There is no Death Part 13

To instance another case of mediumship which is exercised for neither remuneration nor applause. I am obliged in this example to withhold the name, because to betray their ident.i.ty would be to ill requite a favor which was courteously accorded me. I had heard of a family of the name of D---- who held private sittings once a week, at which the mother and brothers and sisters gone before materialized and joined the circle; and having expressed my desire, through a mutual acquaintance, to a.s.sist at their _seances_, Mr. D---- kindly sent me an invitation to one. I found he was a high-cla.s.s tradesman, living in a good house in the suburbs, and that strangers were very seldom (if ever) admitted to their circle.

Mr. D---- explained to me before the _seance_ commenced, that they regarded Spiritualism as a most sacred thing, that they sat only to have communication with their own relations, his wife and children, and that his wife never manifested except when they were alone. His earth family consisted of a young married daughter and her husband, and four or five children of different ages. He had lost, I think he told me, a grown-up son, and two little ones. William Haxby, the medium, whom I wrote of in my chapter "On Sceptics," and who had pa.s.sed over since then, had been intimate with their family, and often came back to them. These explanations over, the _seance_ began. The back and front parlors were divided by lace curtains only. In the back, where the young married daughter took up her position on a sofa, were a piano and an American organ. In the front parlor, which was lighted by an oil lamp, we sat about on chairs and sofas, but without any holding of hands. In a very short time the lace curtains parted and a young man's face appeared.

This was the grown-up brother. "Hullo! Tom," they all exclaimed, and the younger ones went up and kissed him. He spoke a while to his father, telling what they proposed to do that evening, but saying his mother would not be able to materialize. As he was speaking, a little boy stood by his side. "Here's Harry," cried the children, and they brought their spirit brother out into the room between them. He seemed to be about five years old. His father told him to come and speak to me, and he obeyed, just like a little human child, and stood before me with his hand resting on my knee. Then a little girl joined the party, and the two children walked about the room, talking to everybody in turn. As we were occupied with them, we heard the notes of the American organ.

"Here's Haxby," said Mr. D----. "Now we shall have a treat." (I must say here that Mr. Haxby was an accomplished organist on earth.) As he heard his name, he, too, came to the curtains, and showed his face with its ungainly features, and intimated that he and "Tom" would play a duet.

Accordingly the two instruments pealed forth together, and the spirits really played gloriously--a third influence joining in with some stringed instrument. This _seance_ was so much less wonderful than many I have written of, that I should not have included a description of it, except to prove that all media do not ply their profession in order to prey upon their fellow-creatures. The D---- family are only anxious to avoid observation. There could be no fun or benefit in deceiving each other, and yet they devote one evening in each week to holding communion with those they loved whilst on earth and feel are only hidden from them for a little while, and by a very flimsy veil. Their _seances_ truly carry out the great poet's belief.

"Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more.

With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine.

Uttered not, yet, comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer.

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air."

In the house of the lady I have mentioned in "The Story of the Monk,"

Mrs. Uniacke of Bruges, I have witnessed marvellous phenomena. They were not pleasant manifestations, very far from it, but there was no doubt that they were genuine. Whether they proceeded from the agency of Mrs.

Uniacke, my sister Blanche, or a young lady called Miss Robinson, who sat with them, or from the power of all three combined, I cannot say, but they had experienced them on several occasions before I joined them, and were eager that I should be a witness of them. We sat in Mrs.

Uniacke's house, in a back drawing-room, containing a piano and several book-cases, full of books--some of them very heavy. We sat round a table in complete darkness, only we four women, with locked doors and bolted windows. Accustomed as I was to all sorts of manifestations and mediumship, I was really frightened by what occurred. The table was most violent in its movements, our chairs were dragged from under us, and heavy articles were thrown about the room. The more Mrs. Uniacke expostulated and Miss Robinson laughed, the worse the tumult became. The books were taken from the shelves and hurled at our heads, several of the blows seriously hurting us; the keys of the piano at the further end of the room were thumped and crashed upon, as if they would be broken; and in the midst of it all Miss Robinson fell p.r.o.ne upon the floor, and commenced talking in Flemish, a language of which she had no knowledge.

