+------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in | | this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. | | Text printed using the Greek alphabet in the original book | | is shown as follows: [Greek: pistis] | +------------------------------------------------------------+

MYSTIC LONDON:

OR, PHASES OF OCCULT LIFE IN THE METROPOLIS. 

BY

REV. CHARLES MAURICE DAVIES, D. D. AUTHOR OF "ORTHODOX" AND "UNORTHODOX LONDON, " ETC. 

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. " _Hamlet. _

LONDON: TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 1875. [_All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved. _]

LONDON:SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO. , PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAP. PAGE

 I. LONDON ARABS 1

 II. EAST LONDON ARABS 11

 III. LONDON ARABS IN CANADA 21

 IV. WAIFS AND STRAYS 29

 V. A LUNATIC BALL 38

 VI. A BABY SHOW 51

 VII. A NIGHT IN A BAKEHOUSE 58

 VIII. A LONDON SLAVE MARKET 67

 IX. TEA AND EXPERIENCE 73

 X. SUNDAY LINNET-SINGING 85

 XI. A WOMAN'S RIGHTS DEBATE 92

 XII. AN OPEN-AIR TICHBORNE MEETING 100

 XIII. SUNDAY IN A PEOPLE'S GARDEN 108

 XIV. UTILIZING THE YOUNG LADIES 116

 XV. FAIRLOP FRIDAY 122

 XVI. A CHRISTMAS DIP 129

 XVII. BOXING-DAY ON THE STREETS 134

 XVIII. THE VIGIL OF THE DERBY 141

 XIX. THE WIFESLAYER'S "HOME" 150

 XX. BATHING IN THE FAR EAST 157

 XXI. AMONG THE QUAKERS 164

 XXII. PENNY READINGS 172

 XXIII. DARWINISM ON THE DEVIL 179

 XXIV. PECULIAR PEOPLE 198

 XXV. INTERVIEWING AN ASTROLOGER 204

 XXVI. A BARMAID SHOW 212

 XXVII. A PRIVATE EXECUTION 217

 XXVIII. BREAKING UP FOR THE HOLIDAYS 224

 XXIX. PSYCHOLOGICAL LADIES 228

 XXX. SECULARISM ON BUNYAN 233

 XXXI. AL FRESCO INFIDELITY 242

 XXXII. AN "INDESCRIBABLE PHENOMENON" 250

 XXXIII. A LADY MESMERIST 260

 XXXIV. A PSYCHOPATHIC INSTITUTION 269

 XXXV. A PHRENOLOGICAL EVENING 277

 XXXVI. A SPIRITUAL PICNIC 284

 XXXVII. A GHOSTLY CONFERENCE 290

XXXVIII. AN EVENING'S DIABLERIE 300

 XXXIX. SPIRITUAL ATHLETES 307

 XL. "SPOTTING" SPIRIT MEDIUMS 313

 XLI. A SÉANCE FOR SCEPTICS 320

 XLII. AN EVENING WITH THE HIGHER SPIRITS 328

 XLIII. SPIRIT FORMS 340

 XLIV. SITTING WITH A SIBYL 347

 XLV. SPIRITUALISTS AND CONJURERS 355

 XLVI. PROS AND CONS OF SPIRITUALISM 362

INTRODUCTION. 

It is perhaps scarcely necessary to say that I use the term Mystic, asapplied to the larger portion of this volume, in its technical sense tosignify my own _initiation_ into some of the more occult phases ofmetropolitan existence. It is only to the Spiritualistic, or concludingportion of my work, that the word applies in its ordinary signification. 

C. M. D. 

MYSTIC LONDON. 

CHAPTER I. 

LONDON ARABS. 

Of all the protean forms of misery that meet us in the bosom of that"stony-hearted stepmother, London, " there is none that appeals sodirectly to our sympathies as the spectacle of a destitute child. In thecase of the grown man or woman, sorrow and suffering are often traceableto the faults, or at best to the misfortunes of the sufferersthemselves; but in the case of the child they are mostly, if not always, vicarious. The fault, or desertion, or death of the natural protectors, turns loose upon the desert of our streets those nomade hordes ofBedouins, male and female, whose presence is being made especiallypalpable just now, and whose reclamation is a perplexing, yet still ahopeful problem. In the case of the adult Arab, there is a life's workto undo, and the facing of that fact it is which makes some of ourbravest workers drop their hands in despair. With these young Arabs, onthe contrary, it is only the wrong bias of a few early years tocorrect, leaving carte blanche for any amount of hope in youth, maturity, and old age. Being desirous of forming, for my ownedification, some notion of the amount of the evil existing, and theefforts made to counteract it, I planned a pilgrimage into this ArabiaInfelix--this Petræa of the London flagstones; and purpose setting downhere, in brief, a few of my experiences, for the information ofstay-at-home travellers, and still more for the sake of pointing out tosuch as may be disposed to aid in the work of rescuing these littleArabs the proper channels for their beneficence. Selecting, then, theSeven Dials and Bethnal Green as the foci of my observation in West andEast London respectively, I set out for the former one bleak Marchnight, and by way of breaking ground, applied to the firstpolice-constable I met on that undesirable beat for information as to mycourse. After one or two failures, I met with an officer literally"active and intelligent, " who convoyed me through several of thatnetwork of streets surrounding the Seven Dials, leaving me to my owndevices when he had given me the general bearings of the district itwould be desirable to visit. 

My first raid was on the Ragged School and Soup Kitchen in CharlesStreet, Drury Lane, an evil-looking and unfragrant locality; but theinstitution in question stands so close to the main thoroughfare thatthe most fastidious may visit it with ease. Here I found some twentyArabs assembled for evening school. They were of all ages, from seven tofifteen, and their clothing was in an inverse ratio to their dirt--verylittle of the former, and a great deal of the latter. They moved aboutwith their bare feet in the most feline way, like the veritable Bedouinhimself. There they were, however, over greasy slates and grimycopy-books, in process of civilization. The master informed me that hisspecial difficulties arose from the attractions of the theatre and theoccasional intrusion of wild Arabs, who came only to kick up a row. Ateight o'clock the boys were to be regaled with a brass band practice, so, finding from one of the assembled Arabs that there was a secondinstitution of the kind in King Street, Long Acre, I passed on thereto. Here I was fortunate enough to find the presiding genius in the personof a young man engaged in business during the day, and devoting hisextra time to the work of civilizing the barbarians of this district. Sunday and week-day services, night schools, day schools, Bands of Hope, temperance meetings, and last, not least, the soup kitchen, were themeans at work here. Not a single officer is paid. The task is undertaken"all for love, and nothing for reward, " and it has thriven so far thatmy presence interrupted a debate between the gentleman above-mentionedand one of his coadjutors on the subject of taking larger premises. Theexpenses were met by the weekly offerings, and I was surprised to see bya notice posted in the room where the Sunday services are held, thatthe sum total for the past week was only _19s. 4d. _ So there must beconsiderable sacrifice of something more than time to carry on thisadmirable work. Under the guidance of the second gentleman mentionedabove, I proceeded to the St. George's and St. Giles's Refuge in GreatQueen Street, where boys are admitted on their own application, the onlyqualification being destitution. Here they are housed, clothed, boarded, and taught such trades as they may be fitted for, and not lost sight ofuntil they are provided with situations. A hundred and fifty-four wasthe number of this truly miraculous draught from the great ocean ofLondon streets, whom I saw all comfortably bedded in one spaciousdormitory. Downstairs were the implements and products of the day'swork, dozens of miniature cobblers' appliances, machines for sawing andchopping firewood, &c. , whilst, in a spacious refectory on the firstfloor, I was informed, the resident Arabs extended on a Friday theiraccustomed hospitality to other tribes, to such an extent, that theparty numbered about 500. Besides the 154 who were fortunate enough tosecure beds, there were twenty new arrivals, who had to be quartered onthe floor for the night; but at all events they had a roof above them, and were out of the cruel east wind that made Arabia Petræa that eveningan undesirable resting-place indeed. Lights were put out, and doorsclosed, when I left, as this is not a night refuge; but notices areposted, I am informed, in the various casual wards and temporaryrefuges, directing boys to this. There is a kindred institution forgirls in Broad Street. Such was my first experience of the westernportion of Arabia Infelix. 

The following Sunday I visited the Mission Hall belonging to BloomsburyChapel, in Moor Street, Soho, under the management of Mr. M'Cree, andthe nature of the work is much the same as that pursued at King Street. The eleven o'clock service was on this particular day devoted tochildren, who were assembled in large numbers, singing their cheerfulhymns, and listening to a brief, practical, and taking address. Thesechildren, however, were of a class above the Arab type, being generallywell dressed. I passed on thence to what was then Mr. Brock's chapel, where I found my veritable Arabs, whom I had seen in bed the previousevening, arrayed in a decent suit of "sober livery, " and perched up in ahigh gallery to gather what they could comprehend of Mr. Brock'sdiscourse--not very much, I should guess; for that gentleman's longLatinized words would certainly fire a long way over their heads, highas was their position. I found the whole contingent of children providedfor at the refuge was 400, including those on board the training ship_Chichester_ and the farm at Bisley, near Woking, Surrey. This iscertainly the most complete way of dealing with the Arabs parexcellence, as it contemplates the case of utter destitution andhomelessness. It need scarcely be said, however, that such a work mustenlarge its boundaries very much, in order to make any appreciableimpression on the vast amount of such destitution. Here, nevertheless, is the germ, and it is already fructifying most successfully. The otherinstitutions, dealing with larger masses of children, aim at civilizingthem at home, and so making each home a centre of influence. 

Passing back again to the King Street Mission Hall, I found assembledthere the band of fifty missionaries, male and female, who visit everySunday afternoon the kitchens of the various lodging-houses around theSeven Dials. Six hundred kitchens are thus visited every week. Afterroll-call, and a brief address, we sallied forth, I myself accompanyingMr. Hatton--the young man to whom the establishment of the Mission isdue--and another of his missionaries. I had heard much of the St. Giles's Kitchens, but failed to realize any idea of the human beingsswarming by dozens and scores in those subterranean regions. Had it notbeen for the fact that nearly every man was smoking, the atmospherewould have been unbearable. In most of the kitchens they were beguilingthe ennui of Sunday afternoon with cards; but the game was invariablysuspended on our arrival. Some few removed their hats--for all worethem--and a smaller number still joined in a verse or two of a hymn, and listened to a portion of Scripture and a few words of exhortation. One or two seemed interested, others smiled sardonically; the majoritykept a dogged silence. Some read their papers and refused the tracts andpublications offered them. These, I found, were the Catholics. I wasassured there were many men there who themselves, or whose friends, hadoccupied high positions. I was much struck with the language of onecrop-headed young fellow of seventeen or eighteen, who, seeing me gropemy way, said, "They're not very lavish with the gas here, sir, arethey?" It may appear that this "experience" has little bearing on theArab boys; but really some of the inmates of these kitchens _were_ butboys. Those we visited were in the purlieus of the old "Rookery, " andfor these dens, I was informed, the men paid fourpence a night! Surely alittle money invested in decent dwellings for such people would be welland even remuneratively spent. The kitchens, my informant--who has spentmany years among them--added, are generally the turning point betweenhonesty and crime. The discharged soldier or mechanic out of work isthere herded with the professional thief or burglar, and learns histrade and gets to like his life. 

The succeeding evening I devoted first of all to the Girls' Refuge, 19, Broad Street, St. Giles's. Here were sixty-two girls of the same classas the boys in Great Queen Street, who remain until provided withplaces as domestic servants. A similar number were in the Home atEaling. The Institution itself is the picture of neatness and order. Idropped in quite unexpectedly; and any visitor who may be induced tofollow my example, will not fail to be struck with the happy, "homely"look of everything, the clean, cheerful appearance of the female Arabs, and the courtesy and kindness of the matron. These girls are consideredto belong to St. Giles's parish, as the boys to Bloomsbury Chapel. Sofar the good work has been done by the Dissenters and Evangelical partyin the Established Church. The sphere of the High Church--as I wasreminded by the Superintendent Sergeant--is the Newport Market Refugeand Industrial Schools. Here, besides the male and female refuges, is aHome for Destitute Boys, who are housed and taught on the same plan asat St. Giles's. Their domicile is even more cosy than the other, andmight almost tempt a boy to act the part of an "amateur Arab. " I canonly say the game that was going on, previously to bed, in the largecovered play room, with bare feet and in shirt sleeves, was enough toprovoke the envy of any member of a Dr. Blimber's "Establishment. " TheInstitution had just had a windfall in the shape of one of thoseagreeable _1000l. _ cheques that have been flying about lately, or theirresources would have been cramped; but the managers are wisely sensiblethat such windfalls do not come every day, and so forbear enlargingtheir borders as they could wish. 

Strangely enough, the Roman Catholics, who usually outdo us in theirwork among the poor, seemed a little behindhand in this specialdepartment of settling the Arabs. They have schools largely attended inTudor Place, Tottenham Court Road, White Lion Street, Seven Dials, &c. , but, as far as I could ascertain, nothing local in the shape of aRefuge. To propagate the faith may be all very well, and will be onlythe natural impulse of a man sincere in his own belief; but we must notforget that these Arabs have bodies as well as souls, and that thosebodies have been so shamefully debased and neglected as to drag thehigher energies down with them; and it is a great question whether it isnot absolutely necessary to begin on the very lowest plane first, and soto work towards the higher. Through the body and the mind we may at lastreach the highest sphere of all. 

Without for one moment wishing to write down the "religious" element, itis, I repeat, a grave question whether the premature introduction ofthat element does not sometimes act as a deterrent, and frustrate thegood that might otherwise be done. Still there is the great fact, good_is_ being done. It would be idle to carp at any means when the end isso thoroughly good. I could not help, as I passed from squalid kitchento kitchen that Sunday afternoon, feeling Lear's words ring through mymind:--

 O, I have ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp, Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just. 

And now "Eastward ho!" for "experiences" in Bethnal Green. 

CHAPTER II. 

EAST LONDON ARABS. 

Notwithstanding my previous experiences among the Western tribes ofBedouins whose locale is the Desert of the Seven Dials, I must confessto considerable strangeness when first I penetrated the wilderness ofBethnal Green. Not only was it utterly terra incognita to me, but, withtheir manifold features in common, the want and squalor of the East havetraits distinct from those of the West. I had but the name of oneBethnal Green parish and of one lady--Miss Macpherson--and with theseslender data I proceeded to my work, the results of which I againchronicle seriatim. 

Passing from the Moorgate Street Station I made for the Eastern CountiesTerminus at Shoreditch, and soon after passing it struck off to my rightin the Bethnal Green Road. Here, amid a pervading atmosphere ofbird-fanciers and vendors of live pets in general, I found a MissionHall, belonging to I know not what denomination, and, aided by avigorous policeman, kicked--in the absence of knocker or bell--at allthe doors, without result. Nobody was there. I went on to the BethnalGreen parish which had been named to me as the resort of nomade tribes, and found the incumbent absent in the country for a week or so, and theScripture-reader afraid, in his absence, to give much information. Heventured, however, to show me the industrial school, where some fortychildren were employed in making match-boxes for Messrs. Bryant and May. However, as I was told that the incumbent in question objected verydecidedly to refuges and ragged schools, and thought it much better forthe poor to strain a point and send their little ones to school, I feltthat was hardly the regimen to suit my Arabian friends, who wereevidently teeming in that locality. I was even returning home with theview of getting further geographical particulars of this Eastern ArabiaPetræa, when, as a last resource, I was directed to a refuge inCommercial Street. I rang here, and found myself in the presence of theveritable Miss Macpherson herself, with whom I passed two pleasant andinstructive hours. 

At starting, Miss Macpherson rather objected to being made the subjectof an article--first of all, for the very comprehensible reason thatsuch publicity would draw down upon her a host of visitors; and when Isuggested that visitors probably meant funds, she added a second, andnot quite so comprehensible an objection--that these funds themselvesmight alloy the element of Faith in which the work had been so farcarried on. She had thoroughly imbibed the spirit of Müller, whose Homeat Bristol was professedly the outcome of Faith and Prayer alone. However, on my promise to publish only such particulars--name, locality, &c. --as she might approve, this lady gave me the details of her trulywonderful work. The building in which I found her had been erected toserve as large warehouses, and here 110 of the most veritable Arabs werehoused, fed, taught, and converted into Christians, when so convertible. Should they prove impressionable, Miss Macpherson then contemplatestheir emigration to Canada. Many had already been sent out; and her ideawas to extend her operations in this respect: not, be it observed, tocast hundreds of the scum of the East End of London upon Canada--aproceeding to which the Canadians would very naturally object--but toform a Home on that side to be fed from the Homes on this, and so toremove from the old scenes of vice and temptation those who had beenpreviously trained in the refuges here. She has it in contemplation totake a large hotel in Canada, and convert it into an institution of thiskind; and I fancy it was the possibility that publicity might aid thislarger scheme which eventually induced the good lady to let the world sofar know what she is doing. At all events, she gave me carte blanche topublish the results of my observations. 

In selecting and dealing with the inmates of her refuges, MissMacpherson avails herself of the science of phrenology, in which shebelieves, and she advances good reason for so doing. I presume myphrenological development must have been satisfactory, since she notonly laid aside her objection to publicity, but even allowed me to carryoff with me her MS. "casebooks, " from which I cull one or two of severalhundred:--

"1. T. S. , aged ten (March 5, 1869). --An orphan. Mother died in St. George's Workhouse. Father killed by coming in contact with a diseasedsheep, being a slaughterman. A seller of boxes in the street. Slept lastin a bed before Christmas. Slept in hay-carts, under a tarpaulin. Saysthe prayers his mother 'teached him. '"

"2. J. H. , aged twelve (March 5). --No home but the streets. Fatherkilled by an engine-strap, being an engineer. Mother died of a brokenheart. Went into ---- Workhouse; but ran away through ill-treatment lastDecember. Slept in ruins near Eastern Counties Railway. _Can't remember_when he last lay in a bed. "

"3. A. R. , aged eleven (March 5). --Mother and father left him and twobrothers in an empty room in H---- Street. Policeman, hearing themcrying, broke open the door and took them to the workhouse. His twobrothers died. Was moved from workhouse by grandmother, and she, unableto support him, turned him out on the streets. Slept in railway ruins;lived by begging. July 24, sent to Home No. 1 as a reward for goodconduct. "

Besides thus rescuing hundreds of homeless ones, Miss Macpherson has inmany instances been the means of restoring runaway children ofrespectable parents. Here is an instance:--

"Feb. 25th. --S. W. T. , aged fourteen, brought into Refuge by one of thenight teachers, who noticed him in a lodging-house respectably dressed. Had walked up to London from N----, in company with two sailors(disreputable men, whom the lodging-house keeper declined to take in). Had been reading sensational books. Wrote to address at N----. Fathertelegraphed to keep him. Uncle came for him with fresh clothes and tookhim home. He had begun to pawn his clothes for his night's lodging. Hisfather had been for a fortnight in communication with the police. "

The constables in the neighbourhood all know Miss Macpherson's Refuge, and her readiness to take boys in at any time; so that many littlevagrants are brought thither by them and reclaimed, instead of beinglocked up and sent to prison, to go from bad to worse. Besides thisreceptacle for boys, Miss Macpherson has also a Home at Hackney, wheregirls of the same class are housed. The plan she adopts is to get afriend to be responsible for one child. The cost she reckons at _6l. 10s. _ per annum for those under ten years, and _10l. _ for those above. 

But this excellent lady's good works are by no means catalogued yet. Besides the children being fed and taught in these Homes, the parentsand children are constantly gathered for sewing classes, tea meetings, &c. At the Refuge. Above 400 children are thus influenced; and MissMacpherson, with her coadjutors, systematically visits the wretched densand lodging-houses into which no well-dressed person, unless favourablyknown like her for her work among the children, would dare to set foot. I was also present when a hearty meal of excellent soup and a large lumpof bread were given to between three and four hundred men, chiefly docklabourers out of employ. It was a touching sight to notice the stolidapathy depicted on most of the countenances, which looked unpleasantlylike despair. One of the men assured me that for every package that hadto be unladen from the docks there were ten pair of hands ready to dothe work, where only one could be employed. Many of the men, he assuredme, went for two, sometimes three, days without food; and with the largemajority of those assembled the meal they were then taking wouldrepresent the whole of their subsistence for the twenty-four-hours. After supper a hymn was sung, and a few words spoken to them by MissMacpherson on the allegory of the Birds and Flowers in the Sermon on theMount; and so they sallied forth into the darkness of Arabia Petræa. Imounted to the little boys' bedroom, where the tiniest Arabs of allwere enjoying the luxury of a game, with bare feet, before retiring. Miss Macpherson dragged a mattress off one of the beds and threw it downin the centre for them to tumble head-over-tail; and, as she truly said, it was difficult to recognise in those merry shouts and happy faces anyremains of the veriest reprobates of the London streets. 

Let us hear Miss Macpherson herself speak. In a published pamphlet, "OurPerishing Little Ones, " she says: "As to the present state of themission, we simply say 'Come and see. ' It is impossible by words to givean idea of the mass of 120, 000 precious souls who live on this onesquare mile.... My longing is to send forth, so soon as the ice breaks, 500 of our poor street boys, waifs and strays that have been gatheredin, to the warm-hearted Canadian farmers. In the meantime, who will helpus to make outfits, and collect _5l. _ for each little Arab, that therebe no hindrance to the complement being made up when the spring time iscome?... Ladies who are householders can aid us much in endeavours toeducate these homeless wanderers to habits of industry by sending ordersfor their firewood--_4s. _ per hundred bundles, sent free eight milesfrom the City. " And, again, in Miss Macpherson's book called "The LittleMatchmakers, " she says: "In this work of faith and labour of love amongthe very lowest in our beloved country, let us press on, looking forgreat things. Preventing sin and crime is a much greater work thancuring it. There are still many things on my heart requiring morepennies. As they come, we will go forward. "

Miss Macpherson's motto is, "The Word first in all things; afterwardsbread for this body. " There are some of us who would be inclined toreverse this process--to feed the body and educate the mind--notaltogether neglecting spiritual culture, even at the earliest stage, butleaving anything like definite religious schooling until the poor mindand body were, so to say, acclimatized. It is, of course, much easier tosit still and theorize and criticise than to do what these excellentpeople have done and are doing to diminish this gigantic evil. "By theirfruits ye shall know them" is a criterion based on authority that we arenone of us inclined to dispute. Miss Macpherson boasts--and a veryproper subject for boasting it is--that she belongs to no _ism_. It issignificant, however, that the Refuge bears, or bore, the name of the"Revival" Refuge, and the paper which contained the earliest accounts ofits working was called the _Revivalist_, though now baptized with thebroader title of the _Christian_. Amid such real work it would be a pityto have the semblance of unreality, and I dreaded to think of thepossibility of its existing, when little grimy hands were held out byboys volunteering to say a text for my behoof. By far the mostfavourite one was "Jesus wept;" next came "God is love"--each mostappropriate; but the sharp boy, a few years older, won approval by alonger and more doctrinal quotation, whilst several of these held outhands again when asked whether, in the course of the day, they had feltthe efficacy of the text given on the previous evening, "Set a watch, OLord, before my mouth; keep Thou the door of my lips. " Such anexperience would be a sign of advanced spirituality in an adult. Is itungenerous to ask whether its manifestation in an Arab child must not bean anticipation of what might be the normal result of a few years'training? May not this kind of _forcing_ explain the cases I saw quotedin the books--of one boy who "felt like a fish out of water, and leftthe same day of his own accord;" another who "climbed out of athree-floor window and escaped?"

However, here is the good work being done. Let us not carp at thedetails, but help it on, unless we can do better ourselves. One thinghas been preeminently forced in upon me during this brief examination ofour London Arabs--namely, that individuals work better than communitiesamongst these people. The work done by the great establishments, whetherof England, Rome, or Protestant Dissent, is insignificant compared withthat carried out by persons labouring like Mr. Hutton in Seven Dials andMiss Macpherson in Whitechapel, untrammelled by any particular system. The want, and sorrow, and suffering are individual, and need individualcare, just as the Master of old worked Himself, and sent His scriplessmissionaries singly forth to labour for Him, as--on howeverincommensurate a scale--they are still labouring, East and West, amongstour London Arabs. 

CHAPTER III. 

LONDON ARABS IN CANADA. 

In the previous chapter an account was given of the Arabs inhabitingthat wonderful "square mile" in East London, which has since grown to beso familiar in men's mouths. The labours of Miss Macpherson towardsreclaiming these waifs and strays in her "Refuge and Home of Industry, Commercial Street, Spitalfields, " were described at some length, andallusion was at the same time made to the views which that ladyentertained with regard to the exportation of those Arabs to Canadaafter they should have undergone a previous probationary training in the"Home. " A short time afterwards it was my pleasing duty to witness thedeparture of one hundred of these young boys from the St. PancrasStation, en route for Canada; and it now strikes me that some account ofthe voyage out, in the shape of excerpts from the letters of the devotedladies who themselves accompanied our Arabs across the Atlantic, mayprove interesting; while, at the same time, a calculation of theirprobable success in their new life and homes may not improbablystimulate those who cannot give their time, to give at least theircountenance, and it may be, their material aid, to a scheme whichrecommends itself to all our sympathies--the permanent reclamation ofthe little homeless wanderers of our London streets. 

The strange old rambling "Home" in Commercial Street, built originallyfor warehouses, then used as a cholera hospital, and now the ArabRefuge, presented a strange appearance during the week before thedeparture of the chosen hundred. On the ground-floor were the packagesof the young passengers; on the first floor the "new clothes, shirts, and stockings, sent by kind lady friends from all parts of the kingdom, trousers and waistcoats made by the widows, and the boots and pilotjackets made by the boys themselves. " The dormitory was the greatstore-closet for all the boys' bags filled with things needful on boardship; and on the top floor, we can well imagine, the last day was apeculiarly melancholy one. The work attendant upon the boys' last mealat the Refuge was over, and there, in the long narrow kitchen, stood thecook wiping away her tears with her apron, and the six little waitingmaids around them, with the novel feeling of having nothing todo--there, where so much cutting, buttering, and washing-up had been theorder of the day. When the summons came to start, the police had greatdifficulty in clearing a way for the boys to the vans through thesurging mass of East London poverty. Some of the little match-box makersran all the three miles from Commercial Street to St. Pancras Stationto see the very last of their boy-friends. 

Derby was the stopping-place on the journey to Liverpool, and theattention of passengers and guards was arrested by this strange companygathering on the platform at midnight and singing two of the favouriteRefuge hymns. Liverpool was reached at 4 A. M. , and the boys filed off infours, with their canvas bags over their shoulders, to the river side, where their wondering eyes beheld the _Peruvian_, which was to bear themto their new homes. 

At this point, Miss Macpherson's sister--who is carrying on the work ofthe Refuge during that lady's absence--wrote as follows:--"Could ourChristian friends have seen the joy that beamed in the faces of thosehundred lads from whom we have just parted--could they know the misery, the awful precipice of crime and sin from which they have beensnatched--we are sure their hearts would be drawn out in love for thoselittle ones. If still supported, " she continues, "I hope to send outanother party of fifty boys and fifty girls while my sister remains inCanada, and shall be happy to forward the name and history of a boy orgirl to any kind friend wishing to provide for a special case. In thebroad fields of that new country where the farmers are only too glad toadopt healthy young boys or girls into their families, hundreds of ourperishing little ones may find a happy home. "

On Thursday, the 12th of May, the _Peruvian_ dropped down the river;and, as the last batch of friends left her when she passed out into theChannel, these one hundred boys, with Miss Macpherson, leaned over thebulwarks, singing the hymn, "Yes, we part, but not for ever. "

From Derry Miss Macpherson wrote under date May 13th:--"With theexception of two, all are on deck now, as bright as larks; they havecarried up poor Jack Frost and Franks the runner. It is most touching tosee them wrap them up in their rugs. Michael Flinn, the Shoreditchshoeblack, was up all night, caring for the sick boys. Poor Mike! He andI have exchanged nods at the Eastern Counties Railway corner these fiveyears. It is a great joy to give him such a chance for life. "

The voyage out was prosperous enough, though there were some contrarywinds, and a good deal of sea-sickness among the lads. The captain seemsto have been quite won by the self-denying kindness of the ladies, andhe lightened their hands by giving occupation to the boys. Then came outthe result of training at the Refuge. Those who had been some time thereshowed themselves amenable to discipline; but the late arrivals weremore fractious, and difficult to manage. These were the lads "uponwhom, " as Miss Macpherson says, "the street life had left sore marks. "Even when only nearing the American coast, this indomitable lady'sspirit is planning a second expedition. "As far as I dare make plans, Ishould like to return, starting from Montreal July 16th, reaching theHome July 27th; and then return with another lot the second week inAugust. This second lot must be lads who are now under influence, andwho have been not less than six months in a refuge. " The finale to thissecond letter, written from Canada, adds: "The boys, _to a man_, behavedsplendidly. The agent's heart is won. All have improved by the voyage, and many are brown hearty-looking chaps fit for any toil. "

In the _Montreal Herald_, of May 27th, there is an account of these boysafter their arrival, which says:--"Miss Macpherson is evidently a ladywhose capacity for organization and command is of the very highestorder; for boys, in most hands, are not too easily managed, but in hersthey were as obedient as a company of soldiers.... These boys willspeedily be placed in positions, where they will grow up respectable andrespected members of society, with access to the highest positions inthe country freely open to them.... We hope that Miss Macpherson willplace all her boys advantageously, and will bring us many more. She is abenefactor to the Empire in both hemispheres. "

The importance of this testimony can scarcely be overrated, since manypersons hold themselves aloof from a work of this nature through afeeling that it is not fair to draft our Arab population on a colony. Itwill be seen, however, that it is not proposed to export these boysuntil they shall have been brought well under influence, and so have gotrid of what Miss Macpherson so graphically terms the "sore marks oftheir street life. "

Apropos of this subject, it may not be irrelevant to quote acommunication which has been received from Sir John Young, theGovernor-General of Canada, dated Ottawa, May 3rd, 1870:--"For emigrantsable and willing to work, Canada offers at present a very good prospect. The demand for agricultural labourers in Ontario during the present yearis estimated at from 30, 000 to 40, 000; and an industrious man may expectto make about one dollar a day throughout the year, if he is willing toturn his hand to clearing land, threshing, &c. , during the winter. Butit is of no use for emigrants to come here unless they make up theirminds to take whatever employment offers itself most readily, withoutmaking difficulties because it is not that to which they have beenaccustomed, or which they prefer. "

I visited the Refuge and Home of Industry a few nights afterwards, and, though Miss Macpherson was absent, found all in working order. Sixty-three boys were then its occupants. The superintendent wasanxiously looking forward to be able to carry out the plan ofdespatching fifty boys and fifty girls during the ensuing summer. Thesum required for an East End case is _5l. _; for a special case, _10l. _The following are specimens of about sixty cases of boys whom she wouldlike to send out, knowing that in Canada they could readily obtainplaces:--

P. E. , aged seventeen. --Mother died of fever, leaving seven children;father a dock labourer, but cannot get full employment. 

L. J. , aged thirteen. --Mother dead; does not know where her father is;has been getting her living by singing songs in the lodging-houses; ismuch improved by her stay in the Home, and will make a tidy little maid. This is just one of the many who might thus be rescued from a life ofsin and misery. 

Returning home through the squalid streets that night, where squatterswere vending old shoes and boots that seemed scarcely worth picking outof the kennel, and garments that appeared beneath the notice of the ragmerchant, I saw the little Bedouins still in full force, just as thoughno effort had been made for their reclamation and housing. As theycrowded the doorsteps, huddled in the gutters, or vended boxes of lightsand solicited the honour of shining "your boots, sir, " I could not helppicturing them crossing the sea, under kindly auspices, to the "betterland" beyond, and anon, in the broad Canadian fields or busy Canadiantowns, growing into respectable farmers and citizens; and straightwayeach little grimed, wan face seemed to bear a new interest for me, andto look wistfully up into mine with a sort of rightful demand on mycharity, saying to me, and through me to my many readers, "Come andhelp us!"

After the foregoing was written, a further letter arrived from MissMacpherson. All the boys were well placed. The agent at Quebec wished totake the whole hundred in a lump, but only eleven were conceded to him. At Montreal, too, all would have been taken, but twenty-one only wereleft. All found excellent situations, many as house servants at _10l. _and _15l. _ a year. Eight were in like manner left at Belleville, halfway between Montreal and Toronto. Sixty were taken on to Toronto; andhere we are told "the platform was crowded with farmers anxious toengage them all at once. It was difficult to get them to the office. " Agentleman arrived from Hamilton, saying that sixty applications had beensent in for boys, directly it was known that Miss Macpherson was comingout. So there is no need of anticipating anything like repugnance on thepart of the Canadians to the reception of our superfluous Arabs. 

CHAPTER IV. 

WAIFS AND STRAYS. 

Among the various qualifications for the festivities of Christmastideand New Year, there is one which is, perhaps, not so generallyrecognised as it might be. Some of us are welcomed to the brightfireside or the groaning table on the score of our social andconversational qualities. At many and many a cheery board, poverty isthe only stipulation that is made. I mean not now that the guests shalloccupy the unenviable position of "poor relations, " but, in thelarge-hearted charity that so widely prevails at that festive season, the need of a dinner is being generally accepted as a title to thatstaple requirement of existence. Neither of these, however, is thedistinction required in order to entitle those who bear it to thehospitality of Mr. Edward Wright, better known under the abbreviatedtitle of "Ned, " and without the prefatory "Mr. " That one social quality, without which a seat at Ned Wright's festive board cannot be compassed, is Felony. A little rakish-looking green ticket was circulated a fewdays previously among the members of Mr. Wright's former fraternity, bidding them to a "Great Supper" in St. John's Chapel, Penrose Street(late West Street), Walworth, got up under the auspices of theSouth-East London Mission. The invitation ran as follows:--

 "This ticket is only available for a male person who has been convicted at least once for felony, and is not transferable. We purpose providing a good supper of bread and soup, after which an address will be given. At the close of the meeting a parcel of provisions will be given to each man. Supper will be provided in the lower part of the chapel. Boys not admitted this time. --Your friend, for Christ's sake, "NED WRIGHT. "

Why juvenile felons should be excluded "this time, " and whether the factof having been convicted more than once would confer any additionalprivileges, did not appear at first sight. So it was, however; adultfelonious Walworth was bidden to the supper, and to the supper it came. Among the attractions held out to spectators of the proceedings was theannouncement that a magistrate was to take part in them--a fact thatpossibly was not made generally known among the guests, in whose regardit is very questionable whether the presence of the dreaded "beak" mightnot have proved the reverse of a "draw. " However, they came, possibly inhappy ignorance of the potentate who was awaiting them, and than whomthere is one only creation of civilized life considered by the Londoncadger his more natural enemy, that is the policeman. 

Six o'clock was the hour appointed for the repast, and there was no needfor the wanderer in Walworth Road to inquire which was Penrose Street. Little groups of shambling fellows hulked about the corner waiting forsome one to lead the way to the unaccustomed chapel. Group after group, however, melted away into the dingy building where Ned was ready towelcome them. With him I found, not one magistrate, but two; one theexpected magnate from the country, the other a well-known occupant ofthe London bench, with whom, I fancy, many of the guests could boast aprevious acquaintance of a character the reverse of desirable. PenroseStreet Chapel had been formerly occupied by the Unitarians, but was thentaken permanently by Ned Wright at a rental of between _60l. _ and _70l. _per annum, and formed the third of his "centres, " the others being undera railway arch in the New Kent Road, and the Mission Hall, Deptford. Asrow by row filled with squalid occupants, I could but scan from myvantage-ground in the gallery the various physiognomies. I am bound tosay the typical gaol-bird was but feebly represented. The visitorslooked like hard-working men--a little pinched and hungry, perhaps, andin many cases obviously dejected and ashamed of the qualification whichgave them their seat. One or two, mostly of the younger, came in with aswagger and a rough joke; but Ned and his guests knew one another, andhe quickly removed the lively young gentleman to a quiet corner out ofharm's way. A fringe of spectators, mostly female, occupied the frontseat in the gallery when proceedings commenced, which they did with ahymn, composed by Ned Wright himself. The ladies' voices proved veryuseful in this respect; but most of the men took the printed copies ofthe hymns, which were handed round, and looked as if they could readthem, not a few proving they could by singing full-voiced. After thehymn, Wright announced that he had ordered eighty gallons of soup--somefacetious gentleman suggesting, "That's about a gallon apiece"--and hehoped all would get enough. Probably about 100 guests had by this timeassembled, and each was provided with a white basin, which was filled byNed and his assistants, with soup from a washing jug. A paper bagcontaining half a quartern loaf was also given to each, and the contentsrapidly disappeared. As the fragrant steam mounted provokingly from thesoup-basins up to the gallery, Mr. Wright took occasion to mention thatat the last supper Mr. Clark, of the New Cut, furnished the soupgratuitously--a fact which he thought deserved to be placed on record. 

In the intervals of the banquet, the host informed me that he hadalready witnessed forty genuine "conversions" as the results of thesegatherings. He had, as usual, to contend with certain obtrusivegentlemen who "assumed the virtue" of felony, "though they had it not, "and were summarily dismissed with the assurance that he "didn't want notramps. " One mysterious young man came in and sat down on a front row, but did not remain two minutes before a thought seemed to strike him, and he beat a hasty retreat. Whether he was possessed with the idea Ihad to combat on a previous occasion of the same kind, that I was apoliceman, I cannot tell, but he never reappeared. I hope I was not theinnocent cause of his losing his supper. The only "felonious" trait Iobserved was a furtive glance every now and then cast around, andespecially up to the gallery. Beyond this there really was little todistinguish the gathering from a meeting of artisans a little bit "downon their luck, " or out on strike, or under some cloud of that sort. 

As supper progressed, the number of spectators in the gallery increased;and, with all due deference to Ned Wright's good intentions, it may beopen to question whether this presence of spectators in the gallery iswise. It gives a sort of spurious dash and bravado to the calling of afelon to be supping in public, and have ladies looking on, just like the"swells" at a public dinner. I am sure some of the younger men feltthis, and swaggered through their supper accordingly. There certainlywas not a symptom of shame on the face of a single guest, or anyevidences of dejection, when once the pea-soup had done its work. Someof the very lively gentlemen in the front row even devoted themselves tomaking critical remarks on the occupants of the gallery. As a rule, andconsidering the antecedents of the men, the assembly was an orderly one;and would, I think, have been more so, but for the presence of the fairsex in the upper regions, many of whom, it is but justice to say, wereenjoying the small talk of certain oily-haired young missionaries, andquite unconscious of being the objects of admiring glances from below. 

Supper took exactly an hour, and then came another hymn, Ned Wrighttelling his guests that the tune was somewhat difficult, but that thegallery would sing it for them first, and then they would be able to doit for themselves. Decidedly, Mr. Wright is getting "æsthetic. " Thishymn was, in fact, monopolized by the gallery, the men listening andevidently occupied in digesting their supper. One would rather haveheard something in which they could join. However, it was a livelymarch-tune, and they evidently liked it, and kept time to it with theirfeet, after the custom of the gods on Boxing Night. At this point Nedand five others mounted the little railed platform, Bible in hand, andthe host read what he termed "a portion out of the Good Old Book, "choosing appropriately Luke xv. , which tells of the joy among angelsover one sinner that repenteth, and the exquisite allegory of theProdigal Son, which Ned read with a good deal of genuine pathos. Itreminded him, he said, of old times. He himself was one of the firstprisoners at Wandsworth when "old Brixton" was shut up. He had "done"three calendar months, and when he came out he saw an old grey-headedman, with a bundle. "That, " said Ned, "was my godly old father, and thebundle was new clothes in place of my old rags. "

The country magistrate then came forward, and drew an ironical contrastbetween the "respectable" people in the gallery and the "thieves" downbelow. "God says we have all 'robbed Him. ' All are equal in God's sight. But some of us are pardoned thieves. " At this point the discourse becametheological, and fired over the heads of the people down below. Theylistened much as they listen to a magisterial remark from the bench; butit was not their own language, such as Ned speaks. It was the "beak, "not the old "pal. " It was not their vernacular. It did for thegallery--interested the ladies and the missionaries vastly, but not thethieves. It was wonderful that they bore it as well as they did. Themagisterial dignity evidently overawed them; but they soon got used toit, and yawned or sat listlessly. Some leant their heads on the rail infront and slept. The latest arrivals left earliest. They had come tosupper, not to sermon. 

Another of Ned Wright's hymns was then sung--Mr. Wright's muse havingbeen apparently prolific in the past year, no less than six hymns on thelist being written by himself during those twelve months. It is much tobe hoped that these poetical and æsthetical proclivities will not deadenhis practical energies. This hymn was pitched distressingly high, andabove the powers of all but the "gallery" and a very few indeed of theguests; but most of them put in a final "Glory, Hallelujah, " at the endof each stanza. Mr. Wright's tunes are bright and cheerful in theextreme, without being vulgar or offensively secular. 

The host himself then spoke a few words on the moral of the Sermon onthe Mount: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness. " Heclaimed many of those before him as old pals who had "drunk out of thesame pot and shuffled the same pack of cards, " and contrasted hispresent state with theirs. Then they listened, open-mouthed andeager-eyed, though they had been sitting two full hours. He pictured thelife of Christ, and His love for poor men. "Christ died for you, " hesaid, "as well as for the 'big people. ' Who is that on the cross besidethe Son of God?" he asked in an eloquent apostrophe. "It is a thief. Come to Christ, and say, 'I've no character. I'm branded as a felon. I'mhunted about the streets of London. He will accept you. '" He drew avivid picture of the number of friends he had when he rowed for Dogget'sCoat and Badge. He met with an accident midway; "and when I got to theSwan at Chelsea, " he said, "I had no friends left. I was a losing man. Christ will never treat you like that. He has never let me want in thenine years since I have been converted. " After a prayer the assemblybroke up, only those being requested to remain who required advice. Theprayer was characteristic, being interspersed with groans from thegallery; and then a paper bag, containing bread and cakes, was given toeach, Ned observing, "There, the devil don't give you that. He gives youtoke and skilly. " Being desired to go quietly, one gentleman expressed ahope that there was no policeman; another adding, "We don't want to getlagged. " Ned had to reassure them on my score once more, and then nearlyall disappeared--some ingenious guests managing to get two and threebags by going out and coming in again, until some one in the gallerymeanly peached!

Only some half-dozen out of the hundred remained, and Ned Wrightkneeling at one of the benches prayed fervently, and entered intoconversation with them one by one. Two or three others dropped in, andthere was much praying and groaning, but evidently much sincerity. Andso with at least some new impressions for good, some cheering hopefulwords to take them on in the New Year, those few waifs and strays passedout into the darkness, to retain, let it be hoped, some at least of thebetter influences which were brought to bear upon them in that brighterepoch in their darkened lives when Ned Wright's invitation gathered themto the Thieves' Supper. 

CHAPTER V. 

A LUNATIC BALL. 

One half of the world believes the other half to be mad; and who shalldecide which moiety is right, the reputed lunatics or the supposed sane, since neither party can be unprejudiced in the matter? At present theminority believe that it is a mere matter of numbers, and that ifintellect carried the day, and right were not overborne by might, theposition of parties would be exactly reversed. The dilemma forced itselfstrongly on my consciousness for a solution when I attended the annualball at Hanwell Lunatic Asylum. The prevailing opinion inside the wallswas that the majority of madmen lay outside, and that the mosthopelessly insane people in all the world were the officers immediatelyconcerned in the management of the establishment itself. 

It was a damp, muggy January evening when I journeyed to this suburbanretreat. It rained dismally, and the wind nearly blew the porter out ofhis lodge as he obeyed our summons at the Dantesque portal of theinstitution, in passing behind which so many had literally abandonedhope. I tried to fancy how it would feel if one were really beingconsigned to that receptacle by interested relatives, as we read inthree-volume novels; but it was no use. I was one of a merry company onthat occasion. The officials of Hanwell Asylum had been a little shy ofbeing handed down to fame; so I adopted the ruse of getting into HerrGustav Küster's corps of fiddlers for the occasion. However, I must infairness add that the committee during the evening withdrew the taboothey had formerly placed on my writing. I was free to immortalize them;and my fiddling was thenceforth a work of supererogation. 

