now it is relaxed, and your physical powers are at their lowest\nebb. You could not bear a child in your present condition. You must\nbecome much lighter-hearted, more contented and at ease before that\ncomes to pass. You must have ceased to wish for a child, or even to\nexpect it. You have never had a heart really at ease yet. All your\nhappiness has been feverish.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"I see your evil genius. She is out of your life at present, but she\ncrossed your path last year, and caused you much heart-burning, and not\nwithout reason. It seems to me that some sudden shock or accident put an\nend to the acquaintance; but she will cross your path again, and cause\nyou more misery, perhaps, than anything else has done. She is not young,\nbut stout, and not handsome, as it seems to me. She is addicted to\ndrinking. I see her rolling about now under the influence of liquor. She\nhas been married more than once. I see the name ---- ---- written in the\nair. She would go any lengths to take that you value from you, even to\ncompassing your death. She is madly in love with what is yours. She\nwould do anything to compass her ends--not only immoral things, but\nfilth--filth. I have no hesitation in saying this. Whenever she crosses\nyour path, in public or private, flee from her as from a pestilence.\"\n(This information was correct in every detail. The name was given at\nfull length. I repeat it as a specimen of the succinctness of\nintelligence given through trance mediumship.) \"1883 will be a most\nunfortunate year for you. You will have a severe illness, your friends\nwill not know if you are going to live or die, and during this illness\nyou will endure great mental agony, caused through a woman, one of whose\nnames begins with ----. You will meet her some time before, and she\nwill profess to be your dearest friend. I see her bending over you, and\ntelling you she is your best friend, and you are disposed to believe it.\nShe is as tall as you are, but does not look so tall from a habit she\nhas of carrying herself. She is not handsome, strictly speaking, but\ndark and very fascinating. She has a trick of keeping her eyes down when\nshe speaks. She is possibly French, or of French extraction, but speaks\nEnglish. She will get a hold upon ----'s mind that will nearly separate\nyou.\" (At this juncture I asked, \"How can I prevent it?\") \"If I told\nyou, that if you went by the 3 o'clock train from Gower Street, you\nwould be smashed, you would not take that train. When you meet a woman\nanswering this description, stop and ask yourself whether she is the one\nI have warned you against, before you admit her across the threshold of\nyour house.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"----'s character is positive for good, and negative for evil. If what\nis even for his good were urged upon him, he would refuse to comply; but\npresent evil to him as a possible good, and he will stop to consider\nwhether it is not so. If he is to be guided aright, it must be by making\nhim believe it would be impossible for him to go wrong. Elevate his\nnature by elevating his standard of right. Make it impossible for him to\nlower himself, by convincing him that he _would_ be lowered. He is very\nconceited. Admiration is the breath of his life. He is always thinking\nwhat people will say of him or his actions. He is very weak under\ntemptation, especially the temptation of flattery. He is much too fond\nof women. You have a difficult task before you, and you have done much\nharm already through your own fault. He believes too little in the evil\nof others--much too little. If he were unfaithful to those who trust\nhim, he would be quite surprised to find he had broken their hearts.\nYour work is but beginning. Hitherto all has been excitement, and there\nhas been but little danger. Now comes monotony and the fear of satiety.\nYour fault through life has been in not asserting the positive side of\nyour character. You were born to rule, and you have sat down a slave.\nEither through indolence or despair of success, you have presented a\nnegative side to the insults offered you, and in the end you have been\nbeaten. You make a great mistake in letting your female friends read all\nyour joys and sorrows. Men would sympathize and pity. Women will only\ntake advantage of them. Assert your dignity as mistress in your own\nhouse, and don't let those visitors invite themselves who do not come\nfor you. You are, as it were, the open door for more than one false\nfriend. I warn you especially against two unmarried women--at least, if\nthey are married, I don't see their husbands anywhere. They are both too\nfond of ----; one _very much_ too fond of him, and you laugh at it, and\ngive your leave for caresses and endearments, which should never be\npermitted. If I were to tell them that they visit at your house for\n----, and not for you, they would be very indignant. They give you\npresents, and really like you; but ---- is the attraction, and with one\nof them it only needs time, place and opportunity to cause the ruin of\n---- and yourself. She has an impediment in walking. I need say no more.\nShe wants to become still more familiar, and live under the same roof\nwith you. You must prevent it. The other is doing more harm to herself\nthan to anyone else. She is silly and romantic, and must dream of some\none. It is a pity it should be encouraged by familiarity. ---- has no\nfeeling for them beyond pity and friendship, but it is not necessary he\nshould love a woman to make her dangerous to him. As far as I can see\nyour lives extend, ---- will love you, and you will retain your\ninfluence over him if you _choose_ to do so. But it is in your own hands\nwhat you make of him. You must not judge his nature by your own. You are\nshutting yourself up too much. You should be surrounded by a circle of\nmen, so that you might not draw influence from ---- alone. You should go\nout more, and associate with clever men, and hear what they have to say\nto you. You must not keep so entirely with ----. It is bad for both of\nyou. You are making too great a demand upon his spiritual powers, and\nyou will exhaust them too soon. A woman cannot draw spiritual life from\nwomen only. She must take it from men. There is another acquaintance I\nmust warn you against ----; a widow, fair hair, light eyes, not clever,\nbut cunning. She has but one purpose in visiting you. She would like to\nstand in your shoes. She would not hesitate to usurp your rights. Be\ncivil to her if you will, but do not encourage her visits. It were best\nif she passed out of your lives altogether. She can never bring you any\ngood luck. She may be the cause of much annoyance yet. ---- should have\nwork, active and constant, or his health will fail, living in idleness,\nspiritually and bodily. You tell him too often that you love him. Let\nhim feel there is always a higher height to gain, a lower depth to fall\nto, in your esteem. He is not the only man in the world. Why should you\ndeceive him by saying so? You are much to blame.\" (Considering that Mr.\nFletcher had never seen, or, as far as I knew, heard of the persons he\nmentioned in this tirade, it becomes a matter of speculation where or\nfrom whom he gathered this keen insight to their character and\npersonalities, every word of which I can vouch for as being strictly\ntrue.)\n\n\"Many spirits are round you. Some wish to speak.... A grand and noble\nspirit stands behind you, with his hands spread in blessing over your\nhead. He is your father. He sends this message: 'My dear child, there\nwere so many influences antagonistic to my own in your late married\nlife, that I found it very difficult to get near you. Now they are\nremoved. The present conditions are much more favorable to me, and I\nhope to be with you often, and to help you through the life that lies\nbefore you.' There is the face of a glorified spirit, just above\nyour head, and I see the name 'Powles.' This spirit is nearer you, and\nmore attached to you than any other in Spirit Land. He comes only to\nyou, and one other creature through you--your second child. He says you\nwill know him by the token, the song; you sung to him upon his\ndeath-bed. His love for you is the best and purest, and he is always by\nyou, though lower influences sometimes forbid his manifesting himself.\nYour child comes floating down, and joins hands with him. She is a very\npure and beautiful spirit. She intimates that her name on earth was the\nsame as yours, but she is called by another name in the spheres--a name\nthat has something to do with flowers. She brings me a bunch of pure\nwhite lilies, tinged with blue, with blue petals, tied with a piece of\nblue ribbon, and she intimates to me by gesture that her spirit-name has\nsomething to do with them. I think I must go now, but I hope you will\ncome and sit with me again. I shall be able to tell you more next time.\nMy name is 'Winona,' and when you ask for me I will come. Good-bye....\"\n\nThis was the end of my first _seance_ with Mr. Fletcher, and I think\neven sceptics will allow that it was sufficiently startling for the\nfirst interview with an entire stranger. The following year I wrote\nagain to the _Banner of Light_ concerning Mr. Fletcher, but will only\ngive an extract from my letter. \"I told you in my letter of last year\nthat I had held a _seance_ with Mr. Fletcher of so private a nature that\nit was impossible to make it public. During that interview 'Winona' made\nseveral startling prophecies concerning the future, which, it may\ninterest your readers to know, have already been fulfilled. Wishing to\nprocure some further proofs of Mr. Fletcher's power before I wrote this\nletter to you, I prepared a different sort of test for him last week.\nFrom a drawer full of old letters I selected, _with my eyes shut_, four\nfolded sheets of paper, which I slipped into four blank envelopes, ready\nprepared for them--still without looking--and closed them in the usual\nmanner with the adhesive gum, after which I sealed them with sealing\nwax. I carried these envelopes to Mr. Fletcher, and requested \"Winona\"\nto tell me the characters of the persons by whom their contents had been\nwritten. She placed them consecutively to the medium's forehead, and as\nshe returned them to me, one by one, I wrote her comments on each on the\nside of the cover. On breaking the seals, the character of each writer\nwas found to be most accurately defined, although the letters had all\nbeen written years before--(a fact which \"Winona\" had immediately\ndiscovered). She also told me which of my correspondents were dead, and\nwhich living. Here, you will observe, there could have been no reaction\nof my own brain upon that of the sensitive, as I was perfectly ignorant,\nuntil I reopened the envelopes, by whom the letters had been sent to me.\nTwo months ago I was invited to join in a speculation, of the\nadvisability of which I felt uncertain. I went therefore to Mr.\nFletcher, and asked for an interview with \"Winona,\" intending to consult\nher in the matter. But before I had time to mention the subject, she\nbroached it to me, and went on to speak of the speculation itself, of\nthe people concerned in it, and the money it was expected to produce;\nand, finally, she explained to me how it would collapse, with the means\nthat would bring it to an end, putting her decided veto on my having\nanything to do with it. I followed \"Winona's\" advice, and have been\nthankful since that I did so, as everything has turned out just as she\npredicted.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI think those people who desire to gain the utmost good they can out of\nclairvoyance should be more ready to listen and learn, and less to cavil\nand to question. Many who have heard me relate the results of my\nexperience have rushed off pell-mell to the same medium, perhaps, and\ncame away woefully disappointed. Were they to review the interview they\nwould probably find they had done all the talking, and supplied all the\ninformation, leaving the clairvoyant no work to do whatever. To such I\nalways say, whether their aim is to obtain advice in their business, or\nnews of a lost friend, _Be perfectly passive_, until the medium has said\nall he or she may have to say. Give them time to become _en rapport_\nwith you, and quietude, that he may commune with the spirits you bring\nwith you; for it is _they_, and not _his_ controls, that furnish him\nwith the history of your life, or point out the dangers that are\nthreatening. When he has finished speaking, he will probably ask if you\nhave any questions to put to him, and _then_ is your turn for talking,\nand for gaining any particular information you may wish to acquire. If\nthese directions are carried out, you are likely to have a much more\nsatisfactory _seance_ than otherwise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nPRIVATE MEDIA.\n\n\nPeople who wish to argue against Spiritualism are quite sure, as a rule,\nthat media will descend to any trickery and cheating for the sake of\ngain. If you reply, as in my own case, that the _seances_ have been\ngiven as a free-will offering, they say that they expected introductions\nor popularity or advertisement in exchange. But what can be adduced\nagainst the medium who lends his or her powers to a person whom he has\nnever seen, and probably never will see, and for no reason, excepting\nthat his controls urge him to the deed? Such a man is Mr. George Plummer\nof Massachusetts, America. In December, 1887, when my mind was very\nunsettled, my friend Miss Schonberg advised me to write to this medium\nand ask his advice. She told me I must not expect an immediate reply, as\nMr. Plummer kept a box into which he threw all the letters he received\nfrom strangers on spiritualistic subjects, and when he felt impressed to\ndo so, he went and took out one, haphazard, and wrote the answer that\nwas dictated to him. All I had to do was to enclose an addressed\nenvelope, not a _stamped_ one, in my letter, to convey the answer back\nagain. Accordingly, I prepared a diplomatic epistle to this effect.\n\"Dear sir,--Hearing that you are good enough to sit for strangers, I\nshall be much obliged if you will let me know what you see for\nme.--Yours truly, F. Lane.\" It will be seen that I transposed the\nletters of my name \"Lean.\" I addressed the return envelope in the same\nmanner to the house in Regent's Park, which I then occupied, and I wrote\nit all in a feigned hand to conceal my identity as much as possible. The\ntime went on and I heard nothing from Mr. Plummer. I was touring in the\nprovinces for the whole of 1888, and at the end of the year I came back\nto London and settled down in a new house in a different quarter of the\ntown. By this time I had almost forgotten Mr. Plummer and my letter to\nhim, and when in _December_, 1889, two years after I had sent it, my\nown envelope in my own handwriting, forwarded by the postal authorities\nfrom Regent's Park, was brought to me, I did not at first recognize it.\nI kept twisting it about, and thinking how like it was to my own\nwriting, when the truth suddenly flashed on me. I opened it and read as\nfollows:\n\n    \"Georgetown, November 28th, 1889.\n\n     \"Mrs. Lane,--Dear Madam,--Please pardon me for seeming neglect in\n     answering your request. At the time of receiving your letter I\n     could not write, and it got mislaid. Coming across it now, even at\n     the eleventh hour, I place myself in condition to answer. I see a\n     lady with dark blue eyes before me, of a very nervous\n     life--warm-hearted--impulsive--tropical in her nature. A woman of\n     intense feeling--a woman whose life has been one of constant\n     disappointment. To-day the current of life flows on smoothly but\n     monotonous. I sense from the sphere of this lady, a weariness of\n     life--should think she felt like Alexander, because there are no\n     more worlds for her to conquer. She is her own worst enemy.\n     Naturally generous, she radiates her refined magnetic sphere to\n     others, and does not get back that which she can utilize. I see a\n     bright-complexioned gentleman in earth life--brave, generous, and\n     kind--but does not comprehend your interior life. And yet thinks\n     the world of you to-day. I feel from you talent of a marked order.\n     And yet life is a disappointment. Not but what you have been\n     successful in a refined, worldly sense, but your spiritual nature\n     has been repressed. The society you move in is one of intellectual\n     culture; that is not of the soul. And it is soul food that you are\n     hungering for to-day. You are an inspired woman. Thought seems to\n     you, all prepared, so to speak. But it does not seem to free the\n     tiny little messengers of your soul life. Somehow I don't feel that\n     confidence in myself in writing to you. The best kind of a reading\n     is usually obtained in reading to a person direct. But if I don't\n     meet your case we will call it a failure and let it go. The year of\n     1890 is going to be more favorable to you than for the last ten\n     years. I think in some way you are to meet with more reciprocity of\n     soul. As the divining rod points to the stream of water in the\n     earth, so I find my intuitive eye takes cognizance of your interior\n     life. You will in a degree catch my meaning through this, and it\n     will come clearer, more through your intuition than through your\n     intellect. I should say to you, follow your instincts and\n     intuitions always through life. If this throws any light over your\n     path I am glad.--I remain, most respectfully yours,\n                                                      George Plummer.\"\n\nNow there are two noticeable things in this letter. First, Mr. Plummer's\nestimate of my interior life almost coincides with Mr. Fletcher's given\nin 1879, ten years before. Next, although he read it through the medium\nof a letter written in 1887, he draws a picture of my position and\nsurroundings in 1889. Both these things appeared to me very curious as\ncoming from a stranger across the Atlantic, and I answered his letter at\nonce, still preserving my slight incognita, and telling him that as he\nhad read so much of my life from my handwriting of so long ago, I wished\nhe would try to read more from words which went fresh from me to him. I\nalso enclosed a piece of the handwriting of a friend. Mr. Plummer did\nnot keep me waiting this time. His next letter was dated February 8th,\n1890.\n\n     \"Dear Madam,--I received yours of January 3rd, and would have\n     answered before, but the spirit did not move. I have been tied to a\n     sick room going on three months, with its cares and anxieties. Not\n     the best condition for writing. The best condition to reflect your\n     life, to give your soul strength, is to be at rest and have all\n     earth conditions nullified. But that cannot be to-day. So I will\n     try to penetrate the mystery of your life as best I can, and\n     radiate to you at least some strength. The relation of soul is the\n     difficulty of your life, and you are so perfectly inspirational\n     that it makes the condition worse. Grand types of Manhood and\n     Womanhood come to you from the higher life, and your spirit and\n     soul catch the reflection, and are disappointed because they cannot\n     live that life. But you are getting a development out of all this\n     friction. Now if you would come in contact with that nature that\n     could radiate to you just what you could give to it, you would be\n     happy. Love is absolute, you well know. Often in the exchange of\n     thought we give each other strength. And then every letter we\n     write, every time we shake hands, we give some of our own\n     personality out. You are too sensitive to the spheres of people.\n     You have such a strong personality of life that the power that\n     inspires you could not make the perfect junction until you get so,\n     you had rather die than live. That was a condition of negation. Now\n     you have been running on a dead level of nothingness for two years\n     and a half.\" (This was exactly the time since my daughter had been\n     taken from me). \"_I mean it seems so to you._ Such a sameness of\n     things. I get from the writing of the gentleman. A good\n     sphere--warm hearted--true to his understanding of things. He seems\n     to be a sort of a half-way house to you. That is, you roam in the\n     sea of Ideality, down deep, you know. And he rather holds on to\n     matter-of-fact--sort of ballast for you. You need it. For you are,\n     in fact, ripe for the other life, though it is not time to go yet.\n     Although a writer, yet you are a disappointed one. No mortal but\n     yourself knows this. You have winged your way in flights, grand and\n     lofty, and cannot _pen it_, is what is the matter. Now, in time you\n     will, more perfectly than to-day, by the touch of your pen, portray\n     your soul and its flights. Then I see you happy. This gentleman is\n     an auxiliary power, whether the power in full of your life I do not\n     to-day get. You are emphatically a woman of Destiny, and should\n     follow your _impressions_, for through that intuitive law you will\n     be saved. I mean by 'saved,' leap, as it were, across difficulties\n     instead of going round. For your soul is more positive and awake to\n     its necessities to-day than ever before in your life, particularly\n     in the last six months. Body marriages are good under the physical\n     law--bring certain unfoldments. But when mortal man and woman reach\n     a certain condition of development, they become dissatisfied, and\n     yearn for the full fruition of love. And there is no limitation of\n     this law. Women usually bow to the heart-love law, that sometimes\n     brings great joy and misery. The time is ripe for rulers. There\n     will be put into the field men, and more specifically women, who\n     have exemplified love divine. They will teach the law so plainly\n     that they who run can read. And it can only be taught by those who\n     have embodied it. Some years ago, in this country, there was a\n     stir-up. It did its work in fermentation. The next must be\n     humanization. The material world must come under the spiritual.\n     Women will come to the front as inspired powers. This is what comes\n     to me to write to you to-day. If it brings strength, or one ray of\n     sun-shine to you, I am glad.--I remain, most respectfully yours,\n                                                   George Plummer.\"\n\nMr. Plummer is not occupying a high position in the world, nor is he a\nrich man. He gains no popularity by his letters--he hears no\napplause--he reaps no personal benefit, nor will he take any money. It\nwould be difficult, with any degree of reason, to charge him with\ncheating the public for the sake of emptying their pockets. I fail to\nsee, therefore, how he can obtain his insight to one's interior life by\nmortal means, nor, unless compelled by a power superior to his own, why\nhe should take the trouble to obtain it.\n\nAnother medium, whose health paid the sacrifice demanded of her for the\nexhibition of a power over which, at one time, she had no control, and\nwhich never brought her in anything but the thanks of her friends, is\nMrs. Keningale Cook (Mabel Collins), whom I have mentioned in the \"Story\nof my Spirit Child.\" There was a photographer in London, named Hudson,\nwho had been very successful in developing spirit photographs. He would\nprepare to take an ordinary photograph, and on developing the plate, one\nor more spirit forms would be found standing by the sitter, in which\nforms were recognized the faces of deceased friends. Of course, the\ngenerality of people said that the plates were prepared beforehand with\nvague misty figures, and the imagination of the sitter did the rest. I\nhad been for some time anxious to test Mr. Hudson's powers for myself,\nand one morning very early, between nine and ten o'clock, I asked Mrs.\nCook, as a medium, to accompany me to his studio. He was not personally\nacquainted with either of us, and we went so early that we found him\nrather unwilling to set to work. Indeed, at first he declined. We\ndisturbed him at breakfast and in his shirt sleeves, and he told us his\nstudio had been freshly painted, and it was quite impossible to use it\nuntil dry. But we pressed him to take our photographs until he\nconsented, and we ascended to the studio. It was certainly very\ndifficult to avoid painting ourselves, and the screen placed behind was\nperfectly wet. We had not mentioned a word to Mr. Hudson about spirit\nphotographs, and the first plate he took out and held up to the light,\nwe saw him draw his coat sleeve across. When we asked him what he was\ndoing, he turned to us and said, \"Are you ladies Spiritualists?\" When we\nanswered in the affirmative, he continued, \"I rubbed out the plate\nbecause I thought there was something on it, and most sitters would\nobject. I often have to destroy three or four negatives before I get a\nclear picture.\" We begged him not to rub out any more as we were curious\nto see the results. He, consequently, developed three photographs of us,\nsitting side by side. The first was too indistinct to be of any use. It\nrepresented us, with a third form, merely a patch of white, lying on the\nground, whilst a mass of hair was over my knee. \"Florence\" afterwards\ninformed me that this was an attempt to depict herself. The second\npicture showed Mrs. Cook and myself as before, with \"Charlie\" standing\nbehind me. I have spoken of \"Charlie\" (Stephen Charles Bernard Abbott)\nin \"Curious Coincidences,\" and how much he was attached to me and mine.