+A SERIOUS CHAPTER+
ONE morning about a fortnight after Evelyn’s last evening reception, Mr.
D’Arcy was announced.
“I take the liberty,” said he, “of intruding on a day that I know you
are not at home to all the world, in the hope of escaping the usual
_toilette_ talk at ladies’ receptions.”
“We are happy to see you, on your own terms, Mr. D’Arcy—the more so, as
the part of the hostess is rather an ungrateful one. She is forced to
converse _chiffons_, and other frivolities, when she would perhaps
prefer to philosophize, if ladies ever dare appear so blue.”
“It is for this,” replied he, “that I dislike lady’s ‘_days_.’ One can
never approach the mistress of the house herself, except to make some
common-place observation about the weather, the opera, the ‘première
répresentation’ at the Varietés—_qui sait?_” with a French shrug of the
shoulders.
“Oh, Mr. D’Arcy, in pity do not imitate the French at my house,”
exclaimed Evelyn. “If you only knew how their manners—half-monkey,
half-hairdresser—annoy me.”
“Madame, I stand rebuked,” with a mock respectful bow; “but seriously,
though it is treason to say it in so fairy-like a bower, my visit to-day
is rather on business than pleasure. I come as ambassador from Mme. de
Villiers to endeavor to persuade you, ladies, to come to her this
evening, and meet Home, the wonder-working medium, about whom all Paris
is talking.”
“Forestalled,” exclaimed Evelyn, gaily; “we were initiated yesterday
into some of these weird doings, at the house of an English lady.”
“Indeed,” said D’Arcy, with evident interest—“and what, may I ask, did
you witness?”
“Well, we placed ourselves in a circle of about nine persons, and in a
few minutes we heard raps; by the alphabet, we were requested to remove
the lights, and after we had done so, an accordion, which was lying on
the table, ‘discoursed most excellent music,’ _no one touching it_.
Then, by the dim light, we perceived a hand, white and beautifully
formed—and this hand presented me with a real geranium, and others of
the circle with different flowers.”
“You are, then, favorably disposed toward the subject of spiritualism?”
enquired D’Arcy.
“All I saw has deeply impressed me,” replied Evelyn; “and I cannot think
it altogether a delusion, for I distinctly felt in my fingers the
vibration of the table before each rap, and frequently knew the answer
about to be made by the (so-called) spirits, to questions asked by
members of the circle.”
“Ah! then you must yourself be a medium?”
“Delightful! There is nothing I should like better. You must explain to
us these mysteries, and convert my friend there also, for she is a sad
infidel.”
“I suppose,” I rejoined, “I am too matter-of-fact, and have too little
imagination to be caught by what I cannot but consider as a mere trick
to amuse children, and utterly unworthy rational beings, whether in or
out of the body.”
“Pardon me, Miss Mildmay,” said D’Arcy, “but if these knockings, which
appear to you so puerile, have been tested and proved _not_ to be
tricks, and that such and similar manifestations have been the means of
convincing the confirmed sceptic that there is an actual hereafter, it
appears to me that the spirits of the departed are rather occupied in a
good work, and that _we_ have at least ‘method in our madness.’”
“But,” I answered, “surely the Bible is all-sufficient for the salvation
of the world.”
“No one, my dear Miss Mildmay,” replied D’Arcy, “reveres the Bible more
than myself—yet I am bound to confess it never convinced me. Till my
eyes were opened to the perception that spirit really _does_ exist,
palpably, apart from matter, the Bible was to me as a sealed book. In
earlier youth, I worshipped as my deity the intellect of man, smiling in
contempt at the idea of a blind faith in the mysteries of Religion,
which I looked upon as the foolish inventions of a venal and ignorant
priesthood. It was through the much despised manifestations of the
spirit circle, that I first realized the ‘_certain hope_ of a blessed
immortality,’ and learned to bow my reason before the Divine
inspirations—in fine, _I believed_.”
D’Arcy spoke with the deepest feeling, but calmly, and as a man whose
doubts were for ever at rest. You recognized in each word the power of a
great mind, and instead of wishing to cavil, you felt your place was
rather to sit at his feet and learn.
“One question I would ask,” said Evelyn.—“Might not these phenomena be
produced by magnetic influence, and so be accounted for in a merely
natural way?”