High jinks commenced at the early hour of six; and long before that timewe had deposited our instruments in the Bazaar, as the ball-room issomewhat incongruously called, and were threading the Dædalean mazes ofthe wards. Life in the wards struck me as being very like living in apassage; but when that preliminary objection was got over, the longcorridors looked comfortable enough. They were painted in bright warmcolours, and a correspondingly genial temperature was secured byhot-water pipes running the entire length. Comfortable rooms opened outfrom the wards at frequent intervals, and there was every form ofamusement to beguile the otherwise irksome leisure of those temporaryrecluses. Most of my hermits were smoking--I mean on the male side--manywere reading; one had a fiddle, and I scraped acquaintance immediatelywith him; whilst another was seated at the door of his snug littlebedroom, getting up cadenzas on the flute. He was an oldtrombone-player in one of the household regiments, an inmate of Hanwellfor thirty years, and a fellow-bandsman with myself for the evening. Helooked, I thought, quite as sane as myself, and played magnificently;but I was informed by the possibly prejudiced officials that he had hisoccasional weaknesses. A second member of Herr Küster's band whom Ifound in durance was a clarionet-player, formerly in the band of theSecond Life Guards; and this poor fellow, who was an excellent musiciantoo, felt his position acutely. He apologized sotto voce for sittingdown with me in corduroys, as well as for being an "imbecile. " He didnot seem to question the justice of the verdict against him, and had notbecome acclimatized to the atmosphere like the old trombone-player. 

That New Year's night--for January was very young--the wards, especiallyon the women's side, were gaily decorated with paper flowers, and alllooked as cheerful and happy as though no shadow ever fell across thethreshold; but, alas, there were every now and then padded rooms openingout of the passage; and as this was not a refractory ward, I asked themeaning of the arrangement, which I had fancied was an obsolete one. Iwas told they were for epileptic patients. In virtue of his officialposition as bandmaster, Herr Küster had a key; and, after walkingserenely into a passage precisely like the rest, informed me, with theutmost coolness, that I was in the refractory ward. I looked around forthe stalwart attendant, who is generally to be seen on duty, and to mydismay found he was quite at the other end of an exceedingly longcorridor. I do not know that I am particularly nervous; but I candidlyconfess to an anxiety to get near that worthy official. We were onlythree outsiders, and the company looked mischievous. One gentleman waswalking violently up and down, turning up his coat-sleeves, as thoughbent on our instant demolition. Another, an old grey-bearded man, cameup, and fiercely demanded if I were a Freemason. I was afraid he mightresent my saying I was not, when it happily occurred to me that thethird in our party, an amateur contra-bassist, was of the craft. I toldour old friend so. He demanded the sign, was satisfied, and, in thetwinkling of an eye, our double-bass friend was struggling in hisfraternal embrace. The warder, mistaking the character of the hug, hastened to the rescue, and I was at ease. 

We then passed to the ball-room, where my musical friends were beginningto "tune up, " and waiting for their conductor. The large room was gailydecorated, and filled with some three or four hundred patients, arrangedSpurgeon-wise: the ladies on one side, and the gentlemen on the other. There was a somewhat rakish air about the gathering, due to the fact ofthe male portion not being in full dress, but arrayed in free-and-easycostume of corduroys and felt boots. The frequent warders in their darkblue uniforms lent quite a military air to the scene; and on the ladies'side the costumes were more picturesque; some little latitude was givento feminine taste, and the result was that a large portion of thepatients were gorgeous in pink gowns. One old lady, who claimed to be ascion of royalty, had a resplendent mob-cap; but the belles of theball-room were decidedly to be found among the female attendants, whowere bright, fresh-looking young women, in a neat, black uniform, withperky little caps, and bunches of keys hanging at their side like therosary of a soeur de charité, or the chatelaines with which young ladieslove to adorn themselves at present. Files of patients kept streaminginto the already crowded room, and one gentleman, reversing the orderassigned to him by nature, walked gravely in on the palms of his hands, with his legs elevated in air. He had been a clown at a theatre, andstill retained some of the proclivities of the boards. A wizen-facedman, who seemed to have no name beyond the conventional one of "Billy, "strutted in with huge paper collars, like the corner man in a niggertroupe, and a tin decoration on his breast the size of a cheeseplate. Hewas insensible to the charms of Terpsichore, except in the shape of anoccasional pas seul, and laboured under the idea that his mission was toconduct the band, which he occasionally did, to the discomfiture ofHerr Küster, and the total destruction of gravity on the part of theexecutants, so that Billy had to be displaced. It was quite curious tonotice the effect of the music on some of the quieter patients. One ortwo, whose countenances really seemed to justify their incarceration, absolutely hugged the foot of my music-stand, and would not allow me tohold my instrument for a moment when I was not playing on it, so anxiouswere they to express their admiration of me as an artist. "I used toplay that instrument afore I come here, " said a patient, with a squeakyvoice, who for eleven years has laboured under the idea that his motheris coming to see him on the morrow; indeed, most of the little grouparound the platform looked upon their temporary sojourn at Hanwell asthe only impediment to a bright career in the musical world. 

Proceedings commenced with the Caledonians, and it was marvellous tonotice the order, not to say grace and refinement with which thesepauper lunatics went through their parts in the "mazy. " The rosy-facedattendants formed partners for the men, and I saw a herculean wardergallantly leading along the stout old lady in the mob-cap. The largernumber of the patients of course were paired with theirfellow-prisoners, and at the top of the room the officials danced withsome of the swells. Yes, there were swells here, ball-room coxcombs infustian and felt. One in particular was pointed out to me as anUniversity graduate of high family, and on my inquiring how such a manbecame an inmate of a pauper asylum the official said, "You see, sir, when the mind goes the income often goes too, and the people becomevirtually paupers. " Insanity is a great leveller, true; but I could nothelp picturing that man's lucid intervals, and wondering whether hisfriends might not do better for him. But there he is, pirouetting awaywith the pretty female organist, the chaplain standing by and smilingapproval, and the young doctors doing the polite to a few invitedguests, but not disdaining, every now and then, to take a turn with apatient. Quadrilles and Lancers follow, but no "round dances. " A popularprejudice on the part of the majority sets down such dances as tooexciting for the sensitive dancers. The graduate is excessively irate atthis, and rates the band soundly for not playing a valse. Galops areplayed, but not danced; a complicated movement termed a "Circassiancircle" being substituted in their place. "Three hours of square dancesare really too absurd, " said the graduate to an innocent second fiddle. 

In the centre of the room all was gravity and decorum, but the merriestdances went on in corners. An Irish quadrille was played, and anunmistakable Paddy regaled himself with a most beautiful jig. He got onby himself for a figure or two, when, remembering, no doubt, that"happiness was born a twin, " he dived into the throng, selected awhite-headed old friend of some sixty years, and impressed him with theidea of a pas de deux. There they kept it up in a corner for the wholeof the quadrille, twirling imaginary shillelaghs, and encouraging oneanother with that expressive Irish interjection which it is soimpossible to put down on paper. For an hour all went merry as theproverbial marriage bell, and then there was an adjournment of the maleportion of the company to supper. The ladies remained in the Bazaar anddiscussed oranges, with an occasional dance to the pianoforte, as theband retired for refreshment too, in one of the attendants' rooms. Ifollowed the company to their supper room, as I had come to see, not toeat. About four hundred sat down in a large apartment, and there were, besides, sundry snug supper-parties in smaller rooms. Each guest partookof an excellent repast of meat and vegetables, with a sufficiency ofbeer and pipes to follow. The chaplain said a short grace before supper, and a patient, who must have been a retired Methodist preacher, improvedupon the brief benediction by a long rambling "asking of a blessing, " towhich nobody paid any attention. Then I passed up and down the long rowswith a courteous official, who gave me little snatches of the history ofsome of the patients. Here was an actor of some note in his day; there abarrister; here again a clergyman; here a tradesman recently "gone, ""all through the strikes, sir, " he added. The shadow--that mostmysterious shadow of all--had chequered life's sunshine in every one ofthese cases. Being as they are they could not be in a better place. Theyhave the best advice they could get even were they--as some of themclaim to be--princes. If they can be cured, here is the best chance. Ifnot--well, there were the little dead-house and the quiet cemetery lyingout in the moonlight, and waiting for them when, as poor maddened EdgarAllen Poe wrote, the "fever called living, " should be "over at last. "But who talks of dying on this one night in all the year when even thatold freemason in the refractory ward was forgetting, after his ownpeculiar fashion, the cruel injustice that kept him out of his twelvethousand a year and title? Universal merriment is the rule to-night. Sixor seven gentlemen are on their legs at once making speeches, which arelistened to about as respectfully as the "toast of the evening" at apublic dinner. As many more are singing inharmoniously different songs;the fun is getting fast and furious, perhaps a little too fast andfurious, when a readjournment to the ball-room is proposed, and readilyacceded to, one hoary-headed old flirt remarking to me as he went by, that he was going to look for his sweetheart. 

A long series of square dances followed, the graduate waxing more andmore fierce at each disappointment in his anticipated valse, and Billygiving out every change in the programme like a parish clerk, whichfunctionary he resembled in many respects. It was universally agreedthat this was the best party that had ever been held in the asylum, justas the last baby is always the finest in the family. Certainly theguests all enjoyed themselves. The stalwart attendants danced more thanever with a will, the rosy attendants were rosier and nattier thanbefore, if possible. The mob-cap went whizzing about on the regal headof its owner down the middle of tremendous country dances, hands across, set to partners, and then down again as though it had never tasted theanxieties of a throne, or learnt by bitter experience the sorrows ofexile. Even the academical gentleman relaxed to the fair organist, though he stuck up his hair stiffer than ever, and stamped his feltboots again as he passed the unoffending double-bass with curses bothloud and deep on the subject of square dances. At length came theinevitable "God Save the Queen, " which was played in one key by theorchestra, and sung in a great many different ones by the guests. It isno disrespect to Her Majesty to say that the National Anthem wasreceived with anything but satisfaction. It was the signal that the"jinks" were over, and that was quite enough to make it unpopular. However, they sang lustily and with a good courage, all except the oldwoman in the mob-cap, who sat with a complacent smile as much as to say, "This is as it should be, I appreciate the honour done to my royalbrothers and sisters. "

This is the bright side of the picture; but it had its sombre tintsalso. There were those in all the wards who stood aloof from themerriment, and would have none of the jinks. Lean-visaged men walkedmoodily up and down the passages like caged wild beasts. Their lucidinterval was upon them, and they fretted at the irksome restraint anddegrading companionship. It was a strange thought; but I fancied theymust have longed for their mad fit as the drunkard longs for theintoxicating draught, or the opium-eater for his delicious narcotic todrown the idea of the present. There were those in the ball-room itselfwho, if you approached them with the proffered pinch of snuff, drove youfrom them with curses. One fine, intellectual man, sat by the window allthe evening, writing rhapsodies of the most extraordinary character, andfancying himself a poet. Another wrapped round a thin piece of lath withpaper, and superscribed it with some strange hieroglyphics, begging meto deliver it. All made arrangements for their speedy departure fromHanwell, though many in that heart-sick tone which spoke oflong-deferred hope--hope never perhaps to be realized. Most painfulsight of all, there was one little girl there, a child of eleven ortwelve years--a child in a lunatic asylum! Think of that, parents, whenyou listen to the engaging nonsense of your little ones--think of thechild in Hanwell wards! Remember how narrow a line separates innocencefrom idiocy; so narrow a line that the words were once synonymous!

Then there was the infirmary full of occupants on that merry New Year'snight. Yonder poor patient being wheeled in a chair to bed will nottrouble his attendant long. There is another being lifted on hispallet-bed, and having a cup of cooling drink applied to his parchedlips by the great loving hands of a warder who tends him as gently as awoman. It seemed almost a cruel kindness to be trying to keep that poorbody and soul together. 

Another hour, rapidly passed in the liberal hospitality of this greatinstitution, and silence had fallen on its congregated thousands. It isa small town in itself, and to a large extent self-dependent andself-governed. It bakes and brews, and makes its gas; and there is noneed of a Licensing Bill to keep its inhabitants sober and steady. Themethod of doing that has been discovered in nature's own law ofkindness. Instead of being chained and treated as wild beasts, thelunatics are treated as unfortunate men and women, and every effort ismade to ameliorate, both physically and morally, their sad condition. Hence the bright wards, the buxom attendants, the frequent jinks. Eventhe chapel-service has been brightened up for their behoof. 

This was what I saw by entering as an amateur fiddler Herr Küster's bandat Hanwell Asylum; and as I ran to catch the last up-train--which I didas the saying is by the skin of my teeth--I felt that I was a wiser, though it may be a sadder man, for my evening's experiences at theLunatic Ball. 

One question would keep recurring to my mind. It has been said that ifyou stop your ears in a ball-room, and then look at the people--reputedsane--skipping about in the new valse or the last galop, you willimagine they must be all lunatics. I did not stop my ears that night, but I opened my eyes and saw hundreds of my fellow-creatures, all withsome strange delusions, many with ferocious and vicious propensities, yet all kept in order by a few warders, a handful of girls, and allbehaving as decorously as in a real ball-room. And the question which_would_ haunt me all the way home was, which are the sane people, andwhich the lunatics?

CHAPTER VI. 

A BABY SHOW. 

There is no doubt that at the present moment the British baby isassuming a position amongst us of unusual prominence and importance. That he should be an institution is inevitable. That he grows upon usLondoners at the rate of some steady five hundred a week, theRegistrar-General's statistics of the excess of births over deaths provebeyond question. His domestic importance and powers of revolutionizing ahousehold are facts of which every Paterfamilias is made, from time totime, unpleasantly aware. But the British baby is doing more than thisjust at present. He is assuming a public position. Perhaps it is onlythe faint index of the extension of women's rights to the infantilecondition of the sexes. Possibly our age is destined to hear of BabySuffrage, Baby's Property Protection, Baby's Rights and Wrongs ingeneral. It is beyond question that the British baby _is_ putting itselfforward, and demanding to be heard--as, in fact, it always had a habitof doing. Its name has been unpleasantly mixed up with certainrevelations at Brixton, Camberwell, and Greenwich. Babies have come tobe farmed like taxes or turnpike gates. The arable infants seem togravitate towards the transpontine districts south of the Thames. Itwill be an interesting task for our Legislature to ascertain whetherthere is any actual law to account for the transfer, as it inevitablywill have to do when the delicate choice is forced upon it betweenjustifiable infanticide, wholesale Hospices des Enfants Trouvés, andpossibly some kind of Japanese "happy despatch" for high-minded infantswho are superior to the slow poison administered by injudicious"farmers. " At all events, one fact is certain, and we can scarcelyreiterate it too often--the British baby is becoming emphatic beyondanything we can recollect as appertaining to the infantile days of thepresent generation. It is as though a ray of juvenile "swellishness, " ascintillation of hobbledehoyhood, were refracted upon the long clothesor three-quarter clothes of immaturity. 

For, if it is true--as we may tax our infantile experiences to assureus--that "farmed" infants were an article unknown to husbandry in ourgolden age, it is equally certain that the idea of the modern Baby Showwas one which, in that remote era, would not have been tolerated. Ourmothers and grandmothers would as soon have thought of sacrificing aninnocent to Moloch as to Mammon. What meant it then--to what can it bedue--to precocity on the part of the British baby, or degeneracy on thepart of the British parent--that two Baby Shows were "on" nearly at thesame moment--one at Mr. Giovannelli's at Highbury Barn, the other at Mr. Holland's Gardens, North Woolwich?

Anxious to keep au courant with the times, even when those times arechronicled by the rapid career of the British baby--anxious also to blotout the idea of the poor emaciated infants of Brixton, Camberwell, andGreenwich, by bringing home to my experience the opposite pole ofinfantile development--I paid a visit, and sixpence, at Highbury Barnwhen the Baby Show opened. On entering Mr. Giovannelli's spacious hall, consecrated on ordinary occasions to the Terpsichorean art, I found it averitable shrine of the "Diva triformis. " Immediately on entering I wassolicited to invest extra coppers in a correct card, containing thenames, weights, and--not colours; they were all of one colour, that ofthe ordinary human lobster--but weights, of the various forms ofWackford Squeers under twelve months, who were then and there assembled, like a lot of little fat porkers. It was, in truth, a sight to whet theappetite of an "annexed" Fiji Islander, or any other carnivorous animal. My correct card specified eighty "entries;" but, although the exhibitiononly opened at two o'clock, and I was there within an hour after, Ifound the numbers up to 100 quite full. The interesting juveniles werearranged within rails, draped with pink calico, all arrayed in "gorgeousattire, " and most of them partaking of maternal sustenance. Themammas--all respectable married women of the working class--seemed toconsider the exhibition of their offspring by no means infra dig. , andwere rather pleased than otherwise to show you the legs and other pointsof their adipose encumbrances. Several proposed that I should test theweight, which I did tremulously, and felt relieved when the infantHercules was restored to its natural protector. The prizes, whichamounted in the gross to between two and three hundred pounds, were tobe awarded in sums of _10l. _ and _5l. _, and sometimes in the shape ofsilver cups, on what principle I am not quite clear; but the decisionwas to rest with a jury of three medical men and two "matrons. " Ifsimple adiposity, or the approximation of the human form divine to thatof the hippopotamus, be the standard of excellence, there could be nodoubt that a young gentleman named Thomas Chaloner, numbered 48 in thecorrect card, aged eight months, and weighing 33lbs. , would be facileprinceps, a prognostication of mine subsequently justified by the event. I must confess to looking with awe, and returning every now and then tolook again, on this colossal child. At my last visit some one asked onwhat it had been fed. Shall I own that the demon of mischief prompted meto supplement the inquiry by adding, "Oil cake, _or_ Thorley's Food forCattle?"

On the score, I suppose, of mere peculiarity, my own attention--Ifrankly confess I am not a connoisseur--was considerably engrossed by"two little Niggers. " No doubt the number afterwards swelled to theorthodox "ten little Niggers. " One was a jovial young "cuss" of elevenmonths--weighted at 29lbs. , and numbered 62 on the card. He was aclean-limbed young fellow, with a head of hair like a furze-bush, andhis mother was quite untinted. I presume Paterfamilias was a finecoloured gentleman. The other representative of the sons of Ham--JohnCharles Abdula, aged three months, weight 21lbs. , and numbered 76--wastoo immature to draw upon my sympathies; since I freely acknowledge suchspecimens are utterly devoid of interest for me until their bones are ofsufficient consistency to enable them to sit upright and look about as aBritish baby should. This particular infant had not an idea aboveculinary considerations. He was a very Alderman in embryo, if there aresuch things as coloured Aldermen. Then there were twins--thatinscrutable visitation of Providence--three brace of gemini. Triplets, in mercy to our paternal feelings, Mr. Giovannelli spared us. 

There was one noteworthy point about this particular exhibition. Themothers, at all events, got a good four days' feed whilst theirinfantile furniture was "on view. " I heard, sotto voce, encomiums on thedinner of the day confidingly exchanged between gushing young matrons, and I myself witnessed the disappearance of a decidedly comfortable tea, to say nothing of sundry pints of porter discussed sub rosâ and free ofexpense to such as stood in need of sustenance; and indeed a good manyseemed to stand in need of it. Small wonder, when the mammas were soforcibly reminded by the highly-developed British baby that, in Byron'sown words, "our life is twofold. "

It is certainly passing, not from the sublime to the ridiculous, butvice versâ, yet it is noting another testimony to the growing importanceof the British baby, if one mentions the growth of crèches, orday-nurseries for working-men's children in the metropolis. Already aninstitution in Paris, they have been recently introduced into England, and must surely prove a boon to the wives of our working men. What inthe world does become of the infants of poor women who are forced towork all day for their maintenance? Is it not a miracle if somethingalmost worse than "farming"--death from negligence, fire, or badnursing--does not occur to them? The good ladies who have founded, andthemselves work, these crèches are surely meeting a confessed necessity. I paid a visit one day to 4, Bulstrode Street, where one of these usefulinstitutions was in full work. I found forty little toddlers, someplaying about a comfortable day-nursery, others sleeping in tiny cribsranged in a double line along a spacious, well-aired sleeping-room;some, too young for this, rocked in cosy cradles; but all clean, safe, and happy. What needs it to say whether the good ladies who tended themwore the habit of St. Vincent de Paul, the poke-bonnet of the Puseyite"sister, " or the simple garb of unpretending Protestantism? The thing isbeing done. The most helpless of all our population--the children of theworking poor--are being kept from the streets, kept from harm, andtrained up to habits of decency, at 4, Bulstrode Street, MaryleboneLane. Any one can go and see it for himself; and if he does--if he sees, as I did, the quiet, unostentatious work that is there being done forthe British baby, "all for love and nothing for reward"--I shall be verymuch surprised if he does not confess that it is one of the bestantidotes imaginable to baby-farming, and a sight more decorous anddignified than any Baby Show that could possibly be imagined. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A NIGHT IN A BAKEHOUSE. 

Alarmed at the prospect of "a free breakfast table" in a sense otherthan the ordinary one--that is, a breakfast table which should be minusthe necessary accompaniment of bread, or the luxury of French rolls--Iresolved to make myself master, so far as might be possible, of the prosand cons of the question at issue between bakers and masters at theperiod of the anticipated strike some years ago. I confess to havinggreatly neglected the subject of strikes. I had attended a few meetingsof the building operatives; but the subject was one in which I myselfwas not personally interested. I am not likely to want to build a house, and might manage my own little repairs while the strike lasted. But Iconfess to a leaning for the staff of life. There are sundry smallmouths around me, too, of quite disproportionate capacities in the wayof bread and butter, to say nothing at all of biscuits, buns, andtartlets. The possibility of having to provide for an impending state ofsiege, then, was one that touched me immediately and vitally. Should I, before the dreaded event, initiate the wife of my bosom in themysteries of bread baking? Should I commence forthwith a series ofpractical experiments within the limited confines of my kitchen oven? Toprevent the otherwise inevitable heaviness and possible ropiness in myloaves of the future, some such previous process would certainly have tobe adopted. But, then, in order to calculate the probabilities of thecrisis, an examination of the status in quo was necessary. Having ahabit of going to head-quarters in such questions, I resolved to do soon the present occasion; so I took my hat, and, as Sam Slick says, "Ioff an' out. "

The actual head-quarters of the men I found to be at the Pewter Platter, White Lion Street, Bishopsgate. Thither I adjourned, and, after drinkingthe conventional glass of bitter at the bar, asked for a baker. One cameforth from an inner chamber, looking sleepy, as bakers always look. Inthe penetralia of the parlour which he left I saw a group of flourycomrades, the prominent features of the gathering being depression andbagatelle. By my comatose friend I was referred to the Admiral Carter, in Bartholomew Close, where the men's committee sat daily at four. Thesociety in front of the bar there was much more cheerful than that ofthe Pewter Platter, and the bakers were discussing much beer, of whichthey hospitably invited me to partake. Still I learned little of theirmovements, save that they were to a man resolved to abide by the nowfamiliar platform of work from four to four, higher wages, and no Sundaybakings. These were the principal features of the demands, the sackmoney and perquisites being confessedly subsidiary. Nauseated as thepublic was and is with strikes, there are certain classes of thecommunity with whom it is disposed to sympathize; and certainly one ofthose classes is that of journeymen bakers. Bread for breakfast we musthave, and rolls we should like; but we should also like to have thesecommodities with as little nightwork as possible on the part of thosewho produce them. The "Appeal to the Public" put forth by the StrikeCommittee on the evening of the day concerning which I write was, perhaps, a trifle sensational; but if there was any truth in it, such astate of things demanded careful investigation--especially if it was afact that the baker slept upon the board where the bread was made, andmingled his sweat and tears with the ingredients of the staff of life. Pardonably, I hope, I wished to eat bread without baker for mybreakfast; but how could I probe this dreadful problem? I had it--by avisit to the bakehouse of my own baker, if possible, during the hours ofwork. 

So I set out afresh after supper, and was most obligingly received bythe proprietor of what one may well take as a typical West-endshop--neither very large nor very small--what is graphically termed a"snug" concern with a good connexion, doing, as the technical phrasegoes, from sixteen to twenty sacks a week. The resources of thisestablishment were at once placed at my disposal for the night. Now, theadvantage of conferring with this particular master was, that he was notpig-headed on the one hand, nor unduly concessive, as he deemed some ofhis fellow-tradesmen to be, on the other. He did not consider ajourneyman baker's berth a bed of roses, or his remuneration likely tomake him a millionaire; but neither did he lose sight of the fact thatcertain hours must be devoted to work, and a limit somewhere placed towage, or the public must suffer through the employer of labour by beingforced to pay higher prices. The staff of this particular establishmentconsisted of four men at the following wages: A foreman at _28s. _ and asecond hand at _20s. _ a week, both of whom were outsiders; while, sleeping on the premises, and, at the time of my arrival, buried in thearms of Morpheus, were a third hand, at _16s. _, and a fourth, at _12s. _Besides these wages they had certain perquisites, such as bread, butter, sugar, flour, sack-money, yeast-money, &c. ; and the master, moreover, took his adequate share of day-work. He was seated outside his shop, enjoying the cool breezes, not of evening, but of midnight, when Ipresented myself before his astonished gaze. His wife and children hadlong since retired. The foreman and second "hand" had not arrived; thethird and fourth "hands" were, as I said, sweetly sleeping, in a chamberon the basement, well out of range of the bakehouse, to which, like acouple of conspirators, we descended. It was not exactly the spot onewould have selected for a permanent residence if left free to choose. Itwas, perhaps, as Mr. Dickens's theatrical gentleman phrased it, pernicious snug; but the ventilation was satisfactory. There were twoovens, which certainly kept the place at a temperature higher than mighthave been agreeable on that hot September night. Kneading troughs wereranged round the walls, and in the centre, like an altar-tomb, was thefatal "board" where, however, I sought in vain for the traces ofperspiration or tears. All was scrupulously clean. In common phrase, youmight have "eaten your dinner" off any portion of it. 

Soon after midnight the outsiders turned in, first the second hand andthen the foreman, and, plunging into the "Black Hole, " made theirtoilettes du soir. Then active operations commenced forthwith. In onecompartment of the kneading-trough was the "sponge, " which had beenprepared by the foreman early in the evening, and which now, havingproperly settled, was mixed with the flour for the first batch, and leftto "prove. " The process of making the dough occupied until about oneo'clock, and then followed two hours of comparative tranquillity, during which the men adjourned to the retirement of certain millers'sacks hard by, which they rolled up cleverly into extempore beds, andseemed to prefer to the board. The proving takes about two hours, butvaries with the temperature. If the dough is left too long, a sourbatch, or a "pitch in, " is the result. It is then cut out, weighed, and"handed up;" after which it stands while the dough for the second batchis being made, and those fatal rolls, around which so much of thiscontest is likely to turn, are being got forward. It must be understoodthat I am here describing what took place in my typical bakehouse. Proceedings will of course vary in details according to theneighbourhood, the season, and other circumstances. This makes, as myinformant suggested, the race of bakers necessarily in some degree avarium atque mutabile genus, whom it is difficult to bind by rigid "hardand fast" lines. The first batch is in the oven at four, and is drawnabout 5. 30. During the intervals there has been the preparation of fancybread and the "getting off" of the rolls. Then the "cottage" batch ismoulded and got off, and comes out of the oven at eight. From threeo'clock up to this hour there has been active work enough for everybody, and I felt myself considerably in the way, adjourning ever and anon tothe master's snuggery above stairs to note down my experiences. As forthe men, they must have fancied that I was an escaped lunatic, withharmless eccentricities; and the fourth hand, who was young, gazed at meall night with a fixed and sleepy glare, as though on his guard lest Ishould be seized with a refractory fit. At eight the close atmosphere ofthe bakehouse was exchanged for the fresh morning breeze by three out ofthe four hands, who went to deliver the bread. The foreman remained withthe master to work at "small goods" until about one, when he preparesthe ferment for the next night's baking. All concerned can get theiroperations over about one or half-past one; so that, reckoning them tobegin at half-past twelve, and deducting two hours of "sweat and tears"from one to three, when they can sleep if they will, there are someeleven hours of active labour. After the delivery of the bread is over, it should be mentioned, each man has about half an hour's bakehouse workin the way of getting coals, cleaning biscuit tins, brushing up, &c. When this is done, all, with the exception of the foreman, who will haveto look in and make the sponge at eight P. M. , are free until thecommencement of their most untimely work at midnight. 

On Sunday, the work in this particular bakehouse is comparatively nil. The ovens have to be started on Sunday morning; but this the master doeshimself, and puts in the ferment, so that there is only the sponge tobe made in the evening--a brief hour's job, taken on alternate Sundaysby the foreman and the second hand. The "undersellers, " my informanttold me, made large sums by Sunday bakings, often covering their rent bythem, so that their abandonment would be a serious question; but therewas little in the way of Sabbath-breaking in my typical bakehouse. Asthere were no Sunday bakings, Saturday was a rather harder day thanothers, there being a general scrub-up of the premises. The work, myinformant thought, could be condensed by judicious co-operation, and the"four to four" rule might be adopted in some establishments, but by nomeans in all--as, for instance, where there was a speciality for rollsand fancy bread. It seems, as usual, that the difficulties thicken, notabout the necessaries, but about the luxuries and kickshaws of life. Themaster relieved my immediate fears by saying that he scarcely imaginedmatters would come to a crisis. There was this difference between thebuilding and the baking trades, that all the master bakers had beenjourneymen themselves, and were thus able to sympathize with the men'sdifficulties. They were not, he seemed to think, disposed to haggle overa few shillings; but he added, "This is not a question of labour againstcapital only, but of labour against capital plus labour. I could, " hesaid, "if my men left me on the 21st, make bread enough myself tosupply all my customers, only they would have to fetch it forthemselves. "

Thus my worst fears were relieved. If it only came to going out for myloaf, and even foregoing French rolls, I could face that like a man; soI paced the streets gaily in the morning air and arrived home safelysome time after the milk, and about the same hour as those rollsthemselves whose hitherto unguessed history I had so far fathomed by mybrief experiences in the bakehouse. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A LONDON SLAVE MARKET. 

There is a story called "Travellers' Wonders" in that volume which usedto be the delight of our childhood, when the rising generation was moreeasily amused and not quite so wide-awake as at present. The point ofthe narrative is, that a facetious old gentleman named Captain Compassbeguiles a group of juveniles--who must have been singularly gullibleeven for those early days--by describing in mysterious andalien-sounding terms the commonest home objects, such as coals, cheese, butter, and so on. It would almost seem as though Hood must have beenperpetrating a kindred joke upon grown-up children when he wrote thelines--

 It's O to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian Work!

Was he aware that here, in the heart of Christian London, without goingfarther east than Bethnal Green, there had existed from time immemorial, as there exists still, a genuine Slave Market? Such there is, andactually so named; less romantic, indeed, than that we read of in "DonJuan, " or used to see on the Adelphi boards in the drama of the"Octoroon"--but still interesting in its way to those who have apenchant for that grotesque side of London life where the sublime andthe ridiculous sometimes blend so curiously. 

With only the vague address of Bethnal Green and the date of Tuesdaymorning to guide me, I set out for Worship Street Police Court, thinkingit possible to gain some further particulars from the police. I foundthose functionaries civil, indeed, but disposed to observe even morethan official reticence about the Slave Market. They told me thelocality precisely enough, but were even more vague as to the hour thanmy own impressions. In fact, the sum of what I could gain from them was, in slightly Hibernian language, that there was nothing to see, and Icould see it any time on a Tuesday morning when I chose to go down WhiteStreet, Bethnal Green. Leaving the Court and inquiring my route to WhiteStreet, I found that it ran off to the right some way down the BethnalGreen Road from Shoreditch Station. Having turned out of the mainthoroughfare, you proceed down one of those characteristic East Endstreets where every small householder lives behind an elaborate brightgreen door with portentous knocker, going on until an arch of the GreatEastern Railway spans the road. Arriving at this point any time betweenthe hours of eight and half-past nine on a Monday or Tuesday morning, you have no need to be told that this is the East London SlaveMarket--supposing you knew such a thing as a slave market was to be seenin East London at all. 

There was, indeed, nothing resembling Byron's graphic description in"Don Juan. " Our English slaves were all apparently of one nation, andthere were no slave merchants. The hundred young ladies and gentlemen, of all ages from seven to seventeen, were, as they would have expressedit, "on their own hook. " Ranged under the dead brick wall of the railwayarch, there was a generally mouldy appearance about them. Instead of apicturesque difference of colour, there was on every visage simply agreater or less degree of that peculiar neutral tint, the unmistakableunlovely hue of London dirt. In this respect, too, they differed fromthe fresh country lads and lasses one sees at a hiring in the North. They were simply male and female City Arabs, with that superabundantpower of combining business and pleasure which characterizes their race. The young gentlemen, in the intervals of business--and it seemed to beall interval and no business--devoted themselves to games at buttons. Each of the young ladies--I am afraid to say _how_ young--had hercavalier, and applied herself to very pronounced flirtation. Thelanguage of one and all certainly fulfilled the baptismal promise oftheir sponsors, if the poor little waifs ever had any--for it was very"vulgar tongue" indeed; and there was lots of it. The great sensationof the morning was a broken window in an unoffending tradesman's shop--afar from unusual occurrence, as I learnt from the sufferer. This led toa slave hunt on the part of the single policeman who occasionally showedhimself to keep as quiet as might be the seething mass of humanity; andthe young lady or gentleman who was guilty of the damage was "offmarket" for the morning--while the suffering tradesman was assailed witha volley of abuse, couched in strongest Saxon, for meekly protestingagainst the demolition of his window-pane. 

The scene was most characteristic--very unlike the genteel West EndServants' Registry, where young ladies and gentlemen's gentlemen saunterin to find places with high wages and the work "put out. " It was onTuesday morning, and a little late in the day, that I timed my visit;and I was informed that the Market was somewhat flat. Certainly, onecould not apply to it the technicalities of the Stock Exchange, and saythat little boys were "dull, " or girls, big or little, "inactive;" butearly on a Monday morning is, it appears, the time to see the SlaveMarket in full swing. Strangely enough, so far as I could judge, it wasall slaves and no buyers--or, rather, hirers. I did not see the symptomof a bargain being struck, though I was informed that a good many smalltradesmen do patronize the Market, for shop-boys, nurse-girls, orhousehold drudges. I do not know whether my appearance was particularlyattractive; but the number of offers I received from domestics of allkinds would have sufficed to stock half-a-dozen establishments. "Want aboy, sir?" "A girl for the childer, sir?" said the juveniles, while theoffers of the adult ladies were more emphatic and less quotable. All, ofcourse, was mere badinage, or, as they would have called it, "chaff, "and it was meant good-humouredly enough; though, had I been a legitimatehirer, I do not know that I should have been tempted to add to myhousehold from this source. Indeed, there were some not exactly pleasantreflections cast on the Slave Market by those whom I consulted as to itsmerits. It was not unusual, I was told, for slaves who were hired on aMonday to turn up again on Tuesday morning, either from incompatibilityof temper on the part of domestic and superior, or from other causesunexplained. Tuesday morning is, in fact, to a large extent, the mereresiduum either of Monday's unhired incapables, or of "returns. " Andyet, as I looked around, I saw--as where does one not see?--some fairyoung faces; girls who might have played with one's little children allthe better because they were so nearly children themselves; and boys ofpreternatural quickness, up to any job, and capable of being useful--ay, and even ornamental--members of society, if only that dreadful BethnalGreen twang could have been eradicated. The abuse of the mother tongueon the part even of these children was simply frightful. If this were soin their playful moods, what--one could not help thinking--would it beif any dispute arose on a contested point of domestic economy: as, forinstance, the too rapid disappearance of the cold mutton, or suddenabsence of master's boots?

There was a garrulous cobbler whose stall bordered on the Market, andhis panacea for all the evils the Slave Market brought with it was theLondon School Board. "Why don't the officers come down and collar someo' them youngsters, sir?" Why, indeed? At present the Slave Market isundoubtedly a nuisance; but there is no reason why, under proper policesupervision, it should not become a local convenience. The ways of EastLondon differ in all respects from those of the West, and Servants'Registries would not pay. Masters and servants are alike too poor toadvertise; and there seems to be no reason why the Slave Market, under achanged name, and with improved regulations, may not as really supply awant as the country "hirings" do. The Arab, at present, is not to betrusted with too much liberty. Both male and female have odd Bedouinways of their own, requiring considerable and judicious manipulation tomould them to the customs of civilized society. The respectableresidents, tired of the existing state of things, look not unreasonably, as ratepayers, to the School Board to thin down the children, and thepolice to keep the adults in order. Under such conditions, the BethnalGreen Slave Market may yet become a useful institution. 

CHAPTER IX. 

TEA AND EXPERIENCE. 

I was walking the other day in one of the pleasant western suburbs, andrashly sought a short cut back; when, as is generally the case, I foundthat the longer would have been much the nearer way home. Before I knewit, I was involved in the labyrinths of that region, sacred towasherwomen and kindred spirits, known as Kensal New Town; and myfurther progress was barred by the intervention of the Paddington Canal, which is spanned at rare intervals in this locality by pay-bridges, tothe great discomfort of the often impecunious natives. There was noteven one of these at hand, or my halfpenny would have been paid underprotest; so I had to wander like a lost sprite among the network ofsemi-genteel streets that skirt that most ungenteel thoroughfare, theKensal New Town Road, and forthwith I began to find the neighbourhoodpapered with placards, announcing a "Tea and Experience Meeting" at alocal hall, under the presidency of the Free Church pastor, for thefollowing Monday evening. Bakers' shops bristled with the handbills, andthey studded the multitudinous pork butchers' windows in juxtapositionwith cruel-looking black puddings and over-fat loin chops. I determinedI would go, if not to the tea, certainly to the "Experience, " for I likenovel experiences of all kinds: and this would certainly be new, whetheredifying or not. 

I got at length out of the labyrinth, and on the following Mondayventured once more within its mazes, though not exactly at six o'clock, which was the hour appointed for the preliminary experience of tea. Ihad experienced that kind of thing once or twice before, and never foundmyself in a position of such difficulty as on those occasions. In thefirst place I do not care about tea, when it is good; but loathe it whenboiled in a washhouse copper, and poured out from a large tin can, ofwhich it tastes unpleasantly. But, then again, the quantity as well asthe quality of the viands to be consumed was literally too much for me. I might have managed one cup of decidedly nasty tea, or what passesmuster for such, but not four or five, which I found to be the minimum. I could stomach, or secretly dispose of in my pockets, a single slice ofleaden cake or oleaginous bread-and-butter; but I could not do this withmultitudinous slabs of either. I never went to more than one tea-meetingwhere I felt at home, and that was at the Soirée Suisse, which takesplace annually in London, where pretty Helvetian damsels brew the mostfragrant coffee and hand round delicious little cakes, arrayed as theyare in their killing national costume and chattering in a dozendifferent patois. I had a notion that tea at Kensal New Town would bevery much less eligible, so I stopped away. Perhaps I was prejudiced. The tea might have been different from what I expected. The experiencescertainly were. 

I got there about half-past seven, having allowed an interval of an hourand a half, which I thought would be sufficient for the most inveteratetea-drinker, even among the Kensal Town laundresses, should such happento be present. I took the precaution, however, of bespeaking a lad offifteen to accompany me, in case any of the fragments of the feastshould yet have to be disposed of, since I knew his powers to equalthose of the ostrich in stowing away eatables, especially in the lumpycake line. Arrived at the hall, however, I found no symptoms of the teasave a steamy sort of smell and the rattle of the retreating cups andsaucers. Whether "to my spirit's gain or loss, " I had escaped thebanquet and yet got in good time for the subsequent experiences. 

A motherly-looking woman stood at the door, and gave me a cheeryinvitation to come in. She looked rather askance at my boy, but findinghim properly convoyed by my sober self, she admitted him within theportal. A good many young gentlemen of a similar age were evidentlyexcluded, and were regaling themselves with pagan sports outside. Thehall was partially filled with respectable-looking mechanics, theirwives, and families, there being more wives than mechanics, and morefamilies than either. Children abounded, especially babies in everystage of infantile development. Many were taking their maternal tea; andthe boys and girls were got up in the most festive attire, the boysparticularly shining with yellow soap. Most of the mammas wore perkyhats, and many had follow-me-lads down the back, but all wereexceedingly well-dressed and well-behaved, though evidently brimful ofhilarity as well as cake and tea. 

At the end of the hall was the inevitable platform, with chairs and alarge cushion spread over the front rail for convenience of praying;since the "experiences" were to be interspersed with sacred song andprayer. Two gentlemen--I use the term advisedly--mounted the rostrum, one a long-bearded, middle-aged man, in a frock coat, who was thepastor, and another an aged minister, superannuated, as I afterwardsdiscovered, and not altogether happy in his worldly lot. He was veryold, grey-haired, and feeble, with a worn suit of clerical black, and avoluminous white tie. He sat humbly, almost despondingly, by the side ofhis younger brother in the ministry, while the latter delivered a merrylittle opening address, hoping all had made a good tea; if not, therewas still about half a can left. Nobody wanted any more; so they had ahymn from the "Sacred Songster, " a copy of which volume I purchased inthe hall for twopence halfpenny. The tune was a martial one, well sungby a choir of men and women to the accompaniment of a harmonium, andbravely borne part in, you may depend upon it, by the whole assembly, Iverily believe, except the babies, and one or two of these put in a notesometimes. The hymn was called, "Oh, we are Volunteers!" and was veryChurch-militant indeed, beginning thus:--

 Oh, we are volunteers in the army of the Lord, Forming into line at our Captain's word; We are under marching orders to take the battle-field, And we'll ne'er give o'er the fight till the foe shall yield. 

Then came the chorus, repeated after every verse:--

 Come and join the army, the army of the Lord, Jesus is our Captain, we rally at His word: Sharp will be the conflict with the powers of sin, But with such a leader we are sure to win. 

The poor old minister offered up a short prayer. The pastor read the 1stCorinthians, chapter 13, and explained briefly what charity meant there;adding that this gathering was very like one of the Agapæ of the earlyChristians--a remark I had not expected to hear in that assembly. Thenthere was another hymn, "Beautiful Land of Rest, " when it did one goodto hear the unction with which the second syllable of the refrain wasgiven:--

 Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Beautiful land of rest. 

After this the "Experiences" commenced in real earnest. Brothers andSisters were exhorted to lay aside shyness and mount the platform. Ofcourse no one would do so at first; and the poor shaky old minister hadto come to the rescue. 

He told us, at rather too great length, the simple story of hislife--how he was a farmer's son, and had several brothers "besideshimself. " He had to learn verses of the Bible for his father, which usedto go against the grain, until at last, instead of being "a wicked boy, "he took up religion on his own account. He began to be afraid that, ifhe died, he should go to "a bad place, " and therefore started saying hisprayers. His brother George used to push him over when he was prayinghalf-dressed in the bedroom, or occasionally vary proceedings bystirring him up with a sweeping brush. At last he found out a quietplace under a haystack, and there retired to pray. The old man drew aperfect picture of the first prayer thus offered, and told us he couldremember every little detail of the spot, and the great oak treespreading its branches over it. "Here I am, " he said, "a poor oldpilgrim on the bright side of seventy now, and yet I can remember itall. I say the 'bright' side, for I know it is a bright home I am soongoing to. " Then he told us how God took his wife from him and all hisworldly goods, and he was quite eloquent about the comfort his religionwas to him now as he went to his little lonely lodging. He drew next tootruthful a picture of the state of things he saw around him in KensalNew Town--mothers with infants in their arms crowding the tavern doors;and finished up with a story, of which he did not see the irrelevancy, about a fine lady going to the "theatre, " and saying how much she hadenjoyed the anticipation, then the play itself, and, lastly, the thoughtof it afterwards. She was overheard by a faithful pastor, who told hershe had omitted one detail. "No, " she said, "I have told you all. " "Youhave told us how you enjoyed the thoughts of the theatre, and theperformance, and the recollection of it afterwards; but you have nottold us how you will enjoy the thoughts of it on your death-bed. " Ofcourse the "fine lady" was converted on the spot, as they always are intracts; and the good old fellow brought his long-winded narrative ofexperiences to an end by-and-by, the pastor having omitted to pull hiscoat-tails, as he promised to do if any speaker exceeded the allottedtime. "The people were certainly very attentive to hear him, " and oneman next my boy expressed his satisfaction by letting off little groans, like minute guns, at frequent intervals. 