My sister understands it, and held a conversation with the girl; and she told us afterwards that Miss Robinson had announced herself by the name of a Fleming lately deceased in the town, and detailed many events of his life, and messages which he wished to be delivered to his family--all of which were conveyed in good and intelligible Flemish.

When the young lady had recovered she resumed her place at the table, as my sister was anxious I should see another table, which they called "Mademoiselle" dance, whilst unseen hands thumped the piano. The manifestation not occurring, however, they thought it must be my presence, and ordered me away from the table. I went and stood up close against the folding doors that led into the front room, keeping my hand, with a purpose, on the handle. The noise and confusion palpably increased when the three ladies were left alone. "Mademoiselle," who stood in a corner of the room, commenced to dance about, and the notes of the piano crashed forcibly. There was something strange to me about the manifestation of the piano. It sounded as if it were played with feet instead of hands. When the tumult was at its height, I suddenly, and without warning, threw open the folding door and let the light in upon the scene, and I saw _the music-stool mounted on the keyboard_ and hammering the notes down. As the light was admitted, both "Mademoiselle"

and the music-stool fell with a crash to the floor, and the _seance_ was over. The ladies were seated at the table, and the floor and articles of furniture were strewn with the books which had been thrown down--the bookshelves being nearly emptied--and pots of flowers. I was never at such a pandemonium before or after.

The late Sir Percy Sh.e.l.ley and his wife Lady Sh.e.l.ley, having no children of their own, adopted a little girl, who, when about four or five years, was seriously burned about the chest and shoulders, and confined for some months to her bed. The child's cot stood in Lady Sh.e.l.ley's bedroom, and when her adopted mother was about to say her prayers, she was accustomed to give the little girl a pencil and piece of paper to keep her quiet. One day the child asked for pen and ink instead of a pencil, and on being refused began to cry, and said, "The _man_ said she must have pen and ink." As it was particularly enjoined that she must not cry for fear of reopening her wounds, Lady Sh.e.l.ley provided her with the desired articles, and proceeded to her devotions. When she rose from them, she saw to her surprise that the child had drawn an outline of a group of figures in the Flaxman style, representing mourners kneeling round a couch with a sick man laid upon it. She did not understand the meaning of the picture, but she was struck with amazement at the execution of it, as was everybody who saw it. From that day she gave the little girl a sheet of card-board each morning, with pen and ink, and obtained a different design, the child always talking glibly of "the man" who helped her to draw. This went on until the drawings numbered thirty or forty, when a "glossary of symbols" was written out by this baby, who could neither write nor spell, which explained the whole matter. It was then discovered that the series of drawings represented the life of the soul on leaving the body, until it was lost "in the Infinity of G.o.d"--a likely subject to be chosen, or understood, by a child of five. I heard this story from Lady Sh.e.l.ley's lips, and I have seen (and well examined) the original designs. They were at one time to be published by subscription, but I believe it never came to pa.s.s. I have also seen the girl who drew them, most undoubtedly under control.

She was then a young married woman and completely ignorant of anything relating to Spiritualism. I asked her if she remembered the circ.u.mstances under which she drew the outlines, and she laughed and said no. She knew she had drawn them, but she had no idea how. All she could tell me was that she had never done anything wonderful since, and she had no interest in Spiritualism whatever.

CHAPTER XXII.

VARIOUS MEDIA.