\nIn the photograph he is represented in his cowl and monk's frock--with\nropes round his waist, and his face looking down. In the third picture,\nan old lady in a net cap and white shawl was standing with her two hands\non Mrs. Cook's shoulders. This was her grandmother, and the profile was\nso distinctly delineated, that her father, Mr. Mortimer Collins,\nrecognized it at once as the portrait of his mother. The old lady had\nbeen a member of the Plymouth Brethren sect, and wore the identical\nshawl of white silk with an embroidered border which she used to wear\nduring her last years on earth. I have seen many other spirit\nphotographs taken by Mr. Hudson, but I adhere to my resolution to speak\nonly of that which I have proved by the exercise of my own senses. I\nhave the two photographs I mention to this day, and have often wished\nthat Mr. Hudson's removal from town had not prevented my sitting again\nto him in order to procure the likenesses of other friends.\n\nMiss Caroline Pawley is a lady who advertises her willingness to obtain\nmessages for others from the spirit world, but is forbidden by her\nguides to take presents or money. I thought at first this must be a\n\"_ruse_.\" \"Surely,\" I said to a friend who knew Miss Pawley, \"I ought to\ntake books, or flowers, or some little offering in my hand.\" \"If you do\nshe will return them,\" was the reply. \"All that is necessary is to write\nand make an appointment, as her time is very much taken up.\" Accordingly\nI did write, and Miss Pawley kindly named an early date for my visit. It\nwas but a few months after I had lost my beloved daughter, and I longed\nfor news of her. I arrived at Miss Pawley's residence, a neat little\nhouse in the suburbs, and was received by my hostess, a sweet,\nplacid-faced woman, who looked the embodiment of peace and calm\nhappiness. After we had exchanged greetings she said to me, \"You have\nlost a daughter.\" \"I lost one about twenty years ago--a baby of ten days\nold,\" I replied. \"I don't mean her,\" said Miss Pawley, \"I mean a young\nwoman. I will tell you how I came to know of it. I took out my memoranda\nyesterday and was looking it through to see what engagements I had made\nfor to-day, and I read the names aloud to myself. As I came to the\nentry, 'Mrs. Lean, 3 o'clock,' I heard a low voice say behind me, 'That\nis my dear, _dear_ mother!' and when I turned round, I saw standing at\nmy elbow a young woman about the middle height, with blue eyes and very\nlong brown hair, and she told me that it is _she_ whom you are grieving\nfor at present.\" I made no answer to this speech, for my wound was too\nfresh to permit me to talk of her; and Miss Pawley proceeded. \"Come!\"\nshe said cheerfully, \"let us get paper and pencil and see what the dear\nchild has to say to us.\" She did not go under trance, but wrote rapidly\nfor a few moments and then handed me a letter written in the following\nmanner. I repeat (what I have said before) that I do not test the\ngenuineness of such a manifestation by the act itself. _Anyone_ might\nhave written the letter, but no one but myself could recognize the\nfamiliar expressions and handwriting, nor detect the apparent\ninconsistencies that made it so convincing. It was written in two\ndifferent hands on alternate lines, the first line being written by\n\"Eva,\" and the next by \"Florence,\" and so on. Now, my earthly children\nfrom their earliest days have never called me anything but \"Mother,\"\nwhilst \"Florence,\" who left me before she could speak, constantly calls\nme \"Mamma.\" This fact alone could never have been known to Miss Pawley.\nAdded to which the portion written by my eldest daughter was in her own\nclear decided hand, whilst \"Florence's\" contribution was in rather a\nchildish, or \"young ladylike\" scribble.\n\nThe lines ran thus. The italics are Florence's:--\n\n    \"My own beloved mother.\n    _My dear, dear, dearest Mamma._\n    You must not grieve so terribly for me.\n    _And knowing all we have taught you, you should not grieve._\n    Believe me, I am not unhappy.\n    _Of course not, and she will be very happy soon._\n    But I suffer pain in seeing you suffer.\n    _Dear Mamma, do try to see that it is for the best._\n    Florence is right. It is best! dear Mother.\n    _And we shall all meet so soon, you know._\n    God bless you for all your love for me.\n    _Good-bye, dear, dearest Mamma._\n                 Your own girl.\n                 _Your loving little Florence._\"\n\nI cannot comment on this letter. I only make it public in a cause that\nis sacred to me.\n\nTo instance another case of mediumship which is exercised for neither\nremuneration nor applause. I am obliged in this example to withhold the\nname, because to betray their identity would be to ill requite a favor\nwhich was courteously accorded me. I had heard of a family of the name\nof D---- who held private sittings once a week, at which the mother and\nbrothers and sisters gone before materialized and joined the circle; and\nhaving expressed my desire, through a mutual acquaintance, to assist at\ntheir _seances_, Mr. D---- kindly sent me an invitation to one. I found\nhe was a high-class tradesman, living in a good house in the suburbs,\nand that strangers were very seldom (if ever) admitted to their circle.\nMr. D---- explained to me before the _seance_ commenced, that they\nregarded Spiritualism as a most sacred thing, that they sat only to have\ncommunication with their own relations, his wife and children, and that\nhis wife never manifested except when they were alone. His earth family\nconsisted of a young married daughter and her husband, and four or five\nchildren of different ages. He had lost, I think he told me, a grown-up\nson, and two little ones. William Haxby, the medium, whom I wrote of in\nmy chapter \"On Sceptics,\" and who had passed over since then, had been\nintimate with their family, and often came back to them. These\nexplanations over, the _seance_ began. The back and front parlors were\ndivided by lace curtains only. In the back, where the young married\ndaughter took up her position on a sofa, were a piano and an American\norgan. In the front parlor, which was lighted by an oil lamp, we sat\nabout on chairs and sofas, but without any holding of hands. In a very\nshort time the lace curtains parted and a young man's face appeared.\nThis was the grown-up brother. \"Hullo! Tom,\" they all exclaimed, and the\nyounger ones went up and kissed him. He spoke a while to his father,\ntelling what they proposed to do that evening, but saying his mother\nwould not be able to materialize. As he was speaking, a little boy stood\nby his side. \"Here's Harry,\" cried the children, and they brought their\nspirit brother out into the room between them. He seemed to be about\nfive years old. His father told him to come and speak to me, and he\nobeyed, just like a little human child, and stood before me with his\nhand resting on my knee. Then a little girl joined the party, and the\ntwo children walked about the room, talking to everybody in turn. As we\nwere occupied with them, we heard the notes of the American organ.\n\"Here's Haxby,\" said Mr. D----. \"Now we shall have a treat.\" (I must say\nhere that Mr. Haxby was an accomplished organist on earth.) As he heard\nhis name, he, too, came to the curtains, and showed his face with its\nungainly features, and intimated that he and \"Tom\" would play a duet.\nAccordingly the two instruments pealed forth together, and the spirits\nreally played gloriously--a third influence joining in with some\nstringed instrument. This _seance_ was so much less wonderful than many\nI have written of, that I should not have included a description of it,\nexcept to prove that all media do not ply their profession in order to\nprey upon their fellow-creatures. The D---- family are only anxious to\navoid observation. There could be no fun or benefit in deceiving each\nother, and yet they devote one evening in each week to holding communion\nwith those they loved whilst on earth and feel are only hidden from them\nfor a little while, and by a very flimsy veil. Their _seances_ truly\ncarry out the great poet's belief.\n\n    \"Then the forms of the departed\n      Enter at the open door;\n    The beloved, the true-hearted,\n      Come to visit me once more.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    With a slow and noiseless footstep\n      Comes that messenger divine,\n    Takes the vacant chair beside me,\n      Lays her gentle hand in mine.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Uttered not, yet, comprehended,\n      Is the spirit's voiceless prayer.\n    Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,\n      Breathing from her lips of air.\"\n\nIn the house of the lady I have mentioned in \"The Story of the Monk,\"\nMrs. Uniacke of Bruges, I have witnessed marvellous phenomena. They were\nnot pleasant manifestations, very far from it, but there was no doubt\nthat they were genuine. Whether they proceeded from the agency of Mrs.\nUniacke, my sister Blanche, or a young lady called Miss Robinson, who\nsat with them, or from the power of all three combined, I cannot say,\nbut they had experienced them on several occasions before I joined them,\nand were eager that I should be a witness of them. We sat in Mrs.\nUniacke's house, in a back drawing-room, containing a piano and several\nbook-cases, full of books--some of them very heavy. We sat round a table\nin complete darkness, only we four women, with locked doors and bolted\nwindows. Accustomed as I was to all sorts of manifestations and\nmediumship, I was really frightened by what occurred. The table was most\nviolent in its movements, our chairs were dragged from under us, and\nheavy articles were thrown about the room. The more Mrs. Uniacke\nexpostulated and Miss Robinson laughed, the worse the tumult became. The\nbooks were taken from the shelves and hurled at our heads, several of\nthe blows seriously hurting us; the keys of the piano at the further end\nof the room were thumped and crashed upon, as if they would be broken;\nand in the midst of it all Miss Robinson fell prone upon the floor, and\ncommenced talking in Flemish, a language of which she had no knowledge.\nMy sister understands it, and held a conversation with the girl; and she\ntold us afterwards that Miss Robinson had announced herself by the name\nof a Fleming lately deceased in the town, and detailed many events of\nhis life, and messages which he wished to be delivered to his\nfamily--all of which were conveyed in good and intelligible Flemish.\nWhen the young lady had recovered she resumed her place at the table, as\nmy sister was anxious I should see another table, which they called\n\"Mademoiselle\" dance, whilst unseen hands thumped the piano. The\nmanifestation not occurring, however, they thought it must be my\npresence, and ordered me away from the table. I went and stood up close\nagainst the folding doors that led into the front room, keeping my hand,\nwith a purpose, on the handle. The noise and confusion palpably\nincreased when the three ladies were left alone. \"Mademoiselle,\" who\nstood in a corner of the room, commenced to dance about, and the notes\nof the piano crashed forcibly. There was something strange to me about\nthe manifestation of the piano. It sounded as if it were played with\nfeet instead of hands. When the tumult was at its height, I suddenly,\nand without warning, threw open the folding door and let the light in\nupon the scene, and I saw _the music-stool mounted on the keyboard_ and\nhammering the notes down. As the light was admitted, both \"Mademoiselle\"\nand the music-stool fell with a crash to the floor, and the _seance_ was\nover. The ladies were seated at the table, and the floor and articles of\nfurniture were strewn with the books which had been thrown down--the\nbookshelves being nearly emptied--and pots of flowers. I was never at\nsuch a pandemonium before or after.\n\nThe late Sir Percy Shelley and his wife Lady Shelley, having no children\nof their own, adopted a little girl, who, when about four or five years,\nwas seriously burned about the chest and shoulders, and confined for\nsome months to her bed. The child's cot stood in Lady Shelley's bedroom,\nand when her adopted mother was about to say her prayers, she was\naccustomed to give the little girl a pencil and piece of paper to keep\nher quiet. One day the child asked for pen and ink instead of a pencil,\nand on being refused began to cry, and said, \"The _man_ said she must\nhave pen and ink.\" As it was particularly enjoined that she must not cry\nfor fear of reopening her wounds, Lady Shelley provided her with the\ndesired articles, and proceeded to her devotions. When she rose from\nthem, she saw to her surprise that the child had drawn an outline of a\ngroup of figures in the Flaxman style, representing mourners kneeling\nround a couch with a sick man laid upon it. She did not understand the\nmeaning of the picture, but she was struck with amazement at the\nexecution of it, as was everybody who saw it. From that day she gave the\nlittle girl a sheet of card-board each morning, with pen and ink, and\nobtained a different design, the child always talking glibly of \"the\nman\" who helped her to draw. This went on until the drawings numbered\nthirty or forty, when a \"glossary of symbols\" was written out by this\nbaby, who could neither write nor spell, which explained the whole\nmatter. It was then discovered that the series of drawings represented\nthe life of the soul on leaving the body, until it was lost \"in the\nInfinity of God\"--a likely subject to be chosen, or understood, by a\nchild of five. I heard this story from Lady Shelley's lips, and I have\nseen (and well examined) the original designs. They were at one time to\nbe published by subscription, but I believe it never came to pass. I\nhave also seen the girl who drew them, most undoubtedly under control.\nShe was then a young married woman and completely ignorant of anything\nrelating to Spiritualism. I asked her if she remembered the\ncircumstances under which she drew the outlines, and she laughed and\nsaid no. She knew she had drawn them, but she had no idea how. All she\ncould tell me was that she had never done anything wonderful since, and\nshe had no interest in Spiritualism whatever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nVARIOUS MEDIA.\n\n\nA very strong and remarkable clairvoyant is Mr. Towns, of Portobello\nRoad. As a business adviser or foreteller of the Future, I don't think\nhe is excelled. The inquirer after prophecy will not find a grand\nmansion to receive him in Portobello Road. On the contrary, this\nsoothsayer keeps a small shop in the oil trade, and is himself only an\nhonest, and occasionally rather rough spoken, tradesman. He will see\nclients privately on any day when he is at home, though it is better to\nmake an appointment, but he holds a circle on his premises each Tuesday\nevening, to which everybody is admitted, and where the contribution is\nanything you may be disposed to give, from coppers to gold. These\nmeetings, which are very well attended, are always opened by Mr. Towns\nwith prayer, after which a hymn is sung, and the _seance_ commences.\nThere is full gas on all the time, and Mr. Towns sits in the midst of\nthe circle. He does not go under trance, but rubs his forehead for a few\nminutes and then turns round suddenly and addresses members of his\naudience, as it may seem, promiscuously, but it is just as he is\nimpressed. He talks, as a rule, in metaphor, or allegorically, but his\nmeaning is perfectly plain to the person he addresses. It is not only\nsilly women, or curious inquirers, who attend Mr. Towns' circles. You\nmay see plenty of grave, and often anxious, business men around him,\nwaiting to hear if they shall sell out their shares, or hold on till the\nmarket rises; where they are to search for lost certificates or papers\nof value; or on whom they are to fix the blame of money or articles of\nvalue that have disappeared. Once in my presence a serious-looking man\nhad kept his eye fixed on him for some time, evidently anxious to speak.\nMr. Towns turned suddenly to him. \"You want to know, sir,\" he commenced,\nwithout any preface, \"where that baptismal certificate is to be found.\"\n\"I do, indeed,\" replied the man; \"it is a case of a loss of thousands\nif it is not forthcoming.\" \"Let me see,\" said Mr. Towns, with his finger\nto his forehead. \"Have you tried a church with a square tower without\nany steeple, an ugly, clumsy building, white-washed inside, standing in\na village. Stop! I can see the registrar books--the village's name is\n----. The entry is at page 200. The name is ----. The mother's name is\n----. Is that the certificate you want?\" \"It is, indeed,\" said the man;\n\"and it is in the church at ----?\" \"Didn't I say it was in the church at\n----?\" replied Mr. Towns, who does not like to be doubted or\ncontradicted. \"Go and you will find it there.\" And the man _did_ go and\ndid find it there. To listen to the conversations that go on between him\nand his clients at these meetings, Mr. Towns is apparently not less\nsuccessful with love affairs than with business affairs, and it is an\ninteresting experience to attend them, if only for the sake of\ncuriosity. But naturally, to visit him privately is to command much more\nof his attention. He will not, however, sit for everybody, and it is of\nno use attempting to deceive him. He is exceedingly keen-sighted into\ncharacter, and if he takes a dislike to a man he will tell him so\nwithout the slightest hesitation. No society lies are manufactured in\nthe little oil shop. A relative of mine, who was not the most faithful\nhusband in the world, and who, in consequence, judged of his wife's\nprobity by his own, went, during her temporary absence, to Mr. Towns to\nask him a delicate question. The lady was well known to the medium, but\nthe husband he had never seen before, and had no notion who his sitter\nwas, until he pulled out a letter from his pocket, thrust it across the\ntable, and said, \"There! look at that letter and tell me if the writer\nis faithful to me.\" Mr. Towns told me that as he took the envelope in\nhis hand, he saw the lady's face photographed upon it, and at the same\nmoment, all the blackness of the husband's own life. He rose up like an\navenging deity and pointed to the door. \"This letter,\" he said, \"was\nwritten by Mrs. ----. Go! man, and wash your own hands clean, and _then_\ncome and ask me questions about your wife.\" And so the \"heavy swell\" had\nto slink downstairs again. I have often gone myself to Mr. Towns before\nengaging in any new business, and always received the best advice, and\nbeen told exactly what would occur during its progress. When I was about\nto start on the \"Golden Goblin\" tour in management with my son--I went\nto him to ask if it would be successful. He not only told me what money\nit would bring in, but where the weak points would occur. The drama was\nthen completed, and in course of rehearsal, and had been highly\ncommended by all who had heard and seen it. Mr. Towns, however, who had\nneither seen nor heard it, insisted it would have to be altered before\nit was a complete success. This annoyed me, and I knew it would annoy my\nson, the author; besides, I believed it was a mistake, so I said nothing\nabout it. Before it had run a month, however, the alterations were\nadmitted on all sides to be necessary, and were consequently made.\nEverything that Mr. Towns prognosticated on that occasion came to pass,\neven to the strangers I should encounter on tour, and how their\nacquaintance would affect my future life; also how long the tour would\nlast, and in which towns it would achieve the greatest success. I can\nassure some of my professional friends, that if they would take the\ntrouble to consult a trustworthy clairvoyant about their engagements\nbefore booking them, they would not find themselves so often in the\nhands of the bogus manager as they do now. A short time ago I received a\nsummons to the county court, and although I _knew_ I was in the right,\nyet law has so many loopholes that I felt nervous. The case was called\nfor eleven o'clock on a certain Wednesday, and the evening before I\njoined Mr. Towns' circle. When it came to my turn to question him, I\nsaid, \"Do you see where I shall be to-morrow morning?\" He replied, \"I\ncan see you are called to appear in a court-house, but the case will be\nput off.\" \"_Put off_,\" I repeated, \"but it is fixed for eleven. It can't\nbe put off.\" \"Cases are sometimes relegated to another court,\" said Mr.\nTowns. Then I thought he had quite got out of his depth, and replied,\n\"You are making a mistake. This is quite an ordinary business. It can't\ngo to a higher court. But shall I gain it?\" \"In the afternoon,\" said the\nmedium. His answers so disappointed me that I placed no confidence in\nthem, and went to the county court on the following morning in a nervous\ncondition. But he was perfectly correct. The case was called for eleven,\nbut as the defendant was not forthcoming, it was passed over, and the\nsucceeding hearings occupied so much time, that the magistrate thought\nmine would never come off, so he _relegated it at two o'clock to\nanother court_ to be heard before the registrar, who decided it at once\nin my favor, so that I _gained it in the afternoon_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne afternoon in my \"green sallet\" days of Spiritualism, when every\nfresh experience almost made my breath stop, I turned into the\nProgressive Library in Southampton Row, to ask if there were any new\nmedia come to town. Mr. Burns did not know of any, but asked me if I had\never attended one of Mrs. Olive's _seances_, a series of which were\nbeing held weekly in the Library Rooms. I had not, and I bought a\nhalf-crown ticket for admission, and returned there the same evening.\nWhen I entered the _seance_ room, the medium had not arrived, and I had\ntime to take stock of the audience. It seemed a very sad and serious\none. There was no whispering nor giggling going on, and it struck me\nthey looked more like patients waiting the advent of the doctor, than\npeople bound on an evening's amusement. And that, to my surprise, was\nwhat I afterwards found they actually were. Mrs. Olive did not keep us\nlong waiting, and when she came in, dressed in a lilac muslin dress,\nwith her golden hair parted plainly on her forehead, her _very_ blue\neyes, and a sweet, womanly smile for her circle, she looked as unlike\nthe popular idea of a professional medium as anyone could possibly do.\nShe sat down on a chair in the middle of the circle, and, having closed\nher eyes, went off to sleep. Presently she sat up, and, still with her\neyes closed, said in a very pleasant, but decidedly _manly_, voice: \"And\nnow, my friends, what can I do for you?\"\n\nA lady in the circle began to ask advice about her daughter. The medium\nheld up her hand. \"Stop!\" she exclaimed, \"you are doing _my_ work.\nFriend, your daughter is ill, you say. Then it is _my_ business to see\nwhat is the matter with her. Will you come here, young lady, and let me\nfeel your pulse.\" Having done which, the medium proceeded to detail\nexactly the contents of the girl's stomach, and to advise her what to\neat and drink for the future. Another lady then advanced with a written\nprescription. The medium examined her, made an alteration or two in the\nprescription, and told her to go on with it till further orders. My\ncuriosity was aroused, and I whispered to my next neighbor to tell me\nwho the control was. \"Sir John Forbes, a celebrated physician,\" she\nreplied. \"He has almost as large a connection now as he had when alive.\"\nI was not exactly ill at the time, but I was not strong, and nothing\nthat my family doctor prescribed for me seemed to do me any good. So\nwishing to test the abilities of \"Sir John Forbes,\" I went up to the\nmedium and knelt down by her side. \"What is the matter with me, Sir\nJohn?\" I began. \"Don't call me by that name, little friend,\" he\nanswered; \"we have no titles on this side the world.\" \"What shall I call\nyou, then?\" I said. \"Doctor, plain Doctor,\" was the reply, but in such a\nkind voice. \"Then tell me what is the matter with me, Doctor.\" \"Come\nnearer, and I'll whisper it in your ear.\" He then gave me a detailed\naccount of the manner in which I suffered, and asked what I had been\ntaking. When I told him, \"All wrong, all wrong,\" he said, shaking his\nhead. \"Here! give me a pencil and paper.\" I had a notebook in my pocket,\nwith a metallic pencil, which I handed over to him, and he wrote a\nprescription in it. \"Take that, and you'll be all the better, little\nfriend,\" he said, as he gave it to me back again. When I had time to\nexamine what he had written, I found to my surprise that the\nprescription was in abbreviated Latin, with the amount of each\ningredient given in the regular medical shorthand. Mrs. Olive, a simple\nthough intelligent looking woman, seemed a very unlikely person to me to\nbe educated up to this degree. However, I determined to obtain a better\nopinion than my own, so the next time my family doctor called to see me,\nI said: \"I have had a prescription given me, Doctor, which I am anxious,\nwith your permission, to try. I wish you would glance your eye over it\nand see if you approve of my taking it.\" At the same time I handed him\nthe note-book, and I saw him grow very red as he looked at the\nprescription. \"Anything wrong?\" I inquired. \"O! dear no!