Then another hymn was sung, "The Beautiful Land on High, " which, by theway, is a favourite with the spiritualists at their "Face Séances. " Ihalf expected to see a ghostly-looking visage peep out of some cornercupboard, as I had often done with my spiritual friends--that beinganother experience which I cultivate with considerable interest andcuriosity. The hymn being over, a black-bearded, but soft-voiced man, ina velveteen coat, got upon the platform, and told us how the chiefdelight of his life was at one time making dogs fight. When the animalswere not sufficiently pugnacious of themselves, his habit was toconstruct an apparatus, consisting of a pin at the end of a stick, andso urge them to the combat, until it proved fatal to one of them. Itwas, he said, dreadful work; and he now considered it the directmachination of Satan. Another favourite pursuit was interrupting theproceedings of open-air missionaries. One day after he had done so, hewent home with a companion who had taken a tract from one of themissionaries. He had a quarrel with his "missis. " "Not that mississittin' there, " he said, alluding to a smart lady in front, "but myfirst missis. " In order to show his sulks against his missis, he took toreading the tract, and it soon made him cry. Then he went to chapel andheard a sermon on Lot's wife being turned into a pillar of salt. He wasa little exercised by this, and saw the minister in the vestry, but soonfell back into bad habits again, singing canaries for _10s. 6d. _ a side. As he was taking his bird out one Sunday morning, the bottom of the cagecame out, and the canary escaped. This he looked upon as "God's work, "since it caused him to go to chapel that morning. His conversion soonfollowed, and he applied to that circumstance, in a very appositemanner, the Parable of the Prodigal, concluding with a stanza from thewell-known hymn--

 God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. 

Another moustached man followed. He was exceedingly well-dressed, though he told us he was only a common labourer. He had long given uphis "'art" to God, but to little purpose until he came to this chapel. "But there, " he said, "down in that corner under the gas-lamp, I prayedfor the first time. I prayed that God would take away my stony 'art andgive me a 'art of flesh, and renew a right sperrit within me. " From thattime he led a new life. His fellow-workmen began to sneer at the change, and said ironically they should take to going to chapel too. "I wish toGod you would, " was his reply. He described the personal influence ofthe pastor upon him, which strengthened the good resolutions he hadformed, and enabled him to say, "I will not let Thee go. "

I could not help thinking, as I listened to the simple, earnest words ofthe speaker, that here was an element the National Church is too apt toignore. The Roman Catholic Church would seize hold upon that man, andput him in a working men's guild or confraternity. The Free Church foundhim work to do, and gave him a chief seat in the synagogue, and anopportunity of airing his "experiences" on a platform. Surely bettereither one or the other, than sotting his life at a public-house, orturning tap-room orator. He ended by crying shame upon himself forhaving put off the change until so late in life, and added a wish thatall the labouring classes could see, as he had been brought to see, where their chief interest as well as happiness lay. 

A tall man from the choir followed, and was considerably moreself-possessed than the other two speakers. He told us at the outsetthat he had been "a Christian" for fourteen years. It was generally laiddown as a rule, he said, that big men were good-tempered. He was not asmall man; but until he gave his heart to God he was nevergood-tempered. He had, for thirty-two years, been brought up in theChurch of England, but had found no conversion there. He had no wish tospeak against the Church, but such was the case. He wandered about agood deal in those years, from Roman Catholic to Old Methodist chapels;but the latter settled him. He was attending a class meeting in KensalNew Town one night, and suddenly a determination came over him that hewould not sleep that night until he had kneeled down and prayed with hiswife, though it would be the first time he had done so for thirty-twoyears. When it came to bedtime his courage failed him. He could not getinto bed; and he did not like to tell his wife why. "That, " he said, "was the devil worritin' me. " His wife said, "I know what's the matterwith you. You want to pray. We will see what we can do. " His wife, hetold us, was "unconverted, " but still she "throwed open the door" onthat occasion. He never knew happiness, he said, until he came to Jesus;and he added, "Oh, I do love my Jesus. " He often talked to hisfellow-workmen about the state of their souls, and they asked him howit was he was so certain of being converted (a question I fancy othersthan they would like to have solved), and he answered them, "I feel it. I was uncomfortable before; and now I am happy. I don't wonder so muchat the old martyrs going boldly up to the stake, because I feel I coulddo anything rather than give up my Jesus. "

Hereupon the pastor, anticipating the departure of some of theassembly--for the clock was pointing to ten--announced a TemperanceMeeting for the following Monday, and also said he should like thecongregation to get up these meetings entirely on their own account, without any "clerical" element at all, and to make the Tea Meeting a"Free and Easy" in the best sense of the word. 

I went--shall I confess it?--to the experience meeting rather inclinedto scoff, and I stopped, if not altogether to pray, at least to thinkvery seriously of the value of the instrumentality thus brought tobear on such intractable material as the Kensal New Town population. The more cumbrous, even if more perfect or polished, machinery of theEstablished Church has notoriously failed for a long time to affectsuch raw material; and if it is beginning to succeed it is really by"taking a leaf out of the book" of such pastors as the one whoseTea-and-Experience Meeting I had attended. "Palmam qui meruit ferat. "

Stiggins element, I must, in all justice, say there was none. The pastorwas a simple but a refined and gentlemanly man; so was the poor brokenold minister. There was no symptom of raving or rant; no vulgarity orbad taste. A gathering at a deanery or an episcopal palace could nothave been more decorous, and I doubt if the hymns would have been sungas heartily. There was as little clerical starch as there was of theopposite element. Rubbing off the angles of character was one of theobjects actually proposed by the pastor as the result of thesegatherings; and I really felt as though a corner or two had gone out ofmy constitution. If a man is disposed to be priggish, or a ladyexclusive, in religious matters, I would recommend the one or the otherto avail themselves of the next opportunity to attend aTea-and-Experience Meeting at Kensal New Town. 

CHAPTER X. 

SUNDAY LINNET-SINGING. 

There is something very Arcadian and un-Cockney-like in the idea oflinnet-singing in Lock's Fields. Imagination pictures so readily thegreen pastures and the wild bird's song, and Corydon with his pipe andhis Phyllis, that it seems a pity to disabuse that exquisite faculty ofour nature so far as to suggest that the linnets of which we speak arenot wild, but tame and caged, and the fields very much less rural thanthose of Lincoln's Inn. This was the announcement that drew me to theNew Kent Road on a recent Sunday morning to hear what poor Cockney Keatscalled the "tender-legged linnets:" "Bird-singing. --A match is madebetween Thomas Walker (the Bermondsey Champion) and William Hart(Champion of Walworth) to sing two linnets, on Sunday, for _2l. _ a side;birds to be on the nail precisely at two o'clock; the host to bereferee. _10s. _ is now down; the remainder by nine this evening, at theJolly Butchers, Rodney Road, Lock's Fields. Also a copper kettle will besung for on the same day by six pairs of linnets; first pair up athalf-past six o'clock in the evening. Any person requiring the saidroom for matches, &c. , on making application to the host, willimmediately be answered. "

Rodney Road, be it known, is anything but a romantic thoroughfare, leading out of the New Kent Road, a little way from the Elephant andCastle; and the caravanserai bearing the title of the Jolly Butchers isan unpretending beershop, with no outward and visible signs of especialjoviality. On entering I met mine host, rubicund and jolly enough, whopolitely pioneered me upstairs, when I reported myself as in quest ofthe linnets. The scene of contest I found to be a largish room, wheresome twenty or thirty most un-Arcadian looking gentlemen were alreadyassembled, the only adjunct at all symptomatic of that pastoral districtbeing their pipes, at which they were diligently puffing. The whole ofthe tender-legged competitors, both for the money and the copper kettle, were hanging in little square green cages over the fireplace; and theone idea uppermost in my mind was how well the linnets must be seasonedto tobacco smoke if they could sing at all in the atmosphere which thoseCorydons were so carefully polluting. Corydon, besides his pipe, hadadopted nuts and beer to solace the tedium of the quarter of an hourthat yet intervened before the Bermondsey bird and its Walworthantagonist were to be "on the nail;" and ever and anon fresh Corydonskept dropping in, until some fifty or sixty had assembled. They were allof one type. There was a "birdiness" discernible on the outer man ofeach; for birdiness, as well as horseyness, writes its mark on thecountenance and the attire. In the latter department there was aproclivity to thick pea-jackets and voluminous white comforters roundthe neck, though the day was springlike and the room stuffy. The talkwas loud, but not boisterous, and garnished with fewer elegant flowersof speech than one would have expected. Five minutes before two thenon-competing birds were carefully muffled up in pocket-handkerchiefs, and carried in their cages out of earshot, lest their twitterings mightinspire the competing minstrels. Bermondsey and Walworth alone occupiedthe nails. Scarcely any bets were made. They seemed an impecuniousassemblage, gathered for mere sport. One gentleman did, indeed, offer tostake "that 'ere blowsy bob, " as though a shilling in his possessionwere a rarity of which his friends must be certainly aware. What was theoccult meaning of the epithet "Blowsy" I could not fathom, but therewere no takers; and, after the windows had been opened for a few minutesto clear the atmosphere, they were closed again; the door locked; thetwo markers took their place at a table in front of the birds, with bitsof chalk in their hands; mine host stood by as referee in case ofdisputes; time was called; and silence reigned supreme for a quarter ofan hour, broken only by the vocal performances of the Bermondsey andWalworth champions respectively. If a hapless human being did so farforget himself as to cough or tread incontinently upon a nutshell, hewas called to silence with curses not loud but deep. 

The Walworth bird opened the concert with a brilliant solo by way ofoverture, which was duly reported by the musical critic in the shape ofa chalk line on the table. The length of the effusion did not matter; along aria, or a brilliant but spasmodic cadenza, each counted one, andone only. The Bermondsey bird, heedless of the issue at stake, devotedthe precious moments to eating, emitting nothing beyond a dyspeptictwitter which didn't count; and his proprietor stood by me evidentlychagrined, and perspiring profusely, either from anxiety or superfluousattire. Nearly half the time had gone by before Bermondsey put forth itspowers. Meanwhile, Walworth made the most of the opportunity, singing ina manner of which I did not know linnets were capable. There were notesand passages in the répertoire of Walworth which were worthy of acanary. The bird no doubt felt that the credit of home art was at stake, and sang with a vigour calculated to throw foreign feathered artistesinto the shade. Bermondsey evidently sang best after dinner, so he dinedlike an alderman; yet dined, alas! not wisely, but too well, or rathertoo long. Then he sang, first, a defiant roulade or so, as much as tosay, "Can you beat that, Walworth?" pausing, with his head wickedly onone side, for a reply. That reply was not wanting, for Walworth wasflushed with success; and one could not help regretting ignorance ofbird-language so as to gather exactly what the reply meant. Then came aprotracted duet between the two birds, which was the pièce de résistanceof the whole performance. The silence became irksome. I could not helpcongratulating myself on the fact that no Corydon had brought hisPhyllis; for Phyllis, I am sure, would not have been able to stand it. Phyllis, I feel certain, would have giggled. We remained mute as mice, solemn as judges. The ghost of a twitter was hailed with mute signs ofapproval by the backers of each bird; but a glance at the expressivefeatures of the host warned the markers that nothing must be chalkeddown that did not come up to his idea of singing. Had the destinies ofempires hung upon his nod he could scarcely have looked more oracular. But Walworth could afford to take matters easily now. For the last fiveminutes the Bermondsey bird did most of the music; still it was ahopeless case. Success was not on the cards. By-and-by, time was againcalled. Babel recommenced, and the result stood as follows:

 Walworth 3 score 18 Bermondsey 1 score 10

It was an ignominious defeat truly; and, had one been disposed tomoralize, it had not been difficult to draw a moral therefrom. It wasnot a case of "no song, no supper;" but of supper--or, rather, dinner--and no song. Bermondsey had failed in the artistic combat, notfrom lack of powers, as its brilliant part in the duet and itssubsequent soli proved, but simply from a Sybaritic love for creaturecomforts. I ventured to suggest it might have been expedient to removethe seed, but was informed that, under those circumstances, thecreature--its proprietor called it an uglier name--would not have sungat all. The remarkable part of the business to me was that they did singat the proper time. They had not uttered anything beyond a twitter untilsilence was called, and from that moment one or the other was singingincessantly. I suppose it was the silence. I have noticed not only cagedbirds, but children--not to speak ungallantly of the fair sex--generallygive tongue most freely when one is silent, and presumably wants to keepso. 

The contest, however, was over, the stakes paid, and Corydon sought hispastoral pipe again--not without beer. It was a new experience, but nota very exciting one--to me, at least. It evidently had its attractionsfor the very large majority of attendants. In fact, Rodney Road isgenerally a "birdy" neighbourhood. Its staple products, to judge by theshops, seemed birds and beer. I was much pressed by mine host to stayfor the evening entertainment, when six birds were to sing, and theattendance would be more numerous. As some five hours intervened Iexpressed regret at my inability to remain, reserving my opinion thatfive hours in Lock's Fields might prove the reverse of attractive, andCorydon in greater force might not have an agreeable effect on thatalready stuffy chamber. So I took myself off, wondering much, by theway, what strange association of ideas could have led any imaginativeman to propose such an incongruous reward as a copper kettle by way ofpræmium for linnet-singing. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A WOMAN'S RIGHTS DEBATE. 

There never was a time when, on all sorts of subjects, from Mesmerism toWoman's Rights, the ladies had so much to say for themselves. There isan ancient heresy which tells us that, on most occasions, ladies areprone to have the last word; but certain it is that they are makingthemselves heard now. On the special subject of her so-called "Rights"the abstract Woman was, I knew, prodigiously emphatic--how emphatic, though, I was not quite aware, until having seen from the top of aCity-bound omnibus that a lady whom I will describe by the Aristophanicname of Praxagora would lecture at the Castle Street Co-operativeInstitute. I went and co-operated so far as to form one of that lady'saudience. Her subject--the "Political Status of Women"--was evidentlyattractive, not only to what we used in our innocence to call the weakersex, but also to those who are soon to have proved to them the fallacyof calling themselves the stronger. A goodly assemblage had gathered inthe fine hall of the Co-operators to join in demolishing that ancientmyth as to the superiority of the male sex. My first intention was tohave reported verbatim or nearly so the oration of Praxagora on thesubject; and if I changed my scheme it was not because that lady did notdeserve to be reported. She said all that was to be said on the matter, and said it exceedingly well too; but when the lecture, which lastedfifty minutes, was over, I found it was to be succeeded by a debate; andI thought more might be gained by chronicling the collision of opinionthence ensuing than by simply quoting the words of any one speaker, however eloquent or exhaustive. 

I own with fear and trembling--for it is a delicate, dangerousavowal--that, as a rule, I do not sympathize with the ladies who declaimon the subject of Woman's Rights. I do not mean to say I lack sympathywith the subject--I should like everybody to have their rights, andespecially women--but they are sometimes asserted in such asledge-hammer fashion, and the ladies who give them utterance are soprone to run large and be shrill-voiced that their very physique provestheir claim either unnecessary or undesirable. I feel certain that inwhatever station of domestic life those ladies may be placed, they wouldhave their full rights, if not something more; and as for Parliamentaryrights, I tremble for the unprotected males should such viragos evercompass the franchise; or, worse still, realize the ambition of theEcclesiazusæ of Aristophanes, and sit on the benches of St. Stephen'sclad in the nether garments of the hirsute sex. There was nothing ofthat kind on Tuesday night. In manner and appearance our presentPraxagora was thoroughly feminine, and, by her very quietude of manner, impressed me with a consciousness of power, and determination to use it. Her voice was soft and silvery almost as that of Miss Faithfull herself;and when, at the outset of her lecture, she claimed indulgence on thescore of never having spoken in a public hall before, we had to pressforward to the front benches to catch the modulated tones, and men whocame clumping in with heavy boots in the course of the lecture wereseverely hushed down by stern-visaged females among the audience. 

Disclaiming connexion with any society, Praxagora still adopted thefirst person plural in speaking of the doctrines and intentions of thedown-trodden females. "We" felt so and so; "we" intended to do this orthat; and certainly her cause gained by the element of mystery thusintroduced, as well as by her own undoubted power of dealing with thesubject. When the "we" is seen to refer to the brazen-voiced ladiesaforesaid, and a few of the opposite sex who appear to have changednatures with the gentle ones they champion, that plural pronoun is thereverse of imposing, but the "we" of Praxagora introduced an element ofawe, if only on the omne ignotum pro magnifico principle. In the mostforcible way she went through the stock objections against giving womenthe franchise, and knocked them down one by one like so many ninepins. That coveted boon of a vote she proved to be at the basis of all theregeneration of women. She claimed that woman should have her share inmaking the laws by which she was governed, and denied the popularassertion that in so doing she would quit her proper sphere. In fact, weall went with her up to a certain point, and most of the audience beyondthat point. For myself I confess I felt disheartened when, having dealtin the most consummate way with other aspects of the subject, she cameto the religious phase, and begging the question that the Bible andreligion discountenanced woman's rights, commenced what sounded to melike a furious attack on each. 

Now I happen to know--what perhaps those who look from anotherstandpoint do not know--that this aggressive attitude assumed sounnecessarily by the advocates of woman's rights is calculated to keepback the cause more than anything else; and matter and manner had beenso much the reverse of hostile up to the moment she plungedincontinently into the religious question, that it quite took me bysurprise. I have known scores of people who, when they came undervigorous protest to hear Miss Emily Faithfull on the same fertilesubject, went away converted because they found no iconoclasm of thiskind in her teaching. They came to scoff and stopped, not indeed topray, but to listen very attentively to a theme which has so much to besaid in its favour that it is a pity to complicate its advocacy by theintroduction of an extraneous and most difficult question. So it was, however; with pale, earnest face, and accents more incisive than before, Praxagora said if Bible and religion stood in the way of Woman's Rights, then Bible and religion must go. That was the gist of her remarks. Ineed not follow her in detail, because the supplementary matter soundedmore bitterly still; and, had she not been reading from MS. I shouldhave thought the lecturer was carried away by her subject; but no, shewas reading quite calmly what were clearly enough her natural anddeliberate opinions. I said I was surprised at the line she took. Perhaps I ought scarcely to have been so, for she was flanked on oneside by Mr. Bradlaugh, on the other by Mr. Holyoake! but I neverremember being so struck with a contrast as when at one moment Praxagorapictured the beauty of a well-regulated home, and the tender offices ofwoman towards the little children, and then shot off at a tangent tofierce invectives against the Bible and religion, which seemed soutterly uncalled for that no adversary who wanted to damage the causecould possibly have invented a more complete method of doing so. 

The lecture over, the chairman invited discussion, and a fierce littleworking man immediately mounted the platform and took Praxagora to taskfor her injudicious onslaught. But, as usual, this gentleman was wildlyirrelevant and carried away by his commendable zeal. Over and over againhe had to be recalled to the question, until finally he set his wholeaudience against him, and had to sit down abruptly in the middle of asort of apotheosis of Moses--as far as I could hear, for his zeal outranhis eloquence as well as his discretion, and rendered him barelyaudible. A second speaker followed, and, though cordially sympathizingwith the address, and tracing woman's incapacity to her state ofsubjugation, regretted that such a disturbing element as religion hadbeen mixed up with a social claim. He considered that such a subjectmust inevitably prove an apple of discord. For this he was at onceseverely handled by Mr. Bradlaugh, who, consistently enough, defendedthe line Praxagora adopted towards the religious question, and justifiedthe introduction of the subject from the charge of irrelevance. He alsodeprecated the surprise which the last speaker had expressed at theexcellent address of Praxagora by pointing out that in America aboutone-third of the press were females, a fact which he attributed to theplan of Mixed Education. Then a new line was opened up by a speaker--itwas as impossible to catch their names as to hear the stations announcedby porters on the Underground Railway. He predicted that if women didget the franchise, Mr. Bradlaugh's "Temple" would be shut up in sixmonths, as well as those of Messrs. Voysey and Conway and Dr. Perfitt. The ladies, he said, were swayed by Conventionalism and Priestcraft, anduntil you educated them, you could not safely give them the franchise. 

A youthful Good Templar mounted the rostrum, for the purpose of pattingPraxagora metaphorically on the back, and also ventilating his ownopinions on the apathy of the working man in claiming his vote. Thensomebody got up and denied that ladies were by nature theological. Theirvirtues were superior to those of men just as their voices were anoctave higher. He was for having a Moral Department of the Statepresided over by ladies. Only one lady spoke; a jaunty young woman in asailor's hat, who said that in religious persecutions men, not women, had been the persecutors; and then Praxagora rose to reply. She first ofall explained her position with regard to the Bible, which she deniedhaving unnecessarily attacked. The Bible forbade a woman to speak; and, that being so, the Bible must stand on one side, for "we" were going tospeak. That the highest intellects had been formed on Bible models shedenied by instancing Shelley. If she thought that this movement wasgoing to destroy the womanhood of her sex she would not move a fingerfor its furtherance. She only thought it would give a higher style ofwomanhood. As to women requiring to be educated before they would knowhow to use the franchise, she pointed triumphantly to the Governmentwhich men had placed in power. It was significant, she said, that thefirst exercise of the working men's franchise had been to place aConservative Government in office. 

I daresay I am wrong, but the impression left on my mind by thediscussion was that the liberty of thought and action claimed was theliberty of thinking as "_we_" think and doing what "_we_" want to havedone--a process which has been before now mistaken for absolute freedom. Stripped of its aggressive adjuncts, Praxagora's advocacy of her mainsubject would be telling in the extreme from the fact of her blendingsuch thorough womanliness of person, character, and sentiment with suchvigorous championship of a doctrine against which I do not believe anyprejudice exists. Drag in the religious difficulty, however, and youimmediately array against it a host of prejudices, whether reasonableones or the reverse is not now the question. I am only concerned withthe unwisdom of having called them into existence. I own I thought thatChristianity had been the means of raising woman from her state ofOriental degradation to the position she occupies in civilizedcountries. But I was only there to listen, not to speak; and I confess Icame away in a divided frame of mind. I was pleased with the paper, butirritated to think that a lady, holding such excellent cards, shouldrisk playing a losing game. 

CHAPTER XII. 

AN OPEN-AIR TICHBORNE MEETING. 

When Sydney Smith, from the depths of his barbarian ignorance, sought torise to the conception of a Puseyite, he said in substance much asfollows:--"I know not what these silly people want, except to reviveevery obsolete custom which the common sense of mankind has allowed togo to sleep. " Puseyism is not to our present purpose; but Tichborne-ismis--for it has attained to the dignity of a veritable ism--and we maydefine it much after the same method, as an attempt, not, indeed, torevive the claims of, but to restore to society a person, who, after atrial of unexampled length, was consigned by the verdict of a jury, andthe consequent sentence of the Lord Chief Justice, to the possiblyuncongenial retirement of Millbank Penitentiary. With the rights orwrongs of such an event I have simply nothing to do. I abandoned theTichborne Trial at an early stage in a condition of utter bewilderment;and directly an old gentleman sought to button-hole me, and argue thathe must be the man, or he couldn't be the man, I made off, or changedthe conversation as rapidly as I could. 

But when the question had at length been resolved by wiser heads thanmine, and when, too, I felt I could write calmly, with no fear of anaction for contempt of court before my eyes, I confess that a posterannouncing an open-air Tichborne meeting in Mr. Warren's cricket-field, Notting Hill, was too fascinating for me. I had heard of such gatheringsin provincial places and East End halls; but this invasion of the Westwas breaking new ground. I would go; in fine I went. On the evening ofan exceptionally hot July day, I felt there might be worse places thanMr. Warren's breezy cricket ground alongside Notting Barn Farm; so sixo'clock, the hour when the chair was to be taken, found me at thespot--first of the outer world--and forestalled only by a solitaryTichbornite. How I knew that the gentleman in question deserved thatappellation I say not; but I felt instinctively that such was the case. He had a shiny black frock-coat on, like a well-to-do artisan out for aholiday, and a roll of paper protruding from his pocket I rightlyinferred to be a Tichborne petition for signature. As soon as we got onthe ground, and I was enjoying the sensation of the crisp well rolledturf beneath my feet, a man hove in sight with a table, and thisattracted a few observers. A gentleman in a light coat, too, who wasserenely gazing over the hedge at the Kensington Park Cricket Club inthe next ground, was, they informed me, Mr. Guildford Onslow. Thepresiding genius of the place, however, was Mrs. Warren, who, arrayedin a gown of emerald green--as though she were attending a Fenianmeeting--bustled about in a state of intense excitement until thegreengrocer's cart, which was to serve as a rostrum, had arrived. Whenthis occurred, the table and half a dozen Windsor chairs were hoistedinto it; another table was arranged below the van, with the TichbornePetition outspread upon it; and I fancied that arrangements werecomplete. 

Not so, however. The gentleman in the shiny coat and emerald green Mrs. Warren between them tin-tacked up a long scroll or "legend" along therim of the van, consisting of the text from Psalm xxxv. 11:--"Falsewitnesses did rise up against me. They laid to my charge things that Iknew not. " The association of ideas was grotesque, I know, but really asMrs. Warren and the shiny artisan were nailing this strip to thegreengrocer's van, they put me very much in mind of a curate and a ladyfriend "doing decorations" at Christmas or Eastertide. Nor was this all. When the "strange device" was duly tin-tacked, some workmen brought fourlong pieces of quartering, and a second strip of white calico withletters stuck on it was nailed to these; and when the stalwart fellowshoisted it in air and tied the two centre pieces of wood to the wheelsof the greengrocer's cart, I found that it consisted of the NinthCommandment. The self-sacrificing carpenters were to hold--and didhold--the outside poles banner-wise during the entire evening; and, withone slight exception, this banner with the strange device, No. 2, formedan appropriate, if not altogether ornamental background for thegreengrocer's van. Knots of people had gathered during theseproceedings; and I was confused to find that I was being generallypointed out as Mr. Onslow, that gentleman having retired to the privacyof Mr. Warren's neighbouring abode. Later on I was taken for adetective, because, in my innocence, I withdrew ever and anon from thecrowd, and, sitting on a verdurous bank, jotted down a note in mypocket-book; but this got me into such bad odour by-and-by that I feltit better to desist, and trust to memory. Some of the smaller boys alsoaverred that I was Sir Roger himself, but their youthful opinions weretoo palpably erroneous to carry weight. 

In due course the van was occupied by Mr. Onslow, the Rev. Mr. Buckingham (about whom I felt, of course, very curious), my shiningartisan, and a few others. A thin-faced gentleman, whose name I couldnot catch, was voted to the chair, and announced to us that he should goon talking awhile in order that Messrs. Onslow and Buckingham might"refresh, " as they had each come from the country. This they did corampublico in the cart, while the chairman kept us amused. The wind, too, was blowing pretty freshly, and was especially hard on the NinthCommandment, which gave considerable trouble to the holders of theprops. It was directly in the teeth of the speaker, too--an arrangementwhich Mrs. Warren, in her zeal, had overlooked; and it was decided bycommon consent to "reverse the meeting"--that is, to turn the chairs ofthe speakers round, so that the Ninth Commandment was nowhere, andlooked like an Egyptian hieroglyph, as the reversed letters showed dimlythrough the calico. The chairman eventually read to the meeting, whichwas now a tolerably full one, the form of petition which was to serve asthe single resolution of the evening. I was struck with this gentleman'sdeparture from conventional legal phraseology on this occasion. Insteadof naming the cause célèbre "The Queen _versus_ Castro" (it beingwritten, as Sam Weller says, with a "wee") he termed it "The Queen _via_Castro!" The petition was as follows:--

"That in the trial at Bar in the Court of Queen's Bench, on anindictment of the Queen v. Castro, alias Arthur Orton, alias Sir RogerCharles Doughty Tichborne, Bart. , for perjury, the jury, on the 28th dayof February, 1874, brought in a verdict of guilty against him, declaringhim to be Arthur Orton, and he was sentenced to fourteen years' penalservitude, which he is now undergoing. 

"That your petitioners have reason to know and believe and aresatisfied, both from the evidence produced at the trial and furnishedsince, and from their own personal knowledge that he is not ArthurOrton. 

"That though 280 witnesses were examined at the said trial in hisbehalf, a very large number more, as your petitioners have been informedand believe, were also ready to be examined, but that funds were notavailable for the purpose, the defendant having been entirely dependenton the voluntary subscriptions of the public for his defence. 

"That your petitioners submit that such a large number as 280 witnesses, most of whom gave positive evidence that the defendant was not ArthurOrton, and whose testimony in two instances only was questioned in acourt of law--as against about 200 witnesses for the prosecution, whoseevidence was chiefly of a negative character--was of itself enough toraise a doubt in the defendant's favour, of which doubt he ought to havehad the benefit, in accordance both with the law and the custom of thecountry. 

"That, under the circumstances, your petitioners submit that he had nota fair trial, and they pray your honourable House to take the matterinto your serious consideration, with a view to memorialize her Majestyto grant a free pardon. "

The Rev. Mr. Buckingham, a cheery gentleman who bore a remarkableresemblance to the celebrated Mr. Pickwick, rose to move the resolution;and I could not help noticing that, not content with the ordinary whitetie of clerical life, he had "continued the idea downwards" in a whitewaistcoat, which rather altered the state of things. He spoke well andforcibly I should think for an hour, confining his remarks to thesubject of "Sir Roger" not being Arthur Orton. He (Mr. Buckingham)belonged to some waterside mission at Wapping, and had known ArthurOrton familiarly from earliest boyhood. His two grievances were that hisnegative evidence had not been taken, and that he was now beingcontinually waited on by "Jesuits, " who temptingly held out cheques for_1000l. _ to him if he would only make affidavit that the man in Millbankwas Arthur Orton. 

Mr. Onslow, who seconded the resolution, however, made the speech of theevening, and was so enthusiastically received that he had to recommenceseveral times after glowing perorations. The burden of Mr. Onslow'sprophecy was the unfairness of the trial; and his "bogies" weredetectives, just as Mr. Buckingham's were Jesuits. The Jean Luie affairwas the most infernal "plant" in the whole case; and he read records ofconflicting evidence which really were enough to make one pack up one'straps and resolve on instant emigration. He was, however, certainlyright on one point. He said that such meetings were safety-valves whichprevented revolution. No doubt this was a safety-valve. It amused thespeakers, and Mrs. Warren and the glazed artisan; and it could do nobodyany possible harm. Whether it was likely to do the man of Millbank anygood was quite another matter, and one which, of course, it was quitebeside my purpose to discuss. There was a deal of--to me--veryinteresting speaking; for I gained new light about the case, and stooduntil my legs fairly ached listening to Messrs. Buckingham and Onslow. 

When the editor of the _Tichborne Gazette_ claimed an innings it wasanother matter; and--perhaps with lack of esprit de corps--I decamped. Ionly saw this gentleman gesticulating as I left the field; but the rateat which he was getting up the steam promised a speech that would lasttill nightfall. 

As I went off the ground I was struck with the clever way in which aLondon costermonger will turn anything and everything to account. One ofthem was going about with a truck of cherries, crying out, "Sir RogerTichborne cherries. Penny a lot!"

There was no symptom of overt opposition, though opponents were blandlyinvited to mount the waggon and state their views; but there was a gooddeal of quiet chaff on the outskirts of the crowd, which is the portionI always select on such occasions for my observation. On the whole, however, the assembly was pretty unanimous; and though it never assumedthe dimensions of a "monster meeting, " the fact that even so many peoplecould be got together for such a purpose seemed to me sufficiently asign of the times to deserve annotation in passing. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SUNDAY IN A PEOPLE'S GARDEN. 

I have often thought that an interesting series of articles might bewritten on the subject of "London out of Church, " dealing with themanners and customs of those people who patronize no sort of religiousestablishment on the Sunday. I have seen pretty well all the typicalphases of religious London and London irreligious; but these wouldrather be characterized as non-religious than as irreligious folks. Theydo not belong to any of the varied forms of faith; in fact faith is fromtheir life a thing apart. It is in this negative way that they areinteresting. Sunday is with them only a regularly recurring BankHoliday. It would be interesting to know what they do with it. A specialdifficulty, however, exists for me in any such inquiry, resulting fromthe fact that, in my capacity of clerical casual, I am pretty generallyengaged on the Sunday; and when I am not, my Day of Rest is too valuableto be devoted to any of the manifold forms of metropolitanSabbath-breaking. I have a great idea that parsons ought to befrequently preached at; and so I generally go to some church or chapelwhen out of harness myself; and if "hearing sermons" constitute theproper carrying out of the things promised and vowed on my behalf atbaptism I must have undergone as complete a course of Christiandiscipline as any man in Christendom, for I have been preached at byeverybody from Roman Catholics down to Walworth Jumpers and PlumsteadPeculiars!

But impressed with anxiety to know about the doings of thenon-Church-goers, I have for a long time cast sheep's eyes at the SundayLeague, and more than once definitely promised to join one of theirSunday outings; but I am strongly of Tom Hood's opinion that--

 The man who's fond precociously of stirring Must be a _spoon_. 

The Sunday League commence their excursions at untimely hours; and it isa cardinal point in my creed that Sunday ought to be a Day of Rest, atall events in the matter of breakfast in bed. I missed the excursion toShakspeare's House in this way, and the paper on the Bard of Avon, fullof the genius loci, must have been as edifying as a sermon. So, too, ona recent Sunday, when the Sunday League on their way to Southend gotmixed up with the Volunteer Artillery going to Shoebury, I was againfound wanting. But still the old penchant remained, and Sunday was mylast free one for a long time. How could I utilize it? I had it; I wouldgo to the People's Garden at Willesden. I had heard that certain verymild forms of Sabbath breaking prevailed there. I would go and see formyself. 

I had been at the People's Garden twice before; once on the occasion ofa spiritualistic picnic, and once, more recently, at a workmen's flowershow; and felt considerable interest in the place, especially as thePeople had been polite enough to send me a season ticket, so that I wasone of the People myself. 

This People's Garden was not exactly a Paradise yet, though it is in afair way of becoming one. It is a spot of some fifty acres reclaimedfrom the scrubbiest part of Wormwood Scrubbs, and made the focus of aclub of working men, of whom I am very proud indeed to be one. Indeed, Ido not see why throughout the remainder of this article I should not usethe first person plural. I will. Well, then, we secured this spot, andwe have got in the first place one of the finest--I believe thefinest--dancing platforms in England, for we as a community areTerpsichorean, though I, as an individual, am not. I felt it necessaryto give up dancing when my weight turned the balance at fourteen stoneodd. Then we can give our friends refreshments from a bottle ofchampagne down to tea and cresses. We have all sorts of clubs, dramaticand otherwise, and rather plume ourselves on having put up ourproscenium ourselves, that is with our own hands and hammers and nails. There is the great advantage of being a Working Man or one of thePeople. If you had been with me that Sunday you would have seen a glowof conscious pride suffusing my countenance as I read the bills of ourlast amateur performance, consisting of the "Waterman" and "Ici on parleFrançais, " played on the boards which I, in my corporate capacity, hadplaned, and sawn, and nailed. My route last Sunday lay across the crispsward of the Scrubbs; and it was quite a pleasure to be able to walkthere without danger of falling pierced by the bullet of some erraticvolunteer; for there are three butts on Wormwood Scrubbs, which Iexamined with minuteness on Sunday, and was exercised to see by marks onthe brickwork how very wide of the target a volunteer's shot can go. Iwonder there is not a wholesale slaughter of cattle in the neighbouringfields. The garden lies on the other side of the Great Western Railway, across which I had to trespass in order to get to it. But the man incharge regarded me with indulgence, for was I not a working man and a"mate?" The portion of the garden abutting on the rail is stillunreclaimed prairie. The working men have begun at the top of the hill, and are working downwards. 

There is a good-sized refreshment-room at the entrance, with all theparaphernalia of secretary's office, &c. ; and this large room, which isexceedingly useful in wet weather, opens right on to thedancing-platform, in the centre of which is a pretty kiosk for the band. We have no gas; but tasty paraffin lamps at frequent intervals givesufficient light, and, at all events, do not smell _worse_ than modernmetropolitan gas. There is a large tent standing en permanence duringthe summer for flower shows, and terrace after terrace of croquet lawns, all of which it will, I fear, shock some Sabbatarian persons to learnwere occupied on that Sunday afternoon, and the balls kept clicking likethe week-day shots of the erratic riflemen on the Scrubbs. I had a younglady with me who was considerably severe on the way in which we workmenmale and female, handled our mallets. There was, I confess, something tobe desired in the way of position; and one group of German artisans inthe corner lawn made more noise than was necessary, howling and utteringall sorts of guttural interjections, as though they were playing polo atleast, or taking part in a bull-fight, instead of in croquet--beloved ofcurates. 

And then the flowers. We are making the desert blossom like the rose. Itis really marvellous to see what has been done in so short a time. Wemight have been a society of market gardeners. We don't get so manyflowers along the walk of life, we working men; so that we want to see abit of green sward and a flower or two on Sundays. There is a capitalgymnasium, and our observation of the young men who disport themselvesthere would lead an uninitiated observer to form the opinion that thenormal condition of humanity was upside down. The way one youthfulworkman hung by his legs on the trapeze was positively Darwinian tobehold. Swings attracted the attention of the ladies; and I regret tosay that the particular young lady I escorted--who was of the mature ageof twelve--passed most of the afternoon in a state of oscillation, andwas continually adjuring me to push her. 

An interesting addition to the gardens--our gardens--since I was lastthere, consisted of a cage of meditative monkeys, four in number, whowere stationed so near the gymnasium as inevitably to suggest theDarwinian parallel. They had their gymnasium too, and swung gaily ontheir tree-trunks at such times as they were not engaged in eating orentomological researches. I could not help thinking what a deprivationit was to the gymnasts that, in course of evolution, we have lost ourtails. They would have been so convenient on the horizontal bar, wherethat persevering young workman was still engaged in the pursuit ofapoplexy by hanging head downwards. Soon after we got there an excellentband commenced playing, not in the kiosk, lest we should be beguiledinto dancing. The first piece was a slow movement, which could scarcelyhave been objected to by any Sabbatarian, unless he was souncompromising as to think all trumpets wrong. The second was theglorious march from "Athalie;" and then--my blood runs cold as I writeit--a sort of pot pourri, in the midst of which came the "Dutchman'sLittle Wee Dog, " considerably disguised in the way of accompaniment andvariation, I own, but the "Little Wee Dog" beyond a doubt. Then Iunderstood why the band was not in the kiosk; for, fourteen stone thoughI be, I felt all my toes twiddling inside my boots at that time aswickedly as though it had been Monday morning. There were fourteen orfifteen loud brass instruments, with a side and bass drum and cymbals. All these were playing the "Little Wee Dog" to their brazen hearts'content, and only one gentleman on a feeble piccolo-flute trying tochoke their impiety by tootling out a variation, just as the stringedinstruments in the glorious "Reformation Symphony" of Mendelssohn try invain to drown with their sensuous Roman airs the massive chords of theold Lutheran chorale--"Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott. " I really couldnot bear it any longer, and was rising to go when they stopped; and asthe gentleman who played the circular bass got outside his portentousinstrument, I found he had a little wee dog of his own who retired intothe bell of the big trumpet when his master laid it on the grass. Perhaps it was in honour of this minute animal the air was selected. However, I could not lend myself to such proceedings; so I bribed myyouthful charge with a twopenny bottle of frothless ginger beer to comeout of her swing and return to the regions of orthodoxy. The Teutonicgentlemen were still hooting and yelling as we crossed the corner oftheir croquet lawn, until I expected to see them attack one anotherwith the mallets and use the balls for missile warfare; but it was onlytheir peculiar way of enjoying themselves. 

My little friend described the action of our working men in the croquetlawn as "spooning, " and also drew my attention to the fact that twolovers were doing the same on a seat, in the approved fashion prevalentamong us workmen, with the manly arm around the taper waist corampublico. This arrangement is quite a necessity with us. We should oftenlike to forego it, especially when little boys make rude remarks aboutus in the street; but it is expected of us, and we submit. 

The sun was beginning to sink grandly over that magnificent panorama ofcountry visible from Old Oak Common as we passed down the hill and againviolated the bye-laws of the Great Western Railway Company. The spiresof the West End churches were bathed in the soft glow of departing day;and in the distance the Crystal Palace glittered like a fairy bower. Wegot back after making a little détour on account of some gentlemen whowere bathing in a very Paradisiacal way indeed--we actually got back intime to go to church like good Christians; and I do not think either ofus felt much the worse for the hours we had spent in the People'sGarden--save and except the wicked Little Wee Dog!

CHAPTER XIV. 

UTILIZING THE YOUNG LADIES. 

Time was when it was accepted as an axiom that young ladies had noobject in life but to be ornamental--no mission but matrimony. The"accomplishments" were the sum total of a genteel education, thoughcharged as "extras" on the half-yearly accounts; and all the finishedcreature had to do, after once "coming out, " was to sit down andlanguidly wait for an eligible suitor. 

Times changed. And, in England, when we make a change, we always rushviolently into an opposite extreme. Woman had a mission, and no mistake. Now it was the franchise and Bloomer costume, just as aforetime it wasthe pianoforte and general fascination. Blue spectacles rose in themarket. We had lady doctors and female lawyers. The only marvel is thatthere was no agitation for feminine curates. 

Then came reaction again. It was discovered that woman could be educatedwithout becoming a bluestocking, and practical without wearing bloomersor going in for the suffrage. Still holding to the wholesome principlethat "woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse, " the real friends ofthe gentler sex discovered a hundred and one ways in which it couldemploy itself usefully and remuneratively. It was no longer feared lest, as Sydney Smith puts it, if a woman learnt algebra she would "desert herinfant for a quadratic equation;" and the University of Cambridge soonfell in with the scheme for the Higher Education of Women; while MissFaithfull, and several others, organized methods for employingpractically the talents which education could only develope in a generalway. It was to one of these methods--not Miss Faithfull's--my attentionwas drawn a short time since by a letter in the daily papers. TheVictoria Press and International Bureau are faits accomplis, and it iswell that efforts should be made for utilizing in other ways thatinteresting surplus in our female population. Mrs. Fernando, of WarwickGardens, Kensington, has set herself to the solution of the problem, andthe shape her method takes is a Technical Industrial School for Women. 

The object and aim of the institution is to examine, plan, and organizesuch branches of industrial avocation as are applicable to females, andopen up new avocations of useful industry compatible with theintellectual and mechanical capabilities of the sex, not forgettingtheir delicacy, and the untutored position of females for practicalapplication in all industrial labour: to give the same facilities tofemales as are enjoyed by males, in collective classes for specialtraining or special preparation for passing examinations open to women, thereby to enable them to earn their livelihood with better success thanis attainable by mere school education only: to give special training tofemales to qualify them to enter special industrial avocations with suchcompetency as will enable them to be successful in obtaining employment:to apprentice females, or to employ them directly into trades where suchemployers will receive them beyond the limits of the industrial schooland where females can be constantly employed, such as in composing, embossing, illuminating, black-bordering, ticket-writing, circular-addressing, flower-making, flower-cultivating, &c. 

Being a determined sceptic in the matter of prospectuses, I determinedto go and see for myself the working of this scheme, which looked sowell on paper. The Institution occupies a large house exactly oppositeDr. Punshon's chapel: and there is no chance of one's missing it, for itis placarded with announcements like a hoarding at election time. Ifound Mrs. Fernando an exceedingly practical lady, doing all the work ofthe institution herself, with the exception of a few special subjectssuch as botany, &c. , which are conducted by her husband. There are no"assistants, " therefore, or deputed interests, the bane of so manyhigh-priced schools. 

These classes are held in the evening from seven to nine o'clock, andare intended for ladies above the age of fifteen years, who may beengaged through the day in various occupations, and for such as sufferfrom neglected education, and who wish conveniently and economically toimprove themselves, without being necessitated to mix with their juniorsin day-schools. These classes prepare ladies to meet the qualificationsnecessary to enter clerkships and other official departments; to bringthem also to a standard to meet the qualifications for post offices andtelegraph departments; and also to pass certain examinations open tothem. The charge is only _2s. _ per week--_8s. _ per month--_1l. 4s. _ perquarter. The first course embraces spelling, reading, writing, arithmetic, history, geography, and grammar. The second course consistsof advanced arithmetic, book-keeping and commercial instruction, so asto qualify women to take posts of responsibility with marked success. The third course consists of French, for practical usefulness. Thefourth course embraces simple or technical training in such departmentsas are available within the limits of the class-room--to qualify womento enter industrial avocations with competency, and to make themsuccessful in obtaining employment. This department will be extended togreater usefulness as conveniences arise, by apprenticing the girls oremploying them directly in trades beyond the limits of the class-room, where employers will receive them, or where women could be consistentlyengaged--as, for instance, in the work of compositors, ticket-writers, embossers, &c. &c. 

The two classes with which I was brought into contact were thebook-keeping and embossing. In the former, more than a dozen youngladies were being initiated in the mysteries of single and double entry, and they posted up their books in a way that made me feel very muchashamed of myself, when I thought how incapable I should be of doinganything half so useful. Many girls go from this department to bebook-keepers at large hotels, places of business, &c. 