A very strong and remarkable clairvoyant is Mr. Towns, of Portobello Road. As a business adviser or foreteller of the Future, I don't think he is excelled. The inquirer after prophecy will not find a grand mansion to receive him in Portobello Road. On the contrary, this soothsayer keeps a small shop in the oil trade, and is himself only an honest, and occasionally rather rough spoken, tradesman. He will see clients privately on any day when he is at home, though it is better to make an appointment, but he holds a circle on his premises each Tuesday evening, to which everybody is admitted, and where the contribution is anything you may be disposed to give, from coppers to gold. These meetings, which are very well attended, are always opened by Mr. Towns with prayer, after which a hymn is sung, and the _seance_ commences.

There is full gas on all the time, and Mr. Towns sits in the midst of the circle. He does not go under trance, but rubs his forehead for a few minutes and then turns round suddenly and addresses members of his audience, as it may seem, promiscuously, but it is just as he is impressed. He talks, as a rule, in metaphor, or allegorically, but his meaning is perfectly plain to the person he addresses. It is not only silly women, or curious inquirers, who attend Mr. Towns' circles. You may see plenty of grave, and often anxious, business men around him, waiting to hear if they shall sell out their shares, or hold on till the market rises; where they are to search for lost certificates or papers of value; or on whom they are to fix the blame of money or articles of value that have disappeared. Once in my presence a serious-looking man had kept his eye fixed on him for some time, evidently anxious to speak.

Mr. Towns turned suddenly to him. "You want to know, sir," he commenced, without any preface, "where that baptismal certificate is to be found."

"I do, indeed," replied the man; "it is a case of a loss of thousands if it is not forthcoming." "Let me see," said Mr. Towns, with his finger to his forehead. "Have you tried a church with a square tower without any steeple, an ugly, clumsy building, white-washed inside, standing in a village. Stop! I can see the registrar books--the village's name is ----. The entry is at page 200. The name is ----. The mother's name is ----. Is that the certificate you want?" "It is, indeed," said the man; "and it is in the church at ----?" "Didn't I say it was in the church at ----?" replied Mr. Towns, who does not like to be doubted or contradicted. "Go and you will find it there." And the man _did_ go and did find it there. To listen to the conversations that go on between him and his clients at these meetings, Mr. Towns is apparently not less successful with love affairs than with business affairs, and it is an interesting experience to attend them, if only for the sake of curiosity. But naturally, to visit him privately is to command much more of his attention. He will not, however, sit for everybody, and it is of no use attempting to deceive him. He is exceedingly keen-sighted into character, and if he takes a dislike to a man he will tell him so without the slightest hesitation. No society lies are manufactured in the little oil shop. A relative of mine, who was not the most faithful husband in the world, and who, in consequence, judged of his wife's probity by his own, went, during her temporary absence, to Mr. Towns to ask him a delicate question. The lady was well known to the medium, but the husband he had never seen before, and had no notion who his sitter was, until he pulled out a letter from his pocket, thrust it across the table, and said, "There! look at that letter and tell me if the writer is faithful to me." Mr. Towns told me that as he took the envelope in his hand, he saw the lady's face photographed upon it, and at the same moment, all the blackness of the husband's own life. He rose up like an avenging deity and pointed to the door. "This letter," he said, "was written by Mrs. ----. Go! man, and wash your own hands clean, and _then_ come and ask me questions about your wife." And so the "heavy swell" had to slink downstairs again. I have often gone myself to Mr. Towns before engaging in any new business, and always received the best advice, and been told exactly what would occur during its progress. When I was about to start on the "Golden Goblin" tour in management with my son--I went to him to ask if it would be successful. He not only told me what money it would bring in, but where the weak points would occur. The drama was then completed, and in course of rehearsal, and had been highly commended by all who had heard and seen it. Mr. Towns, however, who had neither seen nor heard it, insisted it would have to be altered before it was a complete success. This annoyed me, and I knew it would annoy my son, the author; besides, I believed it was a mistake, so I said nothing about it. Before it had run a month, however, the alterations were admitted on all sides to be necessary, and were consequently made.

