What’s this that steals, that steals upon my frame,Is it death, is it death?That soon will quench, will quench this vital frame,Is it death, is it death?If this is death, I soon shall beFrom every pain and sorrow free,I shall the King of Glory see,All is well, all is well!Weep not, my friends, my friends, weep not for me,All is well, all is well,My sins are pardoned, pardoned, I am free,All is well, all is well.There’s not a cloud that does arise,To hide my Saviour from my eyes,I soon shall mount the upper skies,All is well, all is well.Tune, tune your harps, your harps, ye saints in glory,All is well, all is well.I will rehearse, rehearse the pleasing story,All is well, all is well!Bright angels are from glory come,They’re round my bed, they’re in my room,They wait to waft my Spirit home,All is well, all is well!
What’s this that steals, that steals upon my frame,Is it death, is it death?That soon will quench, will quench this vital frame,Is it death, is it death?If this is death, I soon shall beFrom every pain and sorrow free,I shall the King of Glory see,All is well, all is well!Weep not, my friends, my friends, weep not for me,All is well, all is well,My sins are pardoned, pardoned, I am free,All is well, all is well.There’s not a cloud that does arise,To hide my Saviour from my eyes,I soon shall mount the upper skies,All is well, all is well.Tune, tune your harps, your harps, ye saints in glory,All is well, all is well.I will rehearse, rehearse the pleasing story,All is well, all is well!Bright angels are from glory come,They’re round my bed, they’re in my room,They wait to waft my Spirit home,All is well, all is well!
What’s this that steals, that steals upon my frame,Is it death, is it death?That soon will quench, will quench this vital frame,Is it death, is it death?If this is death, I soon shall beFrom every pain and sorrow free,I shall the King of Glory see,All is well, all is well!
Weep not, my friends, my friends, weep not for me,All is well, all is well,My sins are pardoned, pardoned, I am free,All is well, all is well.There’s not a cloud that does arise,To hide my Saviour from my eyes,I soon shall mount the upper skies,All is well, all is well.
Tune, tune your harps, your harps, ye saints in glory,All is well, all is well.I will rehearse, rehearse the pleasing story,All is well, all is well!Bright angels are from glory come,They’re round my bed, they’re in my room,They wait to waft my Spirit home,All is well, all is well!
A strange adventure befell me, at the age of between eight and nine years, which has always left a vivid impression on my mind; and I cannot resist the prompting to insert here a short summary of it. I will leave my readers to judge of it for themselves.
I had obtained grandmother’s permission to visit some little girls at the house of their father, Mr. Cox; which was granted on condition that I should be sure to come home before nightfall.
It was about a mile and a half distant from home by the main road, though less than a mile through the woods. Much of that part of the country was at that time uncultivated and abounded with wild beasts of every description of the period.
I got safely to Mr. C.’s; and had a day so happy that it was only the threatening clouds of an approaching storm which warned me that it was high time to start for home. I set out by the roadway, but Mrs. Cox called me back and sent two of her daughters to escort me through the woods by the shorter paths, familiar to them on their way to school. We had gone about half the distance through the woods, when sharp lightning and heavy thunder announced that the storm was close at hand; and the children left me at a point from which, as they supposed, I could not miss my further way. They gave me directions how to proceed. I followed them, as I supposed; but the darkness soon became intense, and the storm burst in all its fury. The thunder and lightning were terrific, the rain fell in torrents, and I was a very little girl alone in the woods. I heard the distant cries of the inhabitants of the wilderness, and hurriedly pressed forward in the hope of following the right track, but constantly changing my idea of which direction to take. After long wanderings in this way, I fancied it to be about midnight, when the howling of the winds rose to be nearly that of a tornado, and the crashing of falling trees, torn up by the roots, seemed to surround me in all directions.
I had been twenty times on my knees, in childish prayer to God to take me home; but perhaps God in heaven is too abstract an idea to be realized by a child of that age, and I would instinctively find myself addressing my great-grandfather, who was the only person whose death I had ever witnessed. I had known him to be good and kind. He was a man of unusual stature and strength. Him I could understand to be in heaven, and powerful to save me. I remember I prayed with my eyes closed, fearing I should behold some terrible phantom, for in our family experience and tradition there had been many strange stories.