\" he replied in\nan offended tone; \"you can try your remedy, and welcome, for aught I\ncare--only, next time you wish to consult a new doctor, I advise you to\ndismiss the old one first.\" \"But this prescription was not written by a\ndoctor,\" I argued. At this he looked still more offended. \"It's no use\ntrying to deceive me, Mrs. Ross-Church! That prescription was written by\nno one but a medical man.\" It was a long time before I could make him\nreally believe _who_ had transcribed it, and under what circumstances.\nWhen he was convinced of the truth of my statement, he was very much\nastonished, and laid all his professional pique aside. He did more. He\nnot only urged me to have the prescription made up, but he confessed\nthat his first chagrin was due to the fact that he felt he should have\nthought of it himself. \"_That_,\" he said, pointing to one ingredient,\n\"is the very thing to suit your case, and it makes me feel such a fool\nto think that a _woman_ should think of what _I_ passed over.\"\n\nNothing would make this doctor believe in Spiritualism, though he\ncontinued to aver that only a medical man could have prescribed the\nmedicine; but as I saw dozens of other cases treated at the time by Mrs.\nOlive, and have seen dozens since, I know that she does it by a power\nnot her own. For several years after that \"Sir John Forbes\" used to give\nme advice about my health, and when his medium married Colonel Greck and\nwent to live in Russia, he was so sorry to leave his numerous patients,\nand they to lose him, that he wanted to control _me_ in order that I\nmight carry on his practice, but after several attempts he gave it up as\nhopeless. He said my brain was too active for any spirit to magnetize;\nand he is not the first, nor last, who has made the same attempt, and\nfailed. \"Sir John Forbes\" was not Mrs. Olive's only control. She had a\ncharming spirit called \"Sunshine,\" who used to come for clairvoyance and\nprophecy; and a very comical negro named \"Hambo,\" who was as humorous\nand full of native wit and repartee, as negroes generally are, and as\nMrs. Olive, who is a very gentle, quiet woman, decidedly was _not_.\n\"Hambo\" was the business adviser and director, and sometimes\nmaterialized, which the others did not. These three influences were just\nas opposite from one another, and from Mrs. Olive, as any creatures\ncould possibly be. \"Sir John Forbes,\" so dignified, courteous, and truly\nbenevolent--such a thorough old _gentleman_; \"Sunshine,\" a sweet,\nsympathetic Indian girl, full of gentle reproof for wrong and\nexhortations to lead a higher life; and \"Hambo,\" humorous and witty,\ncalling a spade a spade, and occasionally descending to coarseness, but\nnever unkind or wicked. I knew them all over a space of years until I\nregarded them as old friends. Mrs. Greck is now a widow, and residing in\nEngland, and, I hear, sitting again for her friends. If so, a great\nbenefit in the person of \"Sir John Forbes\" has returned for a portion of\nmankind.\n\nI have kept a well-known physical medium to the last, not because I do\nnot consider his powers to be completely genuine, but because they are\nof a nature that will not appeal to such as have not witnessed them. I\nallude to Mr. Charles Williams, with whom I have sat many times alone,\nand also with Mrs. Guppy Volckman. The manifestations that take place at\nhis _seances_ are always material. The much written of \"John King\" is\nhis principal control, and invariably appears under his mediumship; and\n\"Ernest\" is the name of another. I have seen Charles Williams leave the\ncabinet under trance and wander in an aimless manner about the room,\nwhilst both \"John King\" and \"Ernest\" were with the circle, and have\nheard them reprove him for rashness. I have also seen him under the same\ncircumstances, during an afternoon _seance_, mistake the window curtains\nfor the curtains of the cabinet, and draw them suddenly aside, letting\nthe full light of day in upon the scene, and showing vacancy where a\nmoment before two figures had been standing and talking.\n\nOnce when \"John King\" asked Colonel Lean what he should bring him, he\nwas told _mentally_ to fetch the half-hoop diamond ring from my finger\nand place it on that of my husband.\n\nThis half-hoop ring was worn between my wedding ring and a heavy gold\nsnake ring, and I was holding the hand of my neighbor all the time, and\nyet the ring was abstracted from between the other two and transferred\nto Colonel Lean's finger without my being aware of the circumstance.\nThese and various other marvels, I have seen under Mr. Williams'\nmediumship; but as I can adduce no proof that they were genuine, except\nmy own conviction, it would be useless to write them down here. Only I\ncould not close the list of the media with whom I have familiarly sat in\nLondon, and from whom I have received both kindness and courtesy,\nwithout including his name. It is the same with several others--with Mr.\nFrank Herne (now deceased) and his wife Mrs. Herne, whom I first knew as\nMrs. Bassett, a famous medium for the direct spirit voice; with Mrs.\nWilkinson, a clairvoyant who has a large _clientele_ of wealthy and\naristocratic patrons; with Mrs. Wilkins and Mr. Vango, both reliable,\nthough, as yet, less well known to the spiritualistic public; and with\nDr. Wilson, the astrologer, who will tell you all you have ever done,\nand all you are ever going to do, if you will only give him the\nopportunity of casting your horoscope. To all and each I tender my\nthanks for having afforded me increased opportunities of searching into\nthe truth of a science that possesses the utmost interest for me, and\nthat has given me the greatest pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nON LAYING THE CARDS.\n\n\nAt the risk of being laughed at, I cannot refrain, in the course of this\nnarrative of my spiritualistic experiences, from saying a few words\nabout what is called \"laying the cards.\" \"Imagine!\" I fancy I hear some\ndear creature with nose \"tip-tilted like a flower\" exclaim, \"any\nsensible woman believing in cards.\" And yet Napoleon believed in them,\nand regulated the fate of nations by them; and the only times he\nneglected their admonitions were followed by the retreat from Moscow and\nthe defeat at Waterloo. Still I did not believe in card-telling till the\nbelief was forced upon me. I always thought it rather cruel to give\nimprisonment and hard labor to old women who laid the cards for servant\ngirls. Who can tell whether or no it is obtaining money upon false\npretences; and if it is, why not inflict the same penalty on every\ncheating tradesman who sells inferior articles or gives short weight?\nWomen would be told they should look after their own interests in the\none case--so why not in the other? But all the difference lies in _who_\nlays the cards. Very few people can do it successfully, and my belief is\nthat it must be done by a person with mediumistic power, which, in some\nmysterious manner, influences the disposition of the pack. I have seen\ncards shuffled and cut twenty times in the hope of getting rid of some\nnumber antagonistic to the inquirer's good fortune, and yet each time\nthe same card would turn up in the juxtaposition least to be desired.\nHowever, to narrate my own experience. When I was living in Brussels,\nyears before I heard of modern Spiritualism, I made the acquaintance of\nan Irish lady called Mrs. Thorpe, a widow who was engaged as a\n_chaperon_ for some young Belgian ladies of high birth, who had lost\ntheir mother. We lived near each other, and she often came in to have a\nchat with me. After a while I heard through some other friends that Mrs.\nThorpe was a famous hand at \"laying the cards;\" and one day, when we\nwere alone, I asked her to tell me my fortune. I didn't in the least\nbelieve in it, but I wanted to be amused. Mrs. Thorpe begged to be\nexcused at once. She told me her predictions had proved so true, she was\nafraid to look into futurity any more. She had seen a son and heir for a\ncouple who had been married twenty years without having any children,\nand death for a girl just about to become a bride--and both had come\ntrue; and, in fact, her employer, the Baron, had strictly forbidden her\ndoing it any more whilst in his house. However, this only fired my\ncuriosity, and I teased her until, on my promising to preserve the\nstrictest secrecy, she complied with my request. She predicted several\nthings in which I had little faith, but which I religiously wrote down\nin case they came true--the three most important being that my husband,\nColonel Ross-Church (who was then most seriously ill in India), would\nnot die, but that his brother, Edward Church, would; that I should have\none more child by my first marriage--a daughter with exceedingly fair\nskin and hair, who would prove to be the cleverest of all my children,\nand that after her birth I should never live with my husband again. All\nthese events were most unlikely to come to pass at that time, and,\nindeed, did not come to pass for years afterwards, yet each one was\nfulfilled, and the daughter who, unlike all her brothers and sisters, is\nfair as a lily, will be by no means the last in the race for talent. Yet\nthese cards were laid four years before her birth. Mrs. Thorpe told me\nshe had learnt the art from a pupil of the identical Italian countess\nwho used to lay the cards for the Emperor Napoleon. But it is not an\nart, and it is not to be learnt. It is inspiration.\n\nMany years after this, when I had just begun to study Spiritualism, my\nsister told me of a wonderful old lady, a neighbor of hers, who had\ngained quite an evil reputation in the village by her prophetical powers\nwith the cards. Like Mrs. Thorpe, she had become afraid of herself, and\nprofessed to have given up the practice. The last time she had laid\nthem, a girl acquaintance had walked over joyously from an adjacent\nvillage to introduce her affianced husband to her, and to beg her to\ntell them what would happen in their married life. The old lady had laid\nthe cards, and saw the death card turn up three times with the marriage\nring, and told the young people, much to their chagrin, that they must\nprepare for a disappointment, as their marriage would certainly be\npostponed from some obstacle arising in the way. She told me afterwards\nthat she dared not tell them more than this. They left her somewhat\nsobered, but still full of hope, and started on their way home. Before\nthey reached it the young man staggered and fell down dead. No one had\nexpected such a catastrophe. He had been apparently in the best of\nhealth and spirits. _What_ was it that had made this old lady foresee\nwhat no one else had seen?\n\nThese are no trumped-up tales after the prediction had been fulfilled.\nEveryone knew it to be true, and became frightened to look into the\nfuture for themselves. I was an exception to the general rule, however,\nand persuaded Mrs. Simmonds to lay the cards for me. I had just\ncompleted a two months' sojourn at the seaside, was in robust health,\nand anticipating my return home for the sake of meeting again with a\nfriend who was very dear to me. I shuffled and cut the cards according\nto directions. The old lady looked rather grave. \"I don't like your\ncards,\" she said, \"there is a good deal of trouble before you--trouble\nand sickness. You will not return home so soon as you anticipate. You\nwill be detained by illness, and when you do return, you will find a\nletter on the table that will cut you to the heart. I am sorry you have\nstayed away so long. There has been treachery in your absence, and a\nwoman just your opposite, with dark eyes and hair, has got the better of\nyou. However, it will be a sharp trouble, but not a lengthy one. You\nwill see the wisdom of it before long, and be thankful it has happened.\"\nI accepted my destiny with complacency, never supposing (notwithstanding\nall that I had heard) that it would come true. I was within a few days\nof starting for home, and had received affectionate letters from my\nfriend all the time I had been away. However, as Fate and the cards\nwould have it, I was taken ill the very day after they were laid for me,\nand confined for three weeks with a kind of low fever to my bed; and\nwhen weakened and depressed I returned to my home I found _the letter on\nmy table_ that Mrs. Simmonds had predicted for me, to say that my\nfriendship with my (supposed) friend _was over and done with for ever_.\nAfter this I began to have more respect for cards, or rather for the\npersons who successfully laid them. In 1888, when I was touring with my\ncompany with the \"Golden Goblin,\" I stayed for the first time in my life\nin Accrington. Our sojourn there was to be only for a week, and, as may\nbe supposed, the accommodation in the way of lodgings was very poor.\nWhen we had been there a few days a lady of the company said to me,\n\"There is such a funny old woman at my lodgings, Miss Marryat! I wish\nyou'd come and see her. She can tell fortunes with the cards, and I know\nyou believe in such things. She has told my husband and me all about\nourselves in the most wonderful manner; but you mustn't come when the\nold man is at home, because he says it's devilry, and he has forbidden\nher doing it.\" \"I _am_ very much interested in that sort of thing,\" I\nreplied, \"and I will certainly pay her a visit, if you will tell me when\nI may come.\" A time was accordingly fixed for my going to the lady's\nrooms, and on my arrival there I was introduced to a greasy, snuffy old\nlandlady, who didn't look as if she had a soul above a bottle of gin.\nHowever, I sat down at a table with her, and the cards were cut. She\ntold me nothing that my friends might have told her concerning me, but\ndived at once into the future. My domestic affairs were in a very\ncomplicated state at that period, and I had no idea myself how they\nwould end. She saw the whole situation at a glance--described the actors\nin the scene, the places they lived in, the people by whom they were\nsurrounded, and exactly how the whole business would end, and _did_ end.\nShe foretold the running of the tour, how long it would last, and which\nof the company would leave before it concluded. She told me that a woman\nin the company, whom I believed at that time to be attached to me, would\nprove to be one of my greatest enemies, and be the cause of estrangement\nbetween me and one of my nearest relations, and she opened my eyes to\nthat woman's character in a way which forced me afterwards to find out\nthat to which I might have been blind forever. And this information\nemanated from a dirty, ignorant, old lodging keeper, who had probably\nnever heard of my name until it was thrust before her, and yet told me\nthings that my most intimate and cleverest friends had no power to tell\nme. After the woman at Accrington I never looked at a card for the\npurpose of divination until my attention was directed last year to a\nwoman in London who is very clever at the same thing, and a friend\nasked me to go with her and see what she could tell us. This woman, who\nis quite of the lower class, and professedly a dressmaker, received us\nin a bedroom, the door of which was carefully locked. She was an elderly\nwoman and rather intelligent and well educated for her position, but she\ncould adduce no reason whatever for her facility in reading the cards.\nShe told me \"it _came_ to her,\" she didn't know why or how.\n\nIt \"came to her\" with a vengeance for me. She rattled off my past,\npresent and future as if she had been reading from an open book, and she\nmentioned the description of a person (which I completely recognized) so\nconstantly with reference to my future, that I thought I would try her\nby a question. \"Stop a minute,\" I said, \"this person whom you have\nalluded to so often--have I ever met him?\" \"Of course you have met him,\"\nshe replied, \"you know him intimately.\" \"I don't recognize the\ndescription,\" I returned, fallaciously. The woman turned round and\nlooked me full in the face. \"_You don't recognize him?_\" she repeated in\nan incredulous tone, \"then you must be very dull. Well! I'll tell you\nhow to recognize him. Next time you meet a gentleman out walking who\nraises his hat, and before he shakes hands with you, draws a written or\nprinted paper from his pocket and presents it to you, you can remember\nmy words. _That_ is the man I mean.\"\n\nI laughed at the quaintness of the idea and returned home. As I was\nwalking from the station to my own house I met the person she had\ndescribed. As he neared me he raised his hat, and then putting his hand\nin his pocket he said, \"Good afternoon! I have something for you! I met\nBurrows this morning. He was going on to you, but as he was in a great\nhurry he asked me if I was likely to see you to-day to give you this.\"\nAnd he presented me with a printed paper of regulations which I had\nasked the man he mentioned to procure for me.\n\nNow, here was no stereotyped utterance of the cards--no stock\nphrase--but a deliberate prophecy of an unfulfilled event. It is upon\nsuch things that I base my opinion that, given certain persons and\ncertain circumstances, the cards are a very fertile source of\ninformation. It is absurd in cases like those I have related to lay it\nall down to chance, to clever guessing, or to trickery. If my readers\nbelieve so, let me ask them to try it for themselves. If it is all\nfolly, and any stupid, ignorant old woman can do it, of course _they_\nmust be able to master the trick. Let them get a pack of cards and lay\nthem according to the usual directions--there are any number of books\npublished that will tell them how to do it--and then see if they can\nforetell a single event of importance correctly. They will probably find\n(as _I_ do) that the cards are a sealed book to them. I would give a\ngreat deal to be able to lay the cards with any degree of success for\nmyself or my friends. But nothing \"comes to me.\" The cards remain\npainted pieces of cardboard, and nothing more. And yet an ignorant\ncreature who has no brains of her own can dive deep into the mysteries\nof my mind, and turn my inmost thoughts and wishes inside out,--more,\ncan pierce futurity and tell me what _shall_ be. However, if my hearers\ncontinue to doubt my story, I can only repeat my admonition to try it\nfor themselves. If they once succeed, they will not give it up again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nSPIRITUALISM IN AMERICA.\n\nI. _Mrs. M. A. Williams._\n\n\nI went to America on a professional engagement in October, 1884. Some\nmonths beforehand a very liberal offer had been made me by the\nSpiritualists of Great Britain to write my experiences for the English\npress, but I declined to do so until I could add my American notes to\nthem. I had corresponded (as I have shown) with the _Banner of Light_ in\nNew York; and what I had heard of Spiritualism in America had made me\ncurious to witness it. But I was determined to test it on a strictly\nprivate plan. I said to myself: \"I have seen and heard pretty nearly all\nthere is to be seen and heard on the subject in England, but, with one\nor two exceptions, I have never sat at any _seance_ where I was not\nknown. Now I am going to visit a strange country where, in a matter like\nSpiritualism, I can conceal my identity, so as to afford the media no\nclue to my surroundings or the names of my deceased friends.\" I sailed\nfor America quite determined to pursue a strictly secret investigation,\nand with that end in view I never mentioned the subject to anyone.\n\nI had a few days holiday in New York before proceeding to Boston, where\nmy work opened, and I stayed at one of the largest hotels in the city. I\nlanded on Sunday morning, and on Monday evening I resolved to make my\nfirst venture. Had I been a visitor in London, I should have had to\nsearch out the right sort of people, and make a dozen inquiries before I\nheard where the media were hiding themselves from dread of the law; but\nthey order such things better on the other side of the Atlantic. People\nare allowed to hold their private opinions and their private religion\nthere without being swooped down upon and clapped into prison for rogues\nand vagabonds. Whatever the views of the majority may be, upon this\nsubject or any other (and Heaven knows I would have each man strong\nenough to cling to his opinion, and brave enough to acknowledge it\nbefore the world), I think it is a discredit to a civilized country to\nallow old laws, that were made when we were little better than savages,\nto remain in force at the present day. We are far too much over-ridden\nby a paternal Government, which has grown so blind and senile that it\nswallows camels while it is straining after a gnat.\n\nThere was no obstacle to my wish, however, in New York. I had but to\nglance down the advertisement columns of the newspapers to learn where\nthe media lived, and on what days they held their public _seances_. It\nso happened that Mrs. M. A. Williams was the only one who held open\nhouse on Monday evenings for Materialization; and thither I determined\nto go. There is no such privacy as in a large _hotel_, where no one has\nthe opportunity to see what his neighbor is doing. As soon, therefore,\nas my dinner was concluded, I put on a dark cloak, hat and veil, and\nwalking out into the open, got into one of the cars that ran past the\nstreet where Mrs. Williams resided. Arrived at the house, I knocked at\nthe door, and was about to inquire if there was to be any _seance_\nthere, that evening, when the attendant saved me the trouble by saying,\n\"Upstairs, if you please, madam,\" and nothing more passed between us.\nWhen I had mounted the stairs, I found myself in a large room, the floor\nof which was covered with a thick carpet, nailed all round the\nwainscotting. On one side were some thirty or forty cane-bottomed\nchairs, and directly facing them was the cabinet. This consisted of four\nuprights nailed over the carpet, with iron rods connecting them at the\ntop. There was no roof to it, but curtains of a dark maroon color were\nusually drawn around, but when I entered, they were flung back over the\niron rods, so as to disclose the interior. There was a stuffed armchair\nfor the use of the medium, and in front of the cabinet a narrow table\nwith papers and pencils on it, the use of which I did not at first\ndiscover. At the third side of the room was a harmonium, so placed that\nthe performer sat with his back both to the cabinet and the sitters. A\nlarge gas lamp, almost like a limelight, made in a square form like a\nlantern, was fixed against the wall, so as to throw the light upon the\ncabinet, but it was fitted with a sliding shade of red silk, with which\nit could be darkened if necessary. I was early, and only a few visitors\nwere occupying the chairs. I asked a lady if I might sit where I chose,\nand on her answering \"Yes,\" I took the chair in the front row, exactly\nopposite the cabinet, not forgetting that I was there in the cause of\nSpiritualism as well as for my own interests. The seats filled rapidly\nand there must have been thirty-five or forty people present, when Mrs.\nWilliams entered the room, and nodding to those she knew, went into the\ncabinet. Mrs. Williams is a stout woman of middle age, with dark hair\nand eyes, and a fresh complexion. She was dressed in a tight-fitting\ngown of pale blue, with a good deal of lace about the neck and sleeves.\nShe was accompanied by a gentleman, and I then discovered for the first\ntime that it is usual in America to have, what they call, a \"conductor\"\nof the _seance_. The conductor sits close to the cabinet curtains, and,\nif any spirit is too weak to shew itself outside, or to speak audibly,\nhe conveys the message it may wish to send to its friends; and when I\nknew how very few precautions the Americans take to prevent such\noutrages as have occurred in England, and how many more materializations\ntake place in an evening there than here, I saw the necessity of a\nconductor to protect the medium, and to regulate the order of the\n_seance_.\n\nMrs. Williams' conductor opened the proceedings with a very neat little\nspeech. He said, \"I see several strange faces here this evening, and I\nam very pleased to see them, and I hope they may derive both pleasure\nand profit from our meeting. We have only one rule for the conduct of\nour _seances_, that you shall behave like ladies and gentlemen. You may\nnot credit all you see, but remember this is our religion, and the\nreligion of many present, and as you would behave yourselves reverently\nand decorously, if you were in a church of another persuasion to your\nown, so I beg of you to behave yourselves here. And if any spirits\nshould come for you whom you do not immediately recognize, don't wound\nthem by denying their identity. They may have been longing for this\nmoment to meet you again, and doing their very utmost to assume once\nmore the likeness they wore on earth; yet some fail. Don't make their\nfailure harder to bear by roughly repudiating all knowledge of them. The\nstrangers who are present to-night may mistake the reason of this little\ntable being placed in front of the cabinet, and think it is intended to\nkeep them from too close an inspection of the spirits. No such thing! On\nthe contrary, all will be invited in turn to come up and recognize their\nfriends. But we make it a rule at these _seances_ that no materialized\nspirit, who is strong enough to come beyond that table, shall be\npermitted to return to the cabinet. They must dematerialize in sight of\nthe sitters, that no possible suspicion may rest upon the medium. These\npencils and papers are placed here in case any spirit who is unable to\nspeak may be impressed to write instead. And now we will begin the\nevening with a song.