I then went to the embossing room, where six presses were being workedby as many young ladies, one in an adjoining room being reserved forMrs. Fernando, who not only tells her pupils what to do, but shows themhow to do it. The gilding and colouring of the stamps was mostelaborate; two monograms of the Queen's name and that of the EmpressEugénie being perfect marvels of artistic and intricate workmanship. Every process, from mixing the colours up to burnishing the gold, wasgone through in detail by this practical lady and her intelligent pupilsfor my special edification, and I passed out a much wiser and certainlynot a sadder man than I entered this veritable hive of human bees. 

No expense was spared in the education of these girls, low as are theterms they pay. I saw quite a ruinous heap of spoilt envelopes andfashionable sheets of thick cream-laid; for they have to make theirexperiments on the best material, and the slightest alteration in theposition of a pin where the stamping process has to be several timesrepeated spoils the whole result. Mrs. Fernando has also introducedenvelope and circular addressing by women, as a department of femaleindustrial work in the Technical Industrial School for Women, where anumber of females are employed between the hours of ten and fouro'clock, receiving satisfactory remuneration. She provides the femalesemployed in this department evening classes free of charge, to improvethemselves in general education. 

I am an intense admirer of the female sex in general, and young ladiesin particular, but really when I came away, leaving my prettybook-keepers and embossers to resume their normal work, and saw thenumbers of young ladies sitting listlessly over misnamed "work" at thewindow, or walking languidly nowhither in the streets, I thought that, without losing any of their attractions, nay, adding a new claim to themany existing ones on our regard, they might with great advantage take aturn at Mrs. Fernando's sixpenny lessons in technical education. 

CHAPTER XV. 

FAIRLOP FRIDAY. 

Amongst those customs "more honoured in the breach than the observance"which are rapidly being stamped out by the advancing steps ofcivilization, are the institutions which we can yet remember as sopopular in the days of our childhood, called pleasure fairs. Like thatsocial dodo in a higher section of society, the "three-bottle man, " withthe stupid Bacchanalian usages of which he was the embodiment, thesefairs are slowly but surely disappearing as education spreads among themasses of the people. In the country a fair is a simple and a necessarything enough. At certain seasons of the year, according to the staplecommodities for the sale of which the assemblage was originallyinstituted, our bucolic friends gather at early morning with theproducts of their farms; a good deal of noisy buying, selling, andbarter takes place. Later in the day the ladies invest their profits ina little mild finery, or in simple pleasures; and, later still, when thepublic-houses have done their work, comes a greater or lesser amount ofriot, rude debauchery, and vice; and then, voilà tout--the fair is overfor a year. One can easily imagine the result of the transition when, from the quiet country, the fair removes to the city or suburb. In suchplaces every utilitarian element is wanting, and the gilt ginger-breadand gewgaws are only a speciously innocent attraction towards thedrinking and dancing booth where the mischief is done. Well-wishers tosociety are unromantic enough not to regret the decidedly waning gloriesof these gatherings, from the great Bartholomew Fair itself down to thatwhich, on the Friday of which I write, converted many miles ofthoroughfare at the East End of London, as well as one of the prettiestforest scenes still surrounding the metropolis, into a vast al frescotavern, where the "worship of Bacchus" was as freely indulged as in anyheathen temple of ancient times. 

Fairlop Fair--which has not yet died out, though beginning to showsatisfactory signs of decay--commenced its existence, innocently enough, about a century ago. At that time Mr. Day, a shipbuilder, wishing tohave a day's outing in the forest with his friends and employés, fittedup a vessel on wheels, fully rigged, in which he conveyed his picnicparty to Hainault Forest, on the outskirts of which, some distance fromIlford, stood the famous Fairlop Oak. The holiday became an annualcustom, and gradually changed its character from the simple gathering ofa master and his men into regular saturnalia; during which, each year, from the first Friday in July, over the ensuing Saturday and Sunday, riot and debauchery reigned supreme in the glades of the forest and theeastern districts of London. The example set by Mr. Day was followed byother ship, boat, and barge builders, but of late years, moreparticularly by the mast and block makers, riggers, shipwrights, andshipyard labourers; and more recently still by the licensed victuallers. Finding the custom good for trade, the publicans formed a society forbuilding or hiring these boats on wheels, which, covered with flags, andprovided each with a band of music and filled with revellers, annuallymake their progress into Hainault Forest. They go no longer, alas! toFairlop Oak--for that is numbered with the things of the past--but nowto Barking side, where, at the Maypole Inn, the festivities of FairlopFair are still kept up. 

These ship and boat cars attract immense multitudes along the Mile End, Bow, and Whitechapel Roads, down as far as Aldgate; the crowd assemblein the morning to see the holiday people start on their expedition. Themost remarkable sight, however, is at night, when the "boats" returnlighted with coloured lanterns, red and green fires, &c. ; and at everypublic-house along the road similar fires are burnt, and brass bandsstationed to strike up as the cars pass, and stop at certain favouredestablishments "for the good of the house. " Anxious to witness thefading glories of Fairlop Friday myself, before the advancing tide ofcivilization shall have done their inevitable work upon them, I salliedforth to the East End, and walking along one of the finest approaches toLondon, from Aldgate, by Whitechapel, to Bow and Stratford Churches, succeeded in realizing more completely than ever before two facts:first, how gigantic is the population of the East End of London; and, secondly, how little is required to amuse and attract it. There wereonly two of the "boats" sent to the Forest that year. Their return couldgratify the sight of these people but for a single instant; yet there, from early dusk almost to succeeding daylight, those working men, literally "in their thousands"--and not in the Trafalgar Squarediminutive of that expression--gathered to gratify themselves with thesight of the pageant. In comparison, the "Boeuf Gras, " which annuallysends the gamins of Paris insane, is really a tasteful and refinedexhibition. Yet there they were, women, men, and children--infants inarms, too, to a notable extent--swarming along that vast thoroughfare, boozing outside the public-houses, investing their pence in"scratch-backs" and paper noses, feathers and decorations, as do theirbetters on the course at Epsom, under the feeble excuse of "waiting forthe boats. " The first arrived en retour at Stratford Church about teno'clock; and certainly the appearance of the lumbering affair as itmoved along, with its rigging brought out by means of coloured fires, lanterns, and lamps, was odd enough. As soon as it passed me atStratford, I jumped outside one of the Bow and Stratford omnibuses, andso had an opportunity of following, or rather joining in, the processionas far as Whitechapel, where the "boat" turned off into Commercial Road. For the whole of that space the footway was filled with one seethingmass of humanity, and the publicans were driving a rattling tradeoutside and inside their establishments. As the glare of the colouredfires lighted up the pale faces of the crowd with a ghastly hue, and Iheard the silly and too often obscene remarks bandied between thebystanders and the returning revellers, I could not help agitating thequestion, whether it would not be possible to devise some innocentrecreation, with a certain amount of refinement in it, to take the placeof these--to say the best--foolish revelries. In point of fact, they areworse than foolish. Not only was it evident that the whole affair frombeginning to end, as far as adults were concerned, was an apotheosis ofdrink; but amongst another section of the populace, the boys and girls, or what used to be boys and girls--for, as the Parisians say, "Il n'y aplus de garçons"--one must have been blind indeed not to see themischief that was being done on those East End pavements; done morethoroughly perhaps, certainly on a vastly larger scale, than in thepurlieus of the forest. It is an uninviting subject to dwell upon; butone could understand all about baby farms, and Lock Hospitals, andContagious Diseases Acts, out there that July night, in the crowdedstreets of East London. 

It would be unfair to dilate upon these evils, and not to mention anorganization which, for the last ten years, has been seeking to remedythe mischief. Some hundreds of working men of a more serious stamp, aided by a few gentlemen and ministers of various denominations, formthemselves into small bands of street preachers, and sallying forth in abody, hold services and preach sermons at the most populous points ofthe Fairlop route. Being curious to see the effect of their boldlabours--for it requires immense "pluck" to face a Whitechapel mob--Ijoined one of these detachments, where the Rev. Newman Hall was thepreacher. Before starting, this gentleman gave it as the result of hislong experience with the British workman that there is no use in waitingfor him to come to church. If the church is to do anything with him, itmust go out and meet him in the streets and fields, as it originallydid. Mr. Hall gave some amusing illustrations of his experience atHastings, where, for several weeks, he had been preaching on the beachto large congregations. He was idling there, he said, for health's sake, and one evening, seeing a number of men loafing about, he proposed toone of them that he should give them an address. This gentleman declinedthe address, but added, characteristically enough, "If ye'll gie mesome beer I'll drink it. " Two others, being asked if they would listen, "didn't know as they would. " Under these unpromising auspices Mr. Hallbegan, and, attracting a crowd, was "moved on" by a policeman. Agentleman who recognised him proposed an adjournment to the beach, andthere a sermon was preached, and has been repeated by Mr. Hall onseveral occasions, with a congregation of thousands. He has a peculiarknack of speaking in a tongue "understanded of the people, " and hisaddress to the Fairlop crowd on that Friday night "told" considerably. At its conclusion he quietly put on his hat, dropped into the crowd, andwent his way; but the tone of criticism amongst his hearers was veryfavourable, and I quite agree with the critics that it's a pity wehaven't "more parsons like that. " It is not, however, simply byreligious zeal such a want as that to which I allude is to be supplied, but by the substitution of some sensible recreation for the lowattractions of the beershop and gin-palace. It is a problem worthy ofour deepest thinkers: "What shall we offer our huge populations inexchange for the silly pageant even now being enacted in the outskirtsof the metropolis--which may well be taken to embody the pastime of thelower orders--Fairlop Fair?"

CHAPTER XVI. 

A CHRISTMAS DIP. 

There are few more exhilarating things, on a breezy spring morning, thana spurt across that wonderful rus in urbe--Kensington Gardens and HydePark--for a prospective dip in the Serpentine, where, at specified hoursevery morning and evening, water-loving London is privileged to disportitself in its congenial element. So congenial is it, in fact, that someenthusiastic individuals do not limit themselves to warm summermornings, or the cooler ones of springtide and autumn, but bathe all theyear round--even, it is said, when a way for their manoeuvres has to becut through the ice. Skirting the north bank of the Serpentine atmorning or evening in the summer, the opposite shore appears absolutelypink with nude humanity, the younger portion dancing and gambolling verymuch after the manner of Robinson Crusoe's cannibals. The bathersoccasionally look a great deal better out of their integuments than inthem. Not from this class, however, do your all-the-year-round batherscome. The Arab is an exotic--a child of the Sun, loving not to disporthimself in water the temperature of which shocks his tentativeknuckles, as he dips them in the unaccustomed element. His wardrobe, again, is too much after the fashion of that pertaining to Canning'sneedy knife-grinder to make an al fresco toilette other thanembarrassing. From the all-the-year-round bathers, as a nucleus, therehas grown up, within the last few years, the Serpentine Swimming Club;and on Christmas-day in the morning they have an annual match open toall comers--though, it need scarcely be said, patronized only by thosewhom, for brevity's sake, we may term all-rounders. 

Now, I had often heard of this Christmas-day match, and as often, onChristmas-eve, made up my mind to go; but the evening's resolution fadedaway, as such resolutions have only too often been known to do, beforethe morning's light. This year, however--principally, I believe, becauseI had been up very late the previous night--I struggled out of bedbefore dawn, and steered for the Serpentine. A crescent moon wasshining, and stars studded the clear spaces between ominous patches ofcloud. A raw, moist wind was blowing, and on the muddy streets wereevident traces of a recent shower. I had no notion that the gates ofKensington Gardens were open so early; and the sensation was novel as Ithreaded the devious paths in morning dawn, and saw the gas still alightalong the Bayswater Road. A solitary thrush was whistling his Christmascarol as I struggled over the inundated sward; presently the sun threw afew red streaks along the East, over the Abbey Tower; but, until I hadpassed the Serpentine Bridge, not a single human being met my gaze. There, however, I found some fifty men, mostly with a "sporting" lookabout them. The ubiquitous boy was there, playing at some uncomfortablegame in the puddles round the seats. The inevitable dog stood pensivelyby the diving board; and when, by-and-by straggling all-rounders cameand took their morning header, the quadruped rushed after them to thevery edge of the water, as though he had been a distinguished member ofthe Humane Society. He shirked the element itself, however, asreligiously as though he had been one of London's great unwashed. In thepause which preceded the race, I learned, from the Honorary Secretary ofthe Serpentine Swimming Club, particulars of its history and of the raceitself. For six years it had been merely a club race; but last year itwas thrown open. Strangely enough the race had never been won twice byone man, though the competitors had been pretty much the same everyyear. I also conversed with one of the intending competitors, who showedme on his breast with pardonable pride, five medals of the Royal HumaneSociety, awarded for saving life in cases of danger from drowning. Thewearer was a Professor of Natation, and told me that, among his pupils, he had an old lady sixty-seven years of age, who had just commenced, andwas able to swim some twenty yards already. The brave old lady'sexample may do good; though it is to be hoped that she may not, at hertime of life, be compelled to exert her art for her own protection. 

Names were now called, and fourteen competitors presented themselves--amotley group, clad for the most part in trousers, horse-rug, andwide-awake, or, more simply still, in Ulster frieze coat only. The groupof spectators had by this time grown to some hundreds, nearly alldirectly interested in the noble art; and the dips became fast andfrequent. Two flags were placed in the water at the distance of 100yards from the diving board; on this slender platform fourteen shiveringspecimens of humanity ranged themselves, and at the word of the starterplunged into the water with that downward plunge so incomprehensible tothe uninitiated. A short, sharp struggle followed, the competitorsswimming with the sidelong movement and obstreperous puffing whichlikens the swimmer so closely to the traditional grampus. Eventually oneof the group is seen heading the others, and breasting the water withcalm and equable stroke in the old-fashioned style. He reaches the flaga full yard before his nearest antagonist. Numbers two and three, following, are about half a yard apart. The others come in pretty muchin a group. All were picked men, and there were no laggards. The namesof the winners were as follows:--1. Ainsworth; 2. Quartermain; 3. H. Coulter. The time occupied in the race was 1 min. 24 sec. Immediatelyafter the race there was a rapid re-assumption of rugs and Ulsters, though some of the more hardy walked about in the garb of Nature, makingeverybody shiver who looked at them. Finally, the prizes, consisting ofthree handsome medals, were distributed by Mr. H. Bedford, who stood ona park seat and addressed a few genial words to each of the successfulcandidates; then, with a cheer, and frequent wishes for a MerryChristmas, the assembly resolved itself into its component parts. 

I had taken my accustomed cold tub before coming out, yet each of thesefourteen devoted men appeared to me as a hero. They were not Herculeanindividuals: several of them were mere youths. Some of the all-rounderswere grey-headed men, but there was about them all a freshness andruddiness which showed that their somewhat severe regimen agreed withthem. Fresh from such a Spartan exhibition, everything seemed very lateand Sybaritic in my domestic establishment, and I could not helprevolving in my mind the question, what would one of these hardyall-the-year-rounders think of me if he knew I was ever guilty of such amalpractice as breakfast in bed? It is a novel method; but there aremany worse ways of inaugurating the Great Holiday than by taking--whatit had been a novel sensation for me even to witness--a Christmas Dip inthe Serpentine. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

BOXING-DAY ON THE STREETS. 

Boxing-day in the London streets, and especially a wet Boxing-day, canscarcely fail to afford us some tableaux vivants illustrative of Englishmetropolitan life. In a metaphorical and technical sense, Boxing-day isalways more or less "wet"--generally more, and not less; but this yearthe expression is used climatically, and in its first intention. Christmas-eve of the year about which I write was bright and springlike;Christmas-day dismal, dark, and un-Christmas-like; but Boxing-day thatyear was essentially muggy, sloppy, drizzly, and nasty. A day to avoidthe London streets if you want to take a romantic Rosa-Matilda view ofLondon life; but the very day of all others, if you wish to see realLondon as it is. Boxing-day will inevitably be "wetter" in every sensethan usual this year, internally and externally. So let us commence ourseries of living pictures at ten o'clock in the morning. Suppose webegin with something that shall bear reference to the past festival--theeve and the day of the Great Birth, recollect. See, here is GrottoPassage, Marylebone, and at its extremity Paradise Street--the namessound promising, but alas for the reality! We are going to turn for amoment into the Marylebone Police Court, where Mr. D'Eyncourt isdispensing summary justice to the accumulations of the last two days. These are the people who have been spending Christmas-eve, Christmas-day, and some portion of Boxing-day already in thepolice-cells. Let us take one as a typical case. Let that poor littleeight-year-old Arab step down from the dock and go off with his mother, who, we hope, will take the magistrate's excellent advice, and keep thechild from begging--that is why he has spent Christmas in thecells--lest he be sent to a school for eight years, and she have to payfor him--God help her! she does not look as though she could afford veryhigh terms. A bruised and bleeding woman, not young or good-looking, enters the box with her head bound up. Her lord and master confronts herin the dock. It is the "old, old story. " A drop of drink yesterday--theday of the Great Nativity, never forget--series of "drops of drink" allday long; and, at five o'clock, just when gentility was beginning tothink of dinner, the kitchen poker was used with frightful effect. Atriangular cut over the right eye, and another in the dangerousneighbourhood of the left ear, administered with that symbol of domesticbliss, the kitchen poker, sends the wife doubled up into a corner, withan infant of two years old in her arms. The head of the family goes outfor a walk after his exertions. The woman lies there bleeding until theneighbours hear her "mourning, " as she terms it--the result being thatthe lord and master's "constitutional" is cut short by a policeman, andthe happy pair are this morning separated for six months, at theexpiration of which period Paterfamilias is to find surety for anothersix months' good behaviour. Such, starred round with endless episodes of"drunk and disorderly, " "foul language, " and so on, is our first tableauthis Boxing-day. It is not a pleasant one. Let us pass on. 

Along Oxford Street, despite the Bank Holidays Act, many shops are open, chiefly those devoted to the sale of articles eatable, drinkable, andavoidable; these last being in the shape of chemists' shops, and shopsfor Christmas presents--to be shunned by miserly old bachelors. Let usturn into the British Museum and see sensible, decorous Boxing-daythere. At the corner of Museum Street there is a lively itinerantmusician, evidently French, who plays the fiddle until his bow tumblesall to pieces, but he goes on playing with the stick as though nothinghad happened. When his instrument has come entirely to grief he turns toa clarionet, which he carries under his arm, and plays "Mourir pour laPatrie" with extraordinary vocal effect and irreverent gestures. Punch-and-Judy is largely attended at the other end; Punch iskitchen-pokering his wife, too, like the gentleman we have just left;but we pass in with the crowds to the Museum itself. Halting a momentin the reading-room, to jot down there a few notes, one is struck withthe scanty show of students. _They_ are spending Boxing-day somewhereelse. Passing through the little knot of people who are permitted byspecial order to come as far as the door of the reading-room, and whoevidently regard the readers as some curious sort of animal exhibitedfor their special delectation--perhaps the book-"worm" of which theyhave heard so much--we go up the stairs, now thronged with crowds inunwonted broadcloth and fragrant with the odour of the inevitableorange. Next to the drinking fountain, which is decidedly the chiefattraction, comes the gorilla, and then the extinct animals. One stoutold lady, contemplating the megatherium and mastodon, inquires in whatparts "them creeturs" are to be found, and seems considerably damped bybeing informed that Nature has been "out" of such articles for severalæons. The mummies, with the bones of their toes sticking out, also comein for a large share of admiration. There is a good deal of roughflirtation going on; but, on the whole, the pleasure is rather of aplacid order, though still contrasting favourably with the settled gloomvisible on the faces of the attendants in the various galleries. Howwell we can understand such gloom! How utterly hateful must that giantelk and overgrown extinct armadillo be to a man condemned to spend alifetime in their close contemplation!

But let us pass on to the artistic Boxing-day keepers at the NationalGallery. The walk will take us through the Seven Dials, and can scarcelyfail to be suggestive. It is now one o'clock, the traditional hour ofdinner; and in Broad Street, St. Giles's, I see, for the first timeto-day, the human barometer evidently standing at "much wet. " Agentleman in a grey coat and red comforter, who bears palpable signs ofhaving been more than once on his back, has just reached that perplexingpoint of inebriety when he can walk quickly or run, but cannot standstill or walk steadily. He is pursued by small children, mostly girls, after whom, every now and then, he runs hopelessly, to their intensegratification. The poultry and bird shops in the Seven Dials are objectsof some attraction, though they savour too much of "business" to be invery great force. The National Gallery is crowded with unaccustomed artstudents. There is about the visitors a quiet air of doing their duty, and being determined to go through with it at any price. Onebrazen-faced quean speculates audibly--in fact, very audibly--as towhich "picter" she should choose if she had her "pick, " and decentmatrons pass the particularly High Art of the old masters withhalf-averted gaze, as though they were not quite sure of doing right incountenancing such exhibitions. Hogarth's evergreen "Marriage à laMode" is a great centre of attraction, and the youngsters never tire oflistening, as "with weeping and with laughter still is the story told"over and over again by their elders. Gainsborough's likeness of Mrs. Siddons is also a great favourite; but perhaps the picture that attractsmost attention is Van Eyck's "John Arnolfini, of Lucca, and his Wife. "The gentleman wears a portentous hat, which tickled the fancy of theBoxing-day people immensely. There were great speculations too amongthem as to whether the curious Tuscan pictures at the top of the stairswere "needlework" or not. Still, who shall say that these visitors werenot the better for their visit, surrounded as they were by forms ofbeauty on every side, even if they did not examine them with the eyes ofconnoisseurs?

Boxing-day on the river: The silent street is almost deserted. There isno rush for the Express boat to-day. It is literally thestreets--muddier and sloppier than the Thames itself--that are theattraction. Some little boys are making the trip from Westminster toLondon Bridge as a treat; and it is an intense joke with them to pretendto be dreadfully seasick. Boxing-day in the City is synonymous withstagnation. It is a howling wilderness, with nobody to howl. On theMetropolitan Railway I verily believe travellers were tripping it likethe little boys on board the penny boat. And so theatre time draws on, and the interest of Boxing-day grows to a climax. Soon after fiveo'clock groups furtively collect outside the playhouses, half-ashamed ofbeing so early, but gathering courage from numbers to form thedisorderly queue, so unlike that of a Parisian theatre. Boxing-night inthe theatres others will describe. It is too much to expect of one whosemission has been the whole day long on the streets. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE VIGIL OF THE DERBY. 

In those days--happily now gone by--when public strangulation was themode in Merry England, there was always an evident fascinationappertaining to the spot where, on the morrow, some guilty wretch was toexpiate his crimes on the gallows. Long before the erection of thatelegant apparatus commenced, and generally on a Sunday evening, whendecent citizens had newly come from houses of God, where they had heardthe message of life, crowds began to collect on that central spot in theheart of the great City dedicated to sudden and violent death. Thecoming event seemed to cast its shadow before; and throughout the nightthe roisterer or belated traveller made a détour to visit the humanshambles. I confess to having felt the attraction. I could not thenbring myself to be present at the strangulation proper; so, as thenearest approach to a "sensation, " sometimes visited Newgate on the eveof the victim elect's last morrow. In the same way, being unfortunateenough to be London-bound on the day of our great annual holiday, andhaving heard graphic accounts of the Downs on the eve of the Derby, Idetermined that year, as I could not go to the race by day, to visit theracecourse by night. Let me own the soft impeachment: I am not a racingman--not in any degree "horsey. " When I do go to the Derby it is to seethe bipeds rather than the quadrupeds; to empty the hamper from Fortnumand Mason's, rather than to study the "names, weights, and colours ofthe riders" on the "c'rect card. " If you prefer to have the sentiment inLatin--and there is no doubt Latin does go much farther than English--Iam not one of those "quos pulverem Olympicum collegisse juvat, " exceptin so far that "homo sum; nihil humanum alienum a me puto. " It was tosee humanity under a new aspect, I took the last train to Epsom on theeve of the Derby. 

In order to combine business with pleasure, and economy with both, Itook a third-class ticket at Victoria, and was fortunate enough to finda compartment already partially occupied by a nigger troupe. In this, which under ordinary circumstances I should have avoided, I took myseat, and was regaled all the way down with choice morceaux from therépertoire of my musical friends. The "talking man" of the party, too, enlivened the proceedings by anxiously inquiring of the porters at thedifferent stations what they would take in the way of refreshment, andissuing unlimited orders to imaginary waiters on their behoof. It was astrange sensation, being whirled away from home and bed down to a wildheath towards midnight; and as we neared our destination, the air beganto "bite shrewdly, " and the sky to look uncommonly like rain--acontretemps which would have been fatal to my proposed experience. Wehad to change carriages at Sutton, and here a sociable Aunt-Sally-man, struggling under the implements of his craft, sought to beguile me frommy African friends by offers of a shake-down in his tent, with which heproposed to walk across from Ewell and erect, instead of journeying onto Epsom. My Ethiopian friends jumped at the proposal, and forthwithfraternized with Aunt Sally. I determined to follow out my previousplans; so having drunk to our next merry meeting, we parted, ostensiblyuntil to-morrow, but, I fear, for ever. 

I had been led to expect "high jinks" at Epsom--a sort of Carnival inthe quiet town. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Thetown, so far as outward semblance went, was almost as quiet as ever. Afew sporting men thronged the bar of the principal hotel, and stragglershung about the low beer-shops; but there was nothing at all to indicatethe imminence of the great event. So I fell back on my usual expedientof applying to the executive, and found not only an active andintelligent but exceedingly civil sergeant of police, to whom I told myerrand. He was pleased with the novelty of the idea, and as he happenedto be then going the round of the town previously to visiting thecourse, I cast in my lot with him for the night. We first visited whathe termed the "German Opera, " on Epsom Common. This is an encampment oforgan-grinders, hurdy-gurdy-players, German bands, &c. , who pitch theirtents here instead of going to the Downs. It was, however, rather latewhen we reached the spot where these artists were bivouacking, and theyhad retired for the night, so we could not form much idea of them beyondtheir numbers, which seemed considerable, and their odour, which wasunfragrant. Thence we passed down a short alley to a railway arch, whichwas aglow with many fires, and rang with the sounds of many voices. Bidding me make no observation, whatever might be said, and requestingme to try and look like an officer in plain clothes, my cicerone led meinto the strange arcade, which I certainly could not have enteredwithout his protection. Hundreds of men, women, and boys were gatheredin groups round coke fires, some partaking of coffee, others singing, the majority sleeping. After satisfying himself that the fires werelegitimate ones, and not composed of broken fences, my guide left thisteeming hive unmolested. We then steered for the course, not by the highroad, but skirting it along the fields. The policeman, like myself, carried a stout stick, which really seemed to be endowed with creativepowers that night. Wherever he poked that staff--and he did poke iteverywhere--a human being growled, or snored, or cursed. Every bushalong the hedgerow bore its occupant--often its group of four or five, sometimes a party of a dozen or a score. One shed filled with cartsyielded at least a hundred, though the sergeant informed me it must havebeen already cleared several times that evening, as he had a file of menalong the road, besides a cordon inside the Park palings, which border agreat portion of it. It is with these palings the tramps chiefly domischief, pulling them down to make fires along their route. Wherever myguide found these, he trampled the fires remorselessly out, and kickedthe burning embers over the sleepers in a manner that must have beenuncomfortable. The men submitted in comparative silence; but theladies--where there happened to be any--exerted the privilege of theirsex, and treated us to some choice specimens of the vernacular. In onecase, a female cried out that he was kicking the fire over the"childer;" and, sure enough, we found half-a-dozen little ones huddledup asleep. The policeman remonstrated with her for bringing them to sucha place; but she informed us it was to "make their living. " In what way, she did not add. To us, it seemed very much like reversing the process, and causing their death. Fancy young children camping out on the road tothe Downs at midnight! Boys of thirteen and fourteen abounded, sleepingin large groups along the hedgerows, and sometimes out in the openfields, where the dew lay thick. 

At length, after many windings, we reached the Downs. The white booths, following the direction of the course in their sinuous lines, lookedlike stately white marble streets and crescents in the dim, uncertainlight of that hour which, between May 31 and June 1, is neither day nornight. Under the stands and around the booths, tabernacling beneathcostermongers' barrows, and even lying out openly sub dio, were stillthe hundreds of human beings. In one small drinking booth was a sightthe policeman said he had never seen equalled in his twenty years'experience. A long, narrow table ran down the centre, with benches oneach side. The table itself was occupied with recumbent figures; on thebenches the sleepers sat, bending forward over it, and under the benchessleepers sprawled upon the grass. The whole of the front of the boothwas open, and exposed to the biting wind; but there they snored ascalmly as though on eider-down. We climbed the steps of the stand abovethe ring, and waited for the day, which slowly broke to the song of thelark and nightingale over that strange scene. With the first suspicionof dawn the sleepers awoke and got up; what for I cannot imagine. It wasbarely two o'clock, and how they were going to kill the next twelvehours I could not guess. Rise they did however, and an itinerant vendorof coffee, who was literally up with the lark, straightway began todrive a roaring trade. I saw no stronger drink than this consumed; nordid I witness a single case of drunkenness during the whole night. Butthis was before the Derby! At this juncture we were all surprised by theapparition of a hansom-lamp toiling up the hill. Two adventurousgentlemen from Liverpool, it appeared, had arrived at the EustonStation, and insisted upon being driven at once to an hotel on EpsomDowns. The Jehu, secure of a fabulous fare, drove them accordingly; and, of course, had to drive them back again to Epsom--the hotels on theDowns quietly but firmly declining to be knocked up at that untimelyhour even by gentlemen from Liverpool. As the sun showed his firstup-slanting rays above the horizon, with the morning star hangingimpertinently near, the two gipsy encampments began to exhibit signs oflife. The Zingari encamp exclusively by themselves, and some picturesquespecimens of the male sex, looking remarkably like the lively photographof the Greek brigands, showed themselves on the outskirts. The ladiesreserved themselves for later in the day. My guide cautioned me not toattempt to enter the encampment, as the men are dangerous, and theirposition on the Downs a privileged one. It was only when the tramps weretrespassing, or evidently bent on mischief, that they were disturbed. Onthe Downs they were monarchs of all they surveyed. 

When the sun was fairly up, and the morning mists rolled away from thoseglorious Downs, I felt my mission accomplished. I had seen the sun riseon Epsom course. As it was many hours before a train would return, andI still felt fresh, I resolved to give the coup de grace to my night'sadventure by walking home--at least, walking to the radius of workmen'strains. The vanguard of the Derby procession now began to show stronglyin the shape of the great unwashed climbing the ridge of the hill by thepaddock; and I felt I should see some characteristic sights along theroad. Bidding good-bye, therefore, to my guide at Epsom, I set out onfoot along the now-populous road, mine being the only face turnedLondon-wards. Carts laden with trestles and boards for stands now beganto be in force. By-and-by the well-known paper bouquets and outrageoushead-gear showed themselves as forming the cargo of costermongers'carts. The travellers were all chatty, many of them chaffy. Frequentwere the inquiries I had to answer as to the hour and the distance tothe course. Occasionally a facetious gentleman anxiously inquiredwhether it was all over, as I was returning? I believe the majoritylooked upon me as a harmless lunatic, since I was travelling away fromEpsom on the Derby morning, and pitied me accordingly. An Irishman aptlyillustrated the genial character of Hibernian chaff as compared withEnglish. "Good day to your honner!" he said. "It does me good to seeyour honner's happy face again;" though, of course, he had never seen itbefore. As I passed on with a brief salutation, he took the trouble torun after me, and slapping me on the shoulder, added, in a beautifulbrogue: "Wait a minnit; I don't want to ax you for anything, but only totell you how glad I am to see yer honner's happy face agin. Goodmornin'!"

So through Ewell, Cheam, and Morden, up to Tooting; the throngincreasing at every mile. At Balham, finding no train for an hour, Ifooted it again. I found preparations for endless Aunt Sally alreadybeing made on Clapham Common. Soon after six, I jumped into a train onthe London, Chatham, and Dover, and came home "with the milk;" havingnot only had a healthy night's exercise--for the weather had all alongbeen splendid--but having added to my experiences of London life one new"wrinkle" at least: I had seen the life of St. Giles's kitchen andBethnal Green lodging-house à la campagne. What I had already seen underthe garish candlelight of the Seven Dials and Commercial Road I sawgilded into picturesqueness by that glorious and never-to-be-forgottensunrise on Epsom Downs which ushered in the Derby Day. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE WIFESLAYER'S "HOME. "

There is something very weird and strange in that exceptional avocationwhich takes one to-day to a Lord Mayor's feast or a croquet tournament, to-morrow to a Ritualistic service, next day to the home of a homicide. I am free to confess that each has its special attractions for me. I amvery much disposed to "magnify my office" in this respect, not from anyfoolish idea that I am "seeing life, " as it is termed, but still from afeeling that the proper study of mankind _is_ man in all his variedaspects. 

It need not always be a morbid feeling that takes one to the scene of amurder or other horrible event, though, as we well know, the majority ofthose who visit such localities do go out of mere idle curiosity. It maybe worth while, however, for some who look a little below the surface ofthings, to gauge, as it were, the genius loci, and see whether, in theinfluences surrounding the spot and its inhabitants there be anything toafford a clue as to the causes of the crime. 

In summing up the evidence concerning a certain tragedy at Greenwich, where a man killed his wife by throwing a knife, the coroner "referredto the horrible abode--a coal cellar--in which the family, nine innumber, had resided, which was unfit for human habitation, and ought tohave been condemned by the parish authorities. " Having seen anddescribed in these pages something of how the poor are housed in thecellars of St. Giles's and Bethnal Green, and traced the probableinfluences of herding together the criminal and innocent in the lowlodging-houses, it occurred to me to visit the scene of this awfuloccurrence, and see how far the account given before the coroner's jurywas correct. 

With this view I took the train to Greenwich, and, consulting the firstpoliceman I met, was by him directed to Roan Street as the scene of thetragedy. Roan Street I found to be a somewhat squalid by-street, runningout of Skelton Street, close--it seemed significantly close--to the oldparish church. One could not help thinking of the familiar proverb, "Thenearer the church, the farther from God. " The actual locality is calledMunyard's Row, being some dozen moderate-sized houses in Roan Street, let out in lodgings, the particular house in question being again, witha horrible grotesqueness, next door but one to a beer-shop called the"Hit or Miss!" I expected to find Roan Street the observed of allobservers, but the nine days' wonder was over since what Dickens calledthe "ink-widge. " Indeed, a homicide has ceased to be a nine days'wonder now. This only happened on Saturday; and when I was there, on thefollowing Wednesday, Roan Street had settled down into its wontedrepose. A woman with a child was standing on the door-step, and, on myinquiring if I could see the kitchen, referred me to Mrs. Bristow at thechandler's shop, who farms the rent of these populous tenements; forMunyard's Row is peopled "from garret to basement, " and a good wayunderground too. 

Mrs. Bristow, a civil, full-flavoured Irishwoman, readily consented toact cicerone, and we went through the passage into the back garden, where all the poor household furniture of the homicide's late "home" wasstacked. It did not occupy a large space, consisting only of thebedstead on which the poor woman sat when the fatal deed was done, tworickety tables, and two chairs. These were all the movables of a familyof nine. The mattress was left inside--too horrible a sight, after whathad taken place, to be exposed to the light of day. 

We passed--Honora Bristow and myself--with a "gossip" or two, who hadcome to see what I was after, into the back kitchen, for the wifeslayerhad two rooms en suite, though the family elected to occupy only one. The floor of this apartment was either mother earth, or, if flagged, sogrimed with filth as to be a very fair resemblance of the soil. Herestood only that terrible memento, the drenched mattress. In the frontkitchen--which, let me state, would have been palatial in comparisonwith the Seven Dials or Spitalfields, had it been only clean--there wasvery little light, for the window, which was well down below the surfaceof the pavement, had not a whole pane in it, and the broken ones hadbeen stuffed up with old rags which were very protuberant indeed. Thatwindow alone would show that the ménage had not been a judicious one. 

"He was a quiet man, " said Honora, "and gave trouble to no one. He andhis wife never had a word. " The gossips all believed that the story ofthe throwing the knife was true, notwithstanding the medical evidencewent against it. The boy of twelve, who provoked the father to throw theknife, was evidently the incubus of the wretched home. "Almost beforethe breath was out of his mother, that boy was searching about the bedto see if he could find any ha'pence, " said Honora. That boy wasevidently not satisfactory. His evidence was refused by the Coroner, because he could not read or write. But then what had been the child'ssurroundings? They have been described above. The man himself had apatriarchal family of seven, from a girl of seventeen down to a baby oftwo, and all, as we have seen, slept in one room, though there were two, and though a bucket of whitewash would have made the pair habitable, besides giving the lad some useful employment. 

The father was of no particular occupation, picking up odd jobs, andleaning largely to the shrimp trade. He stood high in Honora Bristow'sregards as having regularly paid his _1s. 9d. _ a week for five years, or, at least, being some _5s. _ behind now; a sum which will probably becovered by the chattels in the back garden. The poor home was silentthen. The mother lay calmly in the dead-house, after the post-mortemexamination, "terrible cut and hacked about, " said the one gossip whohad ventured to go and see her quondam friend. The father was inMaidstone Gaol. The little children were being taken care of by thegrandmother until such time as the mother should have been buried, whenthey would gravitate to the workhouse. 

In the meantime the boy, æt. Twelve, the cause of all the mischief, disports himself in Munyard's Row as though nothing had happened. Perhaps he is the most difficult part of the problem; but the wholequestion of the home is a puzzling one. The boy is evidently the productof the home. It very much concerns the community that such produceshould become extinct; and therefore the sooner some improvements can beintroduced into such homes the better. In the first place, there isdecidedly too little light. Sunshine, under any circumstances, wouldhave been impossible there. The advisability of human beings burrowingunderground may be questioned, whether in cellars or genteel undergroundkitchens. 

Then again, one bedroom--nay, one bedstead--for father, mother, andseven children ranging from seventeen to two is decidedly deficient. This sounds almost too horrible to be true; but I was careful toascertain that the eldest girl, though in domestic service in Greenwich, slept at the "home. " More horrible still is the fact disclosed, thatthey had a second room, yet had not the decency to use it. "De mortuisnil nisi bonum. " They lived according to their light; but they had verylittle light, literally or figuratively. Surely we want to teach ourpoor the simple rules of hygiene. One of the gossips, a clean, healthylittle woman, with a fine baby at her breast, referred with pride to herpoor kitchen, identical in all respects, save dirt, with the home. 

Then, again, there was one thing that struck me forcibly, and that wasthe sort of qualified reprobation with which these good gossips--reallydecent people in their way--spoke of the habit of throwing knives. Honora had once thrown one at her daughter of eighteen, but never meantto do so again. And all this under the bells of the old parish church ofGreenwich in the year of grace 1870!

Clearly, however, the first question is what to do with the boy, æt. Twelve. Comporting himself as he did in the face of the awful tragedy hehad caused, this young gentleman must clearly not be lost sight of, orit will be the worse for himself and those with whom he is brought intocontact. Nay, in a few years, he will become a centre of influence, andradiate around him another such "home, " worse, perhaps, than the first. 

Let our Social Science so far break through the programme it may havelaid down as to touch on this very appropriate subject of squalid homes, and its next sitting may be a very useful one indeed. 

CHAPTER XX. 

BATHING IN THE FAR EAST. 

Visions of Oriental splendour and magnificence float across theimagination at the mere mention of the storied East. Soaring above allthe routine of ordinary existence and the commonplaces of history, thatcreative faculty within us pictures Pactolus with its golden sands; orrecalls from the legendary records of childhood the pomp of Aladdin'sPrincess going to her luxurious bath; or brings back to mind the almostprosaic minuteness with which the Greek poet describes the bath ofUlysses when he returned from his wanderings. In the East the bath hasever been an institution--not merely a luxury, but a necessity; and itis a proof of the eclectic tendencies of our generation that we havedomesticated here in the West that great institution, the Hammam, orTurkish bath, which the Romans were wise enough to adopt, after theirEastern experience, more than two thousand years ago. Of none of theseOriental splendours, however, has the present narrative to tell. I askthose interested in social questions to take a very early Sundayexpedition to the East End of London, and catch a glimpse of those whom, after what I have to relate, it would be libel to call the "GreatUnwashed. " We will look at East London engaged in the interestingprocess of performing its ablutions. 

Very enjoyable is a Saturday afternoon stroll in Victoria Park. Thosegentlemen of London who sit at home at ease are apt to think of the EastEnd as a collection of slums, with about as much breathing space for itscongregated thousands as that supplied to the mites in a superannuatedCheshire cheese. Let us pass through Bethnal Green Road, and, leavingbehind the new Museum, go under a magic portal into the stately acreswhich bear the name of our Sovereign. On our right is the Hospital forDiseases of the Chest, of which the foundation-stone was laid by thePrince Consort, and the new wing of which our Orientals hope one day tosee opened by her Majesty in person. Most convincing test of all is thesituation of this Consumptive Hospital--showing the salubrity of theEastern breezes. Inside the imposing gate the visitor will findextensive cricket-grounds interspersed with broad pastures, whose flocksare the reverse of Arcadian in hue. Cricket-balls whiz about us likeshells at Inkermann; and the suggestive "Thank you" of the scouts forcesthe passer-by into unwonted activity as he shies the ball to the bowler. Then there are roundabouts uncountable, and gymnasia abundant. There arebosquets for the love-makers, and glassy pools, studded with islandsinnumerable, over which many a Lady of the Lake steers her shallop, while Oriental sailor-boys canoe wildly along. There are flower-bedswhich need not blush to be compared with Kew or the Crystal Palace. Butit is not with such that we are now concerned. On one of those samelakes over which, on Saturday evening, sailors in embryo float theirmimic craft--and one young gentleman, slightly in advance of the rest, directs a very miniature steamship--we see boards suggesting that daily, from four to eight A. M. , the Orientals may immerse themselves in thelimpid and most tempting waters. The depth, they are paternallyinformed, increases towards the centre, buoys marking where it is sixfeet; so that our Eastern friends have no excuse for suicide bydrowning. 

East London birds are early birds, and to catch them at their bath youmust be literally up with the lark. Towards six o'clock is the mostfashionable hour for our metropolitan Pactolus; and, as it is some milesdistant from what can, by any stretch of courtesy, be called the WestEnd, and as there are no workmen's trains on a Sunday morning, a longwalk or cab drive is inevitable for all who would witness the disportingof our amphibious Orientals. Rising thus betimes on a recent "Sundaymorning before the bells did ring, " I sped me to the bathing pond, judiciously screened off by shrubs from the main path. It was betweenthe appointed hours that I arrived; and, long before I saw anything, theringing laughter of the young East reached me through the shrubs. Threading the path which led to the lake, I found the water literallyalive with men, boys, and hobbledehoys, revelling in the water likeyoung hippopotami on the Nile. Boys were largely in the ascendant--boysfrom ten to fifteen years of age swam like young Leanders, and sunnedthemselves on the bank, in the absence of towels, as the preparative todressing, or smoked their pipes in a state of nature. It is only just tosay that while I remained, I heard little if any language that could becalled "foul. " Very free and easy, of course, were the remarks, andlargely illustrative of the vulgar tongue; not without a share of lightchaff directed against myself, whose presence by the lake-side puzzledmy young friends. I received numerous invitations to "peel" and have adip; and one young urchin assured me in the most patronizing waypossible that he "wouldn't laugh at me" if I could not get on. Thelanguage may not have been quite so refined as that which I heard a fewdays before from the young gentlemen with tall hats and blue ties atLord's; but I do say advisedly that it would more than bear comparisonwith that of the bathers in the Serpentine, where my ears have oftenbeen assailed with something far worse than anything I heard in EastLondon. In the matter of clothes, too, the apparel of our young friendswas indeed Eastern in its simplicity; yet they left it unprotected onthe bank with a confidence that did honour to our common humanity ingeneral, and to the regulations of Victoria Park in particular. Swimmingin some sort was almost universal among the bathers, showing that theirvisit to the water was not an isolated event in their existence, but aconstant as it is a wholesome habit. The Oriental population were forthe most part apparently well fed; and one saw there lithe and activeframes, either careering gracefully along in the old style of swimming, or adopting the new and scientific method which causes the human formdivine to approach very nearly to the resemblance of a rather excitedgrampus. 