I wandered all through that terrible night, and only rested on my knees, when praying to God and the angels (especially him, my grandfather) to protect me. Storm-beaten and drenched as I then was I sat down and cried bitterly. Suddenly my attention was arrested by an unusual sound, as of boughs breaking and twigs crackling. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw, standing high upon the trunk of a fallen tree, a large, good-natured looking dog, which I supposed to be Mr. Cox’s dog, “Rover.” Immediately fear left me. I felt him to berescue and safety. I called to him, “Rover, Rover!” and tried to get near him, but he turned from me leading the way. I followed; he looking back frequently, as if to see whether or not I followed him. After wandering some time through zig-zag routes, he brought me to Deacon Demarest’s place, which I recognized, as the house had recently been burned and I could not mistake it. At this point he loitered a moment, and came so near me that I reached out my hand to caress him, but could or did not touch him, although he pressed against me palpably several times.
He “waggled himself” so like a dog, and seemed so kind to me that I became fondly attached to him. On I went, following him through cross-lots and over fences, startling the cattle to their feet, and causing a great jingling of cowbells, never looking back, but intently following the dog, fearing to lose sight of him for a moment, lest he should leave me. At last we came to my home. The house stood about a hundred feet from the road. There were two gates of entrance to the door-yard or grounds: one a foot-gate, the other for carriages, etc. I opened the small gate and held it open, supposing the dog would pass through it; but judge of my amazement to see him instead of doing so, scale the great gate with a bound and meetme face to face on the other side, but no longer a dog! (Perhaps, at that instant, it was a fleeting vision of a dog, but it is certain he disappeared and was no more seen), while the noble form of my great-grandfather, with his loving smile, for a moment stood before me at the gate, by the early morning light. I gave a scream which brought my grandfather from the house to the door, exclaiming, “Great God! the child has been out in the woods all night.”
I was put to bed, from which I did not rise for a week. At times it was feared that I never should rise from it, such was the effect of the exposure, fatigue, and fright of that terrible night. Mr. Redfield (mentioned on page8, etc.) had spent the evening and night at our house, and was told how I had disobeyed my orders to return home before dark, and that I was evidently detained at Mr. Cox’s. He said, before starting in the morning, that he would stop at Mr. Cox’s on his way to mill, and see about me. On his informing Mr. Cox that I had not returned home, the latter hastened to our house in great fright lest evil had befallen me from the animals or other adventure of the woods. He found me of course safe and asleep in my grandmother’s bed. He was a devout Methodist, and knelt by my bedside and prayed over me with thanks to God that I had been preserved through the terrors of that night of storm in those wild woods, and, as I was told afterward, sobs of all the female members of the family accompanied his prayer.
There are many persons of the neighborhood still living whose recollection can verify this story, and with whom it it is talked over when we meet, such as Evander Smith, John Onderdonk (a cousin of mine), Philip Demarest, Albert Collins, etc.
Dr. A. D. Wilson, one of the most prominent physicians of New York, was one of my dearest and best of friends. He had once—before my marriage—had the experience of playing a game of euchre (through me as medium) with an old Spirit friend of his, who, when in the flesh had been his frequent companion at the game. I do not recall the particulars of that former game sufficiently to relate it with accuracy; but one day Dr. Wilson was telling the story to Mr. Underhill, who thereupon asked the Spirits if they would play a game with him, which he was promised should be done. This promise was made some three years before its fulfilment came about, during which time Mr. Underhill had frequently reminded the Spirits of their unfulfilled promise. It was an interesting experience, and I felt desirous of again witnessing it. One evening at about eight o’clock (it was in about 1862), our nephew C. O. Smith (a lad who figures as Charlie in the sketch of our Ohio campaign) was seated at one end of the table studying his lessons under bright gaslight. My husband and myself were the only other persons in the room—which was the library, front room of the second story. Mr. Underhill was reclining on the lounge, and I was seated near the middle window. By a simultaneous impulse (and suchsimultaneous impulseswere a frequent experience with us) my husband and myself started up and seated ourselves at the table. I will continue the story as I have it written by Mr. Underhill himself.