Everything that Mr. Towns prognosticated on that occasion came to pa.s.s, even to the strangers I should encounter on tour, and how their acquaintance would affect my future life; also how long the tour would last, and in which towns it would achieve the greatest success. I can a.s.sure some of my professional friends, that if they would take the trouble to consult a trustworthy clairvoyant about their engagements before booking them, they would not find themselves so often in the hands of the bogus manager as they do now. A short time ago I received a summons to the county court, and although I _knew_ I was in the right, yet law has so many loopholes that I felt nervous. The case was called for eleven o'clock on a certain Wednesday, and the evening before I joined Mr. Towns' circle. When it came to my turn to question him, I said, "Do you see where I shall be to-morrow morning?" He replied, "I can see you are called to appear in a court-house, but the case will be put off." "_Put off_," I repeated, "but it is fixed for eleven. It can't be put off." "Cases are sometimes relegated to another court," said Mr.

Towns. Then I thought he had quite got out of his depth, and replied, "You are making a mistake. This is quite an ordinary business. It can't go to a higher court. But shall I gain it?" "In the afternoon," said the medium. His answers so disappointed me that I placed no confidence in them, and went to the county court on the following morning in a nervous condition. But he was perfectly correct. The case was called for eleven, but as the defendant was not forthcoming, it was pa.s.sed over, and the succeeding hearings occupied so much time, that the magistrate thought mine would never come off, so he _relegated it at two o'clock to another court_ to be heard before the registrar, who decided it at once in my favor, so that I _gained it in the afternoon_.

One afternoon in my "green sallet" days of Spiritualism, when every fresh experience almost made my breath stop, I turned into the Progressive Library in Southampton Row, to ask if there were any new media come to town. Mr. Burns did not know of any, but asked me if I had ever attended one of Mrs. Olive's _seances_, a series of which were being held weekly in the Library Rooms. I had not, and I bought a half-crown ticket for admission, and returned there the same evening.

When I entered the _seance_ room, the medium had not arrived, and I had time to take stock of the audience. It seemed a very sad and serious one. There was no whispering nor giggling going on, and it struck me they looked more like patients waiting the advent of the doctor, than people bound on an evening's amus.e.m.e.nt. And that, to my surprise, was what I afterwards found they actually were. Mrs. Olive did not keep us long waiting, and when she came in, dressed in a lilac muslin dress, with her golden hair parted plainly on her forehead, her _very_ blue eyes, and a sweet, womanly smile for her circle, she looked as unlike the popular idea of a professional medium as anyone could possibly do.

She sat down on a chair in the middle of the circle, and, having closed her eyes, went off to sleep. Presently she sat up, and, still with her eyes closed, said in a very pleasant, but decidedly _manly_, voice: "And now, my friends, what can I do for you?"

A lady in the circle began to ask advice about her daughter. The medium held up her hand. "Stop!" she exclaimed, "you are doing _my_ work.

Friend, your daughter is ill, you say. Then it is _my_ business to see what is the matter with her. Will you come here, young lady, and let me feel your pulse." Having done which, the medium proceeded to detail exactly the contents of the girl's stomach, and to advise her what to eat and drink for the future. Another lady then advanced with a written prescription. The medium examined her, made an alteration or two in the prescription, and told her to go on with it till further orders. My curiosity was aroused, and I whispered to my next neighbor to tell me who the control was. "Sir John Forbes, a celebrated physician," she replied. "He has almost as large a connection now as he had when alive."