\"\n\nThe accompanist then played \"Footsteps of Angels,\" the audience sung it\nwith a will, and the curtains having been drawn round Mrs. Williams, the\nshade was drawn across the gaslight, and the _seance_ began.\n\nI don't think it could have been more than a minute or two before we\nheard a voice whispering, \"Father,\" and _three girls_, dressed in white\nclinging garments, appeared at the opening in the curtains. An old man\nwith white hair left his seat and walked up to the cabinet, when they\nall three came out at once and hung about his neck and kissed him, and\nwhispered to him. I almost forgot where I was. They looked so perfectly\nhuman, so joyous and girl-like, somewhere between seventeen and twenty,\nand they all spoke at once, so like what girls on earth would do, that\nit was most mystifying. The old man came back to his seat, wiping his\neyes. \"Are those your daughters, sir?\" asked one of the sitters. \"Yes!\nmy three girls,\" he replied. \"I lost them all before ten years old, but\nyou see I've got them back again here.\"\n\nSeveral other forms appeared after this--one, a little child of about\nthree years old, who fluttered in and out of the cabinet like a\nbutterfly, and ran laughing away from the sitters who tried to catch\nher. Some of the meetings that took place for the first time were very\naffecting. One young man of about seventeen or eighteen, who was called\nup to see his mother's spirit, sobbed so bitterly, it broke my heart to\nhear him. There was not the least doubt if _he_ recognized her or no. He\nwas so overcome, he hardly raised his eyes for the rest of the evening.\nOne lady brought her spirit-son up to me, that I might see how perfectly\nhe had materialized. She spoke of it as proudly as she might have done\nif he had passed some difficult examination. The young man was dressed\nin a suit of evening clothes, and he shook hands with me at his mother's\nbidding, with the firm grasp of a mortal. Naturally, I had seen too much\nin England for all this to surprise me. Still I had never assisted at a\n_seance_ where everything appeared to be so strangely human--so little\nmystical, except indeed the rule of dematerializing before the sitters,\nwhich I had only seen \"Katie King\" do before. But here, each form, after\nhaving been warned by the conductor that its time was up, sunk down\nright through the carpet as though it were the most ordinary mode of\negression. Some, and more especially the men, did not advance beyond the\ncurtains; then their friends were invited to go up and speak to them,\nand several went inside the cabinet. There were necessarily a good many\nforms, familiar to the rest, of whom I knew nothing; one was an old\nminister under whom they had all sat, another a gentleman who had been a\nconstant attendant at Mrs. Williams' _seances_.\n\nOnce the conductor spoke to me. \"I am not aware of your name,\" he said\n(and I thought, \"No! my friend, and you won't be aware of it just yet\neither!\"), \"but a spirit here wishes you would come up to the cabinet.\"\nI advanced, expecting to see some friend, and there stood a Catholic\npriest with his hand extended in blessing. I knelt down, and he gave me\nthe usual benediction and then closed the curtains. \"Did you know the\nspirit?\" the conductor asked me. I shook my head; and he continued, \"He\nwas Father Hayes, a well-known priest in this city. I suppose you are a\nCatholic?\" I told him \"Yes,\" and went back to my seat. The conductor\naddressed me again. \"I think Father Hayes must have come to pave the way\nfor some of your friends,\" he said. \"Here is a spirit who says she has\ncome for a lady named 'Florence,' who has just crossed the sea. Do you\nanswer to the description?\" I was about to say \"Yes,\" when the curtains\nparted again and my daughter \"Florence\" ran across the room and fell\ninto my arms. \"Mother!\" she exclaimed, \"I said I would come with you and\nlook after you--didn't I?\"\n\nI looked at her. She was exactly the same in appearance as when she had\ncome to me in England--the same luxuriant brown hair and features and\nfigure, as I had seen under the different mediumships of Florence Cook,\nArthur Colman, Charles Williams and William Eglinton; the same form\nwhich in England had been declared to be half-a-dozen different media\ndressed up to represent my daughter stood before me there in New York,\nthousands of miles across the sea, and by the power of a person who did\nnot even know who I was. If I had not been convinced before, how could I\nhave helped being convinced then?\n\n\"Florence\" appeared as delighted as I was, and kept on kissing me and\ntalking of what had happened to me on board ship coming over, and was\nevidently quite _au fait_ of all my proceedings. Presently she said,\n\"There's another friend of yours here, mother! We came over together.\nI'll go and fetch him.\" She was going back to the cabinet when the\nconductor stopped her. \"You must not return this way, please. Any other\nyou like,\" and she immediately made a kind of court curtsey and went\ndown through the carpet. I was standing where \"Florence\" had left me,\nwondering what would happen next, when she came _up again_ a few feet\noff from me, head first, and smiling as if she had discovered a new\ngame. She was allowed to enter the cabinet this time, but a moment\nafterwards she popped her head out again, and said, \"Here's your friend,\nmother!\" and by her side was standing William Eglinton's control,\n\"Joey,\" clad in his white suit, with a white cap drawn over his head.\n\"'Florence' and I have come over to make new lines for you here,\" he\nsaid: \"at least, I've come over to put her in the way of doing it, but I\ncan't stay long, you know, because I have to go back to 'Willy.'\"\n\nI really didn't care if he stayed long or not. I seemed to have procured\nthe last proof I needed of the truth of the doctrine I had held so long,\nthat there is no such thing as Death, as we understand it in this world.\nHere were the two spiritual beings (for believing in the identity of\nwhom I had called myself a credulous fool fifty times over, only to\nbelieve in them more deeply still) in _propria personae_ in New York,\nclaiming me in a land of strangers, who had not yet found out who I was.\nI was more deeply affected than I had ever been under such circumstances\nbefore, and more deeply thankful. \"Florence\" made great friends with our\nAmerican cousins even on her first appearance. Mrs. Williams' conductor\ntold me he thought he had never heard anything more beautiful than the\nidea of the spirit-child crossing the ocean to guard its mother in a\nstrange country, and particularly, as he could feel by her influence,\nwhat a pure and beautiful spirit she was. When I told him she had left\nthis world at ten days old, he said that accounted for it, but he could\nsee there was nothing earthly about her.\n\nI was delighted with this _seance_, and hoped to sit with Mrs. Williams\nmany times more, but fate decreed that I should leave New York sooner\nthan I had anticipated. The perfect freedom with which it was conducted\ncharmed me, and the spirits seemed so familiar with the sitters. There\nwas no \"Sweet Spirit, hear my prayer,\" business about it. No fear of\nbeing detained or handled among the spirits, and no awe, only intense\ntenderness on the part of their relations. It was to this cause I\nchiefly attributed the large number of materializations I\nwitnessed--_forty_ having taken place that evening. They spoke far more\ndistinctly and audibly too than those I had seen in England, but I\nbelieve the dry atmosphere of the United States is far more favorable to\nthe process of materialization. I perceived another difference. Although\nthe female spirits were mostly clad in white, they wore dresses and not\nsimply drapery, whilst the men were invariably attired in the clothes\n(or semblances of the clothes) they would have worn had they been still\non earth. I left Mrs. Williams' rooms, determined to see as much as I\npossibly could of mediumship whilst I was in the United States.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nII. _Mrs. Eva Hatch._\n\n\nI was so disappointed at being hurried off to Boston before I had seen\nany more of the New York media, that I took the earliest opportunity of\nattending a _seance_ there. A few words I had heard dropped about Eva\nHatch made me resolve to visit her first. She was one of the Shaker\nsect, and I heard her spoken of as a remarkably pure and honest woman,\nand most reliable medium. Her first appearance quite gave me that\nimpression. She had a fair, placid countenance, full of sweetness and\nserenity, and a plump matronly figure. I went incognita, as I had done\nto Mrs. Williams, and mingled unnoticed with the crowd. Mrs. Hatch's\ncabinet was quite different from Mrs. Williams'. It was built of planks\nlike a little cottage, and the roof was pierced with numerous round\nholes for ventilation, like a pepper-box. There was a door in the\ncentre, with a window on either side, all three of which were shaded by\ndark curtains. The windows, I was told, were for the accommodation of\nthose spirits who had not the power to materialize more than a face, or\nhead and bust. Mrs. Hatch's conductor was a woman, who sat near the\ncabinet, as in the other case.\n\nMrs. Eva Hatch had not entered the cabinet five minutes before she came\nout again, under trance, with a very old lady with silver hair clinging\nto her arm, and walked round the circle. As they did so, the old lady\nextended her withered hand, and blessed the sitters. She came quite\nclose to each one and was distinctly visible to all. I was told that\nthis was the spirit of Mrs. Hatch's mother, and that it was her regular\ncustom to come first and give her blessing to the _seance_. I had never\nseen the spirit of an aged person before, and it was a beautiful sight.\nShe was the sweetest old lady too, very small and fragile looking, and\nhalf reclining on her daughter's bosom, but smiling serenely upon every\none there. When they had made the tour of the room, Mrs. Hatch\nre-entered the cabinet, and did not leave it again until the sitting was\nconcluded.\n\nThere were a great many sitters present, most of whom were old patrons\nof Mrs. Hatch, and so, naturally, their friends came for them first. It\nis surprising though, when once familiarized with materialization, how\nlittle one grows to care to see the spirits who come for one's next door\nneighbor. They are like a lot of prisoners let out, one by one, to see\ntheir friends and relations. The few moments they have to spare are\nentirely devoted to home matters of no possible interest to the\nbystander. The first wonder and possible shock at seeing the supposed\ndead return in their old likeness to greet those they left on earth\nover, one listens with languid indifference, and perhaps a little\nimpatience for one's own turn to come, to the whispered utterances of\nstrangers. Mrs. Hatch's \"cabinet spirits\" or \"controls,\" however, were\nvery interesting. One, who called herself the \"Spirit of Prayer,\" came\nand knelt down in the middle of the circle, and prayed with us. She had\nasked for the gas to be extinguished first, and as she prayed she became\nilluminated with flashes of light, in the shape of stars and crosses,\nuntil she was visible from head to foot, and we could see her features\nand dress as if she had been surrounded by electricity.\n\nTwo more cabinet spirits were a negro and negress, who appeared\ntogether, chanting some of their native hymns and melodies. When I saw\nthese apparitions, I thought to myself: \"Here is a good opportunity to\ndiscover trickery, if trickery there is.\" The pair were undoubtedly of\nthe negro race. There was no mistaking their thick lips and noses and\nyellow-white eyes, nor their polished brown skins, which no charcoal can\nproperly imitate. They were negroes without doubt; but how about the\nnegro bouquet? Everyone who has mixed with colored people in the East or\nthe West knows what that is, though it is very difficult to describe,\nbeing something like warm rancid oil mingled with the fumes of charcoal,\nwith a little worse thrown in. \"Now,\" I thought, \"if these forms are\nhuman, there will be some odor attached to them, and that I am\ndetermined to find out.\" I caught, therefore, at the dress of the young\nwoman as she passed, and asked her if she would kiss me. She left her\ncompanion directly, and put her arms (which were bare) round my neck,\nand embraced me several times; and I can declare, on my oath, that she\nwas as completely free from anything like the smell of a colored woman\nas it was possible for her to be. She felt as fresh and sweet and pure\nas a little child.\n\nMany other forms appeared and were recognized by the circle, notably a\nvery handsome one who called herself the Empress Josephine; but as they\ncould not add a grain's weight to my testimony I pass them over. I had\nbegun to think that \"Florence\" was not going to visit me that evening,\nwhen the conductor of the _seance_ asked if there was anybody in the\nroom who answered to the name of \"Bluebell.\" I must indulge in a little\nretrospect here, and tell my readers that ten years previous to the time\nI am writing of, I had lost my brother-in-law, Edward Church, under very\npainful circumstances. He had been left an orphan and in control of his\nfortune at a very early age, and had lived with my husband, Colonel\nRoss-Church, and myself. But poor \"Ted\" had been his own worst enemy. He\nhad possessed a most generous heart and affectionate disposition, but\nthese had led him into extravagances that swallowed up his fortune, and\nthen he had taken to drinking and killed himself by it. I and my\nchildren had loved him dearly, but all our prayers and entreaties had\nhad no avail, and in the end he had become so bad that the doctors had\ninsisted upon our separation. Poor \"Ted\" had consequently died in exile,\nand this had been a further aggravation of our grief. For ten years I\nhad been trying to procure communication with him in vain, and I had\nquite given up expecting to see him again. Only once had I heard\n\"Bluebell\" (his pet name for me) gasped out by an entranced clairvoyant,\nbut nothing further had come of it. Now, as I heard it for the second\ntime, from a stranger's lips in a foreign country, it naturally roused\nmy expectations, but I thought it might be only a message for me from\n\"Ted.\"\n\n\"Is there anyone here who recognizes the name of 'Bluebell'?\" repeated\nthe conductor. \"I was once called so by a friend,\" I said. \"Someone is\nasking for that name. You had better come up to the cabinet,\" she\nreplied. I rose at once and did as she told me, but when I reached the\ncurtain I encountered \"Florence.\" \"My darling child,\" I said, as I\nembraced her, \"why did you ask for 'Bluebell'?\" She did not answer me,\nexcept by shaking her head, placing her finger on her lips, and\npointing downwards to the carpet. I did not know what to make of it. I\nhad never known her unable to articulate before. \"What is the matter,\ndear?\" I said; \"can't you speak to me to-night?\" Still she shook her\nhead, and tapped my arm with her hand, to attract my attention to the\nfact that she was pointing vigorously downwards. I looked down, too,\nwhen, to my astonishment, I saw rise through the carpet what looked to\nme like the bald head of a baby or an old man, and a little figure, _not\nmore than three feet in height_, with Edward Church's features, but no\nhair on its head, came gradually into view, and looked up in my face\nwith a pitiful, deprecating expression, as if he were afraid I should\nstrike him. The face, however, was so unmistakably Ted's, though the\nfigure was so ludicrously insignificant, that I could not fail to\nrecognize him. \"Why, Ted!\" I exclaimed, \"have you come back to see me at\nlast?\" and held out my hand. The little figure seized it, tried to\nconvey it to his lips, burst into tears, and sank down through the\ncarpet much more rapidly than he had come up.\n\nI began to cry too. It was so pitiful. With her uncle's disappearance\n\"Florence\" found her tongue. \"Don't cry, mother,\" she said; \"poor Uncle\nTed is overcome at seeing you. That's why he couldn't materialize\nbetter. He was in such a terrible hurry. He'll look more like himself\nnext time. I was trying so hard to help him, I didn't dare to use up any\nof the power by speaking. He'll be so much better, now he's seen you.\nYou'll come here again, won't you?\" I told her I certainly would, if I\ncould; and, indeed, I was all anxiety to see my poor brother-in-law\nagain. To prove how difficult it would have been to deceive me on this\nsubject, I should like to say a little about Edward Church's personal\nappearance. He was a very remarkable looking man--indeed, I have never\nseen anyone a bit like him before or after. He was very small; not short\nonly, but small altogether, with tiny hands and feet, and a little head.\nHis hair and eyes were of the deepest black--the former parted in the\nmiddle, with a curl on either side, and was naturally waved. His\ncomplexion was very dark, his features delicate, and he wore a small\npointed moustache. As a child he had suffered from an attack of\nconfluent small-pox, which had deeply pitted his face, and almost eaten\naway the tip of his nose. Such a man was not to be easily imitated, even\nif anyone in Boston had ever heard of his inconsequential existence. To\nme, though, he had been a dear friend and brother, before the curse of\nDrink had seemed to change his nature, and I had always been anxious to\nhear how he fared in that strange country whither he had been forced to\njourney, like all of us, _alone_. I was very pleased then to find that\nbusiness would not interfere with my second visit to Mrs. Eva Hatch,\nwhich took place two nights afterward. On this occasion \"Florence\" was\none of the first to appear, and \"Ted\" came with her, rather weak and\ntrembling on his second introduction to this mundane sphere, but no\nlonger bald-headed nor under-sized. He was his full height now, about\nfive feet seven; his head was covered with his black crisp hair, parted\njust as he used to wear it while on earth; in every particular he\nresembled what he used to be, even down to his clothes. I could have\nsworn I had seen that very suit of clothes; the little cut-away coat he\nalways wore, with the natty tie and collar, and a dark blue velvet\nsmoking cap upon his head, exactly like one I remembered being in his\npossession. \"Florence\" still seemed to be acting as his interpreter and\nguide. When I said to him, \"Why! Ted, you look quite like your old self\nto-day,\" she answered, \"He can't talk to you, mamma, he is weak still,\nand he is so thankful to meet you again. He wants me to tell you that he\nhas been trying to communicate with you often, but he never could manage\nit in England. He will be so glad when he can talk freely to you.\"\nWhilst she was speaking, \"Ted\" kept on looking from her to me like a\ndeaf and dumb animal trying to understand what was going on in a manner\nthat was truly pitiful. I stooped down and kissed his forehead. The\ntouch seemed to break the spell that hung over him. \"_Forgive_,\" he\nuttered in a choked voice. \"There is nothing to forgive, dear,\" I\nreplied, \"except as we all have need to forgive each other. You know how\nwe all loved you, Ted, and we loved you to the last and grieved for you\ndeeply. You remember the children, and how fond you were of them and\nthey of you. They often speak to this day of their poor Uncle Ted.\"\n\"Eva--Ethel,\" he gasped out, naming my two elder children. At this\njuncture he seemed suddenly to fail, and became so weak that \"Florence\"\ntook him back into the cabinet again. No more spirits came for me that\nevening, but towards the close of the _seance_ \"Florence\" and \"Ted\"\nappeared again together and embraced me fondly. \"Florence\" said, \"He's\nso happy now, mother; he says he shall rest in peace now that he knows\nthat you have forgiven him. And he won't come without his hair again,\"\nshe added, laughing. \"I hope he won't,\" I answered, \"for he frightened\nme.\" And then they both kissed me \"good-night,\" and retreated to the\ncabinet, and I looked after them longingly and wished I could go there\ntoo.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nIII. _The Misses Berry._\n\n\nNo one introduced me to the Misses Berry. I saw their advertisement in\nthe public papers and went incognita to their _seance_, as I had done to\nthose of others. The first thing that struck me about them was the\nsuperior class of patrons whom they drew. In the ladies' cloak room,\nwhere they left their heavy wraps and umbrellas, the conversation that\ntook place made this sufficiently evident. Helen and Gertrude Berry were\npretty, unaffected, lady-like girls; and their conductor, Mr. Abrow, one\nof the most courteous gentlemen I have ever met. The sisters, both\nhighly mediumistic, never sat together, but on alternate nights, but the\none who did _not_ sit always took a place in the audience, in order to\nprevent suspicion attaching to her absence. Gertrude Berry had been\nlately married to a Mr. Thompson, and on account of her health gave up\nher _seances_, soon after I made her acquaintance She was a tall,\nfinely-formed young woman, with golden hair and a beautiful complexion.\nHer sister Helen was smaller, paler and more slightly built. She had\nbeen engaged to be married to a gentleman who died shortly before the\ntime fixed for their wedding, and his spirit, whom she called \"Charley,\"\nwas the principal control at her _seances_, though he never showed\nhimself. I found the _seance_ room, which was not very large, crammed\nwith chairs which had all been engaged beforehand, so Mr. Abrow fetched\none from downstairs and placed it next his own for me, which was the\nvery position I should have chosen. I asked him afterwards how he dared\nadmit a stranger to such close proximity, and he replied that he was a\nmedium himself and knew who he could and who he could _not_ trust at a\nglance. As my professional duties took me backwards and forwards to\nBoston, which was my central starting-point, sometimes giving me only a\nday's rest there, I was in the habit afterwards, when I found I should\nhave \"a night off,\" of wiring to Mr. Abrow to keep me a seat, so\ndifficult was it to secure one unless it were bespoken. Altogether I sat\nfive or six times with the Berry sisters, and wished I could have sat\nfifty or sixty times instead, for I never enjoyed any _seances_ so\n_much_ in my life before. The cabinet was formed of an inner room with a\nseparate door, which had to undergo the process of being sealed up by a\ncommittee of strangers every evening. Strips of gummed paper were\nprovided for them, on which they wrote their names before affixing them\nacross the inside opening of the door. On the first night I inspected\nthe cabinet also as a matter of principle, and gummed my paper with\n\"Mrs. Richardson\" written on it across the door. The cabinet contained\nonly a sofa for Miss Helen Berry to recline upon. The floor was covered\nwith a nailed-down carpet. The door which led into the cabinet was\nshaded by two dark curtains hung with rings upon a brass rod. The door\nof the _seance_ room was situated at a right angle with that of the\ncabinet, both opening upon a square landing, and, to make \"assurance\ndoubly sure,\" the door of the _seance_ room was left open, so that the\neyes of the sitters at that end commanded a view, during the entire\nsitting, of the outside of the locked and gummed-over cabinet door. To\nmake this fully understood, I append a diagram of the two rooms--\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBy the position of these doors, it will be seen how impossible it would\nhave been for anybody to leave or enter the cabinet without being\ndetected by the sitters, who had their faces turned towards the _seance_\nroom door. The first materialization that appeared that evening was a\nbride, dressed in her bridal costume; and a gentleman, who was occupying\na chair in the front row, and holding a white flower in his hand,\nimmediately rose, went up to her, embraced her, and whispered a few\nwords, then gave her the white flower, which she fastened in the bosom\nof her dress, after which he bowed slightly to the company, and, instead\nof resuming his seat, left the room. Mr. Abrow then said to me, \"If you\nlike, madam, you can take that seat now,\" and as the scene had excited\nmy curiosity I accepted his offer, hoping to find some one to tell me\nthe meaning of it. I found myself next to a very sweet-looking lady,\nwhom I afterwards knew personally as Mrs. Seymour. \"Can you tell me why\nthat gentleman left so suddenly?\" I asked her in a whisper. \"He seldom\nstays through a _seance_,\" she replied; \"he is a business man, and has\nno time to spare, but he is here every night. The lady you saw him speak\nto is his wife. She died on her wedding day, eleven years ago, and he\nhas never failed to meet her on every opportunity since. He brings her a\nwhite flower every time he comes. She appears always first, in order\nthat he may be able to return to his work.\" This story struck me as very\ninteresting, and I always watched for this gentleman afterwards, and\nnever failed to see him waiting for his bride, with the white flower in\nhis hand. \"Do you expect to see any friends to-night?\" I said to my new\nacquaintance. \"O! yes!