“Leah and myself sat opposite each other, Charlie being seated at the end of the table between us, with his books. I asked the Spirit once again if he would fulfil the promise given long ago to play a game of cards, as was occasionally done between Leah and myself. ‘I’ll try,’ wasanswered. I asked, ‘Who is it? Will you give me your name?’ The alphabet being then called for, the name was given me privately, not by rapping, which Leah would of course have heard, but by touches on my foot, in correspondence to the letters of the alphabet. It was ‘Calvin,’ which I kept to myself, since it seemed to be meant to be for myself alone; but as Leah was inquisitive, she repeated the request for the name, to which no response came. On her persevering with the request, it was rapped out, ‘I can’t be pumped.’ This was just like Calvin, who, when he had once declined to answer a question would never be forced to do so. The cards were then called for by the Spirit, and I was directed to put the pack under the table. Presently it was rapped, ‘Cut for deal.’ I stooped down and cut the pack on the floor, and laid my cut alongside of the pack. The Spirit then said, ‘Look,’ and there under the table lay his cut, on the other side of the pack. It was better than mine, and gave him the deal. It was a right bower. We then distinctly heard a shuffling of the cards under the table, and the Spirit called on me to cut them. I said to him, ‘But you have the advantage over me, as you have all the cards under there to yourself.’ He replied, ‘Yes, I can see them all, but I will play fair.’ He then told me to put my hand under the table, and my three cards were placed in it. I was again directed to look, and found that he had also dealt himself three. The other two due to each player were then dealt in the same way. On being directed to look again under the table I saw that his turn-up card was a jack. As the trump did not suit my hand, I said, ‘I pass.’ The Spirit took it and discarded. I then led, by laying my card on the table. The Spirit responded to my play by placing his card into my hand which I held under the table to receive it. In that hand he made a march. We thus played out thatgame in four deals, which he won, making five points to my two. I did not doubt his having played fair. I then told Leah who my antagonist had been, and she said, ‘How like Calvin that was to answer my pertinacious interrogation by saying that he would not be pumped.’”
One morning, when my sister Margaretta came down to breakfast, she was looking pale, and tears were in her eyes. She related a dream which had greatly affected her.
“I was,” she said, “sitting in the north room at home (in father’s house). The door was open. Suddenly the sun seemed to be eclipsed: while the atmosphere was filled with particles of dust, which at times were wafted in clouds which nearly obscured my vision. (The road is visible from the door for the distance of half a mile.) I observed a form slowly approaching amid the shower of dust and débris; and as it came nearer I recognized in it my sister Maria, dressed in deep black, and ran to meet her. She raised her hands, saying, ‘O Maggie! isn’t this dreadful?’ As we met, a leaf (as from a book) dropped at our feet. I picked up the leaf and read from it these words:
“Leaves have their time to fall,And flowers to wither at the north-wind’s breath,And stars to set—but all,Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!”
“Leaves have their time to fall,And flowers to wither at the north-wind’s breath,And stars to set—but all,Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!”
“Leaves have their time to fall,And flowers to wither at the north-wind’s breath,And stars to set—but all,Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!”
We were all deeply impressed, and felt it to be a warning of some sad event in the near future.
It was early, we had not yet breakfasted, and were sitting together feeling very dejected, when my brother (who lived thirty miles east of Rochester) walked into our room, and finding us all in tears, threw his arms gently around mother’s neck and asked her what was the matter.
We told him Margaretta’s dream, well knowing that he must have sad tidings to relate to us, as he had ridden all night to get there at that hour of the morning. He wept, and sobbing aloud said: “I am the messenger of sorrowful tidings. Dear little Sanford Smith is dead.” This was sister Maria’s little son, seven years of age. David then told us how the darling child had passed away. He died of croup. They did not consider him dangerously ill at first, but hastened for the doctor. When his mother stood over him, trying to make him more comfortable, tears dropped from her eyes upon his precious face. He pulled her down and kissed her, and with his little handkerchief wiped her tears away, saying, “Ma, don’t cry so. I will be your guardian spirit, and rap just so”—making the sounds with his darling fingers on the head-board. He was a beautiful and interesting child: and it nearly broke their hearts to lay him away from their earthly sight, though conscious of his spiritual presence.
While Margaretta was dreaming that truly wonderful dream, my brother David was on his way to inform us of the child’s death.
Dr. A. D. Wilson and Dr. Kirby, both men of high distinction, introduced to me by Dr. John F. Gray, and who afterward became thorough Spiritualists and my dear friends, made a bad start in their first experiences at my circles. They both went away somewhat disgusted with the wrong names which the Spirits of their relatives had attributed to themselves. Dr. Wilson’s father having given his name as “Patrick;” and Dr. Kirby’s wife having called herself “Mary Anne.” They compared notes as they went out together. Dr. Wilson said that his fatherwas not Patrick, but Peter; and Dr. Kirby that his wife’s name was Nancy.
Soon after Dr. Wilson came across his father’s old diploma. He had graduated at Edinburgh before coming to New York, where he became a professor in (I believe) Columbia College, and there was his name recorded at full length as “Patrick.” He was not an Irishman, but a Scotchman, and did not fancy being called “Pat,” and used to sign with his initial; and somehow or other Peter got so fastened upon him that his own son never knew his real name to have been Patrick till he found it on this old diploma. Dr. Kirby complained to his mother-in-law that his wife Nancy had given her name as “Mary Anne.” “Why, did you never know that Nancy was christened Mary Anne?” was her reply. The two doctors again compared notes together to better purpose than before; and we all had a hearty laugh when they came together to tell us this curious and excellent test they had both happened to receive. They were both distinguished homœopathic physicians, as was also their intimate friend, Dr. Gray, by whom they had been introduced.