I was not exactly ill at the time, but I was not strong, and nothing that my family doctor prescribed for me seemed to do me any good. So wishing to test the abilities of "Sir John Forbes," I went up to the medium and knelt down by her side. "What is the matter with me, Sir John?" I began. "Don't call me by that name, little friend," he answered; "we have no t.i.tles on this side the world." "What shall I call you, then?" I said. "Doctor, plain Doctor," was the reply, but in such a kind voice. "Then tell me what is the matter with me, Doctor." "Come nearer, and I'll whisper it in your ear." He then gave me a detailed account of the manner in which I suffered, and asked what I had been taking. When I told him, "All wrong, all wrong," he said, shaking his head. "Here! give me a pencil and paper." I had a notebook in my pocket, with a metallic pencil, which I handed over to him, and he wrote a prescription in it. "Take that, and you'll be all the better, little friend," he said, as he gave it to me back again. When I had time to examine what he had written, I found to my surprise that the prescription was in abbreviated Latin, with the amount of each ingredient given in the regular medical shorthand. Mrs. Olive, a simple though intelligent looking woman, seemed a very unlikely person to me to be educated up to this degree. However, I determined to obtain a better opinion than my own, so the next time my family doctor called to see me, I said: "I have had a prescription given me, Doctor, which I am anxious, with your permission, to try. I wish you would glance your eye over it and see if you approve of my taking it." At the same time I handed him the note-book, and I saw him grow very red as he looked at the prescription. "Anything wrong?" I inquired. "O! dear no!" he replied in an offended tone; "you can try your remedy, and welcome, for aught I care--only, next time you wish to consult a new doctor, I advise you to dismiss the old one first." "But this prescription was not written by a doctor," I argued. At this he looked still more offended. "It's no use trying to deceive me, Mrs. Ross-Church! That prescription was written by no one but a medical man." It was a long time before I could make him really believe _who_ had transcribed it, and under what circ.u.mstances.

When he was convinced of the truth of my statement, he was very much astonished, and laid all his professional pique aside. He did more. He not only urged me to have the prescription made up, but he confessed that his first chagrin was due to the fact that he felt he should have thought of it himself. "_That_," he said, pointing to one ingredient, "is the very thing to suit your case, and it makes me feel such a fool to think that a _woman_ should think of what _I_ pa.s.sed over."

Nothing would make this doctor believe in Spiritualism, though he continued to aver that only a medical man could have prescribed the medicine; but as I saw dozens of other cases treated at the time by Mrs.

Olive, and have seen dozens since, I know that she does it by a power not her own. For several years after that "Sir John Forbes" used to give me advice about my health, and when his medium married Colonel Greck and went to live in Russia, he was so sorry to leave his numerous patients, and they to lose him, that he wanted to control _me_ in order that I might carry on his practice, but after several attempts he gave it up as hopeless. He said my brain was too active for any spirit to magnetize; and he is not the first, nor last, who has made the same attempt, and failed. "Sir John Forbes" was not Mrs. Olive's only control. She had a charming spirit called "Sunshine," who used to come for clairvoyance and prophecy; and a very comical negro named "Hambo," who was as humorous and full of native wit and repartee, as negroes generally are, and as Mrs. Olive, who is a very gentle, quiet woman, decidedly was _not_.

"Hambo" was the business adviser and director, and sometimes materialized, which the others did not. These three influences were just as opposite from one another, and from Mrs. Olive, as any creatures could possibly be. "Sir John Forbes," so dignified, courteous, and truly benevolent--such a thorough old _gentleman_; "Sunshine," a sweet, sympathetic Indian girl, full of gentle reproof for wrong and exhortations to lead a higher life; and "Hambo," humorous and witty, calling a spade a spade, and occasionally descending to coa.r.s.eness, but never unkind or wicked. I knew them all over a s.p.a.ce of years until I regarded them as old friends. Mrs. Greck is now a widow, and residing in England, and, I hear, sitting again for her friends. If so, a great benefit in the person of "Sir John Forbes" has returned for a portion of mankind.

I have kept a well-known physical medium to the last, not because I do not consider his powers to be completely genuine, but because they are of a nature that will not appeal to such as have not witnessed them. I allude to Mr. Charles Williams, with whom I have sat many times alone, and also with Mrs. Guppy Volckman. The manifestations that take place at his _seances_ are always material. The much written of "John King" is his princ.i.p.al control, and invariably appears under his mediumship; and "Ernest" is the name of another. I have seen Charles Williams leave the cabinet under trance and wander in an aimless manner about the room, whilst both "John King" and "Ernest" were with the circle, and have heard them reprove him for rashness. I have also seen him under the same circ.u.mstances, during an afternoon _seance_, mistake the window curtains for the curtains of the cabinet, and draw them suddenly aside, letting the full light of day in upon the scene, and showing vacancy where a moment before two figures had been standing and talking.