“Undoubtedly, Mrs. Travers. Human magnetism and the will-power are
almost omnipotent as physical forces, and also as influencing the mental
faculties; but the communications being not only intelligent, but
actually and frequently even contrary to the desires and expectations of
the circle, precludes the idea of entirely accounting for them in the
way you have very plausibly suggested. Besides, the phenomena of direct
writing and drawing could be explained by no other theory than that of
supernatural intervention. Electric shocks, too, have been sensibly
felt, and exquisite odours have filled the room—and this in the presence
of witnesses, many of them men of superior learning, intelligence, and
undoubted piety, who would not for worlds have been made the instruments
of propagating fraudulent or erroneous doctrines.”
“If you have personally witnessed all you speak of,” I said, “I confess
that even my incredulity must at last give way before such evidence.”
“Gently, Miss Mildmay,” interposed D’Arcy. “I desire that each and every
one may see and judge for themselves, feeling convinced that no person
of average mental powers, having investigated the subject fairly and
with candor, could continue a sceptic. To assist you, however, in your
research, let me recommend to your notice ‘Owen’s Footfalls on the
Boundaries of Another World.’ Likewise the works of Andrew Jackson
Davis. Also, the ‘Arcana of Christianity,’ by the Rev. T. L. Harris, and
the eloquent and spiritual discourses of the latter author; lastly, a
gem of beauty, a perfect string of pearls, the ‘Foregleams of
Immortality,’ by Sears. This latter work, with those of Mr. Harris, are
written in the very spirit of true Biblical and catholic Christianity,
untrammelled by the narrow-mindedness of sectarianism. Read these books,
not forgetting to breathe a prayer for light, attend some circles, and I
think in six months from this time you will tell me that you are really
‘born again, and a new creature,’ so different will be your views of the
infinite destinies of the divine human spirit—so shadowy will appear the
present, so real, so near the future.”
I looked at him, struck with the intenseness of his manner—his large,
blue, serious eyes, filled with the far-off look, of those whose spirits
live in perpetual communion with the inner world. Like Ananias, it
appeared to me that scales fell from the eyes of my soul, and I began to
see things for the first time in their true light. Evelyn also was
deeply impressed; after a pause of emotion, she was the first to break
silence.
“May I ask,” she said, “what first induced you, with your manly
intellect and infidel sympathies, to take sufficient interest in this
subject to attend a circle?—for if I judge you aright, curiosity alone
would scarcely have drawn you there.”
“You have justly divined, Mrs. Travers, and I will tell you all.”
He paused, and then resumed with deep and touching emotion—
“A young girl, whom I loved, God knows how fondly, was taken from me in
the bloom of youth, and on the eve of marriage, by a fearful accident,
which left her not a vestige of beauty—burned to death,” he said, with a
shudder. “A confirmed infidel, with no hope—crushed, tortured, maddened
by the idea that she was lost to me forever, I cursed my cruel fate, and
should have put an end to a hateful existence, had not pride whispered,
‘Do not be mastered by your destiny; conquer it—live,’ And I lived. At
this time, I heard much of the Miss Foxes, and of the wonderful things
occurring in their presence. An impression I could not shake off led me
to their house. In bitter mockery, I asked myself, Am I insane? I went
to scoff—be it said—but returned to pray. A communication came thus by
raps—
‘Do not mourn for me, Philip. I am happy now. I was taken from
you, because you enveloped your soul in pride as in a mantle.
Dear Philip! you must become as a little child.
“‘LILIAN.’
* * * * *
“Imagine my surprise; for I was in a strange city, where none knew me. I
am not ashamed to confess, that tears, foreign to my nature, came
unbidden to my eyes, and the prayer arose to my lips—‘Teach me the
truth, Oh! God.’ That prayer, dear friends, has been answered. Since
that time I have been happy; for I now look at this life in the light of
the other.”
“’Tis a beautiful faith,” said Evelyn, “that our loved ones are still
about our path—our guardian angels, perhaps.”
“It is a faith I would not lose,” said D’Arcy, “for worlds of untold
wealth.”
He drew from his neck a delicate hair chain, with a locket attached.
Touching a spring, we perceived the miniature of a beautiful young girl.
“That portrait,” said D’Arcy, “was painted by a spirit medium, after my
Lilian had passed away—it is her very self—but spiritualized.”
“How exquisitely lovely!” I exclaimed.
“Heavens! how like Ella!” cried Evelyn.
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