One evening (in Ludlow Place) so severe a storm was raging, and it was so bitterly cold, that I had no fear of any visitors coming in, and had settled myself for comfort in the basement room, and allowed the fire in the parlor to go out. But the bell rang, and Susie announced a party of four or five gentlemen. They had been brought by one of my good friends from the St. Nicholas Hotel. They were all Southerners; and one of them, an old gentleman, had been seduced out to go with the party to “some place of entertainment,” without knowing what or where. (He was bitterly prejudiced against Spiritualism and us.) Whenhe got in and learned into what he had been entrapped, he was very angry, and refused to pay his dollar or to go any farther. Susie reported that he was up in the hall, and their hack had been dismissed. I sent word to invite him down to the warm room, unless he chose to remain out in the cold, for which I should be sorry. He finally came down, but sat apart in a corner of the room as distant as possible from the group of us gathered round the table near the fire. He was, as I afterward learned, an old man now left alone in the world with his wealth; a large family having been swept away from him, chiefly by yellow fever. He replied somewhat gruffly to my invitation to him to draw up to the fire, and my friend scratched a few lines to me telling me to take no notice further as he was a sceptic, and very angry at the trick they had played upon him. Before long came some raps, saying, “Father, do come to the table and get warm,” signed with the names of his wife and a number of his children: and they happened to be rather unusual names, of which I remember only Tabitha, Rebecca, and Sarah. As one after another he heard them rapped out, he turned in his seat and became evidently excited and affected, and even tears began to stream down his aged face. He came to the table, where he received such satisfaction that his long-lost dead were really there and speaking to him, that when the party broke up he expressed great gratitude; and said that though he had refused to pay his dollar, he insisted on my acceptance of the $20 bill which he laid on the table.
He afterwards wrote me a beautiful letter, from the extreme South, telling me that he had been a materialist, with no belief in the immortality of the soul; but that now all life was changed for him; that he now knew that his wife and children still lived and loved and were near to him, and that he would soon be with them again. And he gaveme such grateful blessings as were a compensation for the hardships and suffering I had sometimes to encounter in the course of my career of mediumship. The friend who had done him the unwelcome service of thus entrapping him within my doors is still living, and owns a large orange plantation in Florida; and I have no objection to refer to him any reader whose prejudices may require any confirmation of the strict accuracy of this narrative of one of the pleasantest reminiscences of my life.
One morning we received a message, by rapping, to this effect:
“Your Uncle John is on his way, and will be here to-morrow morning.”
He was then on a visit to my sister at Consecon, Canada West. We dearly loved Uncle John, and were delighted at this announcement; and as we had never been deceived by anything thus volunteered by our Spirit friends, we made all preparations for his arrival, and told several friends that he was coming. Morning came, but no Uncle John. We went to the boat-landing from across the lake (“Hanford’s landing,” then about a couple of miles from Rochester, though the city has now pretty well grown down to it); but no one knew anything about him. We then went to Amy Post, and told her how we had been deceived and disappointed by the Spirits. Mrs. Post was seriously affected by the false prophecy, or announcement, and could not be reconciled to the situation without some further explanation from those who had deceived us. All we got from them was this: “Go to the post-office and you will find a letter which will explain.” On doing so we were told that there was none in our box. We (Mrs. Post, Miss Coles, Sister Kate, and myself), after a littletalk over it, asked the Spirits why they persisted in such falsehoods, with more questions which I cannot distinctly remember. We received the reply (by rappings): “Go back and say you have just been told therewasa letter there. Tell them to look among the promiscuous letters, and it will be found.” (Spirits can emphasize by the strength of their raps as well as we can by italics.) Of course we did accordingly, and the clerk returned with a large letter, asking if my name was Leah A. Fish; which, of course, it was, with a variation in the order of Christian names, and probably I had asked for the name of A. L. Fish, perhaps omitting the full name of “Leah.”
The clerk had made a plain mistake. The Spirit had been right.
The letter explained everything. Uncle had started from Consecon, but had been overtaken at Coburg by a subpœna to attend an important trial, in which he was the principal witness.
Spirits are but disembodied men and women, and are not much more omniscient after their disembodiment than they had been before it. They had given their message truly before he had been overtaken at Coburg with the subpœna. They had followed or accompanied Uncle John, but had no cognizance of outside circumstances which had occurred subsequently to their announcement, and then quitted him. There is instruction in this, as well as a curious interest.