Once when "John King" asked Colonel Lean what he should bring him, he was told _mentally_ to fetch the half-hoop diamond ring from my finger and place it on that of my husband.

This half-hoop ring was worn between my wedding ring and a heavy gold snake ring, and I was holding the hand of my neighbor all the time, and yet the ring was abstracted from between the other two and transferred to Colonel Lean's finger without my being aware of the circ.u.mstance.

These and various other marvels, I have seen under Mr. Williams'

mediumship; but as I can adduce no proof that they were genuine, except my own conviction, it would be useless to write them down here. Only I could not close the list of the media with whom I have familiarly sat in London, and from whom I have received both kindness and courtesy, without including his name. It is the same with several others--with Mr.

Frank Herne (now deceased) and his wife Mrs. Herne, whom I first knew as Mrs. Ba.s.sett, a famous medium for the direct spirit voice; with Mrs.

Wilkinson, a clairvoyant who has a large _clientele_ of wealthy and aristocratic patrons; with Mrs. Wilkins and Mr. Vango, both reliable, though, as yet, less well known to the spiritualistic public; and with Dr. Wilson, the astrologer, who will tell you all you have ever done, and all you are ever going to do, if you will only give him the opportunity of casting your horoscope. To all and each I tender my thanks for having afforded me increased opportunities of searching into the truth of a science that possesses the utmost interest for me, and that has given me the greatest pleasure.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ON LAYING THE CARDS.

At the risk of being laughed at, I cannot refrain, in the course of this narrative of my spiritualistic experiences, from saying a few words about what is called "laying the cards." "Imagine!" I fancy I hear some dear creature with nose "tip-tilted like a flower" exclaim, "any sensible woman believing in cards." And yet Napoleon believed in them, and regulated the fate of nations by them; and the only times he neglected their admonitions were followed by the retreat from Moscow and the defeat at Waterloo. Still I did not believe in card-telling till the belief was forced upon me. I always thought it rather cruel to give imprisonment and hard labor to old women who laid the cards for servant girls. Who can tell whether or no it is obtaining money upon false pretences; and if it is, why not inflict the same penalty on every cheating tradesman who sells inferior articles or gives short weight?

Women would be told they should look after their own interests in the one case--so why not in the other? But all the difference lies in _who_ lays the cards. Very few people can do it successfully, and my belief is that it must be done by a person with mediumistic power, which, in some mysterious manner, influences the disposition of the pack. I have seen cards shuffled and cut twenty times in the hope of getting rid of some number antagonistic to the inquirer's good fortune, and yet each time the same card would turn up in the juxtaposition least to be desired.

However, to narrate my own experience. When I was living in Brussels, years before I heard of modern Spiritualism, I made the acquaintance of an Irish lady called Mrs. Thorpe, a widow who was engaged as a _chaperon_ for some young Belgian ladies of high birth, who had lost their mother. We lived near each other, and she often came in to have a chat with me. After a while I heard through some other friends that Mrs.