\" she replied. \"I have come to see my daughter\n'Bell.' She died some years ago, and I am bringing up the two little\nchildren she left behind her. I never do anything for them without\nconsulting their mother. Just now I have to change their nurse, and I\nhave received several excellent characters of others, and I have brought\nthem here this evening that 'Bell' may tell me which to write for. I\nhave the pattern for the children's winter frocks, too,\" she continued,\nproducing some squares of woolen cloths, \"and I always like to let\n'Bell' choose which she likes best.\" This will give my readers some idea\nof how much more the American spiritualists regard their departed\nfriends as still forming part of the home circle, and interested in\ntheir domestic affairs. \"Bell\" soon after made her appearance, and Mrs.\nSeymour brought her up to me. She was a young woman of about three or\nfour and twenty, and looked very happy and smiling. She perused the\nservants' characters as practically as her mother might have done, but\nsaid she would have none of them, and Mrs. Seymour was to wait till she\nreceived some more. The right one had not come yet. She also looked at\nthe patterns, and indicated the one she liked best. Then, as she was\nabout to retire, she whispered to her mother, and Mrs. Seymour said, to\nmy surprise (for it must be remembered I had not disclosed my name to\nher), \"Bell tells me she knows a daughter of yours in the spirit life,\ncalled 'Florence.' Is that the case?\" I answered I had a daughter of\nthat name; and Mrs. Seymour added \"'Bell' says she will be here this\nevening, that she is a very pure and very elevated spirit, and they are\ngreat friends.\" Very shortly after this, Mr. Abrow remarked, \"There is a\nyoung girl in the cabinet now, who says that if her mother's name is\n'Mrs. Richardson,' she must have married for the third time since she\nsaw her last, for she was 'Mrs. Lean' then.\" At this remark I laughed;\nand Mr. Abrow said, \"Is she come for you, madam? Does the cap fit?\" I\nwas obliged to acknowledge then that I _had_ given a false name in order\nto avoid recognition. But the mention of my married name attracted no\nattention to me, and was only a proof that it had not been given from\nany previous knowledge of Mr. Abrow's concerning myself. I was known in\nthe United States as \"Florence Marryat\" only, and to this day they\nbelieve me to be still \"Mrs. Ross-Church,\" that being the name under\nwhich my first novels were written. So I recognized \"Florence\" at once\nin the trick that had been played me, and had risen to approach the\ncurtain, when she came _bounding_ out and ran into my arms. I don't\nthink I had ever seen her look so charming and girlish before. She\nlooked like an embodiment of sunshine. She was dressed in a low frock\nwhich seemed manufactured of lace and muslin, her hair fell loose down\nher back to her knees, and her hands were full of damask roses. This was\nin December, when hot-house roses were selling for a dollar a piece in\nBoston, and she held, perhaps, twenty. Their scent was delicious, and\nshe kept thrusting them under my nose, saying, \"Smell my roses, mother.\nDon't you wish you had my garden? We have _fields_ of them in the Summer\nLand! O! how I wish you were there.\" \"Shan't I come soon, darling?\" I\nsaid. \"No! not yet,\" replied \"Florence.\" \"You have a lot of work to do\nstill. But when you come, it will be all flowers for you and me.\" I\nasked her if she knew \"Bell,\" and she said, \"O! yes! We came together\nthis evening.\" Then I asked her to come and speak to \"Bell's\" mother,\nand her manner changed at once. She became shy and timid, like a young\ngirl, unused to strangers, and quite hung on my arm, as I took her up to\nMrs. Seymour's side. When she had spoken a few words to her in a very\nlow voice, she turned to me and said, \"I must go now, because we have a\ngreat surprise for you this evening--a _very_ great surprise.\" I told\nher I liked great surprises, when they were pleasant ones, and\n\"Florence\" laughed, and went away. I found that her _debut_ had created\nsuch a sensation amongst the sitters--it being so unusual for a\nmaterialized spirit to appear so strong and perfect on the first\noccasion of using a medium--that I felt compelled to give them a little\nexplanation on the subject. And when I told them how I had lost her as a\ntiny infant of ten days old--how she had returned to me through various\nmedia in England, and given such unmistakable proofs of her\n_identity_--and how I, being a stranger in their country, and only\nlanded there a few weeks, had already met her through Mrs. Williams,\nMrs. Hatch and Miss Berry--they said it was one of the most wonderful\nand perfect instances of materialization they had ever heard of. And\nwhen one considers how perfect the chain is, from the time when\n\"Florence\" first came back to me as a child, too weak to speak, or even\nto understand where she was, to the years through which she had grown\nand became strong almost beneath my eyes, till she could \"_bound_\" (as I\nhave narrated) into my arms like a human being, and talk as distinctly\nas (and far more sensible than) I did myself, I think my readers will\nacknowledge also, that hers is no common story, and that I have some\nreason to believe in Spiritualism.\n\nMiss Berry's cabinet spirits were quite different from the common type.\nOne was, or rather had been, a dancing girl--not European, but rather\nmore, I fancy, of the Asiatic or Egyptian type. Anyway she used to come\nout of the cabinet--a lithe lissom creature like a panther or a\nsnake--and execute such twists and bounds and pirouettes, as would have\nmade her fortune on the stage. Indeed I used to think (being always on\nthe lookout for chicanery) that no _human_ creature who could dance\nas she did would ever waste her talents, especially in a smart country\nlike America, on an audience of spiritualists, whose only motive for\nmeeting was to see their friends, and who would not pay an extra cent to\nlook at a \"cabinet spirit.\" Another one was an Indian whom they called\n\"The Brave.\" He was also a lithe, active creature, without an ounce of\nsuperfluous flesh upon his body, but plenty of muscle. He appeared to\nlike the ladies of the company very much, but evidently distrusted the\nmen. One stout, big man who was, I fancy, a bit of a sceptic, wished to\ntest the \"Brave's\" muscular power by feeling his biceps, and was invited\nto step in front of the circle for that purpose. He had no sooner\napproached him than the Indian seized him up in his arms and threw him\n_right over his head_. He did not hurt him, but as the gentleman got up\nagain, he said, \"Well! I weigh 200 pounds, and I didn't think any man in\nthe room could have done that.\" The ladies in the circle mostly wore\nflowers in their bosom--bouquets, after the custom of American\nladies--and they began, one and all, to detach flowers from their\nbouquets and give them to the \"Brave,\" \"to give to his squaw.\" He nodded\nand gabbled some unintelligible Sioux or Cherokee in reply, and went all\nround the circle on his knees. The stout man had surmised that he was\npainted, and his long, straight, black hair was a wig. When he came to\nme I said, \"Brave! may I try if your hair is a wig?\" He nodded and said,\n\"Pull--pull!\" which I did, and found that it undoubtedly grew on his\nhead. Then he took my finger and drew it across his face several times\nto show he was not painted. I had no flowers to present him with, so I\nsaid, \"Come here, Brave, and I'll give you something for your squaw,\"\nand when he approached near enough I kissed him. He chuckled, and his\neyes sparkled with mischief as he ran chatting in his native dialect\nbehind the curtains. In another minute he dashed out again, and coming\nup to me ejaculated, \"No--give--squaw!\" and rushed back. Mr. Abrow\nlaughed heartily at this incident, and so did all the sitters, the\nformer declaring I had entirely captivated the \"Brave.\" Presently the\ncabinet curtains were shaken, and after a pause they parted slowly, and\nthe figure of an Indian squaw crept out. Anything more malignant and\nvicious than her look I have seldom seen. Mr. Abrow asked her _who_ she\nwanted and _what_ she wanted, but she would not speak. She stood there\nsilent, but scowling at me from beneath the tangles of her long black\nhair. At last Mr. Abrow said to her, \"If you don't want to speak to\nanyone in the circle you must go away, as you are only preventing other\nspirits from coming.\" The squaw backed behind the curtains again rather\nsulkily, but the next time the \"Brave\" appeared she came with him, and\n_never_ did he come again in my presence but what his \"squaw\" stood at\nthe curtains and watched his actions. Mrs. Abrow told me that the\n\"Brave\" had been in the habit of manifesting at their _seances_ for\nyears, but that they had never seen the \"squaw\" until that evening.\nIndeed, I don't think they were very grateful to me for having by my\nrashness eliminated this new feature in their evening's entertainment,\nfor the \"squaw\" proved to be a very earthly and undeveloped spirit, and\nsubsequently gave them some trouble, as they could not drive her away\nwhen they wanted to do so. Towards the close of the evening Mr. Abrow\nsaid, \"There is a spirit here now who is very anxious to show himself,\nbut it is the first time he has ever attempted to fully materialize, and\nhe is not at all certain of success. He tells me there is a lady in the\ncircle who has newly arrived in America, and that this lady years ago\nsang a song by his dying bed in India. If she will step up to the\ncabinet now and sing that song again he will try and shew himself to\nher.\"\n\nSuch of my readers as have perused \"The story of John Powles\" will\nrecognize at once who this was. I did, of course, and I confess that as\nI rose to approach the cabinet I trembled like an aspen leaf. I had\ntried so often, and failed so often to see this dear old friend of mine,\nthat to think of meeting him now was like a veritable resurrection from\nthe dead. Think of it! We had parted in 1860, and this was\n1884--twenty-four years afterwards. I had been a girl when we said\n\"Good-bye,\" and he went forth on that journey which seemed then so\nmysterious an one to me. I was a middle-aged woman now, who had passed\nthrough so much from which _he_ had been saved, that I felt more like\nhis mother than his friend. Of all my experiences this was to me really\nthe most solemn and interesting. I hardly expected to see more than his\nface, but I walked up to the cabinet and commenced to sing in a very\nshaky voice the first stanza of the old song he was so fond of:--\n\n    \"Thou art gone from my gaze like a beautiful dream,\n    And I seek thee in vain by the meadow and stream;\n    Oft I breathe thy dear name to the winds passing by,\n    But thy sweet voice is mute to my bosom's lone sigh.\n    In the stillness of night when the stars mildly shine,\n    O! then oft my heart holds communion with thine,\n    For I feel thou art near, and where'er I may be,\n    That the Spirit of Love keeps a watch over me.\"\n\nI had scarcely reached the finish of these lines when both the curtains\nof the cabinet were drawn apart so sharply that the brass rings rattled\non the rod, and John Powles stood before me. Not a face, nor a\nhalf-formed figure, nor an apparition that was afraid to pass into the\nlight--but _John Powles himself_, stalwart and living, who stepped out\nbriskly and took me in his arms and kissed me four or five times, as a\nlong-parted brother might have done; and strange to say, I didn't feel\nthe least surprised at it, but clung to him like a sister. For John\nPowles had never once kissed me during his lifetime. Although we had\nlived for four years in the closest intimacy, often under the same roof,\nwe had never indulged in any familiarities. I think men and women were\nnot so lax in their manners then as they are now; at anyrate, the only\ntime I had ever kissed him was when he lay dead, and my husband had told\nme to do so. And yet it seemed quite natural on meeting him again to\nkiss him and cry over him. At last I ventured to say, \"O, Powles! is\nthis really you?\" \"Look at me and see for yourself,\" he answered. I\nlooked up. It was indeed himself. He had possessed _very_ blue eyes in\nearth life, good features, a florid complexion, auburn hair, and quite a\ngolden beard and moustache. The eyes and hair and features were just the\nsame, only his complexion was paler, and he wore no beard. \"O!\" I\nexclaimed, \"where is your beard?\" \"Don't you remember I cut it off just\nbefore I left this world?\" he said; and then I recalled the fact that he\nhad done so owing to a Government order on the subject.\n\nAnd bearing on this question I may mention what seems a curious\nthing--that spirits almost invariably return to earth the first time\n_just as they left it_, as though their thoughts at the moment of\nparting clothed them on their return. This, however, was not John\nPowles' first _attempt_ at materialization, although it was his first\nsuccess, for it may be remembered he tried to show himself through Miss\nShowers, and then he _had_ a beard. However, when I saw him through Miss\nBerry, he had none, nor did he resume it during my stay in America. When\nwe had got over the excitement of meeting, he began to speak to me of my\nchildren, especially of the three who were born before his death, and of\nwhom he had been very fond. He spoke of them all by name, and seemed\nquite interested in their prospects and affairs. But when I began to\nspeak of other things he stopped me. \"I know it all,\" he said, \"I have\nbeen with you in spirit through all your trials, and I can never feel\nthe slightest interest in, or affection for, those who caused them. My\npoor friend, you have indeed had your purgatory upon earth.\" \"But tell\nme of yourself, dear Powles! Are you quite happy?\" I asked him. He\npaused a moment and then replied, \"Quite happy, waiting for you.\"\n\"Surely you are not suffering still?\" I said, \"after all these years?\"\n\"My dear Florence,\" he answered, \"it takes more than a few years to\nexpiate a life of sin. But I am happier than I was, and every year the\nburden is lighter, and coming back to you will help me so much.\"\n\nAs he was speaking to me the curtain opened again, and there stood my\nbrother-in-law, Edward Church, not looking down-spirited and miserable,\nas he had done at Mrs. Eva Hatch's, but bright and smiling, and dressed\nin evening clothes, as also I perceived, when I had time to think of it,\nwas John Powles. I didn't know which to talk to first, but kept turning\nfrom one to the other in a dazed manner. John Powles was telling me that\n_he_ was preparing my house for me in the Summer Land, and would come to\ntake me over to it when I died, when \"Ted\" interrupted him. \"That ought\nto have been _my_ work, Bluebell,\" he said, \"only Powles had anticipated\nme.\" \"I wish I could go back with you both at once, I am sick of this\nworld,\" I replied. \"Ted\" threw his arms round me and strained me to his\nbreast. \"O! it is so hard to part again. How I wish I could carry you\naway in my arms to the Summer Land! I should have nothing left to wish\nfor then.\" \"You don't want to come back then, Ted?\" I asked him. \"_Want\nto come back_,\" he said with a shudder; \"not for anything! Why,\nBluebell, death is like an operation which you must inevitably undergo,\nbut which you fear because you know so little about it. Well, with me\n_the operation's over_. I know the worst, and every day makes the term\nof punishment shorter. I am _thankful_ I left the earth so soon.\" \"You\nlook just like your old self, Ted,\" I said; \"the same little curls and\nscrubby little moustache.\" \"Pull them,\" he answered gaily. \"Don't go\naway, Bluebell, and say they were false and I was Miss Berry dressed up.\nFeel my biceps,\" he continued, throwing up his arm as men do, \"and feel\nmy heart,\" placing my hand above it, \"feel how it is beating for my\nsister Bluebell.\"\n\nI said to John Powles, \"I hardly know you in evening costume. I never\nsaw you in it before\" (which was true, as all our acquaintance had taken\nplace in India, where the officers are never allowed to appear in\nanything but uniform, especially in the evenings). \"I wish,\" I\ncontinued, \"that you would come next time in uniform.\" \"I will try,\" he\nreplied, and then their time was up for that occasion, and they were\nobliged to go.\n\nA comical thing occurred on my second visit to the Berrys. Of course I\nwas all eagerness to see my brother-in-law and \"Powles\" again, and when\nI was called up to the cabinet and saw a slim, dark, young man standing\nthere, I took him at once for \"Ted,\" and, without looking at him, was\njust about to kiss him, when he drew backwards and said, \"I am not\n'Edward!' I am his friend 'Joseph,' to whom he has given permission to\nmake your acquaintance.\" I then perceived that \"Joseph\" was very\ndifferent from \"Ted,\" taller and better looking, with a Jewish cast of\ncountenance. I stammered and apologized, and felt as awkward as if I had\nnearly kissed a mortal man by mistake. \"Joseph\" smiled as if it were of\nvery little consequence. He said he had never met \"Ted\" on earth, but\nthey were close friends in the spirit world, and \"Ted\" had talked so\nmuch to him of me, that he had become very anxious to see me, and speak\nto me. He was a very elegant looking young man, but he did not seem to\nhave very much to say for himself, and he gave me the impression that he\nhad been a \"masher\" whilst here below, and had not quite shaken off the\nremembrance in the spirit world.\n\nThere was one spirit who often made her appearance at these sittings and\ngreatly interested me. This was a mother with her infant of a few weeks\nold. The lady was sweet and gentle looking, but it was the baby that so\nimpressed me--a baby that never whined nor squalled, nor turned red in\nthe face, and yet was made of neither wax nor wood, but was palpably\nliving and breathing. I used always to go up to the cabinet when this\nspirit came, and ask her to let me feel the little baby. It was a tiny\ncreature, with a waxen-looking face, and she always carried it enveloped\nin a full net veil, yet when I touched its hand, the little fingers\ntightened round mine in baby fashion, as it tried to convey them to its\nmouth. I had seen several spirit children materialized before, but never\nsuch a young infant as this. The mother told me she had passed away in\nchild-birth, and the baby had gone with her. She had been a friend of\nthe Misses Berry, and came to them for that reason.\n\nOn Christmas Eve I happened to be in Boston, and disengaged, and as I\nfound it was a custom of the American Spiritualists to hold meetings on\nthat anniversary for the purpose of seeing their spirit friends, I\nengaged a seat for the occasion. I arrived some time before the _seance_\ncommenced, and next to me was seated a gentleman, rather roughly\ndressed, who was eyeing everything about him with the greatest\nattention. Presently he turned to me and said, rather sheepishly, \"Do\nyou believe in this sort of thing?\" \"I do,\" I replied, \"and I have\nbelieved in it for the last fifteen years.\" \"Have you ever seen anybody\nwhom you recognized?\" he continued. \"Plenty,\" I said. Then he edged a\nlittle nearer to me, and lowered his voice. \"Do you know,\" he commenced,\n\"that I have ridden on horseback forty miles through the snow to-day to\nbe present at this meeting, because my old mother sent me a message that\nshe would meet me here! I don't believe in it, you know. I've never been\nat a _seance_ before, and I feel as if I was making a great fool of\nmyself now, but I couldn't neglect my poor old mother's message,\nwhatever came of it.\" \"Of course not,\" I answered, \"and I hope your\ntrouble will be rewarded.\" I had not much faith in my own words, though,\nbecause I had seen people disappointed again and again over their first\n_seance_, from either the spirits of their friends being too weak to\nmaterialize, or from too many trying to draw power at once, and so\nneutralizing the effect on all. My bridegroom friend was all ready on\nthat occasion with his white flowers in his hand and I ventured to\naddress him and tell him how very beautiful I considered his wife's\nfidelity and his own. He seemed pleased at my notice, and began to talk\nquite freely about her. He told me she had returned to him before her\nbody was buried, and had been with him ever since. \"She is so really and\ntruly _my wife_,\" he said, \"as I received her at the altar, that I could\nno more marry again than I could if she were living in my house.\" When\nthe _seance_ commenced she appeared first as usual, and her husband\nbrought her up to my side. \"This is Miss Florence Marryat, dear,\" he\nsaid (for by this time I had laid aside my _incognita_ with the Berrys).\n\"You know her name, don't you?\" \"O! yes,\" she answered, as she gave me\nher hand, \"I know you quite well. I used to read your books.\" Her face\nwas covered with her bridal veil, and her husband turned it back that I\nmight see her. She was a very pretty girl of perhaps twenty--quite a\ngipsy, with large dark eyes and dark curling hair, and a brown\ncomplexion. \"She has not altered one bit since the day we were married,\"\nsaid her husband, looking fondly at her, \"whilst I have grown into an\nold man.\" She put up her hand and stroked his cheek. \"We shall be young\ntogether some day,\" she said. Then he asked her if she was not going to\nkiss me, and she held up her face to mine like a child, and he dropped\nthe veil over her again and led her away. The very next spirit that\nappeared was my rough friend's mother, and his astonishment and emotion\nat seeing her were very unmistakeable. When first he went up to the\ncabinet and saw her his head drooped, and his shoulders shook with the\nsobs he could not repress. After a while he became calmer, and talked to\nher, and then I saw him also bringing her up to me. \"I must bring my\nmother to you,\" he said, \"that you may see she has really come back to\nme.\" I rose, and the old lady shook hands with me. She must have been,\nat the least, seventy years old, and was a most perfect specimen of old\nage. Her face was like wax, and her hair like silver; but every wrinkle\nwas distinct, and her hands were lined with blue veins. She had lost her\nteeth, and mumbled somewhat in speaking, and her son said, \"She is\nafraid you will not understand what she says; but she wants you to know\nthat she will be quite happy if her return will make me believe in a\nfuture existence.\" \"And will it?\" I asked. He looked at his mother. \"I\ndon't understand it,\" he replied. \"It seems too marvellous to be true;\nbut how _can_ I disbelieve it, when _here she is_?\" And his words were\nso much the echo of my own grounds for belief, that I quite sympathized\nwith them. \"John Powles,\" and \"Ted,\" and \"Florence,\" all came to see me\nthat evening; and when I bid \"Florence\" \"good-bye\" she said, \"Oh, it\nisn't 'good-bye' yet, mother! I'm coming again, before you go.\"\nPresently something that was the very farthest thing from my mind--that\nhad, indeed, never entered it--happened to me. I was told that a young\nlady wanted to speak to me, and on going up to the cabinet I recognized\na girl whom _I knew by sight, but had never spoken to_--one of a large\nfamily of children, living in the same terrace in London as myself, and\nwho had died of malignant scarlet fever about a year before. \"Mrs.\nLean,\" she said, hurriedly, noting my surprise, \"don't you know me? I am\nMay ----.\" \"Yes, I do recognize you, my dear child,\" I replied; \"but\nwhat makes you come to me?\" \"Minnie and Katie are so unhappy about me,\"\nshe said. \"They do not understand. They think I have gone away. They do\nnot know what death is--that it is only like going into the next room,\nand shutting the door.\" \"And what can I do, May?\" I asked her. \"Tell\nthem you have seen me, Mrs. Lean. Say I am alive--more alive than they\nare; that if they sit for me, I will come to them and tell them so much\nthey know nothing of now.\" \"But where are your sisters?\" I said. She\nlooked puzzled. \"I don't know. I can't say the place; but you will meet\nthem soon, and you will tell them.\" \"If I meet them, I certainly will\ntell them,\" I said; but I had not the least idea at that moment where\nthe other girls might be. Four months later, however, when I was staying\nin London, Ontario, they burst unexpectedly into my hotel room, having\ndriven over (I forget how many miles) to see me play. Naturally I kept\nmy promise; but though they cried when \"May\" was alluded to, they\nevidently could not believe my story of having seen her, and so, I\nsuppose, the poor little girl's wish remains ungratified. I think the\nworst purgatory in the next world must be to find how comfortably our\nfriends get on without us in this. As a rule, I did not take much\ninterest in the spirits that did not come for me; but there was one who\nappeared several times with the Berrys, and seemed quite like an old\nfriend to me. This was \"John Brown,\" not her Majesty's \"John Brown,\" but\nthe hero of the song--\n\n    \"Hang John Brown on a sour apple tree,\n    But his soul goes touting around.\n    Glory! glory! Halleluia!\n    For his soul goes touting around.\"\n\nWhen I used to hear this song sung with much shouting and some profanity\nin England, I imagined (and I fancy most people did) that it was a comic\nsong in America. But it was no such thing. It was a patriotic song, and\nthe motive is (however comically put) to give glory to God, that,\n_although_ they may hang \"John Brown\" on a sour apple tree, his soul\nwill yet \"go touting around.