Professor Mapes had a friend who knew that he was investigating Spiritualism, and told him that he (the friend) had a test which none of his mediums or Spirits could meet, but that he would give the mediums $600 if they could do so; that being a sum he had unexpectedly comeinto and would gladly give if it could be done. The Professor brought him to me, and he pulled out his $600 and produced a combination padlock, which he had set to a certain word, and he offered me the $600, to which I was welcome if I could open it. I told him that neither the Spirits nor I would do anything for money, and I refused to attempt it unless he put back his money into his pocket. This he had to do, but he continued to sit in the public circle, for which he paid the regular admission fee of one dollar. Nothing came for him till, just as the party was breaking up, there were rapped out the letters,l-o-o-n, followed with the sentence “Open your lock,” which nobody understood till some person, repeating them aloud, said, “That spellsloon,” which Mapes’s friend heard, and, starting up excitedly and with an oath, cried out, “Why, that is my word!” The lock was at once opened at the word. He again threw the $600 to me, saying that I was heartily welcome to it. But he at last was compelled to put back his money. As he bade me good-night he left in my hand a $10 gold piece, which I could not refuse to accept as a token of his gratitude and his feelings. He came frequently afterwards and became a thorough and hearty Spiritualist. Prof. Mapes, in introducing him, said he was a whole-souled man, though a positive and rough one, and somewhat addicted to oaths, which rather displeased me.
Judge Haskell, of Leroy, a distinguished man and a member of Congress, was one of my old Rochester converts and earnest supporters. He used to say that we acted on him like magnets, and magnetized him unconsciously, so that after an evening with us he found himself receiving raps himself, an influence upon him which wouldlast several days, sometimes as long as a week, and that he used to talk freely with the Spirits in his own bed, receiving the raps on the headboard. He evidently had in himself the basic conditions for the mysterious gift of mediumship, and might have gone far if he had chosen to cultivate and develop it. Indeed, he often found himself, in his speeches, departing widely from what he had intended to say, and even speaking against his opinions, under an influence controlling him against his own mind.
I went with mother to visit my sister, Mrs. Osterhout, who lived in Canada West, near where my father had formerly resided. A bad accident occurred to a young man named Charlie, whose leg was so crushed by a heavy log rolling upon it that it had to be amputated above the knee. As we sympathized with the family, mother and I went over on the first night after the amputation to watch with him and help take care of him, while supporting his mother with our company. The limb had of course been buried. During the night he moaned and cried incessantly, and begged usto turn his foot over. We did not understand him until he said, “Tell Joe (the hired man) to turn my foot over; they have buried it with the toes downward.” We went and told Joe about it, who made no account of it, regarding Charlie as not in his right mind; but the latter continued so long with the same cries which proved such severe actual suffering, whatever might be the illusion possessing his mind in regard to his buried limb, that we were compelled to satisfy him by directing Joe to reopen the hole, which could scarcely be called a grave. It was a fact; the leg was found exactly as Charlie had insisted it was, with the toes downward. It was accordingly turned over in the box in which it had beenburied, so as to rest in its natural position on the heel, and poor Charlie immediately dropped to sleep, nor did he make any further complaint. The reader has probably heard or read of analogous stories about pain being felt in the extremities of limbs which had been amputated; continuing in some cases long after the amputation. The Apostle says: “There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body.”
One Sunday night, at Rochester, in that pleasant house on Troup Street, there was one of those tremendous snow-storms which no longer appear to fall there as often or so deep as they did at that time. Margaretta and I were alone in the house. Alfie, our housekeeper, had gone out for the day, and we had no expectation of her being able to return through such a snow-storm. The house was built on ground which sloped down to the rear from the front level of the street. We were sitting in the dining-room, which was a sort of rear addition to the cottage, and had a veranda from which a door opened into the room, while another door led by a few steps to the cellar in which was a well—though we never used the water from it, as I mistrusted its healthfulness; indeed I had a strange feeling about that well, as though it might have been the scene of a crime. The wind coming furiously from that direction piled up the snow-drift all the height of the lower sashes of the windows, and of course blocked access to the door from without. There were often so much knocking and other sounds about that cottage that I believed it, like the others, to be haunted.