Thorpe was a famous hand at "laying the cards;" and one day, when we were alone, I asked her to tell me my fortune. I didn't in the least believe in it, but I wanted to be amused. Mrs. Thorpe begged to be excused at once. She told me her predictions had proved so true, she was afraid to look into futurity any more. She had seen a son and heir for a couple who had been married twenty years without having any children, and death for a girl just about to become a bride--and both had come true; and, in fact, her employer, the Baron, had strictly forbidden her doing it any more whilst in his house. However, this only fired my curiosity, and I teased her until, on my promising to preserve the strictest secrecy, she complied with my request. She predicted several things in which I had little faith, but which I religiously wrote down in case they came true--the three most important being that my husband, Colonel Ross-Church (who was then most seriously ill in India), would not die, but that his brother, Edward Church, would; that I should have one more child by my first marriage--a daughter with exceedingly fair skin and hair, who would prove to be the cleverest of all my children, and that after her birth I should never live with my husband again. All these events were most unlikely to come to pa.s.s at that time, and, indeed, did not come to pa.s.s for years afterwards, yet each one was fulfilled, and the daughter who, unlike all her brothers and sisters, is fair as a lily, will be by no means the last in the race for talent. Yet these cards were laid four years before her birth. Mrs. Thorpe told me she had learnt the art from a pupil of the identical Italian countess who used to lay the cards for the Emperor Napoleon. But it is not an art, and it is not to be learnt. It is inspiration.

Many years after this, when I had just begun to study Spiritualism, my sister told me of a wonderful old lady, a neighbor of hers, who had gained quite an evil reputation in the village by her prophetical powers with the cards. Like Mrs. Thorpe, she had become afraid of herself, and professed to have given up the practice. The last time she had laid them, a girl acquaintance had walked over joyously from an adjacent village to introduce her affianced husband to her, and to beg her to tell them what would happen in their married life. The old lady had laid the cards, and saw the death card turn up three times with the marriage ring, and told the young people, much to their chagrin, that they must prepare for a disappointment, as their marriage would certainly be postponed from some obstacle arising in the way. She told me afterwards that she dared not tell them more than this. They left her somewhat sobered, but still full of hope, and started on their way home. Before they reached it the young man staggered and fell down dead. No one had expected such a catastrophe. He had been apparently in the best of health and spirits. _What_ was it that had made this old lady foresee what no one else had seen?

These are no trumped-up tales after the prediction had been fulfilled.

Everyone knew it to be true, and became frightened to look into the future for themselves. I was an exception to the general rule, however, and persuaded Mrs. Simmonds to lay the cards for me. I had just completed a two months' sojourn at the seaside, was in robust health, and antic.i.p.ating my return home for the sake of meeting again with a friend who was very dear to me. I shuffled and cut the cards according to directions. The old lady looked rather grave. "I don't like your cards," she said, "there is a good deal of trouble before you--trouble and sickness. You will not return home so soon as you antic.i.p.ate. You will be detained by illness, and when you do return, you will find a letter on the table that will cut you to the heart. I am sorry you have stayed away so long. There has been treachery in your absence, and a woman just your opposite, with dark eyes and hair, has got the better of you. However, it will be a sharp trouble, but not a lengthy one. You will see the wisdom of it before long, and be thankful it has happened."

I accepted my destiny with complacency, never supposing (notwithstanding all that I had heard) that it would come true. I was within a few days of starting for home, and had received affectionate letters from my friend all the time I had been away. However, as Fate and the cards would have it, I was taken ill the very day after they were laid for me, and confined for three weeks with a kind of low fever to my bed; and when weakened and depressed I returned to my home I found _the letter on my table_ that Mrs. Simmonds had predicted for me, to say that my friendship with my (supposed) friend _was over and done with for ever_.

After this I began to have more respect for cards, or rather for the persons who successfully laid them. In 1888, when I was touring with my company with the "Golden Goblin," I stayed for the first time in my life in Accrington. Our sojourn there was to be only for a week, and, as may be supposed, the accommodation in the way of lodgings was very poor.

When we had been there a few days a lady of the company said to me, "There is such a funny old woman at my lodgings, Miss Marryat! I wish you'd come and see her. She can tell fortunes with the cards, and I know you believe in such things. She has told my husband and me all about ourselves in the most wonderful manner; but you mustn't come when the old man is at home, because he says it's devilry, and he has forbidden her doing it." "I _am_ very much interested in that sort of thing," I replied, "and I will certainly pay her a visit, if you will tell me when I may come." A time was accordingly fixed for my going to the lady's rooms, and on my arrival there I was introduced to a greasy, snuffy old landlady, who didn't look as if she had a soul above a bottle of gin.