But inexorable Time warns the youthful bathers that they must sacrificeto the Graces; and some amusing incidents occur during the process. Generally speaking, though the amount of attire is not excessive, considerable effort in the way of pinning and hitching is required toget things in their proper places. A young gentleman was reduced toinexpressible grief, and held up to the scorn of his fellow-bathers, bythe fact that, in the course of his al fresco toilette, one of his feetwent through his inexpressibles in an honourable quarter, instead ofproceeding by the proper route; the error interested his friendsvastly--for they are as critical as the most fastidious could be of anysingularity in attire, and they held the unfortunate juvenile in hisembarrassing position for a long time, to his intense despair, until hewas rescued from his ignoble position by some grown-up friend. Then, the young East is prone to the pleasures of tobacco. It was, I presume, before breakfast with most of the bathers, and smoking under thoseconditions is a trial even to the experienced. Some, pale from theirlong immersion--for theirs was no transient dip--grew paler still afterthey had discussed the pipe or cigar demanded of them by rigorouscustom. Fashion reigns supreme among the gamins of the East as well asamong the ladies of the West. Off they went, however, cleaner andfresher than before--tacitly endorsing by their matutinal amusement themotto that has come down from the philosopher of old, and even nowreigns supreme from Bermondsey to Belgravia, that "water is a mostexcellent thing. "

The day may arrive perhaps when, having embanked the Thames, we shallfollow suit to the Seine and the Rhine, by tenanting it with cheap bathsfor the many. Until we do so, the stale joke of the "Great Unwashed"recoils upon ourselves, and is no less symptomatic of defective sanitaryarrangements than the possibility of a drought in Bermondsey. But we areforgetting our bathers. They have gone, leaving the place tosolitude--some, I hope, home to breakfast, others out among theflower-walks or on the greensward. It is a gloomy, overcast, muggy, unseasonable July morning; and the civil attendant by the lake-sidetells me that the gathering has not been so large as usual. The youngOrientals--as is the custom of their race--love sunshine. They getlittle enough of it, Heaven knows. The next bright Sunday morning, anyone who happens to be awake between the hours mentioned, and who wouldlike to add to his experiences of metropolitan existence, may do a worsething, and see many a less pleasant sight, than if he hailed a hansomand drove by the principal entrance of Victoria Park to our EasternBath. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

AMONG THE QUAKERS. 

There is no more engaging or solemn subject of contemplation than thedecay of a religious belief. Right or wrong, by that faith men havelived and died, perhaps for centuries; and one cannot see it pass outfrom the consciousness of humanity without something more than a cursorythought as to the reasons of its decadence. Being led by exceptionalcauses to take a more than common interest in those forms of beliefwhich lie beyond the pale of the Church of England, I was attracted by anotice in the public journals that on the following morning the Societyof Friends would assemble from all parts of England and open aConference to inquire into the causes which had brought about theimpending decay of their body. So, then, the fact of such decay stoodconfessed. In most cases the very last persons to realize the unwelcometruth are those who hold the doctrines that are becoming effete. Quakerism must, I felt, be in a very bad condition indeed when its owndisciples called together a conference to account for its passing away. Neither men nor communities, as a rule, act crowner's 'quest on theirown decease. That faith, it was clear, must be almost past praying forwhich, disbelieving, as our modern Quietism does, the efficacy ofassemblies, and trusting all to the inward illumination of individuals, should yet summon a sort of Quaker Oecumenical Council. I thought Ishould like to probe this personal light myself, and by inquiring of oneor two of the members of the body, learn what they thought of thematter. I was half inclined to array myself in drab, and _tutoyer_ thefirst of the body I chanced to encounter in my walks abroad. But then itoccurred to me how very seldom one did meet a Quaker nowadays except inthe "month of Maying. " I actually had to cast about for some time beforeI could select from a tolerably wide and heterogeneous circle ofacquaintance two names of individuals belonging to the Society ofFriends; though I could readily remember half a dozen of every otherculte, from Ultramontanes down to Jumpers. These two, at all events, Iwould "interview, " and so forestall the Conference with a little selectsynod of my own. 

It was possible, of course, to find a ludicrous side to the question;but, as I said, I approached it seriously. Sydney Smith, with hisincorrigible habit of joking, questioned the existence of Quakerbabies--a position which, if proven, would, of course, at once accountfor the diminution of adult members of the sect. It was true I had neverseen a Quaker infant; but I did not therefore question their existence, any more than I believed postboys and certain humble quadrupeds to beimmortal because I had never seen a dead specimen of either. Thequestion I acknowledged at once to be a social and religious, not aphysiological one. Why is Quakerism, which has lived over two hundredyears, from the days of George Fox, and stood as much persecution as anysystem of similar age, beginning to succumb to the influences of peaceand prosperity? Is it the old story of Capua and Cannæ over again?Perhaps it is not quite correct to say that it is now beginning todecline; nor, as a fact, is this Conference the first inquiry which thebody itself has made into its own incipient decay. It is even said thatsymptoms of such an issue showed themselves as early as the beginning ofthe eighteenth century; and prize essays have been from time to timewritten as to the causes, before the Society so far fell in with thecustoms of the times as to call a council for the present very difficultand delicate inquiry. The first prize essay by William Rountreeattributes the falling off to the fact that the early Friends, havingmagnified a previously slighted truth--that of the Indwelling Word--fellinto the natural error of giving it an undue place, so depriving theirrepresentations of Christian doctrine of the symmetry they wouldotherwise have possessed, and influencing their own practices in such away as to contract the basis on which Christian fellowship rests. Asecond prize essay, called "The Peculium, " takes a still more practicalview, and points out in the most unflattering way that the Friends, byeliminating from their system all attention to the arts, music, poetry, the drama, &c. , left nothing for the exercise of their faculties saveeating, drinking, and making money. "The growth of Quakerism, " says Mr. T. Hancock, the author of this outspoken essay, "lies in itsenthusiastic tendency. The submission of Quakers to the commercialtendency is signing away the life of their own schism. Pure enthusiasmand the pursuit of money (which _is_ an enthusiasm) can never coexist, never co-operate; but, " he adds, "the greatest loss of power reservedfor Quakerism is the reassumption by the Catholic Church of thoseCatholic truths which Quakerism was separated to witness and tovindicate. "

I confess myself, however, so far Quaker too that I care little for thewritten testimony of friends or foes. I have, in all my religiouswanderings and inquiries, adopted the method of oral examination; so Ifound myself on a recent November morning speeding off by rail to theoutskirts of London to visit an ancient Quaker lady whom I knew veryslenderly, but who I had heard was sometimes moved by the spirit toenlighten a little suburban congregation, and was, therefore, I felt thevery person to enlighten me too, should she be thereunto moved. She wasa venerable, silver-haired old lady, clad in the traditional dress ofher sect, and looking very much like a living representation ofElizabeth Fry. She received me very cordially; though I felt as if Iwere a fussy innovation of the nineteenth century breaking in upon thesacred, old-fashioned quiet of her neat parlour. She "thee'd and thou'd"me to my heart's content: and--to summarize the conversation I held withher--it was to the disuse of the old phraseology and the discarding ofthe peculiar dress that she attributed most of the falling off which shewas much too shrewd a woman of the world to shut her eyes to. Thesewere, of course, only the outward and visible signs of a correspondingchange within; but this was why the Friends fell off, and gravitated, asshe confessed they were doing, to steeple-houses, water-dipping, andbread-and-wine-worship. She seemed to me like a quiet old ProphetessAnna chanting a "Nunc Dimittis" of her own on the passing away of herfaith. She would be glad to depart before the glory had quite died out. She said she did not hope much from the Conference, and, to myamazement, rather gloried in the old irreverent title given by theIndependents to her forefathers from their "quaking and trembling" whenthey heard the Word of God, though she preferred still more the oldertitle of "Children of the Light. " She was, in fact, a rigid oldConservative follower of George Fox, from the top of her close-borderedcap to the skirts of her grey silk gown. I am afraid my countenanceexpressed incredulity as to her rationale of the decay; for, as I roseto go, she said, "Thou dost not agree, friend, with what I have said tothee--nay, never shake thy head; it would be wonderful if thou didst, when our own people don't. Stay; I'll give thee a note to my son inLondon, though he will gainsay much of what I have told thee. " She gaveme the letter, which was just what I wanted, for I felt I had gainedlittle beyond a pleasant experience of old-world life from my morning'sjaunt. I partook of her kindly hospitality, was shown over herparticularly cosy house, gardens, and hothouses, and meditated, on myreturn journey, upon many particulars I learnt for the first time as tothe early history of Fox; realizing what a consensus there was betweenthe experiences of all illuminati. I smiled once and again over thequaint title of one of Fox's books which my venerable friend had quotedto me--viz. , "A Battle-door for Teachers and Professors to learn Pluraland Singular. _You_ to _Many_, and _Thou_ to _One_; Singular, One, _Thou_; Plural, Many, _You_. " While so meditating, my cab deposited meat the door of a decidedly "downy" house, at the West End, where myprospective friend was practising in I will not mention which of thelearned professions. Both the suburban cottage of the mother and theLondon ménage of the son assured me that they had thriven on Quakerism;and it was only then I recollected that a poor Quaker was as rare apersonage as an infantile member of the Society. 

The young man--who neither in dress, discourse, nor manner differedfrom an ordinary English gentleman--smiled as he read his mother'slines, and, with a decorous apology for disturbing the impressions whichher discourse might have left upon me, took precisely the view which hadbeen latent in my own mind as to the cause of the Society's decay. Thoroughly at one with them still on the doctrine of the illuminatingpower of the Spirit in the individual conscience, he treated the archaicdress, the obsolete phraseology, the obstinate opposition to manyinnocent customs of the age, simply as anachronisms. He pointed withpride to the fact that our greatest living orator was a member of theSociety; and claimed for the underlying principle of Quakerism--namely, the superiority of a conscience void of offence over written scriptureor formal ceremony--the character of being in essence the _broadest_creed of Christendom. Injudicious retention of customs which had grownmeaningless had, he felt sure, brought down upon the body that mostfatal of all influences--contempt. "You see it in your own Church, " hesaid. "There is a school which, by reviving obsolete doctrines andpractices, will end in getting the Church of England disestablished asit is already disintegrated. You see it even in the oldest religion ofall--Judaism. You see, I mean, a school growing into prominence andpower which discards all the accumulations of ages, and by going back toreal antiquity, at once brings the system more into unison with thecentury, and prevents that contempt attaching to it which will accruewherever a system sets its face violently against the tone of currentsociety. " He thought the Conference quite unnecessary. "There needs noghost come from the dead to tell us that, Horatio, " he said, cheerily. "They will find out that Quakerism is not a proselytizing religion, " headded; "which, of course, we knew before. They will point to thefashionable attire, the gold rings, and lofty chignons of our youngersisters as direct defiance of primitive custom. I am unorthodoxenough"--and he smiled as he used that word--"to think that the attireis more becoming to my younger sisters, just as the Society's dress isto my dear mother. " That young man, and the youthful sisters he told meof, stood as embodied answers to the question I had proposed to myself. They were outward and visible evidences of the doctrine of Quaker"development. " The idea is not dead. The spirit is living still. It isthe spirit that underlies all real religion--namely, the personalrelation of the human soul to God as the source of illumination. Thatyoung man was as good a Quaker at heart as George Fox or William Pennthemselves; and the "apology" he offered for his transformed faith was abetter one than Barclay's own. I am wondering whether the Conferencewill come to anything like so sensible a conclusion as to why Quakerismis declining. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

PENNY READINGS. 

Who has ever penetrated beneath the surface of clerical society--meaningthereby the sphere of divinities (mostly female) that doth hedge acurate of a parish--without being sensible of the eligibility of PennyReadings for a place in Mystic London? When the Silly Season is at itsvery bathos; when the monster gooseberries have gone to seed and theshowers of frogs ceased to fall; after the matrimonial efforts ofMargate or Scarborough, and before the more decided business of theChristmas Decorations, then there is deep mystery in the penetralia ofevery parish. The great scheme of Penny Readings is being concocted, andall the available talent of the district--all such as is "orthodox" and"correct"--is laid under contribution. 

It is true to a proverb that we English people have a knack of doing thebest possible things in the worst possible way; and that notunfrequently when we do once begin doing them we do them to death. Ittakes some time to convince us that the particular thing is worth doingat all; but, once persuaded, we go in for it with all our British mightand main. The beard-and-moustache movement was a case in point. Someyears ago a moustache was looked upon by serious English people asdecidedly reckless and dissipated. A beard was fit only for a bandit. Nowadays, the mildest youth in the Young Men's Christian Association maywear a moustache without being denounced as "carnal, " and paterfamiliasrevels in the beard of a sapeur, no misopogon daring to say him nay. Tono "movement, " however, does the adage "Vires acquirit eundo" apply morethoroughly than to that connected with "Penny Readings. " Originallycropping up timidly in rustic and suburban parishes, it has of latetaken gigantic strides, and made every parish where it does _not_ exist, rural or metropolitan, very exceptional indeed. There was a soundprinciple lying at the bottom of the movement, in so far as it wasdesigned to bring about a fusion of classes; though, perhaps, itinvolved too much of an assumption that the "working man" had to belectured to, or read to, by his brother in purple and fine linen. Stillthe theory was so far sound. Broad cloth was to impart to fustian theadvantages it possessed in the way of reading, singing, fiddling, orwhat not; and that not gratuitously, which would have offended theworking man's dignity, but for the modest sum of one penny, which, whilst Lazarus was not too poor to afford, Dives condescended to accept, and apply to charitable purposes. 

Such being, in brief, the theory of the Penny Reading movement, it maybe interesting to see how it is carried out in practice. Now, in orderto ascertain this, I availed myself of several opportunities afforded bythe commencement of the Penny Reading season, which may be said tosynchronize very nearly with the advent of London fogs, and attended theopening of the series in several widely different localities. Indescribing my experiences it would perhaps be invidious to specify theexact locality where they were gathered. I prefer to collate thoseexperiences which range from Campden Hill to Camden Town inclusive. Amidmany distinguishing traits there are common elements traceable in all, which may enable us to form some estimate of the working of the scheme, and possibly to offer a few words of advice to those interested therein. 

In most cases the Penny Readings are organized by the parochial clergy. We will be orthodox, and consider them so to be on the present occasion. In that case, the series would probably be opened by the incumbent inperson. Some ecclesiastical ladies, young and middle-aged, who, rightlyor wrongly, believe their mission is music, and to whom the curate isvery probably an attraction, aid his efforts. Serious young men read, and others of a more mundane turn of mind sing doleful "comic" songs, culled from the more presentable of the music-hall répertoire. In manycases skilled amateurs or professionals lend their valuable assistance;and it is not too much to say that many a programme is presented to theaudience--ay, and faithfully carried out too--which would do credit to ahigh-priced concert-room. But, then, who make up the audience? Graduallythe "penny" people have been retiring into the background, as slowly butas surely as the old-fashioned pits at our theatres are coylywithdrawing under the boxes to make way for the stalls. The PennyReadings have been found to "draw" a higher class of audience than thosefor whom they were originally intended. The curate himself, ifunmarried, secures the whole spinsterhood of the parish. His renderingof the lines, "On the receipt of my mother's picture out of Norfolk, " isuniversally acknowledged to be "delightful;" and so, in course of time, the Penny Readings have been found to supply a good parochial income;and the incumbent, applying the proceeds to some local charity, naturally wishes to augment that income as much as possible. Theconsequence is that the penny people are as completely nowhere at thePenny Readings as they are in the free seats at their parish church. Thewhole of the body of the room is "stalled off, " so to say, for sixpennypeople, and the penny folk are stowed away anywhere. Then, again, inseveral programmes I have been at the pains to analyse, it is palpablethat, whilst the bulk of the extracts fire over the heads of the poorpeople, one or two are inserted which are as studiously aimed at them asthe parson's remarks in last Sunday's sermon against public-houseloafing. Still "naming no names, " I attended some readings where one ofthe clergy read a long extract from Bailey's "Festus, " whilst he wassucceeded by a vulgar fellow, evidently put in for "the gods, " whodelivered himself of a parody on Ingoldsby, full of the coarsestslang--nay, worse than that, abounding in immoralities which, I hope, made the parochial clergy sit on thorns, and place the reader on their"Index Expurgatorius" from henceforth. 

Excellent in its original design, the movement is obviously degeneratinginto something widely different. First, I would say, Let your PennyReadings be really Penny Readings, and not the egregious _lucus a non_they now are. If there is any distinction, the penny people should havethe stalls, and then, _if there were room_, the "swells" (I must use anoffensive term) could come in for sixpence, and stand at the back. Butthere should be no difference at all. Dives and Lazarus should sittogether, or Dives stop away if he were afraid his fine linen may getsoiled. Lazarus, at all events, must not be lost sight of, or treated tosecond best. The experiment of thus mingling them has been tried, Iknow, and succeeds admirably. Dives and Lazarus _do_ hobnob; and thoughthe former occasionally tenders a silver coin for his entrée, he doesnot feel that he is thereby entitled to a better seat. The committeegets the benefit of his liberality; and when the accounts are audited inthe spring, Lazarus is immensely pleased at the figure his pence make. Then, again, as to the quality of the entertainment. Let us rememberLazarus comes there to be elevated. That was the theory we set outwith--that we, by our reading, or our singing, or fiddling, ortootle-tooing on the cornet, could civilize our friend in fustian. Donot let us fall into the mistake, then, of descending to his standard. We want to level him up to ours. Give him the music we play in our owndrawing-rooms; read the choice bits of fiction or poetry to his wife anddaughters which we should select for our own. Amuse his poor littlechildren with the same innocent nonsense with which we treat our youngpeople. Above all, don't bore him. I do not say, never be serious, because it is a great mistake to think Lazarus can only guffaw. Read"The Death of Little Nell" or of Paul Dombey, and look at Mrs. Lazarus'seyes. Read Tom Hood's "Song of the Shirt, " and see whether the poorseamstress out in the draughty penny seats at the back appreciates it ornot. I did hear of one parish at the West End--the very same, by theway, I just now commended for sticking to the "penny" system--whereHood's "Nelly Gray, " proposed to be read by the son of one of our bestknown actors, was tabooed as "unedifying. " Lazarus does not come to be"edified, " but to be amused. If he can be at the same time instructed, so much the better; but the bitter pill must be highly gilded, or hewill pocket his penny and spend it in muddy beer at the public-house. If the Penny Reading can prevent this--and we see no reason why itshould not--it will have had a mission indeed. Finally, I feel sure thatthere is in this movement, and lying only a very little way from thesurface, a wholesome lesson for Dives too; and that is, how littledifference there is, after all, between himself and Lazarus. I have beensurprised to see how some of the more recherché "bits" of our genuinehumorists have told upon the penny people, and won applause which thestalest burlesque pun or the nastiest music-hall inanity would havefailed to elicit. Lazarus must be represented on the platform then, aswell as comfortably located in the audience. He must be asked to read, or sing, or fiddle, or do whatever he can. If not, he will feel he isbeing read at, or sung to, or fiddled for, and will go off to the Magpieand Stump, instead of bringing missus and the little ones to the"pa'son's readings. " Let the Penny Reading teach us the truth--and howtrue it is--that we are all "working men. " What matters it whether wework with head or with hand--with brain or muscle?

CHAPTER XXIII. 

DARWINISM ON THE DEVIL. 

It has been said--perhaps more satirically than seriously--that theologycould not get on without its devil. Certain it is that wherever therehas been a vivid realization of the Spirit of Light, there, as if by wayof antithesis, there has been an equally clear recognition of the Powerof Darkness. Ormuzd--under whatever name recognised--generally supposeshis opponent Ahriman; and there have even been times, as in theprevalence of the Manichean heresy, when the Evil Spirit has beenaffected in preference to the good--probably only another way of sayingthat morals have been held subordinate to intellect. But I am growing atonce prosy and digressive. 

The announcement that the "Liberal Social Union" would devote one oftheir sweetly heretical evenings at the Beethoven Rooms, Harley Street, to an examination of the Darwinian development of the Evil Spirit, wasone not to be scorned by an inquirer into the more eccentric and erraticphases of theology. Literary engagements stood in the way--for thesocial heretics gather on a Friday--but come what might, I would hearthem discuss diabolism. Leaving my printer's devil to indulge intypographical errors according to his own sweet will (and I must confesshe _did_ wander), I presented myself, as I thought in good time, at theportals of the Harley Street room, where his Satanic Majesty was to beheretically anatomized. But, alas! I had not calculated aright the powerof that particular potentate to "draw. " No sooner had I arrived at thecloak-room than the very hats and umbrellas warned me of the number ofhis votaries. Evening Dress was "optional;" and I frankly confess, atwhatever risk of his displeasure, that I had not deemed Mephistophelesworthy of a swallow-tailed coat. I came in the garb of ordinary life;and at once felt uncomfortable when, mounting the stairs, I was receivedby a portly gentleman and an affable lady in violent tenue de soir. Theroom was full to the very doors; and as soon as I squeezed into earshotof the lecturer (who had already commenced his discourse) I was greetedby a heterodox acquaintance in elaborate dress-coat and rose-pinkgloves. Experience in such matters had already told me--and thereupon Iproved it by renewed personal agony--that an Englishman never feels souncomfortable as when dressed differently from his compeers at any kindof social gathering. Mrs. T---- asks you to dinner, and you go clad inthe correct costume in deference to the prandial meal, but find all therest in morning dress. Mrs. G----, on the contrary, sends you arollicking note to feed with a few friends--no party; and you gostraight from office to find a dozen heavily-got-up people sniggering atyour frock coat and black tie. However, as I said, on this occasion thelecturer, Dr. Zerffi, was in the thick of what proved to be a veryattractive lecture; so I was not the observed of all observers for morethan two or three minutes, and was able to give him my whole attentionas soon as I had recovered from my confusion. Dr. Zerffi said:--

Dr. Darwin's theory of evolution and selection has changed our modernmode of studying the inorganic and organic phenomena of nature, andinvestigating the realities of truth. His theory is not altogether new, having been first proclaimed by Leibnitz, and followed up with regard tohistory by Giovanni Battista Vico. Oken and Goethe amplified it towardsthe end of the last, and at the beginning of the present century. Darwin, however, has systematized the theory of evolution, and now thebranches of human knowledge can only be advantageously pursued if wetrace in all phenomena, whether material or spiritual, a beginning and agradual development. One fact has prominently been established, thatthere is order in the eternal change, that this order is engendered bylaw, and that law and order are the criterions of an all-wise rulingSpirit pervading the Universe. To this positive spirit of law a spiritof negation, an element of rebellion and mischief, of mockery andselfishness, commonly called the Devil, has been opposed from thebeginning. 

It appeared, till very lately, as though God had created the world onlyfor the purpose of amusing the Devil, and giving him an abundance ofwork, all directed to destroying the happiness of God's finestcreation--man. Treating the Devil from a Darwinian point of view, we mayassert that he developed himself from the protoplasm of ignorance, andin the gloomy fog of fear and superstition grew by degrees into aformidable monster, being changed by the overheated imaginations ofdogmatists into a reptile, an owl, a raven, a dog, a wolf, a lion, acentaur, a being half monkey, half man, till, finally, he became apolite and refined human being. 

Man once having attained a certain state of consciousness, saw sickness, evil, and death around him, and as it was usual to assign to everyeffect some tangible cause, man developed the abstract notion of evilinto a concrete form, which changed with the varying impressions ofclimate, food, and the state of intellectual progress. To the white manthe Devil was black, and to the black man white. Originally, then, theDevil was merely a personification of the apparently destructive forcesof nature. Fire was his element. The Indians had their Rakshas andUragas, the Egyptians their Typhon, and the Persians their Devas. TheIsraelites may claim the honour of having brought the theory of evilinto a coarse and sensual form, and the Christians took up thisconception, and developed it with the help of the Gnostics, Plato, andthe Fathers dogmatically into an entity. 

I shall not enter on a minute inquiry into the origin of this formidableantagonist of common sense and real piety; I intend to take up the threeprincipal phases of the Devil's development, at a period when he alreadyappears to us as a good Christian Devil, and always bearing in mind Mr. Darwin's theory of evolution, I shall endeavour to trace spiritually thechanges in the conceptions of evil from the Devil of Luther to that ofMilton, and at last to that of Goethe. 

The old Jewish Rabbis and theological doctors were undoubtedly the firstto trace, genealogically, the pedigree of the Christian Devil in itssince general form. If we take the trouble to compare chap. I. V. 27 ofGenesis with chap. Ii. V. 21, we will find that two distinct creationsof man are given. The one is different from the other. In the firstinstance we have the clear, indisputable statement, "So God created manin his own image:" and to give greater force to this statement the textgoes on, "in the image of God created he him; male and female created hethem. " Both man and woman were then created. Nothing could be plainer. But as though no creation of man had taken place at all, we find, chap. Ii. V. 7: "And the Lord formed man of the dust of the ground, andbreathed into his nostrils the breath of life. " This was evidently asecond man, differently created from the first, who is stated to havebeen made "in the image of God himself. " This second creature wasentrusted with the nomination and classification of all created things;that is, with the formation of language, and the laying down of thefirst principles of botany and zoology. After he had performed thisarduous task it happened that "for Adam there was not found an help meetfor him" (verse 20), and chap. Ii. V. 21 tells us, "The Lord God causeda deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept; and He took one of hisribs and closed up the flesh instead thereof;" and verse 22, "And of therib which the Lord God had taken from man made He a woman, and broughther unto man. " Adam then joyfully exclaims (verse 23), "This _is_ nowbone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. " This cannot but lead to theconclusion that this woman was an altogether different creature from thefirst. The contradiction was most ingeniously explained by the learnedJewish Rabbis, who considered the first woman the organic germ fromwhich the special Hebrew-Christian devils were evolved. The Rabbisdiscovered that the name of the first woman was "Lilith"[1] (thenightly); they knew positively--and who can disprove theirassertion?--that she was the most perfect beauty, more beautiful thanEve; she had long waving hair, bright eyes, red lips and cheeks, and acharmingly finished form and complexion; but having been created at thesame moment as the first man, and like him, in the image of God, sherefused to become man's wife; she objected to being subordinate to themale part of creation--she was, in fact, the first strong-minded woman, claiming the same rights as man, though a woman in body and form. Underthese circumstances the existence of the human race was deemed to be animpossibility, and therefore the Lord had to make good his error, and Hecreated Eve as the completing part of man. The first woman left herco-equally created male, and was changed into an enormous, mostbeautiful, and seducing "She Devil, " and her very thoughts brought forthdaily a legion of devils--incarnations of pride, vanity, conceit, andunnaturalness. Happily these devils were so constituted that theydevoured one another. But in their rage they could take possession ofothers, and more especially entered little children--boys under threedays old, girls under twenty days--and devoured them. This myth, bymeans of evolution and the law of action and re-action, engendered thefurther legend about the existence of three special angels who acted aspowerful antidotes to these devils, and whose names, "Senoi, Sansenoi, and Sanmangeloph, " if written on a piece of parchment suspended roundthe neck of children afforded certain protection against them. 

The origin of the Devil may thus be traced to the first vain contemptfor the eternal laws of nature. The woman, refusing to be a woman, engenders devils; the man, trying to be a God, loses paradise and hisinnocence, for the element of the supernatural intruded upon him andabstracted his thoughts from this earth. These were the half idealisticand half realistic elements from which the three greatest spiritualincarnations of the Evil Spirit sprung up. Luther took the Evil Spiritas a bodily entity, with big horns, fiery eyes, a reddish, protrudingtongue, a long tail, and the hoof of a horse. In this latter attributewe trace at once the Kentaur element of ancient times. Through nearlyone thousand three hundred years from Tertullian and Thaumaturgus downto Luther, every one was accustomed to look upon life as one greatbattle with tens of thousands of devils, assaulting, harassing, annoying, and seducing humanity. All fought, quarrelled, talked, andwrestled with the Devil. He was more spoken of in the pulpits of theChristian Churches, written about in theological and scientific books, than God or Christ. All misfortunes were attributed to him. Thunder andlightning, hailstorms and the rinderpest, the hooping cough andepileptic fits were all the Devil's work. A man who suffered frommadness was said to be possessed by a legion of Evil Spirits. The Devilsettled himself in the gentle dimples of a pretty girl with the sameease and comfort as in the wrinkles of an old woman. Everything thatwas inexplicable was evil. Throughout the Middle Ages the masses and themajority of their learned theological teachers believed the Greek andLatin classics were inspired by Evil Spirits; that sculptures orpaintings, if beautiful, were of evil; that all cleverness inMathematics, Chemistry, or Medicine proved the presence of thecorrupting Evil Spirit working in man. Any bridge over a chasm or arapid river was the work of the Devil; even the most beautiful Gothiccathedrals, like those of Cologne and St. Stephen at Vienna wereconstructed by architects who served their apprenticeship in theinfernal regions. The Devil sat grinning on the inkstands of poets andlearned men, dictating to the poor deluded mortals, as the price fortheir souls, charming love-songs or deep theological and philosophicalessays. It was extremely dangerous during this period of man'shistorical evolution to be better or wiser than the ignorant masses. Learning, talent, a superior power of reasoning, love for truth, aspirit of inquiry, the capacity of making money by clever trading, anartistic turn of mind, success in life, even in the Church, were only somany proofs that the soul had been sold to some dwarfish or giantmessenger from Lucifer, who could appear in a thousand different forms. Man was, since his assumed Fall, the exclusive property of the coarseand vulgar conception of the Evil Spirit. Luther was full of theseideas, he was brought up in this belief, and though he unconsciouslyfelt that the Devil ought to be expelled from our creed, he did not dareto attempt the reform of humanity by annihilating the mischief-maker: hecould not rob man of his dearest spiritual possession; had he thought ofconsigning the Devil to the antediluvian period of our moral and socialformation, he never could have succeeded in his reform. The Devil, infact, was his strongest helpmate; he could describe the ritual of theRomish Church as the work of the Evil Spirit, produced to deludemankind. The Devil had his Romish prayers, his processions, his worshipof relics, his remission of sins, his confessional, his infernal synods;he was to Luther an active, rough, and material incarnation of theroaring lion of the Scriptures in the shape of the Romish Church, walking about visibly, tangibly, bodily amongst men, devouring all whobelieved in the Pope, and who disbelieved in this stupid phantom of adogmatically blinded imagination. 

The Evolution-theory may be clearly traced in the two next conceptions:Milton's Satan and Goethe's Mephistopheles. They differ as strongly asthe periods and the poems in which they appear. Milton's Satan loses thevulgar flesh and bone, horn and hoof nature--he is an epic character;whilst Goethe's Devil is an active dramatic entity of modern times. Milton's representative of evil is a very powerful conception--it isevil in abstracto; whilst Mephistopheles is evil in concreto--theintelligible, tangible Devil, evolved by the power of selection from anantediluvian monster, and transformed through a civilizing process of atleast six thousand years into its present form. Milton's Satan is adebased intellect who in his boundless ambition is still a supernaturalbeing. Mephistopheles is the incarnation of our complicated modernsocial evils, full of petty tricks and learned quotations; he piouslyturns up his eyes, he lies, doubts, calumniates, seduces, philosophizes, sneers, but all in a polite and highly educated way; he is a scholar, adivine, a politician, a diplomatist. Satan is capable of wildenthusiasm, he sometimes remembers his bright sinless past; "from thelowest deep, " he yearns, "once more to lift himself up, in spite offate, nearer to his ancient seat;"--he hopes to re-enter heaven, "topurge off his gloom;" some remnant of heavenly innocence still clings tohim, for, though _fallen_, he is still an _angel_! Mephistopheles in hisreal nature is without any higher aspirations, he argues with asarcastic smile on his lips, he is ironical with sophisticatedsharpness. Satan has unconsciously gigantic ideas, he is ready towrestle with God for the dominion of heaven. Mephistopheles is perfectlyconscious of his littleness as opposed to our better intellectualnature, and does evil for evil's sake. Satan is sublime through thegrandeur of his primitive elements, pride and ambition. Mephistophelesis only grave in his pettiness; he does not refuse an orgie withdrunken students, indulges in jokes with monkeys, works miracles in thewitch's kitchen, delights in the witch's "one-time-one;" distributeslittle tracts "to stir up the witch's heart with special fire. " Satanhas nothing vulgar in him: he is capable of melancholy feelings, he canbe pathetic and eloquent. Mephistopheles laughs at the stupidity of theworld, and at his own. Satan believes in God and in himself, whilstMephistopheles is the "Spirit that denies;" he believes neither in Godnor in heaven nor in hell; he does not believe in his own entity--he isno supernatural, fantastic being, but man incarnate: he is the evil partof a good whole, which loses its entity when once seen and recognised inits real nature; for Mephistopheles in reality is our own ignorant, besotted, animal nature, cultivated and developed at the expense of ourintellectual part. 

Luther's devil is the outgrowth of humanity in long-clothes. Man, ignorant of the forces of the Cosmos, blinded by theological dialecticsand metaphysical subtleties, incapable of understanding the real essenceof our moral and intellectual nature, philosophically untrained toobserve that evil is but a sequence of the disturbed balance between ourdouble nature--spirit and matter--attributed all mischief in theintellectual as well as in our social spheres to an absolute powerfulbeing who continually tormented him. 

Milton's Satan is the poetical conception of man developed from aninfant in long-clothes into a boisterous but dreamy youth, ascribing toevery incomprehensible effect an arbitrary, poetical cause. Goethe'sMephistopheles, lastly is the truthful conception of evil as it reallyexists in a thousand forms, evolved from our own misunderstood andartificially and dogmatically distorted nature. 

Goethe in destroying the Devil as such, consigned him to the primevalmyths and legends of ignorance and fear, and has shown us the realnature of the evil. 

What then is the Devil?

The Devil took, as I said in the beginning, his origin in our blindedsenses, in an undue preponderance of that which is material in us overthat which is intellectual. The moment we look the Evil Spirit in theface, he vanishes as an _absolute_ being and becomes--

 A portion of that power Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour. 

After having been exposed during several periods of generations to newconditions, thus rendering a great amount of variation possible, theDevil has developed from a monster into a monkey, and from a monkey intoa man endowed with the nature of a monkey and the propensities of amonster. In the State and in the Church, in Arts and Sciences, the Devilis the principle of injustice, hypocrisy, ugliness, and ignorance. Goethe has annihilated the ideal poetical grandeur of Milton's Satan; hehas stripped Luther's Devil of his vulgar realism; Goethe has drivenSatan from an imaginary hell, where he preferred to rule instead ofworshipping and serving in heaven, and with the sponge of common sensehe wiped the horned monster, drawn by the imagination of dogmatists, from the black board of ignorance. In banishing the Evil Spirit into thedominion of myths, Goethe showed him in his real nature. Darwindisplaced man from the exalted pedestal of a special creation, andendeavoured to trace him as the development of cosmical elements. Darwinenabled us to look upon man as the completing link in the great chain ofthe gradual evolution of the life-giving forces of the Universe, and herendered thus our position more comprehensible and natural. Goethe, inproving that the Evil Spirit of ancient and Hebrew-Christian times was amere phantom of an ill-regulated fantasy, taught us to look for the realorigin of evil. What was a metaphysical incomprehensibility became anintelligible reality. The Demon can be seen in "Faust" as in a mirror, and in glancing into it we behold our Darwinian progenitor, the animal, face to face. Before the times of Goethe, with very few exceptions, theEvil Spirit was an entity with whom any one might become familiar--infact, the "spiritus familiaris" of old. The Devil spoke, roared, whispered, could sign contracts. We were able to yield our soul to him;and he could bodily enter our body. The Devil was a corporeal entity. The rack, water, and fire were used to expel him from sorcerers andwitches, and to send him into all sorts of unclean animals. Goethe, inunmasking this phantom, introduced him not as something _without_, butas an element _within_ us. The service rendered to humanity in showingus the true nature of evil is as grand as the service rendered by Mr. Darwin in assigning to man his place _in_ nature, and not _above_nature. It is curious that those who have most of the incorrigible andimmovable animal nature in them should protest with the greatestvehemence and clamour against this theory. They think by asserting theirsuperiority, based on a special creation, to become at once special andsuperior beings, and prefer this position to trying, through aprogressive development in science and knowledge, in virtue and honesty, to prove the existence of the higher faculties with which man has beenendowed through his gradual development from the lowest phases of livingcreatures to the highest. In assuming the Devil to be something absoluteand positive, and not something relative and negative, man hoped to bebetter able to grapple with him. Mephistopheles is nothing personal; hecan, like the Creator himself, be only traced in his works. The Devillurks beneath the venerable broadcloth of an intolerant and ignorantpriest; he uses the seducing smiles of a wicked beauty; he stirs theblood of the covetous and grasping; he strides through the gilded hallsof ambitious emperors and ministers, who go with "light hearts" to killthousands of human beings with newly-invented infernal machines; heworks havoc in the brains of the vain. The Devil shuffles the cards forthe gambler, and destroys our peace whether he makes us win or lose onthe turf; he sits joyfully grinning on the tops of bottles and tankardsfilled with alcoholic drinks; he entices us on Sundays to shut ourmuseums and open our gin-palaces; to neglect the education of themasses; and then prompts us to accuse them with hypocriticalrespectability of drunkenness and stupidity. It is the Devil who turnsus into friends of lapdogs and makes us enemies of the homeless. TheDevil is the greatest master in dogmatism; he creates sects who, in thename of love and humility, foster hatred and pride; the Devil enclosesmen in a magic circle on the barren heath of useless speculation; drivesthem round and round like blinded horses in a mill, starting from onepoint, and after miles and miles of travel and fatigue, leading us tothe point, sadder but not wiser, from which we set out. The Devil makesus quarrel whether we ought to have schools with or without bigotedreligious teachings; he burns incense to stupefy our senses, lightscandles to obscure our sight, amuses the masses with buffooneries toprevent them from thinking, draws us away from common-sense morality, and leads us, under the pretext of a mystic and symbolic religion, tothe confessional, the very hothouse of mischief. Satan in all hisshapes and forms as he rules the world has been described by Goethe asEgotism. Selfishness is his element and real nature. Selfishness not yetrealizing the divine, because so entirely _humane_ command--"Do untoothers as you wish that they should do unto you. " Selfishness is theonly essence of evil. Selfishness has divided men into differentnations, and fosters in them pride, envy, jealousy, and hatred. Mr. Darwin has shown that one animal preys on the other, that the weakerspecies has to yield to the stronger. Goethe again has shown us how theEvil Spirit drags us through life's wild scenes and its flatunmeaningness, to seek mere sensual pleasures and to neglect altogetherour higher and better nature, which is the outgrowth of our morecomplicated, more highly developed organization. Were we only torecognise this, our real nature, we should leave less to chance andprejudices; were we to study man from a physiological, psychological, and honestly historical point of view, we should soon eliminateselfishness from among us, and be able to appreciate what is really theessence of evil. The more nearly we approach Darwin's primitive man, theape, the nearer do we draw to the Mephistopheles who shows us his exactnature with impudent sincerity in Goethe's "Faust. "

That which changes our Psyche, that is our intellectual faculty with itsairy wings of imagination, its yearnings for truth, into an ugly, submissive, crawling worm, is heartless selfishness. Not without reasonis poor guileless Margaret horrified at Mephistopheles. She shudders, hides herself on the bosom of Faust, like a dove under the wings of aneagle, and complains that the Evil Spirit--

 ... Always wears such mocking grin, Half cold, half grim, One sees that nought has interest for him; 'Tis writ on his brow, and can't be mistaken, No soul in him can love awaken. 

When all goes wrong, when religious, social, and political animosities andhatred disturb the peace; when unintelligible controversies on theinherited sin, the origin of evil, justification, and transubstantiation, "grace and free will, " the creative and the created, mystic incantations, real and unreal presences, the like but not equal, the affirmative and thenegative natures of God and man confuse the finite brains of infinitetalkers and repeaters of the same things; when they quarrel about thewickedness of the hen who dared to lay an egg on the Sabbath; when theglaring torch of warfare is kindled by the fire of petty animosities, thenthe Evil Spirit of egotism celebrates its most glorious festivals. 

What can banish this monster, this second and worse part of our nature?To look upon it from a Darwinian point of view. Goethe saves his fallenFaust through useful "occupation, " through honest hard work for thebenefit of mankind. The more we make ourselves acquainted with evil, thelast remnant of our animal nature, in a rational and not mysticdogmatical sense, the less we exalt ourselves as exceptional creaturesabove nature, the easier it must be for us to dry up the source ofsuperstition and ignorance which serves to nourish this social monster. 

Let our relations to each other be based on "mutual love, " for God islove, and selfishness as the antagonist of love, and the Devil as theantagonist of God, will both vanish. 

Let us strive to vanquish our unnatural social organization by anatural, social, but at the same time, liberal union of all into onecommon brotherhood, and the roaring lion will be silenced for ever. 

Let us purify society of all its social, or rather unsocial, iniquitiesand falsehoods, of all ingratitude and envy, in striving for an honestregeneration of ourselves, and through ourselves of humanity at large, convincing one another that man has developed by degrees into earth'sfairest creature, destined for good and happiness, and not for evil andwretchedness, and there will be an end of the _Devil_ and all his_devilries_. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The word is found in Isaiah xxxiv. 14. Translated in the Vulgate as"Lamia;" in Luther's translation as "Kobold;" in the English version as"screech-owl;" and in others as "an ugly night-bird. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

PECULIAR PEOPLE. 

In this title, be it distinctly understood, no reference is intended tothose anti-Æsculapian persons who, from time to time, sacrifice toMoloch among the Essex marshes. It is not necessary to journey even asfar as Plumstead in search of peculiarity, since the most manifold andever-varying types of it lie at one's very doors. And here, at theoutset, without quite endorsing the maxim that genius is alwayseccentric, let it be confessed that a slight deviation from the beatentrack is generally apt to be interesting. When we see the photograph ofsome distinguished artist, musician, or poet, and find the features verylike those of the pork butcher in the next street, or the footman overthe way, we are conscious of a feeling of disappointment almostamounting to a personal grievance. Mr. Carlyle and Algernon Swinburnesatisfy us. They look as we feel graphic writers and erotic poets oughtto look. Not so the literary females who affect the compartment labelled"For ladies only, " in the reading room of the British Museum or on theMetropolitan Railway. They are mostly like one's maiden aunts, andsavour far less of the authoress than some of the charming girls whostudiously avoid their exclusive locale, and evidently use their readingticket only to cover with an appearance of propriety a most unmistakableflirtation. This they carry on sotto voce with ardent admirers of themale sex, who, though regular frequenters of the reading room, are nomore literary than themselves. One might pick out a good many peculiarpeople from that learned retreat--that poor scholar's club room; but letus rather avoid any such byways of life, and select our peculiars fromthe broad highway. Hunting there, Diogenes-wise, with one's modestlantern, in search--not of honest--but eccentric individuals. 

And first of all, having duly attended to the ladies at the outset, letthere be "Place for the Clergy. " There is my dear friend the Rev. GrayKidds, the best fellow breathing, but, from a Diogenes point of view, decidedly eccentric. Gray Kidds is one of those individuals whosepeculiarity it is never to have been a boy. Kidds at fifteen hadwhiskers as voluminous as he now has at six-and-twenty, and as hegambolled heavily amongst his more puerile schoolfellows, visitors tothe playground used to ask the assistant masters who that man wasplaying with the boys. They evidently had an uneasy notion that aprivate lunatic asylum formed a branch of the educational establishment, and that Gray Kidds was a harmless patient allowed to join the boys intheir sports. Gray Kidds was and is literally harmless. He grew upthrough school and college, innocently avoiding all those evils whichproved the ruin of many who were deemed far wiser than himself. Hewarbled feebly on the flute, and was adored as a curate, not only forhis tootle-tooings, but for his diligent presence at mothers' meetings, and conscientious labours among the poor. A preacher Kidds neverpretended to be; but he had the singular merit of brevity, and crowdedmore harmless heresies into ten minutes' pulpit oratory than Colenso orVoysey could have done in double the time. The young ladies made a deadset at him, of course, for Kidds was in every respect eligible; and helet them stroke him like a big pet lamb, but there matters ended. Kiddsnever committed himself. He is now the incumbent of a pretty church inthe suburbs, built for him by his aunt, and, strange to say, the churchfills. Whether it is that his brevity is attractive, or his transparentgoodness compensates for his other peculiarities, certainly he has acongregation; and if you polled that congregation, the one point onwhich all would agree, in addition to his eligibility or innocence, would be that the Rev. Gray Kidds was "so funny. "

And now, for our second type of peculiarity, let us beat back for onemoment to the fair sex again. Mrs. Ghoul is the reverse of spirituelle;but she is something more--she is spiritualistic. She devoutly believesthat the spirits of deceased ancestors come at her bidding, and tilt thetable, move furniture insanely about, or write idiotic messagesautomatically. She is perfectly serious. She does "devoutly" believethis. It is her creed. It is a comfort to her. It is extremely difficultto reconcile such a source of comfort with any respect for one'sdeparted relatives, but that is Mrs. Ghoul's peculiarity andqualification for a niche amongst our originals. 