Margaretta and I were making ourselves comfortable. We had drawn the table near to the stove, and upon it was one of the country mince pies, such as New York does notknow, and she had just lifted the teapot when knocks of the most fearful character thundered directly under her feet. The blows implied a heavy mallet and a powerful arm, which so startled her as to cause her to let fall the teapot. Neither of us could stir from the spot. There was no cellar under thisrearaddition to the cottage, but the door from the cellar, which was under the main building, opened into the tea-room very near to where I sat. Tremendous pounding commenced against the cellar-door, causing it to fly open and close again several times as by the same hand. Immediately after came from outside groans as from some one apparently perishing in the storm, seeming to indicate extreme suffering and anguish.
As we huddled together and sat paralyzed, we heard the cheerful voice of our good Quaker friend, Mr. Willets, and a knocking at the door of a character not mysterious, and as soon as we were able to get the door open, Mr. Willets, a gust of wind, and no small drift of snow, entered together. “Well, girls, I got anxious about you, and, as Alfie is away, my wife and I thought you might have no water and wood for to-morrow morning, and it would be harder to get at you then; for this snow is going to last all night.” He stayed a little while, when he found we were sufficiently provided, and then this good man and friend made his brave way out again.
Before Mr. Willets had left, Calvin also came to us under the same alarm, and to cheer us with his presence, and he stayed all night. And although there was no more moaning outside, yet the same heavy pounding on the floorcontinued through the night. Though we at least went to our bed, the agitation and excitement prevented our having anything more than a disturbed sleep; and whenever we would awake, there were still the sounds, which lasted till morning; and the neighbors too told us the next day howthey had also heard and wondered at them. I have forgotten to mention that Mr. Willets and Calvin went out into the storm to see if they could find anybody or any signs of anybody outside the house, but they found nothing but the undisturbed levels of the snow.
Nor was this the only occasion of such violent and protracted knockings both there and elsewhere. At my house in Ludlow Place, New York, we sometimes could not help believing that there were burglars in the house, and utterly reckless in their noises. We sometimes called in the policeman to search the house as some of our friends must remember. For the sake of male protection, I had (their friends being ours and ours theirs) invited Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Johnson to occupy rooms in my third story, and to share our table (for which we had to permit them to contribute the small sum estimated to cover the additional cost of the latter), and several times had Mr. Johnson come down during the night and insisted that there must be burglars in the house:—and this, notwithstanding all his past observations. There were some reasons for suspicions of crime having been committed in that house also. Now what sort of Spirits were they who thus disturbed our nights? And why? Of course I, many a time, interrogated them, but never got any satisfaction from their answers. They would never give any special motive or reason for their thus coming, and would only say that theycoulddo it, and that theywould.
They never did any mischief beyond the fright and causing us to go up and down stairs and all over the house: perhaps they were not allowed to do so, by other spirits, who nevertheless had no power to prevent their coming.
Was it their purpose to keep us up to the task that had been imposed on us, and in a state of submission from a sense of our powerlessness against them? I could not answerthese questions then, nor can I now. A friend has suggested that they were perhaps miserable and earth-bound, and unprogressed spirits whom our mediumship gave access to us and certain limited means of action on material objects in our atmosphere, and they may have found a diversion from the poor life they are as yet living, and some amusement in frightening us, somewhat as children enjoy the mere making of noise and startling people, without attaining or seeking any other object. There are plenty of people daily passing into the Spirit condition, where they undergo no speedy change, of whom this is very supposable.
A predecessor (daughter of Mr. Calhoun) in the occupation of this house, some years before, told me that they had heard similar noises, and Mr. Calhoun told me that he and friends had sat up in the night with pistols to catch the burglars presumed to cause them.
In Canada West, not far from the residence of my sister Mrs. Elizabeth Osterhout, there lived a family consisting of a husband, wife, and three children, and a “hired” girl, whom Mr. —— favored. Mrs. —— was rapidly declining; and she feared that her husband would marry the girl, after her death. Knowing the violent temper of the girl, she besought her husband not to marry her, and thus, necessarily, place the children under her care. He promised his wife he would not: but his promise was soon broken, and to his sorrow he found, when too late, that his wife’s fears were being realized. The children were neglected and cruelly beaten for the least offences. They were sad, and were often seen crying and hungry. The neighbors fed the little ones whenever an opportunity offered; and the children told strange stories about theirmother coming to them at night. They said she came and covered them with blankets which their step-mother would not allow them to have on their beds; and they said that when she found the blankets on their beds she would whip them; and when they told her thattheydid not put them on the bed, she would accuse them of falsehood. But she soon had reason to know that a power beyond the children was at work there. The step-mother had taken the feather bed, which their own mother had made for them, and tied and hung it up, because she said they would soil it.
Soon after this, quantities of feathers were lying about the sleeping-room, which could not be accounted for; until, on close examination, they discovered the bed-tick was burned all over in exactly the form of human hands.