However, I sat down at a table with her, and the cards were cut. She told me nothing that my friends might have told her concerning me, but dived at once into the future. My domestic affairs were in a very complicated state at that period, and I had no idea myself how they would end. She saw the whole situation at a glance--described the actors in the scene, the places they lived in, the people by whom they were surrounded, and exactly how the whole business would end, and _did_ end.

She foretold the running of the tour, how long it would last, and which of the company would leave before it concluded. She told me that a woman in the company, whom I believed at that time to be attached to me, would prove to be one of my greatest enemies, and be the cause of estrangement between me and one of my nearest relations, and she opened my eyes to that woman's character in a way which forced me afterwards to find out that to which I might have been blind forever. And this information emanated from a dirty, ignorant, old lodging keeper, who had probably never heard of my name until it was thrust before her, and yet told me things that my most intimate and cleverest friends had no power to tell me. After the woman at Accrington I never looked at a card for the purpose of divination until my attention was directed last year to a woman in London who is very clever at the same thing, and a friend asked me to go with her and see what she could tell us. This woman, who is quite of the lower cla.s.s, and professedly a dressmaker, received us in a bedroom, the door of which was carefully locked. She was an elderly woman and rather intelligent and well educated for her position, but she could adduce no reason whatever for her facility in reading the cards.

She told me "it _came_ to her," she didn't know why or how.

It "came to her" with a vengeance for me. She rattled off my past, present and future as if she had been reading from an open book, and she mentioned the description of a person (which I completely recognized) so constantly with reference to my future, that I thought I would try her by a question. "Stop a minute," I said, "this person whom you have alluded to so often--have I ever met him?" "Of course you have met him,"

she replied, "you know him intimately." "I don't recognize the description," I returned, fallaciously. The woman turned round and looked me full in the face. "_You don't recognize him?_" she repeated in an incredulous tone, "then you must be very dull. Well! I'll tell you how to recognize him. Next time you meet a gentleman out walking who raises his hat, and before he shakes hands with you, draws a written or printed paper from his pocket and presents it to you, you can remember my words. _That_ is the man I mean."

I laughed at the quaintness of the idea and returned home. As I was walking from the station to my own house I met the person she had described. As he neared me he raised his hat, and then putting his hand in his pocket he said, "Good afternoon! I have something for you! I met Burrows this morning. He was going on to you, but as he was in a great hurry he asked me if I was likely to see you to-day to give you this."

And he presented me with a printed paper of regulations which I had asked the man he mentioned to procure for me.

Now, here was no stereotyped utterance of the cards--no stock phrase--but a deliberate prophecy of an unfulfilled event. It is upon such things that I base my opinion that, given certain persons and certain circ.u.mstances, the cards are a very fertile source of information. It is absurd in cases like those I have related to lay it all down to chance, to clever guessing, or to trickery. If my readers believe so, let me ask them to try it for themselves. If it is all folly, and any stupid, ignorant old woman can do it, of course _they_ must be able to master the trick. Let them get a pack of cards and lay them according to the usual directions--there are any number of books published that will tell them how to do it--and then see if they can foretell a single event of importance correctly. They will probably find (as _I_ do) that the cards are a sealed book to them. I would give a great deal to be able to lay the cards with any degree of success for myself or my friends. But nothing "comes to me." The cards remain painted pieces of cardboard, and nothing more. And yet an ignorant creature who has no brains of her own can dive deep into the mysteries of my mind, and turn my inmost thoughts and wishes inside out,--more, can pierce futurity and tell me what _shall_ be. However, if my hearers continue to doubt my story, I can only repeat my admonition to try it for themselves. If they once succeed, they will not give it up again.