\" So, rightly or wrongly, it was explained\nto me. \"John Brown\" is a patriotic hero in America, and when he\nappeared, the whole room crowded round to see him. He was a short man,\nwith a _singularly_ benevolent countenance, iron grey hair, mutton-chop\nwhiskers, and deep china blue eyes. A kind of man, as he appeared to me,\nmade for deeds of love rather than heroism, but from all accounts he was\nboth kind and heroic. A gentleman present on Christmas eve pushed\nforward eagerly to see the materialization, and called out, \"Aye! that's\nhim--that's my old friend--that's 'John Brown'--the best man that ever\ntrod this earth.\" Before this evening's _seance_ was concluded Mr. Abrow\nsaid, \"There is a little lady in the cabinet at present who announces\nherself as a very high personage. She says she is the 'Princess\nGertrude.'\" \"_What_ did you say, Mr. Abrow?\" I exclaimed, unable to\nbelieve my own ears. \"'The Princess Gertie,' mother,\" said \"Florence,\"\npopping her head out of the curtains. \"You've met her before in England,\nyou know.\" I went up to the cabinet, the curtains divided, there stood\nmy daughter \"Florence\" as usual, but holding in front of her a little\nchild of about seven years old. I knelt down before this spirit of my\nown creation. She was a fragile-looking little creature, very fair and\npale, with large grey eyes and brown hair lying over her forehead. She\nlooked like a lily with her little white hands folded meekly in front of\nher. \"Are you my little Gertie, darling?\" I said. \"I am the 'Princess\nGertie,'\" she replied, \"and 'Florence' says you are my mother.\" \"And are\nyou glad to see me, Gertie?\" I asked. She looked up at her sister, who\nimmediately prompted her. \"Say, 'yes, mother,' Gertie.\" \"Yes! mother,\"\nrepeated the little one, like a parrot. \"Will you come to me, darling?\"\nI said. \"May I take you in my arms?\" \"Not this evening, mother,\"\nwhispered 'Florence,' \"you couldn't. She is attached to me. We are tied\ntogether. You couldn't separate us. Next time, perhaps, the 'Princess'\nwill be stronger, and able to talk more. I will take her back now.\" \"But\nwhere is 'Yonnie'?\" I asked, and \"Florence\" laughed. \"Couldn't manage\ntwo of them at once,\" she said. \"'Yonnie' shall come another day,\" and I\nreturned to my seat, more mystified than usual.\n\nI alluded to the \"Princess Gertie\" in my account of the mediumship of\nBessie Fitzgerald, and said that my allusion would find its\nsignification further on. At that time I had hardly believed it could be\ntrue that the infants who had been born prematurely and never breathed\nin this world should be living, sentient spirits to meet me in the next,\nand half thought some grown spirit must be tricking me for its own\npleasure. But here, in this strange land, where my blighted babies had\nnever been mentioned or thought of, to meet the \"Princess Gertie\" here,\ncalling herself by her own name, and brought by her sister \"Florence,\"\nset the matter beyond a doubt. It recalled to my mind how once, long\nbefore, when \"Aimee\" (Mr. Arthur Colman's guide), on being questioned as\nto her occupation in the spirit spheres, had said she was \"a little\nnurse maid,\" and that \"Florence\" was one too, my daughter had added,\n\"Yes! I'm mamma's nurse maid. I have enough to do to look after her\nbabies. She just looked at me, and 'tossed' me back into the spirit\nworld, and she's been 'tossing' babies after me ever since.\"\n\nI had struck up a pleasant acquaintanceship with Mrs. Seymour, \"Bell's\"\nmother, by that time, and when I went back to my seat and told her what\nhad occurred, she said to me, \"I wish you would share the expenses of a\nprivate _seance_ with me here. We can have one all to ourselves for ten\ndollars (two pounds), and it would be so charming to have an afternoon\nquite alone with our children and friends.\" I agreed readily, and we\nmade arrangements with Mr. Abrow before we left that evening, to have a\nprivate sitting on the afternoon following Christmas Day, when no one\nwas to be admitted except our two selves. When we met there the _seance_\nroom was lighted with gas as for the evening, but we preferred to close\nthe door. Helen Berry was the medium, and Mr. Abrow only sat with us.\nThe rows of chairs looked very empty without any sitters, but we\nestablished ourselves on those which faced the cabinet in the front row.\nThe first thing which happened was the advent of the \"Squaw,\" looking as\nmalignant and vicious as ever, who crept in in her dirty blanket, with\nher black hair hanging over her face, and deliberately took a seat at\nthe further end of the room. Mr. Abrow was unmistakably annoyed at the\noccurrence. He particularly disliked the influence of this spirit, which\nhe considered had a bad effect on the _seance_. He first asked her why\nshe had come, and told her her \"Brave\" was not coming, and to go back to\nhim. Then he tried severity, and ordered her to leave the _seance_, but\nit was all in vain. She kept her seat with persistent obstinacy, and\nshowed no signs of \"budging.\" I thought I would try what kindness would\ndo for her, and approached her with that intention, but she looked so\nfierce and threatening, that Mr. Abrow begged me not to go near her, for\nfear she should do me some harm. So I left her alone, and she kept her\nseat through the whole of the _seance_, evidently with an eye upon me,\nand distrusting my behavior when removed from the criticism of the\npublic. Her presence, however, seemed to make no difference to our\nspirit friends. They trooped out of the cabinet one after another, until\nwe had Mrs. Seymour's brother and her daughter \"Bell,\" who brought\nlittle \"Jimmie\" (a little son who had gone home before herself) with\nher, and \"Florence,\" \"Ted,\" and \"John Powles,\" all so happy and strong\nand talkative, that I told Mrs. Seymour we only wanted a tea-table to\nthink we were holding an \"At Home.\" Last, but not least (at all events\nin her own estimation) came the \"Princess Gertie.\" Mr. Abrow tried to\nmake friends with her, but she repulsed his advances vehemently. \"I\ndon't like you, Mr. Mans,\" she kept on saying, \"you's nasty. I don't\nlike any mans. They's _all_ nasty.\" When I told her she was very rude,\nand Mr. Abrow was a very kind gentleman and loved little children, she\nstill persisted she wouldn't speak \"to no mans.\" She came quite alone\non this occasion, and I took her in my arms and carried her across to\nMrs. Seymour. She was a feather weight. I felt as if I had nothing in my\narms. I said to Mrs. Seymour, \"Please tell me what this child is like. I\nam so afraid of my senses deceiving me that I cannot trust myself.\" Mrs.\nSeymour looked at her and answered, \"She has a broad forehead, with dark\nbrown hair cut across it, and falling straight to her shoulders on\neither side. Her eyes are a greyish blue, large and heavy lidded, her\nnose is short, and her mouth decided for such a child.\"\n\nThis testimony, given by a stranger, of the apparition of a child that\nhad never lived, was an exact description (of course in embryo) of her\nfather, Colonel Lean, who had never set foot in America. Perhaps this is\nas good a proof of identity as I have given yet. Our private _seance_\nlasted for two hours, and although the different spirits kept on\nentering the cabinet at intervals to gain more power, they were all with\nus on and off during the entire time. The last pleasant thing I saw was\nmy dear \"Florence\" making the \"Princess\" kiss her hand in farewell to\nme, and the only unpleasant one, the sight of the sulky \"Squaw\" creeping\nin after them with the evident conviction that her afternoon had been\nwasted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nIV. _The Doctor._\n\n\nI wonder if it has struck any of my readers as strange that, during all\nthese manifestations in England and America, I had never seen the form,\nnor heard the voice, of my late father, Captain Marryat. Surely if these\nvarious media lived by trickery and falsehood, and wished successfully\nto deceive me, _some_ of them would have thought of trying to represent\na man so well known, and whose appearance was so familiar. Other\ncelebrated men and women have come back and been recognized from their\nportraits only, but, though I have sat at numbers of _seances_ given\n_for me_ alone, and at which I have been the principal person, my father\nhas never reappeared at any. Especially, if these manifestations are all\nfraud, might this have been expected in America. Captain Marryat's name\nis still \"a household word\" amongst the Americans, and his works largely\nread and appreciated, and wherever I appeared amongst them I was\ncordially welcomed on that account. When once I had acknowledged my\nidentity and my views on Spiritualism, every medium in Boston and New\nYork had ample time to get up an imitation of my father for my benefit\nhad they desired to do so. But never has he appeared to me; never have I\nbeen told that he was present. Twice only in the whole course of my\nexperience have I received the slightest sign from him, and on those\noccasions he sent me a message--once through Mr. Fletcher (as I have\nrelated), and once through his grandson and my son, Frank Marryat. That\ntime he told me he should never appear to me and I need never expect\nhim. But since the American media knew nothing of this strictly private\ncommunication, and I had seen, before I parted with them, _seventeen_ of\nmy friends and relations, none of whom (except \"Florence,\" \"Powles,\" and\n\"Emily,\") I had ever seen in England, it is at the least strange,\nconsidering his popularity (and granted their chicanery) that Captain\nMarryat was not amongst them.\n\nAs soon as I became known at the Berry's _seances_ several people\nintroduced themselves to me, and amongst others Mrs. Isabella Beecher\nHooker, the sister of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and Henry Ward Beecher.\nShe was delighted to find me so interested in Spiritualism, and anxious\nI should sit with a friend of hers, a great medium whose name became so\nrubbed out in my pencil notes, that I am not sure if it was Doctor\nCarter, or Carteret, and therefore I shall speak of him here as simply\n\"the doctor.\" The doctor was bound to start for Washington the following\nafternoon, so Mrs. Hooker asked me to breakfast with her the next\nmorning, by which time she would have found out if he could spare us an\nhour before he set out on his journey. When I arrived at her house I\nheard that he had very obligingly offered to give me a complimentary\n_seance_ at eleven o'clock, so, as soon as we had finished breakfast, we\nset out for his abode. I found the doctor was quite a young man, and\nprofessed himself perfectly ignorant on the subject of Spiritualism. He\nsaid to me, \"I don't know and I don't profess to know _what_ or _who_ it\nis that appears to my sitters whilst I am asleep. I know nothing of what\ngoes on, except from hearsay. I don't know whether the forms that appear\nare spirits, or transformations, or materializations. You must judge of\nthat for yourself. There is one peculiarity in my _seances_. They take\nplace in utter darkness. When the apparitions (or whatever you choose to\ncall them) appear, they must bring their own lights or you won't see\nthem, I have no conductor to my _seances_. If whatever comes can't\nannounce itself it must remain unknown. But I think you will find that,\nas a rule, they can shift for themselves. This is my _seance_ room.\"\n\nAs he spoke he led us into an unfurnished bedroom, I say bedroom,\nbecause it was provided with the dressing closet fitted with pegs, usual\nto all bedrooms in America. This closet the doctor used as his cabinet.\nThe door was left open, and there was no curtain hung before it. The\ndarkness he sat in rendered that unnecessary. The bedroom was darkened\nby two frames, covered with black American cloth, which fitted into the\nwindows. The doctor, having locked the bedroom door, delivered the key\nto me. He then requested us to go and sit for a few minutes in the\ncabinet to throw our influence about it. As we did so we naturally\nexamined it. It was only a large cupboard. It had no window and no door,\nexcept that which led into the room, and no furniture except a\ncane-bottomed chair. When we returned to the _seance_ room, the doctor\nsaw us comfortably established on two armchairs before he put up the\nblack frames to exclude the light. The room was then pitch dark, and the\ndoctor had to grope his way to his cabinet. Mrs. Hooker and I sat for\nsome minutes in silent expectation. Then we heard the voice of a\nnegress, singing \"darkey\" songs, and my friend told me it was that of\n\"Rosa,\" the doctor's control. Presently \"Rosa\" was heard to be\nexpostulating with, or encouraging some one, and faint lights, like\nsparks from a fire, could be seen flitting about the open door of the\ncabinet. Then the lights seemed to congregate together, and cluster\nabout a tall form, draped in some misty material, standing just outside\nthe cabinet. \"Can't you tell us who you are?\" asked Mrs. Hooker. \"You\nmust tell your name, you know,\" interposed \"Rosa,\" whereupon a low voice\nsaid, \"I am Janet E. Powles.\"\n\nNow this was an extraordinary coincidence. I had seen Mrs. Powles, the\nmother of my friend \"John Powles,\" only once--when she travelled from\nLiverpool to London to meet me on my return from India, and hear all the\nparticulars of her son's death. But she had continued to correspond with\nme, and show me kindness till the day of her own death, and as she had a\ndaughter of the same name, she always signed herself \"Janet _E._\nPowles.\" Even had I expected to see the old lady, and published the fact\nin the Boston papers, that initial _E_ would have settled the question\nof her identity in my mind.\n\n\"Mrs. Powles,\" I exclaimed, \"how good of you to come and see me.\"\n\"Johnny has helped me to come,\" she replied. \"He is so happy at having\nmet you again. He has been longing for it for so many years, and I have\ncome to thank you for making him happy.\" (Here was another coincidence.\n\"John Powles\" was never called anything but \"Powles\" by my husband and\nmyself. But his mother had retained the childish name of \"Johnny,\" and I\ncould remember how it used to vex him when she used it in her letters to\nhim. He would say to me, \"If she would only call me 'John' or 'Jack,' or\nanything but 'Johnny.'\") I replied, \"I may not leave my seat to go to\nyou. Will you not come to me?\" For the doctor had requested us not to\nleave our seats, but to insist on the spirits approaching us. \"Mrs.\nPowles\" said, \"I cannot come out further into the room to-day. I am too\nweak. But you shall see me.\" The lights then appeared to travel about\nher face and dress till they became stationary, and she was completely\nrevealed to view under the semblance of her earthly likeness. She smiled\nand said, \"We were all at the Opera House on Thursday night, and\nrejoiced at your success. 'Johnny' was so proud of you. Many of your\nfriends were there beside ourselves.\"\n\nI then saw that, unlike the spirits at Miss Berry's, the form of \"Mrs.\nPowles\" was draped in a kind of filmy white, _over_ a dark dress. All\nthe spirits that appeared with the doctor were so clothed, and I\nwondered if the filmy substance had anything to do with the lights,\nwhich looked like electricity. An incident which occurred further on\nseemed to confirm my idea. When \"Mrs. Powles\" had gone, which we guessed\nby the extinguishing of the lights, the handsome face and form of \"Harry\nMontagu\" appeared. I had known him well in England, before he took his\nfatal journey to America, and could never be mistaken in his sweet smile\nand fascinating manner. He did not come further than the door, either,\nbut he was standing within twelve or fourteen feet of us for all that.\nHe only said, \"Good-luck to you. We can't lose an interest in the old\nprofession, you know, any more than in the old people.\" \"I wish you'd\ncome and help me, Harry,\" I answered. \"Oh, I do!\" he said, brightly;\n\"several of us do. We are all links of the same chain. Half the\ninspiration in the world comes from those who have gone before. But I\nmust go! I'm getting crowded out. Here's Ada waiting to see you.\nGood-bye!\" And as his light went out, the sweet face of Adelaide Neilson\nappeared in his stead. She said, \"You wept when you heard of my death;\nand yet you never knew me. How was that?\" \"Did I weep?\" I answered, half\nforgetting; \"if so, it must have been because I thought it so sad that a\nwoman so young, and beautiful, and gifted as you were, should leave the\nworld so soon.\" \"Oh no! not sad,\" she answered, brightly; \"glorious!\nglorious! I would not be back again for worlds.\" \"Have you ever seen\nyour grave?\" I asked her. She shook her head. \"What are _graves_ to us?\nOnly cupboards, where you keep our cast-off clothes.\" \"You don't ask me\nwhat the world says about you, now,\" I said to her. \"And I don't care,\"\nshe answered. \"Don't _you_ forget me! Good-bye!\"\n\nShe was succeeded by a spirit who called herself \"Charlotte Cushman,\"\nand who spoke to me kindly about my professional life. Mrs. Hooker told\nme that, to the best of her knowledge, none of these three spirits had\never appeared under the doctor's mediumship before. But now came out\n\"Florence,\" dancing into the room--_literally dancing_, holding out in\nboth hands the skirt of a dress, which looked as if it were made of the\nfinest muslin or lace, and up and down which fireflys were darting with\nmarvellous rapidity. She looked as if clothed in electricity, and\ninfinitely well pleased with herself. \"Look!\" she exclaimed; \"look at my\ndress! isn't it lovely? Look at the fire! The more I shake it, the more\nfire comes! Oh, mother! if you could only have a dress like this for the\nstage, what a _sensation_ you would make!\" And she shook her skirts\nabout, till the fire seemed to set a light to every part of her drapery,\nand she looked as if she were in flames. I observed, \"I never knew you\nto take so much interest in your dress before, darling.\" \"Oh, it isn't\nthe dress,\" she replied; \"it's the _fire_!\" And she really appeared as\ncharmed with the novel experience as a child with a new toy.\n\nAs she left us, a dark figure advanced into the room, and ejaculated,\n\"Ma! ma!\" I recognized at once the peculiar intonation and mode of\naddress of my stepson, Francis Lean, with whom, since he had announced\nhis own death to me, I had had no communication, except through trance\nmediumship. \"Is that you, my poor boy,\" I said, \"come closer to me. You\nare not afraid of me, are you?\" \"O, no! Ma! of course not, only I was at\nthe Opera House, you know, with the others, and that piece you recited,\nMa--you know the one--it's all true, Ma--and I don't want you to go back\nto England. Stay here, Ma--stay here!\" I knew perfectly well to what the\nlad alluded, but I would not enter upon it before a stranger. So I only\nsaid, \"You forget my children, Francis--what would they say if I never\nwent home again.\" This seemed to puzzle him, but after a while he\nanswered, \"Then go to _them_, Ma; go to _them_.\" All this time he had\nbeen talking in the dark, and I only knew him by the sound of his voice.\nI said, \"Are you not going to show yourself to me, Francis. It is such a\nlong time since we met.\" \"Never since you saw me at the docks. That was\n_me_, Ma, and at Brighton, too, only you didn't half believe it till you\nheard I was gone.\" \"Tell me the truth of the accident, Francis,\" I asked\nhim. \"Was there foul play?\" \"No,\" he replied, \"but we got quarrelling\nabout _her_ you know, and fighting, and that's how the boat upset. It\nwas _my_ fault, Ma, as much as anybody else's.\"\n\n\"How was it your body was never found?\" \"It got dragged down in an\nundercurrent, Ma. It was out at Cape Horn before they offered a reward\nfor it.\" Then he began to light up, and as soon as the figure was\nilluminated I saw that the boy was dressed in \"jumpers\" and \"jersey\" of\ndark woollen material, such as they wear in the merchant service in hot\nclimates, but over it all--his head and shoulders included--was wound a\nquantity of flimsy white material I have before mentioned. \"I can't bear\nthis stuff. It makes me look like a girl,\" said \"Francis,\" and with his\nhands he tore it off. Simultaneously the illumination ceased, and he was\ngone. I called him by name several times, but no sound came out of the\ndarkness. It seemed as though the veiling which he disliked preserved\nhis materialization, and that, with its protection removed, he had\ndissolved again.\n\nWhen another dark figure came out of the cabinet, and approaching me,\nknelt at my feet, I supposed it to be \"Francis\" come back again, and\nlaying my hand on the bent head, I asked, \"Is this you again, dear?\" A\nstrange voice answered, with the words, \"Forgive! forgive!\" \"_Forgive!_\"\nI repeated, \"What have I to forgive?\" \"The attempt to murder your\nhusband in 1856. Arthur Yelverton Brooking has forgiven. He is here with\nme now. Will you forgive too?\" \"Certainly,\" I replied, \"I have forgiven\nlong ago. You expiated your sin upon the gallows. You could do no more.\"\n\nThe figure sprung into a standing position, and lit up from head to\nfoot, when I saw the two men standing together, Arthur Yelverton\nBrooking and the Madras sepoy who had murdered him. I never saw anything\nmore brilliant than the appearance of the sepoy. He was dressed\ncompletely in white, in the native costume, with a white \"puggree\" or\nturban on his head. But his \"puggree\" was flashing with jewels--strings\nof them were hung round his neck--and his sash held a magnificent\njewelled dagger. You must please to remember that I was not alone, but\nthat this sight was beheld by Mrs. Hooker as well as myself (to whom it\nwas as unexpected as to her), and that I know she would testify to it\nto-day. And now to explain the reason of these unlooked-for apparitions.\n\nIn 1856 my husband, then Lieutenant Ross-Church, was Adjutant of the\n12th Madras Native Infantry, and Arthur Yelverton Brooking, who had for\nsome time done duty with the 12th, was adjutant of another native corps,\nboth of which were stationed at Madras. Lieutenant Church was not a\nfavorite with his men, by whom he was considered a martinet, and one day\nwhen there had been a review on the island at Madras, and the two\nadjutants were riding home together, a sepoy of the 12th fired at\nLieutenant Church's back with the intent to kill him, but unfortunately\nthe bullet struck Lieutenant Brooking instead, who, after lingering for\ntwelve hours, died, leaving a young wife and a baby behind him. For this\noffence the sepoy was tried and hung, and on his trial the whole truth\nof course came out. This then was the reason that the spirits of the\nmurdered and the murderer came like friends, because the injury had\nnever been really intended for Brooking.\n\nWhen I said that I had forgiven, the sepoy became (as I have told) a\nblaze of light, and then knelt again and kissed the hem of my dress. As\nhe knelt there he became covered, or heaped over, with a mass of the\nsame filmy drapery as enveloped \"Francis,\" and when he rose again he was\nstanding in a cloud. He gathered an end of it, and laying it on my head\nhe wound me and himself round and round with it, until we were bound up\nin a kind of cocoon. Mrs. Hooker, who watched the whole proceeding, told\nme afterwards that she had never seen anything like it before--that she\ncould distinctly see the dark face and the white face close together all\nthe time beneath the drapery, and that I was as brightly illuminated as\nthe spirit. Of this I was not aware myself, but _his_ brightness almost\ndazzled me.\n\nLet me observe also that I have been in the East Indies, and within a\nfew yards' length of sepoys, and that I am sure I could never have been\nwrapt in the same cloth with a mortal one without having been made\npainfully aware of it in more ways than one. The spirit did not _unwind_\nme again, although the winding process had taken him some time. He\nwhisked off the wrapping with one pull, and I stood alone once more. I\nasked him by what name I should call him, and he said, \"The Spirit of\nLight.\" He then expressed a wish to magnetize something I wore, so as to\nbe the better able to approach me. I gave him a brooch containing \"John\nPowles'\" hair, which his mother had given me after his death, and he\ncarried it back into the cabinet with him. It was a valuable brooch of\nonyx and pearls, and I was hoping my eastern friend would not carry it\n_too_ far, when I found it had been replaced and fastened at my throat\nwithout my being aware of the circumstance. \"Arthur Yelverton Brooking\"\nhad disappeared before this, and neither of them came back again. These\nwere not all the spirits that came under the doctor's mediumship during\nthat _seance_, but only those whom I had known and recognized. Several\nof Mrs. Hooker's friends appeared and some of the doctor's controls, but\nas I have said before, they could not help my narrative, and so I omit\nto describe them. The _seance_ lasted altogether two hours, and I was\nvery grateful to the doctor for giving me the opportunity to study an\nentirely new phase of the science to me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nV. _Mrs. Fay._\n\n\nThere was a young woman called \"Annie Eva Fay,\" who came over from\nAmerica to London some years ago, and appeared at the Hanover Square\nRooms, in an exhibition after the manner of the Davenport Brothers and\nMessrs. Maskelyne and Cook. She must not be confounded with the Mrs. Fay\nwho forms the subject of this chapter, because they had nothing to do\nwith one another. Some one in Boston advised me _not_ to go and sit at\none of this Mrs. Fay's public _seances_. They were described to me as\nbeing too physical and unrefined; that the influences were of a low\norder, and the audiences matched them. However, when I am studying a\nmatter, I like to see everything I can and hear everything I can\nconcerning it, and to form my own opinion independent of that of anybody\nelse. So I walked off by myself one night to Mrs. Fay's address, and sat\ndown in a quiet corner, watching everything that occurred. The circle\ncertainly numbered some members of a humble class, but I conclude we\nshould see that everywhere if the fees were lower. Media, like other\nprofessional people, fix their charges according to the quarter of the\ncity in which they live. But every member was silent and respectful, and\nevidently a believer.