This could not be charged to the children; and the occurrence was talked over by every one in the neighborhood.
Still the children were shamefully treated, starved and beaten for the most trifling things. There was another child born into the family, and the elder ones were made to take care of it, and were abused whenever it cried. One day Mr. —— was obliged to leave home to be gone over night. The youngest of the first wife’s children was suffering with cholera infantum, and cried for want of care. This disturbed her ladyship. She left her bed in a passion, jerked the little sufferer out of its bed, setting it hard on the floor, while the other two were ordered to take care of the sick child; and as she turned to leave the room she was met face to face by their Spirit mother, who, with open hand and extended arm gave her a slap on the forehead. She turned to the children saying, “Your mother has killed me.” Her forehead instantly turned black where the Spirit hands and fingers had touched her, and the marks corresponded exactly with the forms burnt in the bedtick.
She died three days after the hand had slapped her; and the discolored brow was hidden in the tomb.
This is no fancy sketch, as some may be disposed to imagine. It is verily true as the terrible punishment was deserved.
A well-authenticated and most mysterious occurrence, and one which has always left in the minds of the residents of Rockland County a strong inclination to credit a belief in witchcraft—I confess to something of the kind myself—took place in my father’s school-day time. I have listened to his recital with staring eyes, ready to catch the slightest incident connected with it.
Mrs. Hopper, a very beautiful woman, was possessed of some very strange power. It was said that even when quite young she would perform strange feats with children who were in the habit of associating with her; and it was clearly ascertained that she had been seen in different places at one time.[22]I cannot say anything of my own knowledge of all this, but there is no doubt of the facts which I am about to relate.
Mrs. Hopper had not appeared in her usual spirits for several days. She complained of not feeling well, wished to be left to her repose, and appeared to be looking forward to something they could not comprehend. One of her bridal gifts was a favorite colored boy, a lad about seventeenyears of age at the time of her departure. (Slavery still existed in New York.) She was an only child and much petted by her parents and friends.
Her mother, on learning she was ill, went to spend a few days with her, in the hope of cheering her spirits and benefiting her health. One afternoon she seemed more than usually restless, and called to Jack (the colored boy) to bring his hat and coat to her to repair them. While mending his clothes, she said to Jack, “Who will mend your clothes and care for you when I’m gone?” He tried to console her, and said, “You aint a goin’ to die, Missus, you’re too young.” She told her mother she needn’t stay with her as she was quite well and her mother was needed at home. She also told her husband she would rather he would sleep in another room and leave her alone that night. They all complied with her wishes. The next morning her husband found the doors ajar, and on entering the room discovered that her bed had not been slept in, and on closer examination discovered her comb and pins on the stove and all her wearing apparel torn open (in front) from head to foot, and lying on the floor just as they had been stripped from her body. They searched the house and barn but could not find her. They explored the neighborhood, but no trace of her nor footprints could be found. The neighbors turned out to hunt for the missing woman. School was dismissed and the children joined in the search.
Near the place where she lived was a swamp. (My cousin took Mr. Underhill and myself to see the house. It is a short drive from his home—“Mountain View House.”) The swamp named was quite extensive at that time.
The party hunted three days; taking horns along, which they sounded, whenever they strayed apart, to call them together again.
I believe it was my father’s aunt who first discovered the body of the missing woman (which they had traced by her hair; some of which they found hanging in the limbs of the trees). Her body was lying on a dry elevation, in the swamp, in a state of entire nudity; and so surrounded by mud and mire that they were obliged to make a log-way to enable them to reach and remove it. My aunt removed her apron and covered the body with it.
Her story is still repeated by many of the oldest inhabitants, and to-day remains no less a mystery.
I believe she had covenanted with evil Spirits, and the time or limit of her agreement was ended. “Try the Spirits. By their fruits ye shall know them.”
Never yield your judgment to Spirits, however good they may be, unless you are sure you are doing right. Obey the small voice within, and always bear in mind that the highest gift from God is your own good sense. So say my guardian Spirits.
A very amusing incident occurred in one of my afternoon séances. Mr. Decker, with his wife and sister-in-law (acquaintances of mine from Rochester), visited me and took seats in the circle. There were already about twenty around the table. Mr. Decker was a believer in the manifestations himself, but his wife’s sister, Samantha Pierpont, knew very little about the subject, and was afraid to sit in the circle.