Miss Deedy, on the other hand, is ecclesiastical to the backbone. MissDeedy ruins her already feeble health with early mattins (she insists onthe double t) and frequent fasts. Beyond an innocuous flirtation withthe curate at decorations, or a choral meeting, Miss Deedy has as fewsins as most of us to answer for; but, from her frequent penances, shemight be a monster of iniquity. She is known to confess, and issuspected of wearing sackcloth. Balls and theatres she eschews as"worldly, " and yet she is only just out of her teens. She would like tobe a nun, she says, if the habits were prettier, and they allowed longcurls down the back, and Gainsboroughs above the brow. As it is, MissDeedy occupies a somewhat abnormal position, dangling, like Mahomet'scoffin, between the Church and the world. That, again, is Miss Deedy'speculiarity. 

Miss Wiggles is a "sensitive. " That is a new vocation struck out by theprolific ingenuity of the female mind. Commonplace doctors would simplycall her "hysterical;" but she calls herself magnetic. She is stout andinclined to a large appetite, particularly affecting roast pork withplenty of seasoning; but she passes readily into "the superiorcondition" under the manipulations of a male operator. She makesnothing, save notoriety, by her clairvoyance and other peculiarities;but she _is_ very peculiar, though the type of a larger class than isperhaps imagined in this highly sensational age of ours. 

Peculiar boys, too--what lots of them there are! What is calledaffectation in a girl prevails to quite as large an extent in the shapeof endless peculiarities among boys. A certain Dick (his name isAdolphus, but he is universally, and for no assignable reason, known asDick) rejoices in endorsing Darwinism by looking and acting like a humangorilla. Dick is no fool, but assumes that virtue though he has it not. To see him mumbling his food at meals, or making mops and mows at thewall, you would think him qualified for Earlswood; but if it comes topolishing off a lesson briskly or being mulct of his pudding orpocket-money, Master Dick accomplishes the polishing process with arapidity that gives the lie to his Darwinian assumption. 

Well, they are a source of infinite fun, these eccentrics--the comets ofour social system. They have, no doubt, an object in theireccentricity, a method in their madness, which we prosaic planetaryfolks cannot fathom. At all events, they amuse us and don't harmthemselves. They are uniformly happy and contented with themselves. Ofthem assuredly is true, and without the limitation he appends, Horace'saffirmation, _Dulce est desipere_, which Mr. Theodore Martin translates, "'Tis pleasing at times to be slightly insane. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

INTERVIEWING AN ASTROLOGER. 

For several years--in fact ever since my first acquaintance with these"occult" matters whereinto I am now such a veteran investigator--mygreat wish has been to become practically acquainted with some Professorof Astral Science. One friend, indeed, I had who had devoted a longlifetime to this and kindred subjects, and of whom I shall have to speakanon; but he had never utilized his knowledge so as to become the guide, philosopher, and friend of amorous housemaids on the subject of theirmatrimonial alliances, or set himself to discover petty larcenies for afee of half-a-crown. He assured me, however, that the practice ofastrology was as rife as ever in London at this moment, and thatbusinesses in that line were bought and sold for sterling coin of therealm, just as though they had been "corner" publics, or "snug concerns"in the cheesemongery line. All this whetted my appetite for inquiry, andseeing one Professor Wilson advertise persistently in the _Medium_ tothe effect that "the celebrated Astrologer may be consulted on theevents of life" from two to nine P. M. , I wrote to Professor Wilsonasking for an interview; but the celebrated astrologer did not favourme with a reply. 

Foiled in my first attempt I waited patiently for about a year, and thenbroke ground again--I will not say whether with Professor Wilson, orsome other practitioner of astral science. I will call my ArchimagoProfessor Smith, of Newington Causeway, principally for the reason thatthis is neither the real name nor the correct address. I have no wish toadvertise any wizard gratuitously; nor would it be fair to him, since, as will be seen from the sequel, his reception of me was such as to makeit probable that he would have an inconvenient number of applicants onthe conditions observed at my visit. 

Availing myself, then, of the services of my friend above-mentioned, Iarranged that we should together pay a visit to Professor Smith, ofNewington Causeway, quite "permiscuous, " as Mrs. Gamp would say. Mycompanion would go with his own horoscope already constructed, as hehappened to know the exact hour and minute of his birth--particulars asto which I only possessed the vaguest information, which is all I fancymost of us have; though there was one circumstance connected with my ownnatal day which went a long way towards "fixing" it. 

It was on a Monday evening that I visited this modern Delphic oracle;and, strangely enough, as is often the case, other events seemed to leadup to this one. The very lesson on Sunday evening was full ofastrology. It was, I may mention, the story of the handwriting on thewall and the triumph of Daniel over the magicians. Then I took up myChaucer on Monday morning; and instead of the "Canterbury Tales, " openedit at the "Treatise on the Astrolabe, " which I had never read before, but devoured then as greedily as no doubt did "Little Lowis, " to whom itis addressed. All this tended to put me in a proper frame of mind for myvisit to Newington; so, after an early tea, we took my friend's figureof his nativity with us, and went. 

Professor Smith, we found, lived in a cosy house in the main road, theparlours whereof he devoted to the purposes of a medical magnetist, which was his calling, as inscribed upon the wire blinds of the groundfloor front. We were ushered at once into the professor's presence by awoman who, I presume, was his wife--a quiet respectable body withnothing uncanny about her. The front parlour was comfortably furnishedand scrupulously clean, and the celebrated Professor himself, a pleasantelderly gentleman, was sitting over a manuscript which he read by thelight of a Queen's reading lamp. There was not, on the one hand, anycharlatan assumption in his get-up, nor, on the other, was there thatsqualor and neglect of the decencies of life which I have heardsometimes attaches to the practitioners in occult science. Clad in alight over-coat, with spectacles on nose, and bending over his MS. , Professor Smith might have been a dissenting parson en déshabille"getting off" his Sunday discourse, or a village schoolmaster correctingthe "themes" of his pupils. He was neither; he was a nineteenth centuryastrologer, calculating the probabilities of success for a commercialscheme, the draft prospectus of which was the document over which hepored. As he rose to receive us I was almost disappointed to find thathe held no wand, wore no robe, and had no volume of mystic lore by hisside. The very cat that emerged from underneath his table, and rubbeditself against my legs was not of the orthodox sable hue, but simpletabby and white. 

My friend opened the proceedings by producing the figure of hisnativity, and saying he had come to ask a question in horary astrologyrelative to a certain scheme about which he was anxious, such anxietyconstituting what he termed a "birth of the mind. " Of course this wasDutch to me, and I watched to see whether the Professor would be takenoff his guard by finding he was in presence of one thoroughly posted upin astral science. Not in the least; he greeted him as a brother chip, and straightway the two fell to discussing the figure. The Professorworked a new one, which he found to differ in some slight particularsfrom the one my friend had brought. Each, however, had worked it bylogarithms, and there was much talk of "trines" and "squares" and"houses, " which I could not understand; but eventually the covetedadvice was given by the Professor and accepted by my friend as devoutlyas though it had been a response of the Delphic oracle itself. Thebusiness would succeed, but not without trouble, and possibly litigationon my friend's part. He was to make a call on a certain day and "pushthe matter" a month afterwards; all of which he booked in abusiness-like manner. This took a long time, for the Professor wasperpetually making pencil signs on the figure he had constructed, andthe two also discussed Zadkiel, Raphael, and other astrologers they hadmutually known. Continual reference had to be made to the "NauticalAlmanack;" but by-and-by my friend's innings was over and minecommenced. I have said that I did not know the exact hour and minute ofmy birth, and when, with appropriate hesitation, I named the 1st ofApril as the eventful day, the Professor looked at me for a moment witha roguish twinkle of the eye as though to ascertain that I was notpoking fun at him. I assured him, however, that such was theinauspicious era of my nativity, and moreover that I was born so closelyon the confines of March 31--I do not feel it necessary to specify theyear--as to make it almost dubious whether I could claim the honours ofApril-Fooldom. This seemed enough for him--though he warned me that theabsence of the exact time might lead to some vagueness in hiscommunications--and he proceeded forthwith to erect my figure; which, by the way, looked to me very much like making a "figure" in Euclid;and I peered anxiously to see whether mine bore any resemblance to thePons Asinorum!

I feared I had led my philosopher astray altogether when the first itemof information he gave me was that, at about the age of twenty-one, Ihad met with some accident to my arm, a circumstance which I could notrecall to memory. Several years later I broke my leg, but I did not tellhim that. Going further back, he informed me that about the age offourteen, if I happened to be apprenticed, or in any way placed underauthority, I kicked violently over the traces, which was quite true, inasmuch as I ran away from school twice at that precise age, so that myastrologer scored one. At twenty-eight I married (true), and atthirty-two things were particularly prosperous with me--a fact which Iwas also constrained to acknowledge correct. Then came a dreadfulmistake. If ever I had anything to do with building or minerals, Ishould be very successful. I never had to do with building save once inmy life, and then Mr. Briggs's loose tile was nothing to thedifficulties in which I became involved. Minerals I had never dabbled inbeyond the necessary consumption of coals for domestic purposes. I hadan uncle who interested himself in my welfare some years ago--this wascorrect--and something was going to happen to my father's sister atMidsummer, 1876. This, of course, I cannot check; but I trust, for thesake of my venerable relation, it may be nothing prejudicial. I was alsoto suffer from a slight cold about the period of my birthday in thatsame year, and was especially to beware of damp feet. My eldest brother, if I had one, he said, had probably died, which was again correct; andif my wife caught cold she suffered in her throat, which piece ofinformation, if not very startling, I am also constrained to confess isquite true. Then followed a most delicate piece of information which Iblush as I commit to paper. I wished to marry when I was twenty-one, butcircumstances prevented. Then it was that memories of a certaingolden-haired first love came back through the vista of memory. I wasthen a Fellow of my College, impecunious except as regarded myacademical stipend, so the young lady took advice and paired off with awell-to-do cousin. Sic transit gloria mundi! We are each of us stout, unromantic family people now; but the reminiscence made me feel quiteromantic for the moment in that ground floor front in NewingtonCauseway; and I was inclined to say, "A Daniel come to judgment!" but Ichecked myself and remarked, sotto voce, in the vernacular, "Rightagain, Mr. Smith!"

Before passing on to analyse me personally he remarked that my wife'ssister and myself were not on the best of terms. I owned that words hadpassed between us; and then he told me that in my cerebral developmentthere was a satisfactory fusion of caution and combativeness. I was noteasily knocked over, or, if so, had energy to get up again. This energywas to tell in the future. This, I believe, is a very usual feature ofhoroscopic revelation. Next year was to be particularly prosperous. Ishould travel a good deal--had travelled somewhat this year, and wasjust now going to take a short journey; but I should travel a great dealmore next year. I own to asking myself whether this could bear anyreference to the Pontigny Pilgrimage in which I shared this year, andthe possible pilgrimage to Rome next summer, and also a projectedjourney to Scotland by the Limited Mail next Tuesday evening! On thewhole, my astrologer had scored a good many points. 

The most marvellous revelation of all yet remains to be made, however. When we rose to go we each of us endeavoured to force a fee on ProfessorSmith, but nothing would induce him to receive a farthing! I had got allmy revelations, my "golden" memories of the past, my bright promises ofthe future free, gratis, for nothing! It will be evident, then, why I donot give this good wizard's address lest I inundate him with gratuitousapplicants, and why I therefore veil his personality under themisleading title of Professor Smith of Newington Causeway. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A BARMAID SHOW. 

The present age, denounced by some ungenial censors as the age of shams, may be described by more kindly critics as emphatically an age of"shows. " Advancing from the time-honoured shows of Flora and Pomona--ifnot always improving on the type--and so on from the cattle show, suggestive of impending Christmas fare, we have had horse shows, dogshows, and bird shows. To these the genius of Barnum added baby shows;and, if we are not misinformed, a foreign firm, whose names have becomehousehold words amongst us, originated, though not exactly in itspresent form, the last kind of show which has been acclimatized inEngland--an exhibition of barmaids. We had two baby shows in oneyear--one at Highbury Barn by Mr. Giovannelli, the other at NorthWoolwich Gardens by Mr. Holland; and it is to the talent of this lattergentleman in the way of adaptation that we owe the exhibition of youngladies "practising at the bar. " From babies to barmaids is indeed aleap, reversing the ordinary process of going from the sublime to theridiculous, for while to all but appreciative mammas those infantilespecimens of humanity savour largely of the ridiculous, there can be noquestion that the present generation of _dames de comptoir_ is a verysublime article indeed. I do not say this in derision, nor am I amongthose who decry the improvements introduced during the last few years, both into refreshment bars themselves, and notably into the class ofladies who preside over them. The discriminating visitor will decidedlyprefer to receive his sandwich and glass of bitter at the hands of apretty barmaid rather than from an oleaginous pot-man in hisshirt-sleeves; and the sherry-cobbler acquires a racier flavour from thearch looks of the Hebe who dispenses it. If silly young men do dawdle atthe bar for the sake of the sirens inside, and occasionally, as we haveknown to be the case, take unto themselves these same sirens "for betteror for worse, " we can only cite the opinion of well-informedauthorities, that very possibly the young gentlemen in question mighthave gone farther and fared worse, and that it is not always the younglady who has, in such a case, the best of the bargain. 

So, then, the "Grand Barmaid Contest" opened; and in spite of the veryunmistakable appearance put in by Jupiter Fluvius, a numerous assemblagegathered in the North Woolwich Gardens to inaugurate a festival which, whatever else we may think of it, is at all events sui generis. Prizesto the value of _300l. _ were to be presented to the successfulcandidates, varying from a purse of twenty sovereigns and a gold watchand chain, down to "a purse of two sovereigns, " with "various otherprizes, consisting of jewellery, &c. "

Among the conditions it was required, that every young lady should beover sixteen years of age; that she should be dressed in _plain_ but_good_ articles of attire, "in which a happy blending of colours withoutprominent display is most suitable;" and it was moreover stipulated thateach "young lady" should "ingratiate herself with the public in the mostaffable manner at her command, without undue forwardness or frivolity, but still retaining a strict attention to business. " No young lady waspermitted to take part in the contest unless she had been in therefreshment business for twelve months, and could produce goodtestimonials of character. 

Upwards of 700 applications were made, out of which Mr. Holland selectedfifty. Whence the large number of rejections "deponeth sayeth not. " Ofthese twenty-eight actually put in an appearance at three P. M. On theopening day and four were expected to join in a day or two. Everyvisitor is provided with a voting ticket, which he hands to the lady ofhis admiration, and which counts towards the prize. Each young lady alsoreceives 5 per cent. On what she sells at her bar. The places areawarded by lot; and, by a freak of fortune, the two most attractivedemoiselles happened to come together. These were Numbers One andFourteen. The former young lady--who desires to be known by her numberonly, true genius being ever modest--was certain to stand Number One inpopular esteem; and, if chignons are taken into account, she oughtliterally to "head" the list by a very long way. The room was tastefullydecorated by Messrs. Defries, and an excellent band enlivened theproceedings. As evening drew on the meeting grew more hilarious, butthere was not the slightest impropriety of any kind, the faintestapproach thereto leading to immediate expulsion. 

Many persons may be disposed to ask, in respect of such exhibitions, Cuibono? But at all events there was nothing which the veriest Cato coulddenounce as demoralizing. The "young ladies" were all most modestlyattired in "sober livery;" and certainly--though comparisons areodious--not so pressing in their attentions as we have seen some otheryoung ladies at Dramatic Fêtes, or even some dévouées at charitablebazaars. If we may judge from the large numbers that visited NorthWoolwich, "in spite of wind and weather, " Mr. Holland was likely to reapan abundant harvest from this latest "idea, " excogitated from hisfertile brain. As the babies have had their "show, " and the stronger sexis not likely to be equal to the task of being exhibited just yet, thereseems only one section of society open to the speculations of a skilfulentrepreneur. Why does not some one, in a more serious line than Mr. Holland, try what Sydney Smith calls the "third sex, " and open anexhibition of curates, with a genuine competition for prizes? Therecould be no possible doubt as to the success of such a display, and theinstruction to be derived from it would be equally beyond question. Inthe meantime we have advanced one step towards such a consummation. Theadult human being has taken the place of the baby; and people evidentlylike it. Where will the rage for exhibitions stop? Who can say to theadvancing tide of shows, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther?" Otherclasses of society will probably have their turn, and may thinkthemselves fortunate if they show up as well as Mr. Holland's "youngladies. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A PRIVATE EXECUTION. 

I was quietly fiddling away one evening in the Civil Service band atKing's College, as was my custom while my leisure was larger than atpresent, when the gorgeous porter of the college entered with a hugebillet which he placed on my music-stand with a face of awe. It wasaddressed to me, and in the corner of it was written "Order forExecution. " The official waited to see how I bore it, and seemed rathersurprised that I went on with my fiddling, and smilingly said, "Allright. " I knew it was an order from the authorities of Horsemonger LaneGaol admitting me to the private execution of Margaret Waters, thenotorious baby-farmer. 

If anything is calculated to promote the views of those who advocate theabolition of capital punishment, it is the fact of a woman meeting herdeath at the hands of the common hangman. There is something abhorrent, especially to the mind of the stronger sex, in the idea of a femalesuffering the extreme penalty of the law. On the other hand, the crimefor which Margaret Waters suffered--which is too much a cause célèbre toneed recapitulation--is exactly the one that would exile her from thesympathy of her own sex. Whilst therefore her case left the broadquestion much in the same position as before, we are not surprised tofind that strenuous efforts had been made to obtain a commutation of thesentence. Mr. Gilpin, Mr. Samuel Morley, and Mr. Baines had beenconspicuous for their efforts in the cause of mercy. All, however, hadbeen to no purpose. Margaret Waters was privately executed within thewalls of Horsemonger Lane Gaol at nine o'clock. 

It was a thankless errand that called one from one's bed whilst the moonwas still struggling with the feeble dawn of an October morning, andthrough streets already white with the incipient frost of approachingwinter, to see a fellow-creature--and that a woman--thus hurried out ofexistence. On arriving at the gloomy prison-house I saw a fringe ofroughs lounging about, anxious to catch a glimpse, if only of the blackflag that should apprize them of the tragedy they were no longerprivileged to witness. Even these, however, did not muster in strongforce until the hour of execution drew near. On knocking at the outerwicket, the orders of admission were severely scrutinized, and noneallowed to pass except those borne by the representatives of the press, or persons in some way officially connected with the impending "event. "There was an air of grim "business" about all present, which showedplainly that none were there from choice, nor any who would not feelrelief when the fearful spectacle was over. After assembling, first ofall, in the porter's lodge, we were conducted by the governor, Mr. Keene, to the back of the prison, through courtyards and kitchengardens; and in a corner of one of the former we came upon the ghastlyinstrument of death itself. Here half-a-dozen warders only werescattered about, and Mr. Calcraft was arranging his paraphernalia withthe air of a connoisseur. I remember--so strangely does one's mind takein unimportant details at such a crisis--being greatly struck with thefine leeks which were growing in that particular corner of the prisongarden where the grim apparatus stood, and we--some five-and-twenty atmost, and all in the way of "business"--stood, too, waiting for theevent!

Then ensued a quarter of an hour's pause, in that cold morning air, whensuddenly boomed out the prison bell, that told us the last few minutesof the convict's life had come. The pinioning took place within thebuilding; and on the stroke of nine, the gloomy procession emerged, theprisoner walking between the chaplain and Calcraft, with a firm step, and even mounting the steep stair to the gallows without needingassistance. She was attired in a plaid dress with silk mantle, her headbare, and hair neatly arranged. 

As this was my first experience in private hanging, I do not mindconfessing that I misdoubted my powers of endurance. I put a smallbrandy-flask in my pocket, and stood close by a corner around which Icould retire if the sight nauseated me; but such is the strangefascination attaching to exhibitions even of this horrible kind, that Ipushed forward with the rest, and when the governor beckoned me on to a"good place, " I found myself standing in the front rank with the rest ofmy confrères, and could not help picturing what that row of upturned, unsympathizing, pitiless faces must have looked like to the culprit ascontrasted with the more sympathetic crowds that used to be present at apublic execution. 

One of the daily papers in chronicling this event went so far as topoint a moral on the brutalizing effect of such exhibitions from mymomentary hesitation and subsequent struggle forward into the frontrank. The convict's perfect sang froid had a good deal to do with my owncalmness, I expect. 

When the executioner had placed the rope round her neck, and the cap onher head ready to be drawn over the face, she uttered a long and ferventprayer, expressed with great volubility and propriety of diction, everyword of which could be distinctly heard by us as we circled thescaffold. She could not have rounded her periods more gracefully orarticulated them more perfectly, if she had rehearsed her partbeforehand! Though most of the spectators were more or less inured toscenes of horror, several were visibly affected, one kneeling on thebare ground, and another leaning, overcome with emotion, against theprison wall. At last she said to the chaplain, "Mr. Jessopp, do youthink I am saved?" A whispered reply from the clergyman conveyed hisanswer to that momentous question. All left the scaffold except theconvict. The bolt was withdrawn, and, almost without a struggle, Margaret Waters ceased to exist. Nothing could exceed the calmness andpropriety of her demeanour, and this, the chaplain informed us, had beenthe case throughout since her condemnation. She had been visited on oneoccasion by a Baptist minister, to whose persuasion she belonged; but hehad, at her own request, forborne to repeat his visit. The prisoner saidhe was evidently unused to cases like hers, and his ministrations ratherdistracted than comforted her. The chaplain of the gaol had beenunremitting in his attentions, and seemingly with happy effect. Thoughshe constantly persisted in saying she was not a murderess in intent, she was yet brought to see her past conduct in its true light; and onthe previous Saturday received the Holy Communion in her cell with oneof her brothers. Two of them visited her, and expressed the strongestfeelings of attachment. In fact, the unhappy woman seemed to have beendeeply attached to and beloved by all the members of her family. Shehad, since her condemnation, eaten scarcely anything, having been keptalive principally by stimulants. Although this, of course, induced greatbodily weakness, she did not from the first exhibit any physical fear ofdeath. On the night before her execution--that peaceful moonlitnight--when so many thoughts must have turned to this unhappy woman, sheslept little, and rose early. The chaplain had arranged to be with herat eight, but she sent for him an hour earlier, and he continued withher until the end. On Monday night she penned a long statement addressedto Mr. Jessopp. This was written with a firm hand on four sides of afoolscap sheet, expressed with great perspicuity, and signed with theconvict's name. Whilst still repudiating the idea of being a murderessin intent, she pleaded guilty to great deceit, and to having obtainedmoney under false pretences. If she had not given proper food, that, shecontended, was an error of judgment. It was hard, she thought, that sheshould be held accountable for the child who died in the workhouse. Shedwelt much upon the difficulties brought upon her by her dread of themoney-lender--that fungus growth of our so-called civilization, who hasbrought so many criminals to the gallows, besides ruining families everyday in each year of grace! That she had administered laudanum shedenied. The evidence as to the dirty condition of the children sheasserted to be false. She wished to avoid all bitterness; but those whohad so deposed had sworn falsely. "I feel sure their consciences willcondemn them to-night, " she wrote, "for having caused the death of afellow-creature. " In the face of the evidence, she felt the jury couldnot find any other verdict, or the judge pass any other sentence thanhad been done. The case had been got up, she argued, to expose a systemwhich was wrong. Parents wished to get rid of their ill-gottenoffspring. Their one thought was to hide their own shame. "They, " sheconcluded, "are the real sinners. If it were not for their sin, _we_should not be sought after. "

There must surely be some whose consciences these words will prick. However this woman deserved the bitter penalty she has now paid, thereis indeed a tremendous truth in her assertion that she, and such as she, are but the supply which answers their demand. 

And so we filed away as the autumnal sun shone down upon that gloomyspectacle, leaving her to the "crowner's 'quest, " and the dishonouredgrave in the prison precincts. Up to the previous night strong hopes ofa commutation of the sentence were entertained. Her brothers hadmemorialized the Home Secretary, and were only on the previous dayinformed that the law must take its course. Let us hope that this sternexample will put a stop, not only to "baby-farming, " which, as the deadwoman truly said, is but a consequence of previous crime--but also tothose "pleasant vices" which are its antecedents and encouragements. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

BREAKING UP FOR THE HOLIDAYS. 

Unromantic as it sounds to say it, I know of few things more disgustingthan to revisit one's old school after some twenty or thirty years. Letthat dubious decade still remain as to the number of years that haveelapsed since I left school. In fact, it matters to nobody when I leftit; I revisited it lately. I went to see the boys break up, as I oncebroke up, and I felt disgusted--not with the school, or the breaking up, but with myself. I felt disgracefully old. In fact, I went home, andbegan a poem with these words:--

 My years, I feel, are getting on: Yet, ere the trembling balance kicks, I Will imitate the dying swan, And sing an ode threnodic--vixi. 

I never got any farther than that. By the way, I shall have to mentioneventually that the school was King's College, in the Strand. I am notgoing to unbosom beyond this, or to add anything in the way of anautobiography; but the locale would have to come out anon, and there isno possible reason for concealment. 

Well, I went to see them break up for the holidays, and only got over myantediluvian feelings by seeing one of the masters still on the staffwho was there when I was a boy. It was a comfort to think what aMethuselah he must be; and yet, if he will excuse the personality, helooked as rosy and smooth-faced as when he used to stand me outside hisdoor with my coat-sleeves turned inside out. It was a way he had. Well, the presence of that particular master made me feel an Adonis forthwith. 

I will not go into the prizes. There were lots of them, and they werevery nice, and the boys looked very happy, and their mammas legitimatelyproud. What I want to speak of is the school speeches or recitations, asthey are termed. King's College School speeches are, to my thinking, amodel of what such things ought to be. 

Some schools--I name no names--go in for mere scholastic recitationswhich nobody understands, and the boys hate. Others burst out infull-blown theatricals. King's College acts on the motto, Mediotutissimus ibis. It keeps the old scholastic recitations, but gilds thepill by adding the accessory of costume. I can quote Latin as well asDr. Pangloss, and certain lines were running in my mind all the time Iwas in King's College Hall. They were

 Pueris olim dant crustula blandi Doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima. 

First we had a bit of German in the shape of an extract from Kotzebue's"Die Schlaue Wittwe, " or "Temperaments. " I wish I had my programme, Iwould compliment by name the lad who played the charming young Frau. Suffice it to say the whole thing went off sparkling like a firework. Itwas short, and made you wish for more--a great virtue in speeches andsermons. The dancing-master was perfect. Then came a bit of Colman's"Heir at Law. " Dr. Pangloss--again I regret the absence of theprogramme--was a creation, and--notwithstanding the proximity of King'sCollege to the Strand Theatre--the youth wisely abstained from copyingeven so excellent a model as Mr. Clarke. Of course, the bits of Latinitycame out with a genuine scholastic ring. Then a bit of a Greek play, atwhich--mirabile dictu!--everybody laughed, and with which everybody waspleased. And why? Because the adjuncts of costume and properties addedto the correct enunciation of the text, prevented even those, who knewlittle Latin and less Greek, from being one moment in the dark as towhat was going on. The passage was one from the "Birds" of Aristophanes;and the fact of a treaty being concluded between the Olympians andterrestrials, led to the introduction of some interpolations as to theWashington Treaty, which, when interpreted by the production of theAmerican flag and English Union Jack, brought down thunders of applause. The final chorus was sung to "Yankee Doodle, " and accompanied by afiddle. The acting and accessories were perfect; and what poor Robsonused to term the "horgan" of Triballos, was wonderful. That youth wouldbe a nice young man for a small tea party. It is to be hoped that, likeBottom the weaver, he can modulate his voice, and roar as gently as anysucking-dove. 

Most wonderful, however, of all the marvels--that met me at my oldschool--was a scene from the "Critic, " played by the most Lilliputianboys. Puff--played by Powell (I don't forget that name)--was simplymarvellous. And yet Powell, if he will forgive me for saying so, was themerest whipper-snapper. Sir Christopher Hatton could scarcely haveemerged from the nursery; and yet the idea of utter stolidity neverfound a better exponent than that same homoeopathic boy. 

Last of all came the conventional scene from Molière's "L'Avare. " MaîtreJacques was good; Harpagon more than good. I came away well satisfied, only regretting I had not brought my eldest boy to see it. My eldestboy! Egad, and I was just such as he is now, when I used to creep like asnail unwillingly to those scholastic shades. The spirit of Panglosscame upon me again as I thought of all I had seen that day, --there wasnothing like it in my day. King's College keeps pace with the times. "Tempora mutantur!" I mentally exclaimed; and added, not without apleasant scepticism, as I gazed once more on the pippin-faced master, "Iwonder whether--nos mutamur in illis?"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

PSYCHOLOGICAL LADIES. 

There is no doubt that the "Woman's Rights" question is going ahead withgigantic strides, not only in social and political, but also inintellectual matters. Boys and girls--or rather we ought to say youngladies and young gentlemen--are grouped together on the class list ofthe Oxford Local Examination, irrespective of sex. A glance at the dailypapers will show us that women are being lectured to on all subjectsdown from physical sciences, through English literature and art, to theconstruction of the clavecin. We had fancied, however, that what aretechnically termed "the Humanities, " or, in University diction, "Science"--meaning thereby ethics and logic--were still our own. Now, weare undeceived. We are reminded that woman can say, without a solecism, "Homo sum, " and may therefore claim to embrace even the humanities amongher subjects of study. Henceforth the realm of woman is not merely whatmay be called "pianofortecultural, " as was once the case. It has soaredeven above art, literature, and science itself into what might at firstsight appear the uncongenial spheres of dialectics and metaphysics. 

Professor G. Croom Robertson recently commenced a course of thirtylectures to ladies on Psychology and Logic, at the Hall, 15, LowerSeymour Street, Portman Square. Urged, it may be, rather by a desire tosee whether ladies would be attracted by such a subject, and, if so, what psychological ladies were like, than by any direct interest in thematters themselves, I applied to the hon. Secretary, inquiring whetherthe inferior sex were admissible; and was answered by a ticket admittingone's single male self and a party of ladies à discrétion. The veryentrance to the hall--nay, the populous street itself--removed my doubtsas to whether ladies would be attracted by the subjects; and on enteringI discovered that the audience consisted of several hundred ladies, andtwo unfortunate--or shall it not rather be said privileged?--members ofthe male sex. The ladies were of all ages, evidently matrons as well asspinsters, with really nothing at all approaching a "blue stocking"element; but all evidently bent on business. All were taking vigorousnotes, and seemed to follow the Professor's somewhat difficult Scotchdiction at least as well as our two selves, who appeared to representnot only the male sex in general, but the London press in particular. 

Professor Robertson commenced by a brief and well-timed reference to theaccomplished Hypatia, familiar to ladies from Kingsley's novel--in thedays when ladies used to read novels--and also the Royal ladies whomDescartes and Leibnitz found apter disciples than the savants. It was, however, he remarked, an impertinence to suppose that any apology wasneeded for introducing such subjects before ladies. He plunged thereforeat once in medias res, and made his first lecture not a mere isolated orintroductory one, but the actual commencement of his series. Unreasonedfacts, he said, formed but a mere fraction of our knowledge--even thesimplest processes resolving themselves into a chain of inference. Truthis the result of logical reasoning; and not only truth, but truth _forall_. The sciences deal with special aspects of truth. These sciencesmay be arranged in the order--1. Mathematics; 2. Physics; 3. Chemistry;4. Biology--each gradually narrowing its sphere; the one enclosed, so tosay, in the other, and each presupposing those above it. Logic waspresupposed in all. Each might be expressed by a word ending in "logy, "therefore logic might be termed the "science of sciences. " The scienceswere special applications of logic. Scientific men speak lightly oflogic, and say truth can be discovered without it. This is true, buttrivial. We may as well object to physiology because we can digestwithout a knowledge of it; or to arithmetic, because it is possible toreckon without it. Scientific progress has been great; but its coursemight have been strewn with fewer wrecks had its professors been moregenerally logicians. But then logic presupposes something else. We haveto investigate the origin and growth of knowledge--the laws under whichknowledge comes to be. Under one aspect this science--psychology--shouldbe placed highest up in the scale; but under another it would rank laterin point of development than even biology itself, because it is notevery being that thinks. This twofold aspect is accounted for by thepeculiarity of its subject-matter--viz. , mind. 

The sciences are comparatively modern. Mathematics but some 3000 or 4000years old; physics, three centuries; chemistry, a thing of the last, biology only of the present century. But men philosophized before thesciences. The ancient Greeks had but one science--mathematics. Now menknow a little of many sciences; but what we want is men to connect--toknit together--the sciences; to have their knowledge all of a piece. Theknowledge of the ancient Greek directed his actions, and entered farmore into his daily life than ours does. This, he observed, wasphilosophy. This is what we want now; and this is what is to be got frompsychology. There is not a single thing between heaven and earth thatdoes not admit of a mental expression; or, in other words, possess asubjective aspect, and therefore come under psychology. 

This, in briefest outline, is a sketch of the "strong meat" offered tothe psychological ladies. A single branch of psychology--that, namely, of the intellect, excluding that of feeling and action--is to occupy tenlectures, the above being number one. The other twenty will be devotedto logic. 

The next lecture was devoted to an examination of the brain and nervoussystem, and their office in mental processes. Alas, however, howdifferent was now the audience! Only some thirty ladies--scarcely morethan one-tenth of those who were present at the opening lecture--havepermanently entered for the course. It is no disrespect to the ladies tohazard the conjecture whether the subject be not a little out of rangefor the present. We are moving ahead rapidly, and many foolish ideas asto the intellectual differences of the sexes are becoming obsolete. Wehave literary and artistic ladies by thousands. Scientific ladies, inthe ordinary acceptation of the term, are coming well to the front. Possibly we may have to "wait a little longer" before we get, onanything like a large scale, psychological or even logical ladies. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

SECULARISM ON BUNYAN. 

It is very marvellous to observe the number of strange and unexpectedcombinations that are continually occurring in that moral kaleidoscopewe call society. I do not suppose that I am exceptional in coming acrossthese; nor do I use any particular industry in seeking them out. Theycome to me; all I do is to keep my eyes open, and note the impressionsthey make on me. I was humbly pursuing my way one Tuesday eveningtowards the abode of a phrenologist with the honest intention ofdiscovering my craniological condition, when, in passing down CastleStreet, Oxford Market, I was made aware that Mr. G. J. Holyoake wasthere and then to deliver himself on the "Literary Genius of Bunyan. "This was one of the incongruous combinations I spoke of; and forthwith Ipassed into the Co-operative Hall, resolving to defer my visit to thephrenologist. There are some facts of which it is better to remaincontentedly ignorant; and I have no doubt my own mental conditionbelongs to that category. 

I found the Co-operative Hall a handsome and commodious building; and avery fair audience had gathered to listen to Mr. Holyoake, who is anelderly thin-voiced man, and his delivery was much impeded on theoccasion in question by the circumstance of his having a bad cold andcough. After a brief extempore allusion to the fact of the Duke ofBedford having erected a statue to Bunyan, which he regarded as a sortof compensation for his Grace ceasing to subscribe to the races, Mr. Holyoake proceeded to read his treatise, which he had written on severalslips of paper--apparently backs of circulars--and laid one by one on achair as he finished them. 

The world, he said, is a big place; but people are always forgettingwhat a variety of humanity it contains. Two hundred years ago, theauthorities of Bedford made it very unpleasant for one John Bunyan, because they thought they knew everything, and could not imagine that acommon street workman might know more. The trade of a tinker seems anunpromising preparation for a literary career. A tinker in Bedfordto-day would not find himself much flattered by the attentions paid him, especially if he happened to be an old gaol-bird as well. So much themore creditable to Bunyan the ascendancy he gained. If he mended pots aswell as he made sentences he was the best tinker that ever travelled. 

Bunyan had no worldly notions. His doctrine was that men were not savedby any good they might do--a doctrine that would ruin the morals of anycommercial establishment in a month! He declared himself the "chief ofsinners;" but judged by his townsmen he was a stout-hearted, stout-minded, scrupulous man. 

He was not a pleasant man to know. He had an unrelenting sincerity whichoften turned into severity. Yet he had much tenderness. He had a soullike a Red Indian's--all tomahawk and truth, until the literary passioncame and added humour to it. He demands in his vigorous doggerel:--

 May I not write in such a style as this, In such a method, too, and yet not miss My end, thy good? Why may it not be done? Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. 

Like all men of original genius, this stout-minded pot-mender hadunbounded confidence in himself. He was under no delusion as to his ownpowers. No man knew better what he was about. He could take the measureof all the justices about him, and he knew it. Every shallow-headedgentleman in Bedfordshire towns and villages was made to wince under hispicturesque and satiric tongue. To clergymen, bishops, lawyers, andjudges he gave names which all his neighbours knew. Mr. Pitiless, Mr. Hardheart, Mr. Forget-good, Mr. No-truth, Mr. Haughty--thus he named thedisagreeable dignitaries of the town of Mansoul. 

At first he was regarded by his "pastors and masters" as a mere wilful, noisy, praying sectary. Very soon they discovered that he was afighting preacher. As tinker or Christian he always had his sleevesturned up. When he had to try his own cause he put in the jury-box Mr. True-Heart, Mr. Upright, Mr. Hate-Bad, Mr. See-Truth, and other amiablepersons. His witnesses were Mr. Know-All, Mr. Tell-True, Mr. Hate-Lies, Mr. Vouch-Truth, Mr. Did-See. His Town Clerk was Mr. Do-Right, theRecorder was Mr. Conscience, the gaoler was Mr. True-Man, LordUnderstanding was on the bench, and the Judge bears the dainty name ofthe "Golden-headed Prince. "

Bunyan's adversaries are always a bad set. They live in Villain's Lane, in Blackmouth Street, or Blasphemer's Row, or Drunkard's Alley, orRascal's Corner. They are the sons of one Beastly, whose mother borethem in Flesh Square: they live at the house of one Shameless, at thesign of the Reprobate, next door to the Descent into the Pit, whoseretainers are Mr. Flatter, Mr. Impiety, Mr. False-Peace, Mr. Covetousness, who are housed by one Mr. Simple, in Folly's Yard. 

Bunyan had a perfect wealth of sectarian scurrility at his command. Hisepithets are at times unquotable and ferocious. When, however, hisfriends are at the bar, the witnesses against them comprise the choicestscoundrels of all time--Mr. Envy, Mr. Pick-thank, and others, whosefriends are Lord Carnal-Delight, Lord Luxurious, Lord Lechery, SirHaving Greedy, and similar villanous people of quality. The Judge'sname is now Lord Hate-Good. The Jury consist of Mr. No-Good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-Lust, Mr. Live-Loose, Mr. Heady, Mr. Hate-Light, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, and Mr. Implacable, with Mr. Blindman forForeman. 

Never was such an infamous gang impanelled. Rancour and rage andvindictiveness, and every passion awakened in the breasts of the strongby local insolence and legal injustice, is supplied by Bunyan withepithets of immense retaliative force. He is the greatest name-makeramong authors. He was a spiritual Comanche. He prayed like a savage. Hesaid himself, when describing the art of the religious rhetorician--anart of which he was the greatest master of his time:--

 You see the ways the fisherman doth take To catch the fish; what engines doth he make! Behold! how he engageth all his wits, Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets; Yet fish there be that neither hook nor line, Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine; They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too, Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do. 

Bunyan never tickled the sinner. It was not his way. He carried a prong. He pricked the erring. He published a pamphlet to suggest what ought tobe done to holy pedestrians, whose difficulties lay rearward. He putdetonating balls under their feet which exploded as they stepped andalarmed them along. He lined the celestial road with horrors. If theyturned their heads they saw a fiend worse than Lot's wife who was merelychanged into a pillar of sweet all-preserving salt. Bunyan's unfortunateconverts who looked back fell into a pit filled with fire, where theyhowled and burnt for evermore. 

Ah! with what pleasure must the great Bedfordshire artist havecontemplated his masterly pages as day by day he added to them theportrait of some new scoundrel, or painted with dexterous and lovinghand the wholesome outlines of some honest man, or devised some newphrase which like a new note or new colour would delight singer orpainter for generations yet to come. He must have strode proudly alonghis cell as he put his praise and his scorn into imperishable similes. 

But Bunyan had never been great had he been merely disagreeable. He hadinfinite wit in him. It was his carnal genius that saved him. He wrotesixty books, and two of them--the "Siege of the Town of Mansoul" and the"Pilgrim's Progress"--exceed all ever written for creative swiftness ofimagination, racy English speech, sentences of literary art, cunningnessin dialogue, satire, ridicule, and surpassing knowledge of thepicturesque ways of the obscure minds of common men. In his pages menrise out of the ground--they always come up on an open space so thatthey can be seen. They talk naturally, so that you know them at once;and they act without delay, so that you never forget them. Theysurprise you, delight you, they interest you, they instruct you, anddisappear. They never linger, they never weary you. Incidents new andstrange arise at every step in his story. The scene changes like the menand their adventures. Now it is field or morass, plain or bypath, bog orvolcano, castle or cottage, sandy scorching desert or cold river; thesmoke of the bottomless pit or bright, verdant, delectable mountains andenchanted lands where there are no bishops, no gaols, and no tinkers;where aboundeth grapes, calico, brides, eternal conversation, andtrumpets. The great magician's genius forsakes him when he comes to theunknown regions, and he knoweth no more than the rest of us. But whilehis foot is on the earth he steps like a king among writers. HisChristian is no fool. He is cunning of fence, suspicious, sagacious, witty, satirical, abounding in invective, and broad, bold, deliciousinsolence. Bye-Ends is a subtle, evasive knave drawn with infiniteskill. 

Had Bunyan merely preached the Gospel he had no more been rememberedthan thousands of his day who are gratefully forgotten--had he prayed tothis time he had won no statue; but his literary genius lives when thepreacher is very dead. 

He saw with such vividness that the very passions and wayward moods ofmen stood apart and distinct in his sight, and he gave names to them andendowed them with their natural speech. He created new men out ofcharacteristics of mind, and sent them into the world in shapes sodefined and palpable that men know them for evermore. It was the way ofhis age for writers to give names to their adversaries. Bunyan imitatedthis in his life of Mr. Badman. Others did this, but Bunyan did itbetter than any man. His invention was marvellous, and he had besidesthe faculty of the dramatist. 

If any man wrote the adventures of a Co-operator, he would have to tellof his meeting with Mr. Obstinate, who will not listen to him, and wantsto pull him back. We all get the company of Mr. Pliable, who ispersuaded without being convinced, who at the first splash intodifficulty crawls out and turns back with a cowardly adroitness. We haveall encountered the stupidity of Mr. Ignorance, which nothing canenlighten. We know Mr. Turnaway, who comes from the town of Apostacy, whose face we cannot perfectly see. Others merely gave names, he drewcharacters, he made the qualities of his men speak; you knew them bytheir minds better than by their dress. That is why succeeding ages haveread the "Pilgrim's Progress, " because the same people who met thatextraordinary traveller are always turning up in the way of every manwho has a separate and a high purpose, and is bent upon carrying it out. Manners change, but humanity has still its old ways. It is becauseBunyan painted these that his writing lasts like a picture by one of theold masters who painted for all time. 

Such is an outline of the paper, which was interesting from itsassociations, and only spoilt by the cough. We had had Bunyan in prettywell every shape possible during the last few weeks. Certainly one ofthe most original is this which presents the man of unbounded faith inthe light of utter scepticism. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

AL FRESCO INFIDELITY. 

In a series of papers like the present it is necessary, every now andthen, to pause and apologize, either for the nature of the work ingeneral, or for certain particulars in its execution calculated to shockgood people whose feelings one would wish to respect. Having so long beenengaged in the study of infidelity in London, I may, perhaps, bepermitted to speak with something like authority in the matter; and Ihave no hesitation in saying that I believe the policy of shirking thesubject is the most fatal and foolish one that could be adopted. Not onlydoes such a course inspire people, especially young people, with the ideathat there is something very fascinating in infidelity--something which, if allowed to meet their gaze, would be sure to attract and convincethem--than which nothing is farther from the truth--not only so, however, but many of the statements and most of the arguments which soundplausibly enough on the glib tongue of a popular speaker read verydifferently indeed, when put down in cold-blooded letter-press, andpublished in the pages of a book. I protest strongly against making amystery of London infidelity. It has spread and is spreading, I know, and it is well the public should know; but I believe there would be nosuch antidote to it as for people to be fully made aware how and where itis spreading. That is the rôle I have all along proposed to myself: notto declaim against any man or any system, not to depreciate or disguisethe truth, but simply to describe. I cannot imagine a more legitimatemethod of doing my work. 