\n\nOne young man, in deep mourning, with a little girl also in black, of\nabout five or six years old, attracted my attention at once, from his\nsorrowful and abstracted manner. He had evidently come there, I thought,\nin the hope of seeing some one whom he had lost. Mrs. Fay (as she passed\nthrough the room to her cabinet) appeared a very quiet, simple-looking\nlittle woman to me, without any loudness or vulgarity about her. Her\ncabinet was composed of two curtains only, made of some white material,\nand hung on uprights at one angle, in a corner of the room, the most\ntransparent contrivance possible. Anything like a bustle or confusion\ninside it, such as would be occasioned by dressing or \"making up,\"\nwould have been apparent at once to the audience outside, who were\nsitting by the light of an ordinary gas-burner and globe. Yet Mrs. Fay\nhad not been seated there above a few minutes, when there ran out into\nthe _seance_ room two of the most extraordinary materializations I had\never seen, and both of them about as opposite to Mrs. Fay in appearance\nas any creatures could be.\n\nOne was an Irish charwoman or apple-woman (she might have been either)\nwith a brown, wrinkled face, a broken nose, tangled grey hair, a crushed\nbonnet, general dirt and disorder, and a tongue that could talk broad\nIrish, and call \"a spade a spade\" at one and the same time. \"Biddy,\" as\nshe was named, was accompanied by a street newspaper boy--one of those\nurchins who run after carriages and turn Catherine-wheels in the mud,\nand who talked \"gutter-slang\" in a style that was utterly unintelligible\nto the decent portion of the sitters. These two went on in a manner that\nwas undoubtedly funny, but not at all edifying and calculated to drive\nany enquirer into Spiritualism out of the room, under the impression\nthat they were evil spirits bent on our destruction. That either of them\nwas represented by Mrs. Fay was out of the question. In the first place,\nshe would, in that instance, have been so clever an actress and mimic,\nthat she would have made her fortune on the stage--added to which the\nboy \"Teddy\" was much too small for her, and \"Biddy\" was much too large.\nBesides, no actress, however experienced, could have \"made up\" in the\ntime. I was quite satisfied, therefore, that neither of them was the\nmedium, even if I could not have seen her figure the while, through the\nthin curtains, sitting in her chair. _Why_ such low, physical\nmanifestations are permitted I am unable to say. It was no wonder they\nhad shocked the sensibility of my friend. I felt half inclined myself\nwhen they appeared to get up and run away. However, I was very glad\nafterwards that I did not. They disappeared after a while, and were\nsucceeded by a much pleasanter person, a cabinet spirit called \"Gipsy,\"\nwho looked as if she might have belonged to one of the gipsy tribes when\non earth, she was so brown and arch and lively. Presently the young man\nin black was called up, and I saw him talking to a female spirit very\nearnestly. After a while he took her hand and led her outside the\ncurtain, and called the little girl whom he had left on his seat by her\nname. The child looked up, screamed \"Mamma! mamma!\" and flew into the\narms of the spirit, who knelt down and kissed her, and we could hear the\nchild sobbing and saying, \"Oh! mamma, why did you go away?--why did you\ngo away?\" It was a very affecting scene--at least it seemed so to me.\nThe instant recognition by the little girl, and her perfect\nunconsciousness but that her mother had returned _in propria persona_,\nwould have been more convincing proof of the genuineness of Spiritualism\nto a sceptic, than fifty miracles of greater importance. When the spirit\nmother had to leave again the child's agony at parting was very\napparent. \"Take me with you,\" she kept on saying, and her father had\nactually to carry her back to her seat. When they got there they both\nwept in unison. Afterwards he said to me in an apologetic sort of\nway--he was sitting next to me--\"It is the first time, you see, that\nMary has seen her poor mother, but I wanted to have her testimony to her\nidentity, and I think she gave it pretty plainly, poor child! She'll\nnever be content to let me come alone now.\" I said, \"I think it is a\npity you brought her so young,\" and so I did.\n\n\"Florence\" did not appear (she told me afterwards the atmosphere was so\n\"rough\" that she could not), and I began to think that no one would come\nfor me, when a common seaman, dressed in ordinary sailor's clothes, ran\nout of the cabinet and began dancing a hornpipe in front of me. He\ndanced it capitally too, and with any amount of vigorous snapping his\nfingers to mark the time, and when he had finished he \"made a leg,\" as\nsailors call it, and stood before me. \"Have you come for me, my friend?\"\nI enquired. \"Not exactly,\" he answered, \"but I came with the Cap'en. I\ncame to pave the way for him. The Cap'en will be here directly. We was\nin the _Avenger_ together.\" (Now all the world knows that my eldest\nbrother, Frederick Marryat, was drowned in the wreck of the _Avenger_ in\n1847; but as I was a little child at the time, and had no remembrance of\nhim, I had never dreamt of seeing him again. He was a first lieutenant\nwhen he died, so I do not know why the seaman gave him brevet rank, but\nI repeat his words as he said them.) After a minute or two I was called\nup to the cabinet, and saw my brother Frederick (whom I recognized from\nhis likeness) standing there dressed in naval uniform, but looking very\nstiff and unnatural. He smiled when he saw me, but did not attempt to\nkiss me. I said, \"Why! Fred! is it really you? I thought you would have\nforgotten all about me.\" He replied, \"Forgotten little Flo? Why should\nI? Do you think I have never seen you since that time, nor heard\nanything about you? I know everything--everything!\" \"You must know,\nthen, that I have not spent a very happy life,\" I said. \"Never mind,\" he\nanswered, \"you needed it. It has done you good!\" But all he said was\nwithout any life in it, as if he spoke mechanically--perhaps because it\nwas the first time he had materialized.\n\nI had said \"Good-bye\" to him, and dropped the curtain, when I heard my\nname called twice, \"Flo! Flo!\" and turned to receive my sister \"Emily\"\nin my arms. She looked like herself exactly, but she had only time to\nkiss me and gasp out, \"So glad, so happy to meet again,\" when she\nappeared to faint. Her eyes closed, her head fell back on my shoulder,\nand before I had time to realize what was going to happen, she had\npassed _through_ the arm that supported her, and sunk down _through_ the\nfloor. The sensation of her weight was still making my arm tingle, but\n\"Emily\" was gone--_clean gone_. I was very much disappointed. I had\nlonged to see this sister again, and speak to her confidentially; but\nwhether it was something antagonistic in the influence of this _seance_\nroom (\"Florence\" said afterwards that it _was_), or there was some other\ncause for it, I know not, but most certainly my friends did not seem to\nflourish there.\n\nI had another horrible disappointment before I left. A voice from inside\nthe cabinet called out, \"Here are two babies who want the lady sitting\nunder the picture.\" Now, there was only one picture hanging in the room,\nand I was sitting under it. I looked eagerly towards the cabinet, and\nsaw issue from it the \"Princess Gertie\" leading a little toddler with a\nflaxen poll and bare feet, and no clothing but a kind of white chemise.\nThis was \"Joan,\" the \"Yonnie\" I had so often asked to see, and I rose in\nthe greatest expectation to receive the little pair. Just as they gained\nthe centre of the room, however, taking very short and careful steps,\nlike babies first set on their feet, the cabinet spirit \"Gipsy\"\n_bounced_ out of the curtains, and saying decidedly, \"Here! we don't\nwant any children about,\" she placed her hand on the heads of my little\nones, and _pressed them down_ through the floor. They seemed to crumble\nto pieces before my eyes, and their place knew them no more. I couldn't\nhelp feeling angry. I exclaimed, \"O! what did you do that for? Those\nwere my babies, and I have been longing to see them so.\" \"I can't help\nit,\" replied \"Gipsy,\" \"but this isn't a _seance_ for children.\" I was so\nvexed that I took no more interest in the proceedings. A great number of\nforms appeared, thirty or forty in all, but by the time I returned to my\nhotel and began to jot down my notes, I could hardly remember what they\nwere. I had been dreaming all the time of how much I should have liked\nto hold that little flaxen-haired \"Yonnie\" in my arms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nVI. _Virginia Roberts._\n\n\nWhen I returned to New York, it was under exceptional circumstances. I\nhad taken cold whilst travelling in the Western States, had had a severe\nattack of bronchitis and pneumonia at Chicago, was compelled to\nrelinquish my business, and as soon as I was well enough to travel, was\nordered back to New York to recuperate my health. Here I took up my\nabode in the Victoria Hotel, where a lady, whose acquaintance I had made\non my former visit to the city, was living. As I have no permission to\npublish this lady's name, I must call her Mrs. S----. She had been a\nSpiritualist for some time before I knew her, and she much interested me\nby showing me an entry in her diary, made _four years_ previous to my\narrival in America. It was an account of the utterances of a Mrs.\nPhilips, a clairvoyant then resident in New York, during which she had\nprophesied my arrival in the city, described my personal appearance,\nprofession, and general surroundings perfectly, and foretold my\nacquaintanceship with Mrs. S----. The prophecy ended with words to the\neffect that our meeting would be followed by certain effects that would\ninfluence her future life, and that on the 17th of March, 1885, would\ncommence a new era in her existence. It was at the beginning of March\nthat we first lived under the same roof. As soon as Mrs. S---- found\nthat I was likely to have some weeks of leisure, she became very anxious\nthat we should visit the New York media together; for although she had\nso long been a believer in Spiritualism, she had not (owing to family\nopposition) met with much sympathy on the subject, or had the\nopportunity of much investigation. So we determined, as soon as I was\nwell enough to go out in the evening, that we would attend some\n_seances_. As it happened, when that time came, we found the medium most\naccessible to be Miss Virginia Roberts, of whom neither of us knew\nanything but what we had learned from the public papers. However, it\nwas necessary that I should be exposed as little as possible to the\nnight air, and so we fixed, by chance as it were, to visit Miss Roberts\nfirst. We found her living with her mother and brother in a small house\nin one of the back streets of the city. She was a young girl of sixteen,\nvery reserved and rather timid-looking, who had to be drawn out before\nshe could be made to talk. She had only commenced sitting a few months\nbefore, and that because her brother (who was also a medium) had had an\nillness and been obliged to give up his _seances_ for a while. The\n_seance_ room was very small, the manifestations taking place almost in\nthe midst of the circle, and the cabinet (so-called) was the flimsiest\ncontrivance I had ever seen. Four uprights of iron, not thicker than the\nrod of a muslin blind, with cross-bars of the same, on which were hung\nthin curtains of lilac print, formed the construction of this cabinet,\nwhich shook and swayed about each time a form left or entered it. A\nharmonium for accompanying the voices, and a few chairs for the\naudience, was all the furniture the room contained. The first evening we\nwent to see Miss Roberts there were only two or three sitters beside\nourselves. The medium seemed to be pretty nearly unknown, and I\nresolved, as I usually do in such cases, not to expect anything, for\nfear I should be disappointed.\n\nMrs. S----, on the contrary, was all expectation and excitement. If she\nhad ever sat for materializations, it had been long before, and the idea\nwas like a new one to her. After two or three forms had appeared, of no\ninterest to us, a gentleman in full evening dress walked suddenly out of\nthe cabinet, and said, \"Kate,\" which was the name of Mrs. S----. He was\na stout, well-formed man, of an imposing presence, with dark hair and\neyes, and he wore a solitaire of diamonds of unusual brilliancy in his\nshirt front. I had no idea who he was; but Mrs. S---- recognized him at\nonce as an old lover who had died whilst under a misunderstanding with\nher, and she was powerfully affected--more, she was terribly frightened.\nIt seems that she wore at her throat a brooch which he had given her;\nbut every time he approached her with the view of touching it, she\nshrieked so loudly, and threw herself into such a state of nervous\nagitation, that I thought she would have to return home again. However,\non her being accommodated with a chair in the last row so that she\nmight have the other sitters between her and the materialized spirits,\nshe managed to calm herself. The only friend who appeared for me that\nevening was \"John Powles;\" and, to my surprise and pleasure, he appeared\nin the old uniform of the 12th Madras Native Infantry. This corps wore\nfacings of fawn, with buttons bearing the word \"Ava,\" encircled by a\nwreath of laurel. The mess jackets were lined with wadded fawn silk, and\nthe waistcoats were trimmed with three lines of narrow gold braid. Their\n\"karkee,\" or undress uniform, established in 1859, consisted of a tunic\nand trousers of a sad green cloth, with the regimental buttons and a\ncrimson silk sash. The marching dress of all officers in the Indian\nservice is made of white drill, with a cap cover of the same material.\nTheir forage cloak is of dark blue cloth, and hangs to their heels.\nTheir forage cap has a broad square peak to shelter the face and eyes. I\nmention these details for the benefit of those who are not acquainted\nwith the general dress of the Indian army, and to show how difficult it\nwould have been for Virginia Roberts, or any other medium, to have\nprocured them, even had she known the private wish expressed by me to\n\"John Powles\" in Boston, that he would try and come to me in uniform. On\nthis first occasion of his appearing so, he wore the usual everyday\ncoat, buttoned up to his chin, and he made me examine the buttons to see\nthat they bore the crest and motto of the regiment. And I may say here,\nthat before I left New York he appeared to me in every one of the\nvarious dresses I have described above, and became quite a marked figure\nin the city.\n\nWhen it was made known through the papers that an old friend of Florence\nMarryat had appeared through the mediumship of Virginia Roberts, in a\nuniform of thirty years before, I received numbers of private letters\ninquiring if it were true, and dozens of people visited Miss Roberts'\n_seances_ for the sole purpose of seeing him. He took a great liking for\nMrs. S----, and when she had conquered her first fear she became quite\nfriendly with him, and I heard, after leaving New York, that he\ncontinued to appear for her as long as she attended those _seances_.\n\nThere was one difference in the female spirits that came through\nVirginia Roberts from those of other media. Those that were strong\nenough to leave the cabinet invariably disappeared by floating upwards\nthrough the ceiling. Their mode of doing this was most graceful. They\nwould first clasp their hands behind their heads and lean backward; then\ntheir feet were lifted off the ground, and they were borne upward in a\nrecumbent position. When I related this to my friend, Dr. George\nLefferts (under whom I was for throat treatment to recover my voice), he\ndeclared there must be some machinery connected with the uprights that\nsupported the cabinet, by which the forms were elevated. He had got it\nall so \"pat\" that he was able to take a pencil and demonstrate to me on\npaper exactly how the machinery worked, and how easy it would be to\nswing full-sized human bodies up to the ceiling with it. How they\nmanaged to disappear when they got there he was not quite prepared to\nsay; but if he once saw the trick done, he would explain the whole\nmatter to me, and expose it into the bargain. I told Dr. Lefferts, as I\nhave told many other clever men, that I shall be the first person open\nto conviction when they can convince me, and I bore him off to a private\n_seance_ with Virginia Roberts for that purpose only. He was all that\nwas charming on the occasion. He gave me a most delightful dinner at\nDelmonico's first (for which I tender him in print my grateful\nrecollection), and he tested all Miss Roberts' manifestations in the\nmost delicate and gentlemanly manner (sceptics as a rule are neither\ndelicate nor gentlemanly), but he could neither open my eyes to\nchicanery nor detect it himself. He handled and shook the frail supports\nof the cabinet, and confessed they were much too weak to bear any such\nweight as he had imagined. He searched the carpeted floor and the\nadjoining room for hidden machinery without finding the slightest thing\nto rouse his suspicions, and yet he saw the female forms float upwards\nthrough the whitewashed ceiling, and came away from the _seance_ room as\nwise as when he had entered it.\n\nBut this occurred some weeks after. I must relate first what happened\nafter our first _seance_ with Miss Roberts. Mrs. S---- and I were well\nenough pleased with the result to desire to test her capabilities\nfurther, and with that intent we invited her to visit us at our hotel.\nSpiritualism is as much tabooed by one section of the American public as\nit is encouraged by the other, and so we resolved to breathe nothing of\nour intentions, but invite the girl to dine and spend the evening in\nour rooms with us just as if she were an ordinary visitor. Consequently,\nwe dined together at the _table d'hote_ before we took our way upstairs.\nMrs. S---- and I had a private sitting-room, the windows of which were\ndraped with white lace curtains only, and we had no other means to shut\nout the light. Consequently, when we wished to sit, all we could do was\nto place a chair for Virginia Roberts in the window recess, behind one\nof these pairs of curtains, and pin them together in front of her, which\nformed the airiest cabinet imaginable. We then locked the door, lowered\nthe gas, and sat down on a sofa before the curtains.\n\nIn the space of five minutes, without the lace curtains having been in\nthe slightest degree disturbed, Francis Lean, my stepson, walked\n_through_ them, and came up to my side. He was dressed in his ordinary\ncostume of jersey and \"jumpers,\" and had a little worsted cap upon his\nhead. He displayed all the peculiarities of speech and manner I have\nnoticed before; but he was much less timid, and stood by me for a long\ntime talking of my domestic affairs, which were rather complicated, and\ngiving me a detailed account of the accident which caused his death, and\nwhich had been always somewhat of a mystery. In doing this, he mentioned\nnames of people hitherto unknown to me, but which I found on after\ninquiry to be true. He seemed quite delighted to be able to manifest so\nindisputably like himself, and remarked more than once, \"I'm not much\nlike a girl now, am I, Ma?\"\n\nNext, Mrs. S----'s old lover came, of whom she was still considerably\nalarmed, and her father, who had been a great politician and a\nwell-known man. \"Florence,\" too, of course, though never so lively\nthrough Miss Roberts as through other media, but still happy though\npensive, and full of advice how I was to act when I reached England\nagain. Presently a soft voice said, \"Aunt Flo, don't you know me?\" And I\nsaw standing in front of me my niece and godchild, Lilian Thomas, who\nhad died as a nun in the Convent of the \"Dames Anglaises\" at Bruges. She\nwas clothed in her nun's habit, which was rather peculiar, the face\nbeing surrounded by a white cap, with a crimped border that hid all the\nhair, and surmounted by a white veil of some heavy woollen material\nwhich covered the head and the black serge dress. \"Lilian\" had died of\nconsumption, and the death-like, waxy complexion which she had had for\nsome time before was exactly reproduced. She had not much to say for\nherself; indeed, we had been completely separated since she had entered\nthe convent, but she was undoubtedly _there_. She was succeeded by my\nsister \"Emily,\" whom I have already so often described. And these\napparitions, six in number, and all recognizable, were produced in the\nprivate room of Mrs. S---- and myself, and with no other person but\nVirginia Roberts, sixteen years old.\n\nIt was about this time that we received an invitation to attend a\nprivate _seance_ in a large house in the city, occupied by Mr. and Mrs.\nNewman, who had Maud Lord staying with them as a visitor. Maud Lord's\nmediumship is a peculiar one. She places her sitters in a circle,\nholding hands. She then seats herself on a chair in the centre, and\nkeeps on clapping her hands, to intimate that she has not changed her\nposition. The _seance_ is held in darkness, and the manifestations\nconsist of \"direct voices,\" _i.e._ voices that every one can hear, and\nby what they say to you, you must judge of their identity and\ntruthfulness. I had only witnessed powers of this kind once\nbefore--through Mrs. Bassett, who is now Mrs. Herne--but as no one spoke\nto me through her whom I recognized, I have omitted to give any account\nof it.\n\nAs soon as Maud Lord's sitting was fully established, I heard her\naddressing various members of the company, telling them who stood beside\nthem, and I heard them putting questions to, or holding conversations\nwith, creature who were invisible to me. The time went on, and I\nbelieved I was going to be left out of it, when I heard a voice close to\nmy ear whisper, \"Arthur.\" At the same moment Maud Lord's voice sounded\nin my direction, saying that the lady in the brown velvet hat had a\ngentleman standing near her, named \"Arthur,\" who wished to be\nrecognized. I was the only lady present in a brown velvet hat, yet I\ncould not recall any deceased friend of the name of \"Arthur\" who might\nwish to communicate with me. (It is a constant occurrence at a _seance_\nthat the mind refuses to remember a name, or a circumstance, and on\nreturning home, perhaps the whole situation makes itself clear, and one\nwonders how one could have been so dull as not to perceive it.) So I\nsaid that I knew no one in the spirit-world of that name, and Maud Lord\nreplied, \"Well, _he_ knows _you_, at all events.\" A few more minutes\nelapsed, when I felt a touch on the third finger of my left hand, and\nthe voice spoke again and said, \"Arthur! 'Arthur's ring.' Have you quite\nforgotten?\" This action brought the person to my memory, and I\nexclaimed, \"Oh! Johnny Cope, is it you?\"\n\nTo explain this, I must tell my readers that when I went out to India in\n1854, Arthur Cope of the Lancers was a passenger by the same steamer;\nand when we landed in Madras, he made me a present of a diamond ring,\nwhich I wore at that _seance_ as a guard. But he was never called by\nanything but his nickname of \"Johnny,\" so that his real appellation had\nquite slipped my memory. The poor fellow died in 1856 or 1857, and I had\nbeen ungrateful enough to forget all about him, and should never have\nremembered his name had it not been coupled with the ring. It would have\nbeen still more remarkable, though, if Maud Lord, who had never seen me\ntill that evening, had discovered an incident which happened thirty\nyears before, and which I had completely forgotten.\n\nBefore I had been many days in New York, I fell ill again from exposing\nmyself to the weather, this time with a bad throat. Mrs. S---- and I\nslept in the same room, and our sitting-room opened into the bedroom.\nShe was indefatigable in her attentions and kindness to me during my\nillness, and kept running backwards and forwards from the bedroom to the\nsitting-room, both by night and day, to get me fresh poultices, which\nshe kept hot on the steam stove.