He urged Samantha to come to the table, which she did after much persuasion. When it came Mr. Decker’s turn to ask questions he called on the Spirits to “touch Samantha,” but he had scarcely uttered the words when he disappeared from the circle and was seen coming out, feet foremost, from under the table at the very farthest extremity,causing a great scattering among the visitors. Mrs. Ward fainted, and two other ladies had to be taken out of the room. The séance was broken up for that afternoon.
Mr. Horace Dresser was one of the party, and Mrs. Ward had accompanied him to my house.
This seems to have been a counter practical joke, played upon himself by some humorous Spirit (of whom there are many) for the one with which he was persecuting poor Samantha.
When I first moved into Ludlow Place I met, in the street, a colored woman with a brush and pail in her hand. She was very pretty and jolly, and I engaged her to help clean the house. I set her at work in the china closet, and, before she had been ten minutes there at work, she turned to me and said, “What yer got in dis yer house?”
I replied, “I don’t know what you mean. Explain yourself.”
She muttered awhile, and in a moment more she said, “Well, mebby yer don’t know, but I feels my hankercher tied tighter every minit.”
It has often struck me that there was something more than mere chance in classes of persons who would gather round the table in my circles. There would be occasions whennonebut persons of superior intelligence and elevation of character would meet there, as though some kindred influences had prompted them thus simultaneously. When a few persons of this order began to come, I have often said to mother, “We are going to have good manifestationsthis evening, as a galaxy of fine heads and noble faces are gathering round the table.”
Mr. Greeley has more than once remarked upon this to me, saying, “Leah, I never, in any assembly, meet so many noble heads and the same order of intelligence I meet at your receptions.”
One evening there was such an assemblage of some twenty-five or thirty persons, of whom none were misplaced in such good company. One young Quaker lad, of seventeen or eighteen, had accompanied his father. He was a fine, bright and gentlemanly youth. It was the practice that each person took his turn, as they sat, to address his questions to the Spirits. When the right came to him to ask his questions, he waived it in favor of his older neighbor, who, however, declined to accept it, and insisted on his using his privilege. Accordingly, he wrote his question, screening his paper with a book as he did so. His first question was, “Is my friend John here?” Three raps gave the answerYes. He then asked a second question to which came the reply: “Not quite so bad as that; I haven’t smelt any brimstone yet.” This elicited a general laugh, and he was pressed to show his question, to which he objected, until he was overborne by his father. It proved to have been, “John, are you in hell?”
We have been awakened by the most fearful sights and sounds when no human being other than ourselves was stirring in the house. On several occasions I could not rest until I called a policeman in, and had the house searched from garret to cellar.
The manifestations were sometimes calculated to excite our sympathy, at other times they have lured us by false representations. I will give an instance.
Mother and myself were in the sitting-room on the second floor alone, quite late at night (not far from midnight), when we distinctly heard walking, talking, and opening and shutting of doors. I said to mother, “Can it be possible that the girls are in the kitchen at this late hour?” She replied, “No, I saw them go up over an hour ago, and Susie said good-night to me.” I then thought I noticed the odor of cooking from the kitchen. The girls had a habit of sitting up late, and I determined to go down and detect them in their tricks (on one occasion I had found them entertaining a large party, when they had supposed I was in bed and asleep). We started cautiously, listening as we went, and occasionally hearing movements, appearing to us slyly made, as if careful on their part not to be overheard. We took no light with us, as we did not expect to need any. The lower hall seemed lighted from a window opening into it from the front basement, and a bright light shone from under the kitchen door which enabled us to see everything around. I went cautiously to the door, opened it quickly and found utter darkness and silence. As I opened it I distinctly heard a clatter as of griddles, etc., dropping. Judge of our surprise when suddenly we were instantaneously seized and hustled about, and then both transported or lifted to the floor above by an irresistibly powerful “force.” I believe that it was a device cunningly conceived by mischievous Spirits at play, to lure us down, and then frighten and bewilder us.
One evening when Margaretta and I were alone in my private room (the front room of the second story), some friends wanted a dark séance; for which purpose Katie went down with them into the basement room. The parlor floor was unoccupied, and at a late hour the servants extinguishedthe hall light, supposing all to have gone. But the dark séance in progress with Katie in the basement continued so long past midnight, with no sign of its breaking up, that I at last sent Margaretta down to let them know the hour and put an end to it. Of course all was dark on the two lower floors, but she could easily make her way. But as she was about to knock at the lower door, she was suddenly seized by some person who hurled or shot her up, as it seemed to her, and landed her on her feet at the head of the stairs on the second floor, where her scream called me out from my room, and she related what had occurred. It was evident that there were some Spirits there who did not choose to have the séance going on below interrupted.
There is an old negro melody which tells how