I suppose no one will regard it in any way as an indulgence or a luxuryon the part of a clergyman, who be it remembered, is, during a portionof the Sunday, engaged in ministering to Christian people, that heshould devote another portion of that day to hearing Christ vilified, and having his own creed torn to pieces. I myself feel that my ownbelief is not shaken, but in a tenfold degree confirmed by all I haveheard and seen and written of infidelity; and therefore I cannot concedethe principle that to convey my experiences to others is in any waydangerous. Take away the halo of mystery that surrounds this subject, and it would possess very slender attractions indeed. 

It was, for instance, on what has always appeared to me among the mostaffecting epochs of our Christian year, the Fifth Sunday afterEaster--Christ's last Sunday upon earth--that, by one of those violentantitheses, I went to Gibraltar Walk, Bethnal Green Road, to hear Mr. Ramsey there demolish the very system which, for many years, it hasbeen my mission to preach. I did not find, and I hope my congregationdid not find, that I faltered in my message that evening. I even ventureto think that Mr. Ramsey's statements, which I shall repeat asfaithfully as possible, will scarcely seem as convincing here as theydid when he poured them forth so fluently to the costermongers andnavvies of the Bethnal Green Road; and if this be true of Mr. Ramsey itis certainly so of the smaller men; for he is a master in his craft, andcertainly a creditable antagonist for a Christian to meet with the milddefensive weapons we have elected to use. 

When the weather proves fine, as it ought to have done in May, 1874, infidelity adjourns from its generally slummy halls to the streetcorners, and to fields which are often the reverse of green; thusadopting, let me remark in passing, one of the oldest instrumentalitiesof Christianity itself, one, too, in which we shall do well to followits example. Fas est ab hoste doceri--I cannot repeat too often. Scorning the attractions of the railway arches in the St. Pancras Road, where I hope soon to be a listener, I sped viâ the Metropolitan Railwayand tram to Shoreditch Church, not far from which, past the ColumbiaMarket and palatial Model Lodging Houses, is the unpicturesque cornercalled Gibraltar Walk, debouching from the main road, with a triangularscrap of very scrubby ground, flanked by a low wall, which youngBethnal Green is rapidly erasing from the face of the earth. When I gothere, I found an unclerical-looking gentleman in a blue great-coat andsandy moustache erecting his rostrum in the shape of a small deal stool, from whence I could see he was preparing to pour forth the floods of hisrhetoric by diligent study of some exceedingly greasy notes which heheld in his hand and perused at what I feel sure must have been thewindiest street corner procurable outside the cave of Æolus. I fell backinto the small but very far from select crowd which had already begun togather, and an old man, who was unmistakably a cobbler, havingascertained that I had come to hear the lecture, told me he had"listened to a good many of 'em, but did not feel much for'arder. "Undismayed by this intelligence I still elected to tarry, despite thecruel nor'-easter that was whistling round the corner of the BethnalGreen Road. In a few minutes I perceived a slight excitement in thesmall gathering due to the fact that the Christians had put in anappearance, so that there would be some opposition. Mr. Harrington, ayoung man whom I had heard once speak fluently enough on the theisticside at an infidel meeting, was unpacking his rostrum, which was apatent folding one, made of deal, like that of his adversary, but neatlyfolded along with a large Bible, inside a green baize case. Bothgentlemen commenced proceedings at the same time; and as they hadpitched their stools very close to one another, the result was verymuch like that of two grinding organs in the same street. Of the two, Mr. Harrington's voice was louder than Mr. Ramsey's. The lattergentleman had a sore throat, and had to be kept lubricated by means of ajug of water, which a brother heretic held ready at his elbow. Mr. Harrington was in prime condition, but his congregation was smaller thanours; for I kept at first--I was going to say religiously, I suppose Iought to say _ir_-religiously--to the infidels. 

Mr. Ramsey, who had a rooted aversion to the letter "h, " except where asmooth breathing is usual, began by saying that Christianity differedfrom other religions in the fact of its having an eternal 'Ell. TheMahometans had their beautiful ladies; the North American Indian lookedfor his 'Appy 'Unting Grounds; but 'Ell was a speciality of theChristian system. On the other side was the fact that you continuallyhad salvation inundated upon you. Tracts were put into your hand, asking--"What must I do to be saved?" We had to pay for this salvationabout _11, 000, 000l. _ a year to the Church of England, and something likean equal amount to the Dissenters. In fact every tub-thumper went aboutpreaching and ruining servant girls, and for this we paid over twentymillions a year--more than the interest on the whole National Debt. After this elegant exordium, Mr. Ramsey said he proposed to divide hisremarks under four heads. 1. Is Salvation necessary? 2. What are we tobe saved from? 3. What for? 4. How?

1. According to the Christian theory, God, after an eternity of "doin'nothin', " created the world. He made Adam sin by making sin for him tocommit; and then damned him for doing what He knew he would do. Hepredestined you--the audience--to be damned because of Adam's sin; butafter a time God "got sick and tired of damning people, " and sent HisSon to redeem mankind. 

This flower of rhetoric tickled Bethnal Green immensely; but Mr. Harrington was equal to the occasion, and thundered out his orthodoxy sosuccessfully that Mr. Ramsey took a longer drink than usual, andcomplained that he was not having "a free platform"--it was so hedignified the rickety stool on which he was perched. He then meanderedinto a long dissection of Genesis i. , appearing to feel particularlyaggrieved by the fact of the moon being said to "rule the night, " thoughI could not see how this was relevant to the Christian scheme ofsalvation; and a superb policeman, who had listened for a moment to Mr. Ramsey's astronomical lucubrations, evidently shared my feelings andpassed on superciliously. I devoutly wished my duty had permitted me todo the same. 

The speaker then went into a long dissertation on the primal sin; thegist of which was that though the woman had never been warned not to eatof the Forbidden Fruit, she had to bear the brunt of the punishment. Then--though one is almost ashamed to chronicle such a triviality--hewaxed very wroth because the serpent was spoken of as being cursed aboveall "cattle. " Who ever heard of snakes being called cattle? He wascondemned to go on his belly. How did he go before? Did he go on hisback or "'op" along on the tip of his tail? These pleasantries drew allMr. Harrington's audience away except a few little dirty boys on thewall. Mr. Ramsey clearly knew his audience, and "acted to the gallery. "

2. But what were we to be saved from? Eternal 'Ell-fire. This 'Ell-firewas favourite sauce for sermons, and served to keep people awake. Wherewas 'Ell? It was said to be a bottomless pit; if so, he should be allright, because he could get out at the other end! Then, again, 'Ell wassaid to be a very 'ot place. When the missionaries told the Greenlandersthat, everybody wanted to go to 'Ell; so they had to change their tuneand say it was very cold. Mr. Ramsey omitted to mention his authorityfor this statement. 

Into his pleasantries on the monotony of life in 'Eaven, I do not feelinclined to follow this gentleman. The Atonement, he went on to remark, if necessary at all, came 4000 years too late. It should have been--sowe were to believe on his ipse dixit--contemporaneous with the Fall. This atonement we were to avail ourselves of by means of faith. Idiotscould not have faith, but were allowed to be saved. Consequently, arguedMr. Ramsey, in conclusion, the best thing for all of us would have beento have been born idiots, and, consistently enough, Christianity triedto turn us all into idiots. 

Such were some of the statements. I refrain from quoting the mostoffensive, which were deliberately put forward at this al frescoinfidels' meeting; and with what result? Though a vast population keptmoving to and fro along that great highway there were never, I am sure, more than a hundred people gathered at the shrine of Mr. Ramsey. Theylaughed at his profanities, yes; but directly he dropped these, and grewargumentative, they talked, and had to be vigorously reduced to order. Gallio-like they cared for none of these things, and I am quite sure agood staff of working clergy, men like Mr. Body or Mr. Steele of St. Thomas's, who could talk to the people, would annihilate Mr. Ramsey'sprestige. As for Mr. Harrington, he meant well, and had splendidlung-power, but his theology was too sectarian to suit a mixed body oflisteners embracing all shades of thought and no-thought. 

Supposing Mr. Ramsey to have put forth all his power that morning--and Ihave no reason to doubt that he did so--I deliberately say that I shouldnot hesitate to take my own boy down to hear him, because I feel thateven his immature mind would be able to realize how little there was tobe said against Christianity, if that were all. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

AN "INDESCRIBABLE PHENOMENON. "

When the bulk of the London Press elects to gush over anything oranybody, there are at all events, primâ facie grounds for believing thatthere is something to justify such a consensus. When, moreover, theobject of such gush is a young lady claiming to be a spirit-medium, theunanimity is so unusual as certainly to make the matter worth the mostcareful inquiry, for hitherto the London Press has either denouncedspiritualism altogether, or gushed singly over individual mediums, presumably according to the several proclivities of the correspondents. Of Miss Annie Eva Fay, however--is not the very name fairy-like andfascinating?--I read in one usually sober-minded journal that "there issomething not of this earth about the young lady's powers. " Anotheraverred that she was "a spirit medium of remarkable and extraordinarypower. " Others, more cautious, described the "mystery" as "bewildering, "the "entertainment" as "extraordinary and incomprehensible, " while yetanother seemed to me to afford an index to the cause of this gush bysaying that "Miss Fay is a pretty young lady of about twenty, with adelicate spirituelle face, and a profusion of light hair, frizzled onthe forehead. "

I made a point of attending Miss Annie Eva Fay's opening performance atthe Hanover Square Rooms, and found all true enough as to the prettyface and the frizzled hair. Of the "indescribable" nature of the"phenomenon" (for by that title is Miss Fay announced, à la VincentCrummles) there may be two opinions, according as we regard the younglady as a kind of Delphic Priestess and Cumæan Sibyl rolled into one, orsimply a clever conjuror--conjuress, if there be such a word. 

Let me, then, with that delightful inconsistency so often brought tobear on the so-called or self-styled "supernatural, " first describe the"indescribable, " and then, in the language of the unspiritual Dr. Lynn, tell how it is all done; for, of course, I found it all out, like agreat many others of the enlightened and select audience which gatheredat Miss Annie Eva Fay's first drawing-room reception in the Queen'sConcert Rooms. 

Arriving at the door half an hour too early, as I had misread the timeof commencement, I found at the portal Mr. Burns, of the ProgressiveLibrary, and a gentleman with a diamond brooch in his shirt-front, whomI guessed at once, from that adornment, to be the proprietor of theindescribable phenomenon, and I was, in fact, immediately introduced tohim as Colonel Fay. 

Passing in due course within the cavernous room which might have suitedwell a Cumæan Sibyl on a small scale, I found the platform occupied by atiny cabinet, unlike that of the Davenports in that it was open infront, with a green curtain, which I could see was destined to be letdown during the performance of the phenomenal manifestations. There wasa camp-stool inside the cabinet; a number of cane-bottomed chairs on theplatform, and also the various properties of a spirit séance, familiarto me from long experience, guitar, fiddle, handbells, tambourine, &c. One adjunct alone was new; and that was a green stable bucket, destined, I could not doubt, to figure in what my Rimmel-scented programmepromised as the climax of Part I. --the "Great Pail Sensation. " PresentlyColonel Fay, in a brief speech, nasal but fluent, introduced thesubject, and asked two gentlemen to act as a Committee of Inspection. Two stepped forward immediately--indeed too immediately, as the resultproved; one a "citizen of this city, " as Colonel Fay had requested; butthe other a Hindoo young gentleman, who, I believe, lost the confidenceof the audience at once from his foreign face and Oriental garb. However, they were first to the front, and so were elected, andproceeded at once to "examine" the cabinet in that obviously helplessand imperfect way common to novices who work with the gaze of anaudience upon them. Then, from a side door, stage left, enter theIndescribable Phenomenon. A pretty young lady, yes, and with lightfrizzled hair to any extent. There was perhaps "a spirit look within hereyes;" but then I have often found this to be the case with young ladiesof twenty. Her dress of light silk was beyond reproach. I had seenFlorence Cook and Miss Showers lately; and, --well, I thought those two, with the assistance of Miss Annie Eva Fay, would have made a very prettymodel for a statuette of the Three Graces. 

Miss Fay, after being described by the Colonel vaguely enough as "of theUnited States, " was bound on both wrists with strips of calico; theknots were sewn by the European gentleman--as distinguished from theAsiatic youth. He was not quite au fait at the needle, but got throughit in time. Miss Fay was then placed on the camp-stool, her wristsfastened behind her, and her neck also secured to a ring screwed intothe back of the cabinet. A rope was tied round her ankles, and passedright to the front of the stage, where the Hindoo youth was located andbidden hold it taut, which he did conscientiously, his attitude beingwhat Colman describes "like some fat gentleman who bobbed for eels. "

First of all, another strip of calico was placed loosely round MissFay's neck; the curtain descended. Hey, presto! it was up again, soonerthan it takes to write, and this strip was knotted doubly and treblyround her neck. A tambourine hoop was put in her lap, and this, in likemanner, was found encircling her neck, as far as the effervescent hairwould allow it. 

The audience at this point grew a little fidgety; and though they didnot say anything against the Oriental young gentleman, the 'cuteAmerican colonel understood it, adding two others from the audience tothe committee on the stage, and leaving the young gentleman to "bob"down below as if to keep him out of mischief. 

The other "manifestations" were really only different in detail from thefirst. The guitar was placed on the lap, the curtain fell and it played;so did the fiddle--out of tune, as usual--and also a little glassharmonicon with actually a soupçon of melody. A mouth-organtootle-tooed, and what Colonel Fay described as a "shingle nail" wasdriven with a hammer into a piece of wood. A third of a tumbler of waterlaid on the lap of the Indescribable Phenomenon was drunk, and the greatPail Sensation consisted in the bucket being put on her lap and thendiscovered slung by the handle around her neck. The last "manifestation"is the one to which I would draw attention; for it was by this Idiscovered how it was all done. A knife was put on Miss Fay's lap; thecurtain lowered, the knife pitched on to the platform, and behold theIndescribable Phenomenon stepped from the cabinet with the ligature thathad bound her wrists and neck severed. 

Now, all through this portion of the entertainment the audience, instead of sitting quiet, amused themselves with proposing idiotictests, or suggesting audibly how it was all done. One man behind mepertinaciously clung to the theory of a concealed boy, and trotted himto the front after every phase of the exhibition. He must have beeninfinitesimally small; but that did not matter. It was "that boy again"after every trick. One manifestation consisted in putting a piece ofpaper and pair of scissors on Miss Fay's lap, and having several "tenderlittle infants" cut out, as the Colonel phrased it. 

Hereupon sprang up a 'cute individual in the room, and produced a sheetof paper he had marked. Would Miss Fay cut out a tender little infantfrom that? Miss Fay consented, and of course did it, the 'cuteindividual retiring into private life for the rest of the evening. Another wanted Miss Fay's mouth to be bound with a handkerchief, andthere was no objection raised, until the common-sense and humanity ofthe audience protested against such a needless cruelty on a broilingnight and in that Cumæan cave. An excited gentleman in front of me, too, whose mission I fancy was simply to protest against the spiritualcharacter of the phenomena (which was never asserted) would interrupt usall from time to time by declaring his intense satisfaction with it all. It was a splendid trick. We tried to convince him that his individualsatisfaction was irrelevant to us, but it was, as Wordsworth says, "Throwing words away. " It was a beautiful trick; and he was satisfied, quite satisfied. 

The Dark Séance, which formed the second part of the performance, was adreadful mistake. It was not only unsatisfactory in result, but--and nodoubt this was the reason--it was so mismanaged as to threaten more thanonce to eventuate in a riot. Twelve or fourteen persons were to form acommittee representing the audience, and to sit in a circle, with theIndescribable Phenomenon in their centre, while we remained below inEgyptian darkness and received their report. Of course we all felt thatwe--if not on the committee--might just as well be sitting at home or inthe next parish as in the cave of Cumæ. The method of electing thecommittee was briefly stated by Colonel Fay to be "first come firstserved, " and the consequence was a rush of some fifty excited people onto the platform, with earnest requests on the part of the proprietary tobe "still. " There was no more stillness for the rest of the evening. Thefifty were pruned down to about fifteen of the most pertinacious, whowould not move at any price; in fact, the others only descended on beingpromised that the dark sitting should be divided into two, and anothercommittee appointed. The Indescribable Phenomenon took her seat on thecamp-stool in the centre, where she was to remain clapping her hands, toshow she was not producing the manifestations. The gas was put out anddarkness prevailed--darkness, but not silence. The disappointed andrejected committee men--and women--first began to grumble in the freedomwhich the darkness secured. The committee was a packed one. They wereSpiritualists. This was vigorously denied by somebody, who said he saw aPress man in the circle, and therefore (such was his logic) he could notbe a Spiritualist. All this time the Indescribable Phenomenon wasclapping her hands, and now some of the more restless of the audienceclapped theirs in concert. The guitar and fiddle began to thump andtwang, and the bells to ring, and then again the more refractorylunatics amongst us began to beat accompaniment on our hats. The wholeaffair was worthy of Bedlam or Hanwell, or, let us add, an IndescribablePhenomenon. 

The committee was changed with another rush, and those who were finallyexiled from the hope of sitting took it out in the subsequent darknessby advising us to "beware of our pockets. " When Colonel Fay asked forquietude he was rudely requested "not to talk through his nose. " It wasnot to be wondered at that the séance was very brief, and the meetingadjourned. 

Now to describe the indescribable. If it be a spiritual manifestation, of course there is an end of the matter; but if a mere conjuring trick, I would call attention to the following facts. The fastening of MissFay's neck to the back of the cabinet at first is utterly gratuitous. Itoffers no additional difficulty to any manifestations, and appears onlyintended to prevent the scrutineers seeing behind her. A very simpleexercise of sleight of hand would enable the gallant Colonel to cut theone ligature that binds the two wrists, when, for instance, he goes intothe cabinet with scissors to trim off the ends of the piece of calico inthe opening trick. The hands being once free all else is easy. The handsare _never once seen_ during the performance. The committee can feelthem, and feel the knots at the wrists; but they cannot discover whetherthe ligature connecting the wrists is entire. 

The last trick, be it recollected, consists in the ligature being cutand Miss Fay's coming free to the front. If my theory is incorrect--andno doubt it _is_ ruinously wrong--will she consent to _omit the lasttrick_ and come to the front with wrists bound as she entered thecabinet? Of course, if I had suggested it, she would have done it aseasily as she cut out the tender infants for the 'cute gentleman behindme; so, to adopt the language of Miss Fay's fellow-citizen, I "bit in mybreath and swallered it down. " I adopted the course Mr. Maskelyne toldme he did with the Davenports, sat with my eyes open and my mouth shut. It is marvellous to see how excited we phlegmatic islanders grow wheneither spirits are brought to the front, or we think we have found out aconjuring trick. I am not going to follow the example of my gushingbrethren, but I can safely say that if anybody has an afternoon orevening to spare, he may do worse than go to the Crystal Palace or theHanover Square Rooms, to see a very pretty and indescribable phenomenon, and to return as I did, a wiser, though perhaps a sadder man, in theproud consciousness of having "found out how it is all done. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A LADY MESMERIST. 

When a man's whole existence has resolved itself into hunting up strangepeople and poking his nose into queer nooks and corners, he has a sorrytime of it in London during August; for, as a rule, all the funny folkshave gone out of town, and the queer nooks and corners are howlingwildernesses. There is always, of course, a sort of borderland, if hecan only find it out, some peculiar people who never go out of town, some strange localities which are still haunted by them; only he has tofind them out--people and places--for it is so universally allowednow-a-days that all genteel people must be out of London in August, andall respectable places must be covered up in old newspapers, that it isdifficult to get them to own the soft impeachment. 

However, there is one queer place that is never shut up, the ProgressiveLibrary in Southampton Row; and Mr. Burns and the Spiritualists, as arule, do not shut up shop even in August. Their Summerland lieselsewhere than Margate or the Moors; and a valse with a pirouettingtable or a little gentle levitation or elongation delights them morethan all the revels of the countryside. I was getting a little blasé, Iown, on the subject of Spiritualism after my protracted experiencesduring the Conference, and I do not think I should have turned my stepsin the direction of the Progressive Institution that week had not thefollowing announcement caught my eye as I scanned the ghostly pages ofthe _Medium and Daybreak_:--

 "A MESMERIC SÉANCE. 

 "We have been authorized to announce that Miss Chandos, whose advertisement appears in another part of this paper, will give a mesmeric séance at the Spiritual Institution, 15, Southampton Row, on Wednesday evening, August 19th, at eight o'clock. Admission will be free by ticket, which may be obtained at the Institution. The object which Miss Chandos has in view is to interest a few truth-seekers who could aid her in promoting a knowledge of psychological phenomena. As a crowded meeting is not desired, an early application should be made for tickets. "

I do not know that I said "Eureka!" Indeed I have considerable historicdoubts as to whether anybody ever did, but I felt it. I was atruth-seeker forthwith. I resolved to sit at the feet of Miss Chandos, and, should her mesmeric efforts prove satisfactory, "aid her inpromoting a knowledge of psychological phenomena. " I did not go throughthe prescribed process of getting a ticket beforehand, because Ithought in my innocence that everybody would be out of town, or that theHall of the Progressive Institute would certainly accommodate those whoremained. Never was a more fatal mistake. The psychological folks wereall in London, and the capacities of the Progressive Library are notpalatial. Miss Chandos had a crowded meeting whether she desired it ornot. Genius will not be concealed; and Miss Chandos was learning thatlesson in a very satisfactory way. It was a sultry evening when a smallboy opened the back door of the little first floor apartment inSouthampton Row, and squeezed me in like the thirteenth in an omnibus, and I found myself walking on people's toes, and sitting down on theirhats in the most reckless manner. At length, however, I struggled to avacant corner, and deposited myself perspiring and expectant. 

Mr. Burns was "orating" on the revival mesmerism was destined to make, and telling us how, like the Plumstead Peculiars, we should be able todo without doctors as soon as the healing powers of animal magnetismwere properly recognised and diffused. I did not listen very carefully, I fear, for I was nervously looking about for Miss Chandos. Nervously, Isay, because lady mediums and mesmerizers are so apt to run to eighteenstone, or be old and frumpish, that I had terrible fears lest I shouldbe scared when I met Miss Chandos in the flesh. I was very agreeablysurprised, however, for when Mr. Burns resumed--not his chair but histable, since he sat on that article of furniture, a very pretty younglady indeed, of not more than eighteen or twenty years of age, took hisplace, and, in a few well-chosen words, said this was her firstappearance as a public mesmerist, and claimed indulgence should anyfailure in the phenomena result. She also drew attention to the factthat the apartment was "pernicious snug" (she put it, of course, in morescientific language), and straightway proceeded to business. 

When Miss Chandos invited patients to put themselves in her hands Ithought the room had risen en masse. Everybody wanted to be mesmerized. I had no chance in my retired position; but she soon got a front row oflikely people, and I sat down once more disappointed and exuding. 

She was a tall active young lady was Miss Chandos, and had a mystic cropof long black curls, which waved about like the locks of a sibyl whenshe made a lunge at an innocent looking young man who sat No. 1--andwhom, with the other patients, I shall designate thus numerically. Heseemed to like it immensely, and smiled a fatuous smile as those taperfingers lighted on his head, while the other hand rested on the frontalportion of his face, as though Miss Chandos were going to pull his nose. He was off in a moment, and sat facing the audience in his magnetictrance, looking like a figure at a waxwork show. Miss Chandos thenpassed on to a gentleman, No. 2, who never succumbed during the entireevening, though she made several onslaughts upon him. Consequently Idismiss No. 2 as incorrigible forthwith. No. 3 was a lady who only gaveway after a lengthened attack, and did not seem to appreciate the effectof Miss Chandos' lustrous eyes so much as No. 1 did. He gave signs of"coming to, " but Miss Chandos kept looking round at him and No. 2, whileshe was attending to No. 3, and directly she did this No. 1 closed hiseyes, and slept the sleep of innocence again. 

Having reduced No. 3 to a comatose condition Miss Chandos reverted toNo. 1, and by attractive passes got him on his legs and made him followher up and down the limited space at her disposal. She looked then likea pretty Vivien manipulating a youthful Merlin; and I was not at allsurprised at the effect of her "woven paces and her waving hands. " Sheasked him his name, and he told her. It was W----. "No, " she said, "it'sJones. Mary Jones. What's your name?" But the youth was not quite so fargone as to rebaptize himself with a female cognomen just yet. He stuckto his W. , and Miss Chandos put him into his waxwork position again, andgot No. 3 on her legs at last, but did nothing more with her than makeher walk up and down. Presently No. 3 woke up, and was put to air at thewindow. 

No. 4 was now selected, in the person of a big burly man; and I couldnot help thinking, as she manipulated him, what a capital pose it wouldhave been for Hercules and Omphale. He seemed to like it exceedingly, and I thought was dropping comfortably off when he whispered somethingto his operator (I have no notion what the feminine of that word is), who fixed her brilliant eyes on somebody near me--I feared it wasactually on me--and said, "Somebody at the back of the room isexercising control. I shall be glad if they will refrain. " I was quiteinnocent of exercising conscious control, and did not quite know whatthe phrase meant. I certainly had once or twice thought it must be muchpleasanter to be operated upon by so pretty a young lady than by somebull-necked male mesmerist or aged spinster above-mentioned, but I couldscarcely believe that such a mild sentiment could affect that colossalman. However, I recollected the delicacy of these psychologicalrelations, and sat down conscience-stricken and warmer than ever. 

Miss Chandos selected No. 5 in the person of a young man with a nascentmoustache, who had successfully struggled into the front row at theoutset. He promised well at first; but, like other young men withincipient moustaches, disappointed us afterwards. Then came No. 6 uponthe scene. 

No. 6 was a lady who came late, and at once pushed to the front with theair of a person who was not doing so for the first time. She went off ina moment--far too suddenly, in fact, and then did everything she wastold in a very obedient way. Being told that she was in a beautifulgarden, she stooped down on the floral carpet and proceeded to gathermaterials for a bouquet. I confess I did not care about No. 6, and wasproceeding to read Professor Tyndall's Belfast Address, which I had inmy pocket, when Miss Chandos looked up No. 1 again. 

Reduced to a proper frame of mind, either by Miss Chandos' continuedattentions or the contagion of No. 6's docility, the youth was now allsubmission. He walked up and down any number of times like a tame animalat the Zoological Gardens, and now quite agreed that his name was MaryJones. He sang "Tom Bowling" at command, and No. 6, not to be outdone, warbled a ditty called, I think, "The Slave Girl's Love, " the refrain ofwhich, according to her version, was, "I cannot love, because I _ham_ aslave. " She broke down in the middle of this aspiring ditty, and thenpersonated a Jew old clo' man, a woman selling "ornaments for yourfirestoves, " and various other characters, all of which she overactedconsiderably. I may be wrong, of course, but I fancied the fairlecturess was as dissatisfied with No. 6 as I was. The audience was anindulgent one, and thought it splendid. Mr. Burns sat on the table andyawned. I relapsed into Tyndall, and wondered what he would have saidabout it all; or, at least, I did not wonder, for I knew he would haveconsigned us all to the nearest lunatic asylum as exceptions to the rulethat the European has so many more cubic inches of cerebral developmentthan the Papuan. 

When it was drawing near ten, Miss Chandos brought the proceedings to aclose by animating--like Pygmalion--her waxwork statues. She apologizedonce more, in a few well-chosen sentences, for what she was pleased tocall her "failure, " but the audience would not hear of the term, andapplauded to the echo, only there was no room for an echo in theProgressive Institute. The young man, No. 1, who I found was a spiritmedium, wound up by an address from his Indian guide on the subject of"control. "

I confess I failed to gather from the perambulating youth and maidensNo. 1 and 3, or the impersonations of No. 6, any signs of the revivalalluded to by Mr. Burns at the outset; and there was not the remotestconnexion with the healing art. In fact, nobody seemed suffering fromanything except heat. 

Miss Chandos said to me, however, in a sensible conversation with whichshe favoured me in private, that all she had attempted to show was butthe lowest manifestation of a power which had far higher ends in view. She doubted almost whether it was not something like sacrilege to usesuch a power for playing tricks and gratifying curiosity. 

She was thoroughly in earnest; and laboured both physically during theevening and logically in her after-discourse, with an energy which somepersons would have said was worthy of a better cause. 

It was nearly eleven when I left the miniature hall of the ProgressiveInstitute, and as I passed along the streets, digesting what I had seenand heard during the evening, I took myself to task severely--as it isalways well to do, if only to prevent somebody else doing it for me--andasked whether, if the lecturess had not been a lecturess but alecturer--if being a lecturess she weighed eighteen stone, or was oldand wizen, or dropped her h's--whether I should have stayed three mortalhours in that stuffy room, and I frankly own I came to the conclusion Ishould _not_. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A PSYCHOPATHIC INSTITUTION. 

Reading my _Figaro_ the other day--as I hope I need not state it is mycustom devoutly to do--I came upon the following passage in the reviewof a book called "Psychopathy; or, the True Healing Art. By JosephAshman. London: Burns, Southampton Row. We have not the pleasure ofbeing personally acquainted with Joseph Ashman, and we fear that theloss is ours. Judging him through the medium of his book, he must, indeed, be a rara avis.... The one great thing, " it went on to say, "that Joseph Ashman wants the world to know is, that he cures disease byvery simple means. And all that the world wants to know from JosephAshman is, Are these cures real--are his statements facts? Why, then, does not Joseph content himself with his facts? He has plenty of them. Here is one:--'Seeing one day a cabman with a swollen face standing by apolice-court ready to prosecute a man who had assaulted him, I asked if, on condition I healed him, he would forgive his adversary. He repliedthat he would, and we accordingly got into his cab together. Bringingout the magnetized carte, I told him to look at it, and at the sametime made a few motions over the swelling with my hand. I then left himfeeling much better, and returned in an hour's time, when I found himtaking a glass of beer with his antagonist, whom he had forgiven. '"

Now as the one pursuit and end of my present existence is the discoveryof raræ aves, I need not say I at once took up the clue herein afforded, and went in pursuit of Joseph Ashman. I found not only him but hisinstitution, for Mr. Ashman does not work single-handed. It is in theMarylebone Road, almost opposite the Yorkshire Stingo; and is mostmodest and unpretending in its outward semblance, being situated in oneof those semi-rustic houses so indicative of suburban London, down anoverstocked garden, into which you enter by means of a blistered irongate, painted violently green, and swinging heavily on its hinges. Downa vista of decrepit dahlias one sped to the portal, alongside which wasa trio of bell-handles, one above the other, showing that thePsychopathic Institution did not occupy the whole even of that modestdomicile. I always approach these manifold bells with considerablediffidence, conscious that I must inevitably ring the wrong one; so, onthis occasion, I rang none at all, but knocked a faint double knock onthe knocker by way of compromise--very faint, indeed, lest I shoulddisturb any patients who were being "psychopathized. " While I waited Ihad leisure to observe that hidden among the dahlias, and thatched overas it were with a superannuated costermonger's barrow, was a doubleperambulator, which set me calculating the probabilities of Mr. Ashmanbeing a family man. 

The door was opened before I had settled the point to my own mentalsatisfaction, by a short, cheery-looking man, with long, straight flaxenhair flowing down over the shoulders of his black frock-coat, a beard afew shades lighter, and a merry twinkling eye, which looked moresympathetic than psychopathic, and I should think was calculated to dopatients good directly it lighted on them. He looked as much as to askwhether I was psychopathically wrong, when I informed him that I had notcome as a patient, but simply to inspect his institution if he wouldpermit me. The permission was at once accorded. "We are hard at work, "he said, as he ushered me into the front parlour; "but come in and seewhat we are about. "

A man who looked like a respectable artisan was sitting at the table;and a second, in his shirt sleeves, was astride of a chair in whatappeared to be rather an idiotic ride-a-cock-horse-to-Banbury-Crossfashion, and Mr. Ashman was pinching him and prodding him as butchers dofat animals at the Smithfield Show. 

"That there gentleman, " said Mr. Ashman, in a broad provincial dialect, "couldn't get astride that chair when he come here half-an-hour ago. Howd'ye feel now, sir?"

"Feel as though I should like to race somebody twenty rods for fivepound a-side, " answered the patient, getting up and walking about theroom as if it were a new sensation. He had been brought, it appeared, toMr. Ashman by his friend, who was sitting at the table, and who was anold psychopathic patient. He assured me he had suffered from rheumatismfor twenty years, and was completely disabled without his stick until hecame into that room half-an-hour since. He walked up and down sticklessand incessantly as the carnivora at the Zoo all the time he was tellingme. 

"Would you mind putting your ear to this man's back, sir?" said Mr. Ashman to me. I did so; and when he bent, his backbone seemed to go offwith a lot of little cracks like the fog-signals of a railway. "Thatthere old rusty hinge we mean to grease. " And away he wentpsychopathizing him again. When he was done, Mr. Ashman explained to melearnedly, and with copious illustrations from anatomical plates, histheory of this disease, which was his favourite one for treatment, because it yielded rapidly. Paralysis and that class of disease are muchslower. He had succeeded in acute rheumatism, and also in calculus. "Ilike fat men--fighting men to heal, " he said. "I leave the delicate onesto others. " The sturdy little psychopathist looked healthy enough toheal a sick rhinoceros. 

While he was lecturing me his hands were not idle. I should think theyseldom were. He was pouring salad oil from a flask on to flannel to giveto the other man who was sitting at the table, and had approachedconvalescence from a chronic disease after one or two visits, and whoused this oiled flannel to keep up the influence. Both the men seemedperfectly genuine; and the rheumatic gentleman, when he left, pronouncedthe effect of his psychopathizing miraculous. The fee was fiveshillings. "I shan't charge you nothin' for the flannel, " he said to No. 2. I began to take quite a fancy to Joseph Ashman, and thanked _Figaro_inwardly for directing me to the institution. 

A working woman who was next in the little row of patients assembled inthe back room, came in with her wrists bound up in bits of flannel, andher hands looking puffed and glazy. She, too, had lost the use of themfor six years, she told me, and had been pronounced incurable by thedoctors. This was her fourth visit to Mr. Ashman. "Take up the chair, ma'am, " he said to his patient; and she did carry it in rather a wobblyfashion across the room. "Now the other hand, " and she did it with theother hand. "Now show the gentleman how you did it when you came to me. She's rather hard o' hearin', " he explained to me; but after one or tworepetitions the poor old body comprehended, and carried it in hercrooked elbow. "Now I'll call my assistant, " he said, and summoned aruddy, red-bearded man, who looked as though he might have just come infrom a brisk country walk. "When these cases require a good deal ofrubbing I let my assistants do the preliminary work, and then come in asthe Healing Medium myself. " The rubbers, he informed me, like theMedium, must be qualified, not only physically, but morally. Benevolencewas the great requisite; and certainly both these men seemed runningover with it, if looks meant anything. When Joseph Ashman took his turn, working the poor old patient's stiff wrists, and pulling her fingerstill they cracked, like children playing "sweethearts, " she neverwinced, but actually seemed to like it, and trotted off well satisfiedwith her fourth instalment of good health. 

The next rubber who was introduced to me was not such a ruddy man, being, in fact, somewhat saturnine in appearance; but I could quiteunderstand that he was, as he described himself, brimful of electricity. His chevelure was like that on the little man we stick on the conductorof an electrical machine and make each particular hair stand on end likequills upon the fretful porcupine. 

I could not for the life of me see the difference between this treatmentand simple mesmerism, except that it was much more rapid in its effectsthan any magnetic treatment I have ever witnessed. Indeed, I franklyconfess I do not understand it now, though Mr. Ashman made me accept oneof his little books on Psychopathic healing, and told me I should seethe distinction when I had read it. I must be very dense, for I haveread it diligently through, and still fail to trace the distinction. 

The man made a great impression on me. I felt he was just one of thosewho would carry life into a sick room, and communicate vitalpower--supposing it to be communicable--from the dumpy fingers of hisfat soft hand. The perambulator did not belie him. Numbers of prettyblack-eyed children were running about, and there was a Mrs. Ashmansomewhere among the poor patients in the back room. All the childrencame to me except the eldest boy, who, his father told me in amysterious tone, had suffered some indignity at the hands of my cloth, and dreaded a parson ever after. I believe my injudicious brother hadset him a long task (perhaps his Duty to his Neighbour), and the poorlad was always afraid he should be dropped down upon to "say it. " Mr. Ashman's book is a little bewildering to an outsider who fails todistinguish the _two_ vital forces. He says: "It is much rarer to find ahigh development of a temperament in which the psychical elementprevails, than in which it is well blended with the vital-magnetic, orthan in which the latter excels. In nearly all popular public men thereis a blending of the two. We see it well exemplified in John Bright, Spurgeon, and others. This is the secret of their drawing, magneticpower. It is the secret, too, of many a physician's success: his genialmagnetism cures when his medicine is useless, although, of course, hedoes not know it. As is the difference between these two forces, so isthe difference in the method of their employment for the purpose ofcure. " However, when I left I promised--and I mean to keep my vow--thatif ever I am unfortunate enough to find my vertebræ creaking like "anold hinge, " I will come to Mr. Ashman and have it greased. The remark inhis book as to the success of medicine depending on the qualities of himwho administered it was, we may recollect, confirmed at the 1874 meetingof the British Association in Belfast. 

Joseph Ashman has had a chequered history. He has dwelt in the tents ofthe Mormonites; has been one of the Peculiar People. In early life hewas in service in the country, where his master used to flog him until, to use his own expression, he nearly cut him in two. His earliestpatients were cattle. "For a healer, " he said, "give me a man as canclean a window or scrub a floor. Christ himself, when He chose those whowere to be healers as well as preachers, chose fishermen, fine, deepchested men, depend upon it, sir, " and he rapped upon his own sonorouslungs until they reverberated. He was certainly blessed with asuperabundance of good health, and looked benevolent enough to impartall his surplus stock to anybody who wanted it. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

A PHRENOLOGICAL EVENING. 

The experience I am about to chronicle occurred when the Beecher-Tiltonscandal was at its height; and I was attracted by the somewhat ambiguoustitle "Burns upon Beecher. "

Mr. James Burns, the spirited proprietor of the Progressive Library, Southampton Row, having devoted himself to the study of phrenology, hasfor some time past held a series of craniological séances on Tuesdayevenings, at which he "takes off" the head of some well-known person, oryour own, if you like, whether you are well-known or born to blushunseen, not in the way of physical decapitation, but by the method ofphrenological diagnosis. I greatly regretted having, on a previousoccasion, missed the analysis of Dr. Kenealy's cerebral developments. Ibelieve the Claimant himself was once the object of Mr. Burns' remarks;but when Mr. Beecher's cranium was laid down for dissection at theheight of the Beecher-Tilton sensation, I could resist no longer, but, despite all obstacles, repaired to the Institute of Progress. 

About a score of people were gathered in that first-floor front where Ihad seen so many strange things. Of these persons some formed theregular phrenological class conducted there weekly by Mr. Burns. Theothers were, generally speaking, of the ordinary lecture-audience type. One stout lady occupied an easy-chair in a corner, and slept from firstto last. 

The first part of the lecture was a little discursive, I fancy for myespecial benefit, and summarized Mr. Burns' system, which is to a greatextent original. Beginning by a disavowal of all dogmas, he began byadvancing what was to me the entirely novel doctrine, that the brain wasnot the sole organ of the mind, but that the whole organism of man hadto be taken into account in the diagnosis of character, since the entirebody was permeated with the mind. The bones, fluids, and viscera wereall related to mental phenomena. The lecturer even questioned whetherthe science he promulgated was properly termed phrenology. It certainlydid not answer to the conventional idea of that craft. Referring to acalico diagram which was pinned to the curtains of the first-floorfront, and at which he pointed with a walking-stick, Mr. Burns notifiedfour divisions of the animal frame--1, the vital organs; 2, themechanical; 3, the nervous (which in the lower orders were ganglioniconly); 4, the cerebral apparatus. He defended the animal powers from thedebased idea usually attached to them, and pointed out their closeconnexion with the spirit, nearer to which they were placed than anyportion of the economy. 

He then proceeded to apply his preliminary remarks to preachers ingeneral. Theodore Parker, for instance, was a man of spare body andlarge brain. He was surrounded by intellectual people, and his discipleswere quite sui generis. On the other hand, Spurgeon was a man of stronganimal and perceptive powers, and so able to send the Walworthshopkeepers into ecstasies. His ganglions were big, as was the case inall great preachers. Emotion, he said, was more a matter of bowels thanof brain. The ganglionic power carried the brain; but there were, ofcourse, combinations of all grades. 

In the case of Henry Ward Beecher, two of whose photographs he held inhis hand, he dwelt on the disadvantage of having only the shadow insteadof the substance of his head to deal with. Here, he said, we had all theelements on a large scale. The brain, thoracic system, osseousstructure, and abdominal development were all in excess. The face was, as it were, the picture of all. Henry Ward Beecher was emphatically alarge man. The blood was positive; the circulation good. The digestionwas perfect, and the man enjoyed good food. Especially the length fromthe ear to the front of the eyebrows denoted intellectual grasp. Therewas not much will power. Whatever he had done (and Mr. Burnsemphatically disclaimed passing any judgment on the "scandal") he hadnot done of determination, but had rather "slid into it. " He was noplanner. He gathered people round him by the "solar" force of his mind. If he had been a designing man--if largely developed behind the ears--hewould have gone to work in a different way. There was good developmentin the intellectual, sympathetic, and emotional part of his nature; andthis combination made him a popular preacher. There was more than mereanimal magnetism needed to account for this; there was intellectualpower, but not much firmness or conscientiousness. If he were present, he would probably acknowledge that something had led him on to dowhatever he had done in spite of himself. What was very peculiar in theman was his youthfulness. He had been before the world for forty years. Mr. Fowler, the phrenologist, of Ludgate Circus, had been a fellowstudent of Beecher, and had measured his head, which he ascertained tohave grown an inch in ten years. Beecher was essentially a growingman--growing like a boy. The ganglionic power was that which kept peoplealways growing, and was the great means of their getting a hold overother people. 

Mr. Burns then passed in review the three portraits of Beecher, Tilton, and Mrs. Tilton respectively, in the _Pictorial World_. Mrs. Tilton hedescribed as a negative person, inclined to be hysterical and"clinging. " There was in her a high type of brain, morally, intellectually, and spiritually. Still the brain, he said, did not makeus good or bad. Again repudiating all judgment as to the scandal, hedwelt upon the close social relationships between Beecher and Mrs. Tilton, and recurred to the strong vital influence of the former, comparing it to that of Brigham Young upon his "spiritual affinities. "In all probability, taking into account the different natures of Beecherand Mrs. Tilton, whatever had occurred "the people couldn't helpthemselves. "

Then as to Theodore Tilton. Mr. Burns had read the _Golden Age_, andpronounced it a smart publication. There was, however, in Tilton a wantof ganglionic power; he was all brain. He was a man who might be read, but he could not lecture or preach. His was a higher mind thanBeecher's, but not one that would command much human sympathy. 

Suppose Mrs. Tilton were not the wife of either, her relations to eachmight be conscientious, but still violate the laws of monogamic life. The influence of Beecher over her would be ganglionic as well asintellectual; that of Tilton purely intellectual: when lo, a gust ofganglionic power would supervene on the latter, and carry all before it. 

Concluding his analysis of Mr. Beecher thus, Mr. Burns discovered thathe had two clerics among his audience, and asked us--for I was one ofthem--if we would be examined. I readily consented, and handed my notesto Miss Chandos (the young lady mesmerist, whose séance I reported afew pages back) to report progress. She, therefore, is responsible forthe diagnosis that follows. 

Handling me from head to foot, much as a fancier does a prize ox atSmithfield, Mr. Burns found the life power good, and the muscles wellnourished, the working faculties being in a high state of activity. Thehead--I blushed to hear--measured one inch beyond the average of a manof my size, and the cerebral faculties were harmoniously organized. Ihad large perceptive powers; and my human nature (wherever that may belocated) was full, as was also firmness. The thinking sphere was good. Ishould have made, Mr. Burns informed me, a good sculptor or artist. 