\n\nOne evening about eleven o'clock she got out of bed in her nightdress,\nand went into the next room for this purpose. Almost directly after she\nentered it, I heard a heavy fall. I called her by name, and receiving no\nanswer, became frightened, jumped out of bed, and followed her. To my\nconsternation, I found her stretched out, at full length, on a white\nbearskin rug, and quite insensible. She was a delicate woman, and I\nthought at first that she had fainted from fatigue; but when she showed\nno signs of returning consciousness, I became alarmed. I was very weak\nmyself from my illness, and hardly able to stand, but I managed to put\non a dressing-gown and summon the assistance of a lady who occupied the\nroom next to us, and whose acquaintance we had already made. She was\nstrong and capable, and helped me to place Mrs. S---- upon the sofa,\nwhere she lay in the same condition. After we had done all we could\nthink of to bring her to herself without effect, the next-door lady\nbecame frightened. She said to me, \"I don't like this. I think we ought\nto call in a doctor. Supposing she were to die without regaining\nconsciousness.\" I replied, \"I should say the same, excepting I begin to\nbelieve she has not fainted at all, but is in a trance; and in that\ncase, any violent attempts to bring her to herself might injure her.\nJust see how quietly she breathes, and how very young she looks.\"\n\nWhen her attention was called to this fact, the next-door lady was\nastonished. Mrs. S----, who was a woman past forty, looked like a girl\nof sixteen. She was a very pretty woman, but with a dash of temper in\nher expression which spoiled it. Now with all the passions and lines\nsmoothed out of it, she looked perfectly lovely. So she might have\nlooked in death. But she was not dead. She was breathing. So I felt sure\nthat the spirit had escaped for a while and left her free. I covered her\nup warmly on the sofa, and determined to leave her there till the trance\nhad passed. After a while I persuaded the next-door lady to think as I\ndid, and to go back to her own bed. As soon as she had gone, I\nadministered my own poultice, and sat down to watch beside my friend.\nThe time went on until seven in the morning--seven hours she had lain,\nwithout moving a limb, upon the sofa--when, without any warning, she sat\nup and gazed about her. I called her by name, and asked her what she\nwanted; but I could see at once, by her expression, that she did not\nknow me. Presently she asked me, \"Who are you?\" I told her. \"Are you\nKate's friend?\" she said. I answered, \"Yes.\" \"Do you know who _I_ am?\"\nwas the next question, which, of course, I answered in the negative.\nMrs. S---- thereupon gave me the name of a German gentleman which I had\nnever heard before. An extraordinary scene then followed. Influenced by\nthe spirit that possessed her, Mrs. S---- rose and unlocked a cabinet of\nher own, which stood in the room, and taking thence a bundle of old\nletters, she selected several and read portions of them aloud to me. She\nthen told me a history of herself and the gentleman whose spirit was\nspeaking through her, and gave me several messages to deliver to\nherself the following day. It will be sufficient for me to say that this\nhistory was of so private a nature, that it was most unlikely she would\nhave confided it to me or any one, particularly as she was a woman of a\nmost secretive nature; but names, addresses, and even words of\nconversations were given, in a manner which would have left no room for\ndoubt of their truthfulness, even if Mrs. S---- had not confirmed them\nto be facts afterwards. This went on for a long time, the spirit\nexpressing the greatest animosity against Mrs. S---- all the while, and\nthen the power seemed suddenly to be spent, and she went off to sleep\nagain upon the sofa, waking up naturally about an hour afterwards, and\nvery much surprised to hear what had happened to her meanwhile. When we\ncame to consider the matter, we found that this unexpected seizure had\ntaken place upon _the 17th of March_, the day predicted by Mrs. Philips\nfour years previously as one on which a new era would commence for Mrs.\nS----. From that time she continually went into trances, and used to\npredict the future for herself and others; but whether she has kept it\nup to this day I am unable to say, as I have heard nothing from her\nsince I left America.\n\nThat event took place on the 13th of June, 1885. We had been in the\nhabit of spending our Sunday evenings in Miss Roberts' _seance_ room,\nand she begged me not to miss the last opportunity. When we arrived\nthere, we found that the accompanist who usually played the harmonium\nfor them was unable to be present, and Miss Roberts asked if I would be\nhis substitute. I said I would, on condition that they moved the\ninstrument on a line with the cabinet, so that I might not lose a sight\nof what was going on. This was accordingly done, and I commenced to play\n\"Thou art gone from my gaze.\" Almost immediately \"John Powles\" stepped\nout, dressed in uniform, and stood by the harmonium with his hand upon\nmy shoulder. \"I never was much of a singer, you know, Flo,\" he said to\nme; \"but if you will sing that song with me, I'll try and go through\nit.\" And he actually did sing (after a fashion) the entire two verses of\nthe ballad, keeping his hand on my shoulder the whole time. When we came\nto the line, \"I seek thee in vain by the meadow and stream,\" he stooped\ndown and whispered in my ear, \"Not _quite_ in vain, Flo, has it been?\"\nI do not know if my English Spiritualistic friends can \"cap\" this story,\nbut in America they told me it was quite a unique performance,\nparticularly at a public _seance_, where the jarring of so many diverse\ninfluences often hinders instead of helping the manifestations.\n\n\"Powles\" appeared to be especially strong on that occasion. Towards the\nmiddle of the evening a kind of whining was heard to proceed from the\ncabinet; and Miss Roberts, who was not entranced, said, \"There's a baby\ncoming out for Miss Marryat.\" At the same time the face of little\n\"Yonnie\" appeared at the opening of the curtains, but nearly level with\nthe ground, as she was crawling out on all fours. Before she had had\ntime to advance beyond them, \"Powles\" stepped over her and came amongst\nus. \"Oh, Powles!\" I exclaimed, \"you used to love my little babies. Do\npick up that one for me that I may see it properly.\" He immediately\nreturned, took up \"Yonnie,\" and brought her out into the circle on his\narm. The contrast of the baby's white kind of nightgown with his scarlet\nuniform was very striking. He carried the child to each sitter that it\nmight be thoroughly examined; and when he had returned \"Yonnie\" to the\ncabinet, he came out again on his own account. That evening I was\nsummoned into the cabinet myself by the medium's guide, a little Italian\ngirl, who had materialized several times for our benefit. When I entered\nit, I stumbled up against Miss Roberts' chair. There was barely room for\nme to stand beside it. She said to me, \"Is that _you_, Miss Marryat?\"\nand I replied, \"Yes; didn't you send for me?\" She said \"No; I didn't\nsend, I know nothing about it!\" A voice behind me said, \"_I_ sent for\nyou!\" and at the same moment two strong arms were clasped round my\nwaist, and a man's face kissed me over my shoulder. I asked, \"Who are\nyou?\" and he replied, \"Walk out of the cabinet and you shall see.\" I\nturned round, two hands were placed upon my shoulders, and I walked back\ninto the circle with a tall man walking behind me in that position. When\nI could look at him in the gaslight, I recognized my brother, Frank\nMarryat, who died in 1855, and whom I had never seen since. Of course,\nthe other spirits who were familiar with Mrs. S---- and myself came to\nwish me a pleasant voyage across the Atlantic, but I have mentioned them\nall so often that I fear I must already have tired out the patience of\nmy readers. But in order to be impressive it is so necessary to be\nexplicit. All I can bring forward in excuse is, that every word I have\nwritten is the honest and unbiassed truth. Here, therefore, ends the\naccount of my experience in Spiritualism up to the present moment--not,\nby any means, the half, nor yet _the quarter of it_, but all I consider\nlikely to interest the general public. And those who have been\ninterested in it may see their own friends as I have done, if they will\nonly take the same trouble that I have done.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\"QUI BONO?\"\n\n\nMy friends have so often asked me this question, that I think, before I\nclose this book, I am justified in answering it, at all events, as far\nas I myself am concerned. How often have I sat, surrounded by an\ninterested audience, who knew me too well to think me either a lunatic\nor a liar; and after I have told them some of the most marvellous and\nthrilling of my experiences, they have assailed me with these questions,\n\"But what _is_ it? And what _good_ does it do? _What is it?_\" There, my\nfriends, I confess you stagger me! I can no more tell you what it is\nthan I can tell you what _you_ are or what _I_ am. We know that, like\nTopsy, we \"grew.\" We know that, given certain conditions and favorable\naccessories, a child comes into this world, and a seed sprouts through\nthe dark earth and becomes a flower; but though we know the cause and\nsee the effect, the greatest man of science, or the greatest botanist,\ncannot tell you how the child is made, nor how the plant grows. Neither\ncan I (or any one) tell you _what_ the power is that enables a spirit to\nmake itself apparent. I can only say that it can do so, and refer you to\nthe Creator of you and me and the entire universe. The commonest things\nthe earth produces are all miracles, from the growing of a mustard seed\nto the expansion of a human brain. What is more wonderful than the\nhatching of an egg? You see it done every day. It has become so common\nthat you regard it as an event of no consequence. You know the exact\nnumber of days the bird must sit to produce a live chicken with all its\nfunctions ready for nature's use, but you see nothing wonderful in it.\nAll birds can do the same, and you would not waste your time in\nspeculating on the wondrous effect of heat upon a liquid substance which\nturns to bone and blood and flesh and feathers.\n\nIf you were as familiar with the reappearance of those who have gone\nbefore as you are with chickens, you would see nothing supernatural in\ntheir manifesting themselves to you, and nothing more miraculous than in\nthe birth of a child or the hatching of an egg. Why should it be? Who\nhas fixed the abode of the spirit after death? Who can say where it\ndwells, or that it is not permitted to return to this world, perhaps to\nlive in it altogether? Still, however the Almighty sends them, the fact\nremains that they come, and that thousands can testify to the fact. As\nto the theory advanced by some people that they are devils, sent to lure\nus to our destruction, that is an insult to the wisdom or mercy of an\nOmnipotent Creator. They cannot come except by His permission, just as\nHe sends children to some people and withholds them from others. And the\nconversation of most of those that I have talked with is all on the side\nof religion, prayer, and self-sacrifice. _My_ friends, at all events,\nhave never denied the existence of a God or a Saviour. They have, on the\ncontrary (and especially \"Florence\"), been very quick to rebuke me for\nanything I may have done that was wrong, for neglect of prayer and\nchurch-going, for speaking evil of my neighbors, or any other fault.\nThey have continually inculcated the doctrine that religion consists in\nunselfish love to our fellow-creatures, and in devotion to God. I do not\ndeny that there are frivolous and occasionally wicked spirits about us.\nIs it to be wondered at? For one spirit that leaves this world\ncalculated to do good to his fellow-creatures, a hundred leave it who\nwill do him harm. That is really the reason that the Church discourages\nSpiritualism. She does not disbelieve in it. She knows it to be true;\nbut she also knows it to be dangerous. Since like attracts like, the\nnumbers of thoughtless spirits who still dwell on earth would naturally\nattract the numbers of thoughtless spirits who have left it, and their\ninfluence is best dispensed with. Talk of devils. I have known many more\ndevils in the flesh than out of it, and could name a number of\nacquaintances who, when once passed out of this world, I should\nsteadfastly refuse to have any communication with. I have no doubt\nmyself whatever as to _what_ it is, or that I have seen my dear friends\nand children as I knew them upon earth. But _how_ they come or _where_\nthey go, I must wait until I join them to ascertain, even if I shall do\nit then.\n\nThe second question, however, I can more easily deal with, _What good is\nit?_ The only wonder to me is that people who are not stone-blind to\nwhat is going on in this world can put such a question. What good is it\nto have one's faith in Immortality and another life confirmed in an age\nof freethought, scepticism and utter callousness? When I look around me\nand see the young men nowadays--ay, and the young women too--who believe\nin no hereafter, who lie down and die, like the dumb animals who cannot\nbe made to understand the love of the dear God who created them although\nthey feel it, I cannot think of anything calculated to do them more good\nthan the return of a father or a mother or a friend, who could convince\nthem by ocular demonstration that there is a future life and happiness\nand misery, according to the one we have led here below.\n\n\"Oh, but,\" I seem to hear some readers exclaim, \"we _do_ believe in all\nthat you say. We have been taught so from our youth up, and the Bible\npoints to it in every line.\" You may _think_ you believe it, my friends,\nand in a theoretical way you may; but you do not _realize_ it, and the\nwhole of your lives proves it. Death, instead of being the blessed\nportal to the Life Elysian, the gate of which may swing open for you any\nday, and admit you to eternal and unfading happiness, is a far-off misty\nphantom, whose approach you dread, and the sight of which in others you\nrun away from. The majority of people avoid the very mention of death.\nThey would not look at a corpse for anything; the sight of a coffin or a\nfuneral or a graveyard fills them with horror; the idea of it for\nthemselves makes them turn pale with fright. Is _this_ belief in the\nexistence of a tender Father and a blessed home waiting to receive them\non the other side? Even professed Christians experience what they term a\n\"natural\" horror at the thought of death! I have known persons of fixed\nreligious principles who had passed their lives (apparently) in prayer,\nand expressed their firm belief in Heaven waiting for them, fight\nagainst death with all their mortal energies, and try their utmost to\nbaffle the disease that was sent to carry them to everlasting happiness.\nIs this logical? It is tantamount in my idea to the pauper in the\nworkhouse who knows that directly the gate is open to let him through,\nhe will pass from skilly, oakum, and solitary confinement to the King's\nPalace to enjoy youth, health, and prosperity evermore; and who, when he\nsees the gates beginning to unclose, puts his back and all his\nneighbors' backs against them to keep them shut as long as possible.\n\nDeath should not be a \"horror\" to any one; and if we knew more about it,\nit would cease to be so. It is the _mystery_ that appals us. We see our\nfriends die, and no word or sign comes back to tell us that there _is_\nno death, so we picture them to ourselves mouldering in the damp earth\ntill we nearly go mad with grief and dismay. Some people think me\nheartless because I never go near the graves of those whom I love best.\nWhy should I? I might with more reason go and sit beside a pile of their\ncast-off garments. I could _see_ them, and they would actually retain\nmore of their identity and influence than the corpse which I could _not_\nsee. I mourn their loss just the same, but I mourn it as I should do if\nthey had settled for life in a far distant land, from which I could only\nenjoy occasional glimpses of their happiness.\n\nAnd I may say emphatically that the greatest good Spiritualism does is\nto remove the fear of one's own death. One can never be quite certain of\nthe changes that circumstances may bring about, nor do I like to boast\novermuch. Disease and weakness may destroy the nerve I flatter myself on\npossessing; but I think I may say that as matters stand at present _I\nhave no fear of death whatever_, and the only trouble I can foresee in\npassing through it will be to witness the distress of my friends. But\nwhen I remember all those who have gathered on the other side, and whom\nI firmly believe will be present to help me in my passage there, I can\nfeel nothing but a great curiosity to pierce the mysteries as yet\nunrevealed to me, and a great longing for the time to come when I shall\njoin those whom I loved so much on earth. Not to be happy at once by any\nmanner of means. I am too sinful a mortal for that, but \"to work out my\nsalvation\" in the way God sees best for me, to make my own heaven or\nhell according as I have loved and succoured my fellow-creatures here\nbelow. Yet however much I may be destined to suffer, never without hope\nand assistance from those whom I have loved, and never without feeling\nthat through the goodness of God each struggle or reparation brings me\nnear to the fruition of eternal happiness. _This_ is my belief, _this_\nis the good that the certain knowledge that we can never die has done\nfor me, and the worst I wish for anybody is that they may share it with\nme.\n\n    \"Oh! though oft depressed and lonely,\n      All my fears are laid aside,\n    If I but remember only\n      Such as these have lived and died.\"\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nUNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY'S Announcements AND New Publications.\n\n     *.*_The books mentioned in this List can be obtained_ to\n     order _by any Bookseller if not in stock, or will be sent by the\n     Publisher post free on receipt of price_.\n\nLOVELL'S INTERNATIONAL SERIES\n\n=_13. On Circumstantial Evidence_=--By Florence Marryat\n\nThis is a story in which love and intrigue are the two disturbing\nelements. Miss Marryat is well-known to the readers of sentimental\nnovels. She has a bright and crisp way of presenting the frailties of\nthe human race, which makes her stories entertaining.--_Boston Herald._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n=_14. Miss Kate, or the Confessions of a Caretaker_=--By Rita\n\nThis is a novel of much interest in the first part, of the objectionable\n\"guilty love\" order in the latter half. There are some beautiful bits of\ncharacter drawing in it, and some very clever hits at American foibles.\nThis story is exceedingly well told.--_Nashville American._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n=_15. A Vagabond Lover_=--By Rita\n\nIs a mere sketch. The hero having been a child who was washed on shore\nfrom a shipwreck during a storm, and found by a man who believed that he\nhad discovered the cause and generation of life. The child was made a\nsubject for experiment; life was breathed into it, but only physical\nlife and not its higher principle. The result is that the child grows up\nto manhood without one redeeming virtue, and seems to delight in doing\nall manner of evil.--_Philadelphia Record._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 20 CENTS.\n\n_=16. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst=_--By Rosa N. Carey\n\nIs a well written English novel, into which are woven numerous\nhistorical sketches, adding the merit of instructiveness to its other\nqualities.--_Pittsburgh Post._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n=_39. Sylvia Arden_=--By Oswald Crawfurd\n\nIs a novel whose story is supposed to be told by a man who confesses at\nthe outset that life has been with him a failure. He has been successful\nin nothing though trying everything--and the novel deals with the most\nremarkable incidents in that sort of a career. It is a cleverly done\nbook, and there is much in it which is fresh as well as\nexciting.--_Columbus, O., Journal._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n=_40. Young Mr. Ainslie's Courtship_=--By F. C. Philips\n\nIt seems impossible for F. C. Philips, the author of \"As in a Looking\nGlass,\" to keep sensational tragedy out of his novels. In \"Young Mr.\nAinslie's Courtship\" he has written a story which is charming, witty?\nand agreeable up to the very last chapter.--_San Francisco Chronicle._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n_=41. The Haute Noblesse=_--By Geo. Manville Fenn\n\nIs a well wrought story of which the heroine is a child of the high\naristocracy, but nevertheless such admirable traits and qualities that\neven the humblest reader cannot fail to love her.--_Columbus, O.,\nJournal._\n\nCLOTH. $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n=_42. Mount Eden_=--By Florence Marryat\n\nMiss Florence Marryat is well known to the readers of sentimental\nnovels. She has a bright and crisp way of presenting the frailties of\nthe human race, which makes her stories entertaining, even if they are\ndevoid of all good moral purpose. They open one's eyes to the\ninconsistencies of life without wholly destroying his faith in his\nfellow citizens.--_Boston Herald._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS.\n\n_=82. A Woman's Heart=_--By Mrs. Alexander\n\nThe name of this author is familiar to all lovers of fiction who will\nneed nothing more to assure them that they will not regret the time\nspent in reading \"A Woman's Heart.\" It is a refined and interesting\nstory, pleasant and easy reading, as is usual with all Mrs. Alexander's\nworks.\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS.\n\n_=83. Syrlin=_--By Ouida\n\nThe announcement of a new novel by Ouida, sends a thrill of delight\nthrough the countless host of faithful admirers of that petulant\npriestess of mild improprieties. Her new books are just like her old\nones. There is the usual abundance of gilded vice and wilful wickedness\nlugged in to give the book its wonted flavor.--_N. O. States._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS.\n\n=_84. The Rival Princess_=--By Justin McCarthy and Mrs. Campbell Praed\n\nIt is a romance of contemporary English politics wherein many well-known\npublic men appear under thin disguises. There is a Stuart princess with\nlineal claims to the English throne, and there is an unmasked Mr.\nGladstone, who boldly urges the abolition of the House of\nLords.-_-Charleston Sunday Times._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS.\n\n_=85. Blindfold=_--By Florence Marryat\n\nIs, in many respects, the best novel which has been given us by the\nprolific pen of the well-known Englishwoman. The story is novel, well\ntold, and events follow upon each other quickly, never allowing the\ninterest to flag.--_Denver News._\n\nCLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS.\n\nUNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nText that was written in bold is marked =like this=.\n\nPage 4, \"MARRYATT\" changed to \"MARRYAT\" (Normalising spelling of\nauthor's name)\n\nPage 18, \"nor\" changed to \"not\" (a single medium of whom I have not)\n\nPage 47, \"bood\" changed to \"blood\" (where the stain of his blood still\nremained)\n\nPage 49, \"briliant\" changed to \"brilliant\" (a room that was unpleasantly\nbrilliant)\n\nPage 58, \"tempered\" changed to \"tampered\" (it had not been tampered\nwith)\n\nPage 61, \"seing\" changed to \"seeing\" (the possibility of seeing a\n\"ghost,\")\n\nPage 127, \"foreigh\" changed to \"foreign\" (he was equally ignorant of\nforeign languages)\n\nPage 134, \"succssefully\" changed to \"successfully\" (in order to imitate\nher manner and speech successfully)\n\nPage 137, \"Gupyy\" changed to \"Guppy\" (As Mrs. Guppy came sailing over\nour heads)\n\nPage 138, \"it\" changed to \"if\" (I inquired of every sitter if they had\nseen)\n\nPage 155, \"eartly\" changed to \"earthly\" (as naturally as if she were\ntheir earthly form)\n\nPage 156, \"Fitzgarald\" changed to \"Fitzgerald\" (Mrs. Fitzgerald was\ndining with us)\n\nPage 158, \"Fitzgereld\" changed to \"Fitzgerald\" (returned through Mrs.\nFitzgerald)\n\nPage 176, \"don\" changed to \"done\" (perhaps, than anything else has done)\n\nPage 180, Added missing end single quote in probable correct place\n(through the life that lies before you.')\n\nPage 182, \"forgetten\" changed to \"forgotten\" (I had almost forgotten Mr.\nPlummer)\n\nPage 185, \"mamed\" changed to \"named\" (a photographer in London, named\nHudson)\n\nPage 189, \"instrument\" changed to \"instruments\" (the two instruments\npealed forth)\n\nPage 198, \"ocsion\" changed to \"occasion\" (Mr. Towns prognosticated on\nthat occasion)\n\nPage 201, \"conducter\" changed to \"conductor\" (\"Did you know the spirit?\"\nthe conductor asked)\n\nPage 220, \"aquaintance\" changed to \"acquaintance\" (soon after I made her\nacquaintance)\n\nPage 255, \"creature\" changed to \"creatures\" (creatures who were\ninvisible to me)\n\nPage 256, \"Mr\" changed to \"Mrs\" (Mrs. S---- and I slept in the same\nroom)\n\nPage 264, \"Christian\" changed to \"Christians\" (Even professed Christians\nexperience what they term)\n\nEnd catalogue, No. 13, \"Circumstatial\" changed to \"Circumstantial\" (On\nCircumstantial Evidence)\n\nEnd catalogue, No. 39, \"successfu\" changed to \"successful\" (He has been\nsuccessful in nothing)\n\nN.B. 1. Some punctuation corrections have not been noted here.\n2. Two non-matching instances of latin word: \"propria\" and \"propria\".\nLeft as-is.","title":"There is No Death","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":105685}