Omitting one or two complimentary remarks which Miss Chandos hasfaithfully, if not flatteringly, reported, and the enunciation of whichquite confused me as I sat the centre and cynosure of that wonderinggroup, I was glad to learn that I was an open man, though possessed ofsufficient caution and not defective in moral courage. In fact "pluck"was large. I really wished Mr. Burns would relieve me by finding somebad bumps; but no--the worst he could say of me was that I was restless. What chiefly seemed to strike him, though, were my vital powers, and hereally covered me with confusion when he began to calculate my Beecherpowers on a possible Mrs. Tilton. However, he toned down this remark bynoticing that my domestic faculties were well developed. My faith andhope were small. I was a "doubting" man. The positive and negative werewell blent in me, and I was also "mediumistic. "

The diagnosis of two ladies concluded the evening's exercises, butneither of these personages displayed any very remarkable traits; Mr. Burns declaring he felt some difficulty in discovering the bumps underthe "back hair. "

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A SPIRITUAL PICNIC. 

In a volume bearing the title of _Mystic London_ it would seem perchancethat Spiritualism, as par excellence the modern mystery, should standfirst. I have thought it better, however, to defer its treatmentsomewhat, working up to it as to a climax, and then gently descending tomundane matters once more ere I close my present work. 

Of London at this hour, just as of Rome in the later Republic andEmpire, it may be safely affirmed that there is in its midst an elementof the mysterious and occult utterly undreamed of by the practicalpeople. Many phases of this element have already been treated of in mydifferent works; and I add some of the more exceptional as properlybelonging to my present subject. 

Now I candidly confess that, up to a recent date, I had not givenSpiritualists--quâ spiritualists--credit for being a cheerful orconvivial people. Though there exist upon the tablets of my memoryrecollections of certain enjoyable dinners, cosy teas, and charmingpetits soupers, eaten at the mahogany of believers in the modernmystery, yet these were purely exceptional events, oases in the desertof spiritualistic experiences. Generally speaking, the table, instead ofgroaning under its accumulated bounties, leapt about as if from theabsence thereof; and the only adjuncts of the inhospitable mahogany werepaper tubes for the spirit voices, handbells for the spirit hands, andoccasional accordions and musical boxes for the delectation ofharmonious ghosts. It was a "flow of soul" if not always a "feast ofreason;" but, as regarded creature comforts, or any of the ordinarydelights of mundane existence, a very Siberian desert. A grave subjectof discussion (I am not, I assure you, indulging in a sepulchral pun) atthe recent Liverpool Conference was how to feed mediums, and I fancy thepreponderating opinion was that fasting was a cardinal virtue in theircase--a regimen that had come to be in my mind, perhaps unfairly, associated with séances in general. I was glad, therefore, when I readin the columns of the _Medium_ the announcement of the spiritual picnicor "demonstration, " at the People's Garden, Willesden. Still I wanted tosee Spiritualists enjoy themselves in the "normal condition. " Isympathized with the avowed object of the gathering, that the followersof the new creed should know one another, as surely the disciples of acommon school ought to do. Armed, therefore, with a ticket, I proceeded, viâ the North London Railway, to the scene of action. It was not what wematerialistic people should call a fine August day. It was cold anddull, and tried hard to rain; but it was far more in keeping with thecharacter of the meeting than what Father Newman calls the "garish day"one looks for in mid-August. In the words of the circle the "conditionswere excellent;" and as I journeyed on, reading my _Medium_ like a truebeliever, I marvelled to see, by the evidence of its advertisements, howthe new creed had taken hold of a certain section, at all events, ofsociety. Besides a dozen public mediums who paraded their variedattractions at terms ranging from _2s. 6d. _ to _21s. _, there werespiritualistic young men who put forward their creed as a qualificationfor clerkships--perhaps they had no other claim--spiritual lodging-housekeepers, and even spiritual undertakers, all pervaded by what we mayliterally call a common esprit de corps. 

In due course we reached the People's Garden, the popular title whereofseemed to have been given on the lucus a non principle, for the Londonfolk have not, as yet, affected it largely. Why this should be so onecannot guess, for it is the very ideal of a Cockney Paradise, and isadmirably worked by a body of shareholders, most of whom belong to theartisan class, though under very distinguished patronage indeed. When Igot to the grounds the Spiritualists were indulging in a merry-go-roundduring a refreshing drizzle. A temporary rush under cover ensued, andthen the weather became more favourable, though the skies preservedtheir neutral tint. Mrs. Bullock, a suburban medium, who had becomeentranced, had located herself in a bower, and beckoned people from theaudience to receive her "benediction, " which was given in a remarkabledialect. I thought it was Yorkshire, but a spiritualistic gentlemanexplained to me that it was "partly North American Indian. " The OsborneBellringers next gave a campanological concert, which was exceedinglygood of its kind, the small gentleman who played the bass bell workingso actively as to suggest the idea that he could not long survive suchhard labour in his fleshly condition. These campanologists are said tobe big mediums, and occasionally to be floated or otherwise spiritedduring their performances; but nothing abnormal occurred at the People'sGarden. Then there was dancing on the monster platform, which is, Ishould think, correctly described as "the largest in the world. " Thiswas indeed a new phase of Spiritualism: the terpsichorean spiritualistsgenerally let their tables do the dancing for them, as Easternpotentates hire their dancing-girls. Donkey-races, croquet, and otherunspiritual diversions varied the order of proceedings; and as for theone-and-ninepenny teas, I can only say I should think the GardenCommittee did not get much profit out of them, for the Spiritualistsregaled themselves in the most material fashion. During the afternoonthe arrivals were fast and frequent. All the medium-power of Londonseemed present; and the only wonder was that we were not all floatedbodily away. There was Mrs. Guppy, who, in answer to my demand whethershe had been "floated" from Highbury, informed me that she had come farless romantically--"nine in a cab!" There was Dr. Monk, too, aNonconformist clergyman, who had lately been taking aërial journeys ofthe Guppy order about Bristol. In fact, the élite of the sect were wellrepresented; and during the whole afternoon, despite the dirty-lookingday, the fun was fast and furious, and all went merry as the proverbialmarriage-bell. 

Part of the programme was an entertainment by a gentleman bearing thedelightfully sepulchral name of Dr. Sexton, whose mission in life it isto "expose" the tricks of Dr. Lynn and Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke. Howthose gentlemen are to be "exposed, " seeing they only claim to deceiveyou by legerdemain, I cannot comprehend; but they made the Spiritualistsvery angry by taking their names in vain on the handbills of theEgyptian Hall, and more than insinuating that there was a familylikeness between their performances; and, consequently, the conjurorswere to be "exposed;" that is, the public were to have their visit tothe Temple of Magic spoilt by being shown beforehand how the tricks weredone. Aided by an expert assistant named Organ, Dr. Sexton soon let usinto the mysteries of the cabinet business, which seemed just as easy asmaking the egg stand on end--when you know how. It is perfectly truethat, after hearing Dr. Sexton's exposition--rather than exposé--it isquite easy for any one to frustrate the designs of these cleverconjurors, if he wishes to do so. I am not sure that the exposé is wise. Illogical people will not see the force of Dr. Sexton's argument, andwill possibly think it "proves too much. " If so much can be done bysleight of hand and ingenious machinery, they will argue, perhaps, thatthe Davenports and other mediums are only cleverer conjurors still, orhave better machinery. Alas! all my fairyland is pasteboard now. I knowhow the man gets out of the corded box--I could do it myself. I knowwhere the gorilla goes when he seems lost in the magic cabinet. It isall a clever combination of mirrors. The blood-red letters of some deardeparted friend are only made with red ink and a quill pen, and the nameof the "dear departed" forged. Well, I suppose _I_ am illogical, too. Ifone set of things is so simple when it is shown to you, why may not allbe? I fear the Willesden outing has unsettled my convictions, and shakenmy faith in most sublunary things. 

The gathering clearly proved the growth of Spiritualism in London. Thatsuch numbers could be got together in the dead season bespeaks a veryextensive ramification indeed. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A GHOSTLY CONFERENCE. 

A distinct and well-marked epoch is reached in the history of anyparticular set of opinions when its adherents begin to organize andconfer, and the individual tenets become the doctrines of a party. Sucha culmination has been attained by the believers in Modern Spiritualism. For a long while after the date of the now historical RochesterRappings, the manifestations were mostly individual, and in a greatdegree limited to such exercises as Mr. Home's elongation, Mrs. Guppy'sflight from Highbury to Lamb's Conduit Street, or, more recently still, the voices and manipulations of John and Katie King, the orations ofMrs. Hardinge, Mr. Morse, and Mrs. Tappan. But all this was spasmodic, and not likely to take the world by storm, while Spiritualists hadadopted the time-honoured maxim--"Magna est veritas et prevalebit. "Therefore they must organize. They have done so, not without protest onthe part of some of the most noted of their adherents; but the majoritycarried the day, and the result is the British National Association ofSpiritualists, which has recently been sitting in solemn conclave atits first Annual Conference in Lawson's Rooms, Gower Street. 

Now I plead guilty to being greatly interested in this subject ofSpiritualism generally, and in the doings of the Conference inparticular. I cannot help thinking that clergymen and scientists oughtto look into any set of opinions whose professors have attained thedimensions of this body. Their doctrines have spread and are spreading. Already the Spiritualists number among them such men as Mr. AlfredWallace, Mr. Varley, Mr. Crookes, Mr. S. C. Hall, &c. , and are extendingtheir operations amongst all classes of society, notably among thehigher. I could even name clergymen of all denominations who holdSpiritualistic views, but refrain, lest it should seem invidious, thoughI cannot see why it should be incongruous for the clergy to examinedoctrines which profess to amplify rather than supplant those ofrevelation, any more than I can why scientists stand aloof from whatprofesses to be a purely positive philosophy, based upon the inductivemethod. So it is, however; Spiritualism is heterodox at once in itsreligious and philosophical aspects. I suppose that is why it had suchspecial attraction for me. Certain it is, I have been following theghostly conference like a devotee. 

We began on Monday evening with a musical soirée at the Beethoven Rooms, in Harley Street; and there was certainly nothing ghostly or sepulchralin our opening day; only then there was nothing very spiritualisticeither. For a long time I thought it was going to be all tea and muffinsand pianoforte. By-and-by, however, Mr. Algernon Joy read a report ofthe organization, which was rather more interesting than reportsgenerally are, and Mr. Benjamin Coleman, a venerable gentleman, thefather of London Spiritualists, delivered a Presidential address. Stillthere were no ghosts--not even a spirit rap to augment the applausewhich followed the speakers. Once my hopes revived when two new physicalmediums, with letters of recommendation from Chicago, were introduced, and I expected to see the young gentlemen elongate or float round theroom; but nothing of the kind occurred; and a young lady dashed my hopesto the ground by singing "The Nightingale's Trill. " Mr. Morse gave anaddress in the trance state--as I was afterwards informed; but he lookedand spoke so like an ordinary mortal that I should not have found outthat he was in an abnormal condition. 

I fear I went home from Harley Street not quite in so harmonious a frameof mind as could have been wished. 

The next morning (Wednesday) Dr. Gully presided at the opening of theConference proper in Gower Street, where the rooms were more like vaultsand smelt earthy. The President ably enough summarized the objectionswhich had been raised to the Association, and also the objects itproposed to itself. He said:--"If the Association keeps clear ofdogmatic intrusion, then will there be no fear of its becomingsectarian. Already, however, there is a signal of dogmatism amongSpiritualists--and already the dogmatizers call themselves by anothername. But the Association has nothing to do with this. It knows itsfunction to be the investigation of facts, and of facts only; and, aswas said, no sect was ever yet framed on undoubted facts. Now what arethe facts of Spiritualism up to this date? They are reducible totwo:--1st. The continued life and individuality of the spirit body ofman after it has quitted its body of flesh; and, 2nd. Its communion withspirits still in the flesh, under certain conditions, by physicalexhibition and mental impression. Spirit identity cannot be regarded yetas an established fact--at all events, not so as to warrant us inbuilding upon it. "

I was agreeably surprised with the moderate tone of this address; andafter a brief theological discussion, Mr. W. H. Harrison, the editor ofthe _Spiritualist_, followed with a paper on Organization. I do not knowwhat Mr. Harrison was not for organizing. Libraries, reading-rooms, colleges, everything was to be spiritualized. Later in the day there wasa paper on Physical Manifestations. I should have preferred themanifestations without the paper, for I fear I am a poor believer atsecond hand. The reader told some "stumping" stories. Here is one as aspecimen--spiritual in more senses than one:--

"One evening I accompanied the Davenports to Mr. Guppy's residence inGreat Marlborough Street. After supper Ira, the eldest of the brothers, Mr. Guppy, and myself, adjourned to a dark room, which Mr. Guppy had hadprepared for experimental purposes. To get to this room we had to passthrough a room that served the combined purposes of a sculptor's studioand a billiard room. Emerging from this room we came into a yard, in onecorner of which the dark cabinet in question was constructed. Taking ourseats, we extinguished the light. Mr. Guppy was at the time smoking acigar. This was at once taken from his hand, and carried in the air, where it could be seen by the light given out by its combustion. Somewhisky and water was standing on the table. This was handed to us todrink. When it came to my turn, I found there was but little left in theglass. This I pointed out. The glass was forthwith taken from my mouth, and replenished and brought back again. "

On Thursday Mr. Everitt read a paper on Direct Writing by Spirits, telling us that on one occasion nine hundred and thirty-six words werewritten in six seconds. Mr. Everitt must be a bold man--I don't meanaltogether for asking us to believe that, but for saying what he didabout the medium, who was his wife:--"There are many considerations whyit would be impossible for the medium to have produced these writings. For instance, we have sixteen papers upon the same subject, and in thosepapers there are a great many ancient authors referred to. Mrs. Everitthas never read or seen a single book of any of these authors, and, witha few exceptions, their names had never been heard by her before, muchless did she know the age they lived in, the country they belonged to, the works they had written, or the arguments made use of for the defenceof their doctrines and teachings. Besides the above reasons there arephysical and mental difficulties which preclude the possibility of theirbeing produced by the medium. The physical impossibility is themarvellous rapidity of their production, as many as 936 words havingbeen written in six seconds. The mental difficulty is that the mediumhas not a logical mind. Like most females, she takes a short cut byjumping to conclusions. She does not, indeed cannot, argue out anyproposition by the ordinary rules of logic. Now the papers referred toshow that the author or authors are not only well acquainted withancient lore and the classics, but also possessed very high ability aslogicians. For the above reasons we conclude that the medium, from sheerincapacity, both mentally and physically, could not have written thesepapers, nor any other human being under the same circumstances. We aretherefore absolutely driven, after looking at the subject from everyconceivable point of view, to conclude respecting their production thatthey came from a supernatural source, and were produced by supernaturalmeans. "

In the afternoon of this day a clergyman, whose name it would be highlyindecorous in me to mention, descanted on the aspect of Spiritualismfrom his point of view in the Church of England. I understood thepurport of the paper to be (1) that he claimed the right of members ofthe Church of England to investigate the phenomena; (2) that, ifconvinced of their spiritual origin, such conviction need not shake theinvestigator's previous faith. If the clergyman in question really saidno more than the printed reports of the Conference represent him to havedone, he rather reversed the conduct of Balaam, and cursed those he cameto bless. This is the curt résumé that went forth:--

"The Rev. ---- read a paper, in which he defined his position withregard to Spiritualism as that of a mere inquirer, adding that even ifhe became convinced of its truth, he saw no reason why he should alterthe opinions he at present held as a clergyman of the Church of England. After eighteen months' inquiry into the subject, however, he was, perhaps, more of a sceptic than before. " If that was all the clergymanin question had to say for the Association, they must rather regret theyever "organized" him, and might well pray to be saved from theirfriends; but I heard it whispered--presumably by a spirit voice--thatthere had been a passage at arms between the lady secretary and theclergyman in question, and that Miss--but no, I must not mentionnames--the fair official punished the delinquent that most awfulpenalty--silence. 

Friday finished the Conference with a trance paper--I did not know therewere such things--dictated to Mrs. Cora Tappan by invisible guides, andwas read by Miss--I mean by the fair incognita above-mentioned. Not amanifestation--literally not the ghost of one--only this very glowingperoration:--"But it is in a larger sense of social, mental, political, and even religious renovation, that Spiritualism is destined to work itschief results. The abrogation of the primal terror of mankind, the mostancient spectre in the world of thought, grim and shadowy Death, is, initself, so vital a change that it constitutes a revolution in the worldof mind. Chemistry has already revealed the wonderful fact that noultimate atom can perish. The subtle chemistry of Spiritualism steps inwhere science ceases, gathering up the ultimate atoms of thought into aspiritual entity and proving them imperishable. Already has this thoughtpervaded the popular mind, tinged the decaying forms of theology andexternal science with its glow, and made the life of man a heritage ofimmortal glory. More than this, taking spirit as the primal basis oflife, each individual, and all members of society and humanity in theaggregate, must for ever strive to express its highest life (i. E. Thelife of the spirit). The child will be taught from within, externalmethods being employed only as aids, but never as dictators of thought. Society will be the flowing out of spiritual truths, taking shape andsubstance as the expression of the soul. Governments will be theprotecting power of a parent over loving children, instead of thedictates of force or tyranny. Religion will wear its native garb ofsimplicity and truth, the offspring of the love and faith that gave itbirth. Modern Spiritualism is as great a solvent of creeds, dogmas, codes, scientific sophisms, as is the sunlight of the substancescontained in earth and air, revealing by the stages of intermediatelife, from man, through spirits, angels, archangels, seraphim, andcherubim, to God, the glorious destiny of every soul. There is a vinegrowing in the islands of the tropic seas that thrives best upon theancient ruins or crumbling walls of some edifice built by man; yet everas it thrives, the tiny tendrils penetrate between the fibres of thestone, cutting and cutting till the whole fabric disappears, leavingonly the verdant mass of the foliage of the living vine. Spiritualism isto the future humanity what this vine is to the ancient ruin. "

There was another paper coming on "Compound Consciousness, " but thetitle did not attract me. After my four days' patient waiting for ghostswho never came and spirits that would not manifest, I felt, perhaps, alittle impatient, put on my hat and left abruptly--the fair secretary, of whom I shall evermore stand in supreme awe, scowling at me when I didso. As I passed into Gower Street--sweet, serene Gower Street, sacredfrom the wheels of profane cabmen, I was almost surprised to see the"materialized" forms around me; and it really was not until I got wellwithin sound--and smell--of the Underground Railway that I quiterealized my abased position, or got out of the spheres whither the loftyperiods of Mrs. Tappan's paper, so mellifluously delivered, had waftedme!

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AN EVENING'S DIABLERIE. 

Mr. Spurgeon a short time since oracularly placed it on record that, having hitherto deemed Spiritualism humbug, he now believes it to be thedevil. This sudden conversion is, of course, final; and I proceed tonarrate a somewhat exceptional endorsement of the opinion which hasrecently occurred within my own experience. There was a time, how longago it boots not to say, when _I_ considered Spiritualism humbug; and agood deal came in my way which might have led me to the same conclusionas Mr. Spurgeon, if I had been disposed--which I am not--to go with ahop, skip, and jump. 

The investigator who first presented the "diabolical" theory to mynotice was a French Roman Catholic priest, who had broken discipline sofar as to enter the married state, but retained all the doctrines of hisformer faith intact. He had, in fact, anticipated to some extent theposition of Père Hyacinthe; for it was several years ago I first becameacquainted with him. Individually as well as nationally this gentleman, too, was prone to jump at conclusions. He lost a dear friend, andimmediately proceeded to communicate with the departed by means oftable-turning and rapping. For a few days he was quite convinced of theidentity of the communicating spirit; but then, and all within thecompass of a single week, he pronounced the exorcism of the CatholicChurch on the intelligence, I suppose experimentally in the firstinstance; found his challenge not satisfactorily answered, andimmediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the foul fiend himself. I sat very frequently with this gentleman afterwards, prior to theexperience I am about to narrate; and certainly the intelligence alwaysgave itself out to be the spirit unmentionable to ears polite, whosepresence my friend had taken for granted. 

I once went with this gentleman to the Marshalls, when they were attheir zenith. We arranged previously that he should not sit at thetable, but on one side, and give me a secret signal when he was silentlypronouncing the exorcism. He did so; and certainly all manifestations atonce ceased, though we had been in full converse with the invisibles amoment before. Old Mrs. M. Had to announce with much chagrin, "Thesperrits is gone!"

My other partner in diablerie was a barrister whom I must not mention byname, but who possessed considerable power as a writing medium. Thepresiding intelligence in his case was, however, of a low character, andgiven to very bad language. He avowed himself to have been a bargee inthe earth-plane--should one say the water-plane?--and certainly sworelike one. 

As for myself, I am destitute of all "medium-power, " whatever that maybe, though enthusiastic spirituelle ladies tell me I am "mediumistic"--aqualification which is still more occult to me. I own to being greatlyinterested in spiritualistic inquiries, except as regards dark séances, which have a tendency to send me to sleep; and I believe that mypresence does not "stop manifestations:" so that I suppose I am not ahopeless sceptic. 

On the occasion of which I am about to speak we met in my study, where Iam in the habit of rearing a few pet snakes. I had just got a fine newspecimen; and having no proper habitation for it, had turned mywaste-basket upside-down on a small chess table, and left him totabernacle under it for the night. This was the table we generally usedfor séances; and my legal friend, who was writing, immediately began touse most foul language, on the subject of the snake, exhorting me to"put him anywhere, put him in the cupboard, old boy. " Such was theedifying style of communication we always got through this worthy limbof the law, but it was so much worse than usual on the present occasionas to fairly make us roar at its insane abuse. The gentleman himself, Iought to add, is by no means prone to profane swearing. My priestlyfriend was making a wide-awake hat reply by tilts; and still got his oldreply that his Satanic Majesty was personally present. I did not in theleast credit this assertion, any more than I accepted as proven theidentity of the bargee, though I hold the impersonation in either caseto be a strange psychological fact. That I did not do so is bestevidenced by the circumstance that I said, "This spirit asserts himselfto be his Satanic Majesty. Have you either of you any objection tocommunicate with him supposing such to be the case?"

Neither one nor the other had the slightest. My Catholic friend, I knew, always carried a bottle of holy water in his pocket, and at my entreatyforbore for the moment to exorcise. The legal gentleman, though a"writer" himself, was not at all convinced about the phenomena, as wasperhaps natural, seeing the exceedingly bad company to which itprofessed to relegate him. As for me, my scepticism was to me robur etæs triplex. I disposed of the snake, put out the gas; and down we threesat, amid profound darkness, like three male witches in "Macbeth, "having previously locked the door to prevent any one disturbing ourhocus-pocus. 

Any one who has sat at an ordinary dark séance will recollect the numberof false starts the table makes, the exclamations, "Was that a rap?"when the wood simply cracks, or, "Did you feel a cold air?" whensomebody breathes a little more heavily than usual. I have myself madethe experiment, though not without adding an open confessionimmediately afterwards. I have blown on the fingers of the sitters, andmade them feel sure it was a "spirit aura, " have done the neatest ofraps with my index-finger when my little finger has been securely hookedin that of my next neighbour. In fact, for test purposes, dark séancesare a mistake, though they are admirable for a flirtation. 

On this occasion, however, we were very much in earnest, and there wasno waiting--I hope no collusion. I am quite sure I did not myselfconsciously produce any manifestation. I can answer for my legal friend, as far as any one person can answer for another; and we neither of ussuspected--or suspect--the priest of the order of St. Benedict; only wewould rather he had not pronounced such decided opinions; because thewish might have been father to the thought, or rather the thought might, in some utterly unaccountable way, have produced the effects thatfollowed. I have an idea that if Mr. Spurgeon in his present frame ofmind were to sit at a table for manifestations, he would obtain theclearest assurance that it was "all the devil, " just as it is well knownRoman Catholic sitters get communications from Roman Catholic spirits, theists from theistic, and Mormons from the denizens of somespiritualistic Utah. 

We had not, on this occasion, a moment to wait. The table forthwithbegan to plunge and career about the room as though the bargee--or theother personage himself--had actually been "in possession. " It requiredall our agility to follow it in its rapid motion about the room. At lastit became comparatively quiet; and I received in reply to a question asto who was present the exceedingly objectionable name which Mr. Spurgeonhas coupled with the whole subject. Some persons I know entertain acertain amount of respect, or at all events awe, for the intelligence inquestion. For myself I feel nothing of the kind, and therefore I added, "If you are what you profess to be, give us some proof. " We were sittingwith only the tips of our fingers on the table; but it forthwith rose upquite perpendicularly, and came down with a crash that completelyshivered it in pieces. I have not the slightest idea how it wasdone--but it certainly was done. A large portion of the table wasreduced to a condition that fitted it for Messrs. Bryant and May'smanufactory. When we lighted the gas and looked at our watches we foundwe had only been sitting a very few minutes. 

Of course the obvious explanation will be that the gentleman with thediabolical theory and the evidently strong will-power (as evidenced inthe dénouement at Mrs. Marshall's) produced the diabolical effectsconsciously or unconsciously. I do not think the former was the case;and if it is possible to get such results unconsciously, that phenomenonis quite as curious as the spiritualistic explanation. In fact I am notsure that the psychological is not more difficult than thepneumatological theory. My own notion is that the "Psychic Force" peopleare clearly on the right track, though their cause, as at presentelaborated, is not yet equal to cover all the effects. 

Mr. Spurgeon and the "diabolists" concede the whole of thespiritualistic position. They not only say that the effects are due tospiritual causes, but they also identify the producing spirit. I havenever been able to get as far as that. I did not feel on the occasion inquestion at all as though I had been in communication with his sableMajesty. If I was, certainly my respect for that potentate is notincreased, for I should have fancied he would have done something much"bigger" in reply to my challenge than smash up a small chess-table. However, there was a sort of uncanny feeling about the experience, andit seemed to me so far illustrative of Mr. Spurgeon's position as to beworth committing to paper. If that gentleman, however, lends such adoctrine the sanction of his approval, he will, let him be assured, domore to confirm the claims of Spiritualism than all the sneers ofProfessors Huxley and Tyndall, and the scorn of Mr. George Henry Lewescan undo. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

SPIRITUAL ATHLETES. 

I am about for once to depart from my usual custom of narrating onlypersonal experiences, and in this and the two following chapters printthe communications of a friend who shares my interest in these matters, and has frequently accompanied me in my investigations into thismysterious Borderland. In these cases, however, he investigated on hisown account, and I am not responsible for the conclusions at which hearrives:--

"Attracted, " he says, "by an article in a popular journal on the subjectof 'Spirit Faces, ' I determined, if possible, to 'assist' at a séance. Ihad not hitherto taken much interest in spiritualistic matters, becausein the first place, the cui bono question remained persistentlyunanswered; and, secondly, because most of the 'doings' were in thedark; and it appears to me that, given darkness, there are few things inthe way of conjuring and ventriloquism that could _not_ be done. Terpsichorean tables and talking hats never had any particular charm forme, because I could always make a table dance, or a hat say anything Iwanted it to say. I saw the Davenports, and preferred ProfessorAnderson. I even went to a dark séance at the Marshalls', and noticedthat when Mr. And Mrs. Marshall had perceptibly partaken of beefsteakand onions, or some equally fragrant food, for dinner, the breath whichaccompanied the spirit-voices was unmistakably impregnated with onionstoo; and hence I drew my own conclusions. I am not saying I know how Mr. And Mrs. Marshall do John King and Katie King. I don't know howProfessor Anderson or Professor Pepper do their tricks. I confess Mr. Home and the Marshalls have the pull of the professors in one way--thatis, they don't perform on a platform but in a private room, and they letyou examine everything beforehand. Theirs is the ars celare artem. Again, I don't know how men in the street get out of the very curiousknots in which I have tied them, but I know they do it; and therefore Iam sure the Davenports could do it without calling in the ghost of one'sdeceased grandmamma as a sort of Deus--or rather Dea--ex machinâ. I havenever seen Mr. Home handle fire or elongate. I have seen him 'levitate, 'or float, and I candidly confess I don't know how he does it, any morethan I can solve Sir David Brewster's trick by which four young ladiescan lift a heavy man on the points of their fingers. It's verymysterious, and very nice for the man. 

"So it happened that I had shelved spiritualism for some time, when thearticle on 'Spirit Faces' came under my notice. I did not care so muchabout the face part of the matter (at least not the spirit face), but Iwanted to test it as a matter of athletics. In one respect thephysiognomy did interest me, for I read that the medium waspretty--mediums, according to my experience, being generally very muchthe reverse--and I found that report had certainly not misrepresentedthe young lady in this respect. Her name is now public property, so Ineed not veil it under the pseudonyms of Miss Blank, or Asterisk, oranything of that sort. Miss Florence Cook, then, is a trim little ladyof sweet sixteen, and dwells beneath the parental roof in an easternsuburb of London. It is quite true she does not accept payment forséances, which I strove to impress upon her was very foolish indeed, forshe works almost as hard as Lulu twice in the week. However, she, orrather her parents, take high ground in the matter, which of course isvery praiseworthy on their parts, and convenient for their guests ifthey happen to be impecunious. 

"Now, I do not purpose going through the details of the séance, whichwas considerably irksome, being protracted by endless psalm singing. What I want to do--with Miss Cook's permission--is to calculate thechances of her being sufficiently athletic to perform the tricksherself, without the aid of spirits. Does she not underrate her unaidedpowers in assigning a supernatural cause for the effects produced?

"Well, then, this lithe little lady is arrayed in the ordinary garb ofthe nineteenth century with what is technically termed a 'pannier, ' andlarge open sleeves, each of which, I fear, she must have foundconsiderably in the way, as also the sundry lockets and other nick-nackssuspended from her neck. However, there they were. We put her in acupboard, which had a single Windsor chair in it, and laid a stoutishnew cord on her lap. Then came singing, which may or may not have beenintended to drown any noise in the cupboard; but, after some delay, shewas found tied around the waist, neck, and two wrists, and the ends ofthe cord fastened to the back of the chair. These knots we sealed, andconsigned her to the cupboard again. Shortly after there appeared at anaperture in the upper portion of the cupboard a face which lookedutterly unspiritual and precisely like that of the medium, only withsome white drapery thrown over the head. The aperture was just theheight that would have allowed Miss Cook to stand on the chair and peepout. I do not say she did; I am only calculating the height. The faceremained some minutes in a strong light; then descended. We opened thecupboard, and found the little lady tied as before with the sealsunbroken. Spiritual, or material, it was clever. 

"After a pause, the same process was gone through again; only this timestout tape was substituted for rope. The cord cut the girl's wrists; andtape was almost more satisfactory. Again she was bound, and we sealedthe knots; and again a face appeared--this time quite black, and notlike the medium at all. I noticed that the drapery ran right round theface, and cut it off at a straight line on the lower part. This gave theidea of a mask. I am not saying it was a mask. I am only throwing out ahint that, if the 'spirits' wish to convince people they should let theneck be well seen. I am bound to say it bore a strong light for severalminutes; and some people say they saw eyelids. I did not. I do not saythey were not there. I know how impossible it is to prove a negative, and only say I did not see them. 

"What followed possessed no special interest for any but the professedspiritualist, as it was done without any tying; Miss Cook arguinglogically enough that, if the previous manifestations were clearlyproved to have taken place by other agency than that of the mediumherself, mere multiplication of proofs was unnecessary. I had only goneto study the matter from an athletic point of view; and I certainly cameaway impressed with the idea that, if Miss Florence Cook first got intoand then got out of those knots, she was even more nimble and lithesomethan she looked, and ought to start an Amateur Ladies' Athletic Societyforthwith. As to her making faces at us through the window, I did notcare sufficiently about the matter to inquire whether she did or not, because, if she got out of the ropes, it was easy enough to get on thechair and make faces. 

"Of course the cui bono remains. The professors make money by it; andMiss Cook can make at most, only a little mild and scarcely enviablenotoriety. A satirical old friend of mine, when I told him the abovefacts, chuckled, and said, 'That's quite enough for a girl of sixteen;and anything that's do-able, a girl of those years will do. ' It was nouse talking to him of panniers and loose sleeves, and lockets. He was anold bachelor, and knew nothing about such things. At least, he had nobusiness to, if he did. 

"I cannot forbear adding a domestic episode, though it is perhapsscarcely relevant to the subject. Certain young imps in my house, hearing what I had seen, got up an exhibition of spirit faces for mybenefit. They rigged up a kind of Punch-and-Judy erection, and thecleanest of them did the spirit face, with a white pocket-handkerchiefover his head. He looked as stolid and unwinking as the genuinespirit-physiognomy itself. The gas was lowered to a 'dim religiouslight, ' and then a black coal-scuttle, with features chalked on it, deceived some of the circle into the idea that it was a nigger. But theone element which interested me was wanting; there was no rope-tyingwhich could at all entitle the juvenile performance to be categorizedunder 'Spiritual Athletics. '"

CHAPTER XL. 

"SPOTTING" SPIRIT MEDIUMS. 

"Among the recent utterances of spiritualistic organs is one to theeffect that 'manifestations' come in cycles--in 'great waves, ' I believewas the actual expression; and of the many fluctuations to whichspiritualistic society has been exposed of late is a very prominentirruption of young lady mediums. The time seems to have gone by forportly matrons to be wafted aërially from the northern suburbs to theW. C. District, or elderly spinsters to exhibit spirit drawings whichgave one the idea of a water-colour palette having been overturned, andthe resulting 'mess' sat upon for the purposes of concealment. Eveninspirational speakers have so far 'gone out' as to subside fromaristocratic halls to decidedly second-rate institutions down backstreets. In fact, the 'wave' that has come over the spirit world seemsto resemble that which has also supervened upon the purely mundanearrangements of Messrs. Spiers and Pond; and we anxious investigatorscan scarcely complain of the change which brings us face to face withfair young maidens in their teens to the exclusion of the matrons andspinsters aforesaid, or the male medium who was once irreverentlytermed by a narrator a 'bull-necked young man. '

"The names of these interesting young denizens of two worlds are so wellknown that it is perhaps unnecessary caution or superfluous gallantry toconceal them; but I will err, if error it be, on the safe side, and callNo. 1 Miss C. And No. 2 Miss S. , premising only that each is decidedlyattractive, with the unquestioned advantage of having seen only somesixteen or seventeen summers apiece. Miss C. Has been 'out' some time;her familiar being 'Katie King;' while Miss S. Has made her debut morerecently, having for her attendant sprites one 'Florence Maple, ' a younglady spirit who has given a wrong terrestrial address in Aberdeen, andPeter, a defunct market gardener, who sings through the young lady'sorganism in a clear baritone voice. It was to me personally a source ofgreat satisfaction when I learnt that Miss C. Had been taken in hand bya F. R. S. --whom I will call henceforth the Professor--and Miss S. By aSerjeant learned in the law. Now, if ever, I thought, we have a chanceof hearing what science and evidential acumen have to say on the subjectof 'Face Manifestations. ' Each of these gentlemen, I ought to mention, had written voluminously on the subject of Spiritualism, and both seemedinclined to contest its claims in favour of some occult physical--or, asthey named it, psychic--force. This would make their verdict the morevaluable to outsiders, as it was clear they had not approached thesubject with a foregone conclusion in its favour. True, theSpiritualists claimed both the Professor and the Serjeant persistentlyas their own; but Spiritualists have a way of thinking everybody'converted' who simply sits still in a decorous manner, and keeps hiseyes open without loudly proclaiming scepticism. 

"Personally I had been, up to the date of present occurrences, accustomed to summarize my convictions on the subject by theconveniently elastic formula that there might be 'something in it. ' Istill think so; but perhaps with a difference. 

"For the former of the two exposés--if such they shall be deemed--I amcompelled to rely on documentary evidence; but I have 'sat' so manytimes with Miss S. , have been requested so often by the inspirationalPeter to 'listen to the whip-poor-will, a-singin' on the tree, ' haveshaken the spirit hand, gazed on the spirit face, and even cut offportions of the spirit veil of the fair Florence, that I can follow theorder of events just as though I had been present. I must confess thewonderful similarity existing between Miss S. And Florence had exercisedme considerably, and perhaps prepared me to accept with calmness whatfollowed. Why delay the result? Miss S. And her mamma were invited tothe country house of the learned Serjeant. A 'cabinet' was extemporizedin the bay of the window, over which the curtains were drawn and a shawlpinned. With a confidence which is really charming to contemplate, no'tests' were asked of the medium, no 'conditions' imposed on the sitter. Miss S. Was put in the cabinet with only a chair, and the expectantcircle waited with patience. In due time the curtains were drawn aside, and the spirit-face appeared at the opening. It was still the facsimileof Miss S. , with the eyes piously turned up and a ghostly head-dresscovering the hair. One by one the assembled were summoned to look moreclosely. The initiated gazed and passed on, knowing they must not peep;but, alas, one lady who was _not_ initiated, and therefore unaware ofthe tacitly imposed conditions, imitated the example of Mother Eve, drewaside the curtains and exposed the unspiritual form of Miss S. Standingon the chair; the 'spirit-hands' at the same time struggling soconvulsively to close the aperture that the head-gear fell off, andbetrayed the somewhat voluminous chignon of Miss S. Herself. Hereuponensued a row, it being declared that the medium was killed, thougheventually order was restored by the rather incongruous process of agentleman present singing a comic song. The learned Serjeant stillclings to the belief that Miss S. Was in a condition of 'unconscioussomnambulism. ' I only hope, if ever I am arraigned before him in hisjudicial capacity, he will extend his benevolent credulity to me in anequal degree, and give me the benefit of the doubt. 

"It may be in the recollection of those who follow the fluctuations ofthe Spiritual 'wave' that some months ago a Dialectical gentleman seizedrudely on the spirit form of Katie, which struggled violently with him, scratching his face and pulling out his whiskers, eventually making goodits retreat into the cupboard, where Miss C. Was presumably bound handand foot. I must confess the fact of that escape rather prejudiced me infavour of Katie, though I would rather she had evaporated into thin air, and left the dialectical whiskers intact. Still it scored a point onKatie's side, and I eagerly availed myself of the opportunity to pay mydevoirs at the shrine of Miss C. ; the more so as the Professor hadasserted twice that he had seen and handled the form of the medium whilelooking on and conversing with that of the spirit at the same time. If Icould retain my former faith in the Professor, of course this would befinal and my conversion an accomplished fact. 

"We sat no longer in the subterranean breakfast room of Miss C. 'sparental abode; but moved up to the parlour floor, where two roomscommunicated through folding doors, the front apartment being that inwhich we assembled, and the back used as a bedroom, where the ladiestook off their 'things. ' This latter room, be it remembered, had asecond room communicating with the passage, and so with the universe ofspace in general. One leaf of the folding doors was closed, and acurtain hung over the other. Pillows were placed on the floor, justinside the curtain, and the little medium, who was nattily arrayed in ablue dress, was laid upon them. We were requested to sing and talkduring 'materialization, ' and there was as much putting up and loweringof the light as in a modern sensation drama. The Professor acted all thetime as Master of the Ceremonies, retaining his place at the aperture;and I fear, from the very first, exciting suspicion by his markedattentions, not to the medium, but to the ghost. When it did come it wasarrayed according to orthodox ghost fashion, in loose white garments, and I must confess with no resemblance to Miss C. We were at the sametime shown the recumbent form of the pillowed medium, and therecertainly was something blue, which might have been Miss C. , or only hergown going to the wash. By-and-by, however, with 'lights down, ' a bottleof phosphorized oil was produced, and by this weird and uncanny radianceone or two privileged individuals were led by the 'ghost' into the backbedroom, and allowed to put their hands on the entranced form of themedium. I was not of the 'elect, ' but I talked to those who were, andtheir opinion was that the 'ghost' was a much stouter, bigger woman thanthe medium; and I must confess that certain unhallowed ideas of thebedroom door and the adjacent kitchen stairs connected themselves in mymind with recollections of a brawny servant girl who used to sit sentryover the cupboard in the breakfast room. Where was she?

"As a final bonne bouche the spirit made its exit from the side of thefolding door covered by the curtain, and immediately Miss C. Rose upwith dishevelled locks in a way that must have been satisfactory toanybody who knew nothing of the back door and the brawny servant, or whohad never seen the late Mr. Charles Kean act in the 'Corsican Brothers'or the 'Courier of Lyons. '

"I am free to confess the final death-blow to my belief that there mightbe 'something in' the Face Manifestations was given by the effusiveProfessor who has 'gone in' for the Double with a pertinacity altogetheropposed to the calm judicial examination of his brother learned in thelaw, and with prejudice scarcely becoming a F. R. S. 

"I am quite aware that all this proves nothing. Miss S. And Miss C. Mayeach justify Longfellow's adjuration--

 'Trust her not, she is fooling thee;'

and yet ghosts be as genuine as guano. Only I fancy the 'wave' of youngladies will have to ebb for a little while; and I am exceedinglyinterested in speculating as to what will be the next 'cycle. ' From'information I have received, ' emanating from Brighton, I am strongly ofopinion that babies are looking up in the ghost market, and that ournext manifestations may come through an infant phenomenon. "

CHAPTER XLI. 

A SÉANCE FOR SCEPTICS. 

"Attracted by the prominence recently given to the subject ofSpiritualism in the _Times_, and undeterred by that journal's subsequentrecantation, or the inevitable scorn of the _Saturday Review_, Idetermined to test for myself the value of the testimony so copiouslyquoted by believers in the modern marvel. Clearly if certain publishedletters of the period were to be put in evidence, Spiritualism had verymuch the better, and Science exceedingly little to say for itself. Butwe all know that this is a subject on which scientific men are apt to bereticent. 'Tacere tutum est' seems the Fabian policy adopted by thosewho find this new Hannibal suddenly come from across sea into theirmidst. It is moreover a subject about which the public will not beconvinced by any amount of writing or talking, but simply by what it cansee and handle for itself. It may be of service, then, if I put onrecord the result of an examination made below the surface of thismatter. 

"Like most other miracles this particular one evidently has its phasesand comes about in cycles. For a generation past, or nearly so, ModernSpiritualism has been so far allied with Table-turning and mysteriousrappings as to have appropriated to itself in consequence certainludicrous titles, against which it vainly protests. Then cropped up'levitations' and 'elongations' of the person, and Mr. Home delighted toput red-hot coals on the heads of his friends. None of thesemanifestations, however, were sufficient to make the spiritualistictheory any other than a huge petitio principii. The Davenports were thefirst to inaugurate on anything like an extended scale the allegedappearance of the human body, or rather of certain members of the humanbody, principally arms and hands, through the peep-hole of theircabinet. Then came 'spirit-voices' with Mrs. Marshall, and aërialtransits on the part of Mrs. Guppy; then the entire 'form of thedeparted' was said to be visible chez Messrs. Herne and Williams inLamb's Conduit Street, whose abode formed Mrs. Guppy's terminus on theoccasion of her nocturnal voyage. Then came Miss Florence Cook's spiritfaces at Hackney, which were produced under a strong light, whichsubmitted to be touched and tested in what seemed a very completemanner, and even held conversations with persons in the circle. Finally, I heard it whispered that these faces were being recognised on asomewhat extensive scale at the séances of Mrs. Holmes, in Old QuebecStreet, where certain other marvels were also to be witnessed, whichdecided me on paying that lady a visit. 

"Even these, however, were not the principal attractions which drew meto the tripod of the seeress in Quebec Street. It had been continuallyurged as an argument against the claims of Modern Spiritualism, first, that it shunned the light and clave to 'dark' circles; secondly, that itwas over-sensitive on the subject of 'sceptics. ' Surely, we are allsceptics in the sense of investigators. The most pretentious disciple ofSpiritualism does not claim to have exhausted the subject. On thecontrary, they all tell us we are now only learning the alphabet of thecraft. Perhaps the recognised Spirit-faces may have landed us in wordsof one syllable, but scarcely more. However, the great advantage whichMrs. Holmes possessed in my eyes over all professors of the new art wasthat she did not object to sceptics. Accordingly to Quebec Street Iwent, for the distinct purpose of testing the question of recognition. If I myself, or any person on whose testimony I could rely, establisheda single case of undoubted recognition, that, I felt, would go fartherthan anything else towards solving the spiritualistic problem. 

"I devoted two Monday evenings to this business; that being the day onwhich Mrs. Holmes, as she phrases it, 'sits for faces. ' On the former ofthe two occasions twenty-seven persons assembled, and the first portionof the evening was devoted to the Dark Séance, which presented somenovel features in itself, but was not the special object for which Iwas present. Mrs. Holmes, who is a self-possessed American lady, evidently equal to tackling any number of sceptics, was securely tied ina chair. All the circle joined hands; and certainly, as soon as thelight was out, fiddles, guitars, tambourines and bells did fly about theroom in a very unaccountable manner, and when the candle was lighted, Ifound a fiddle-bow down my back, a guitar on my lap, and a tambourinering round my neck. But there was nothing spiritual in this, and thevoice which addressed us familiarly during the operation may or may nothave been a spirit voice. 

"Mrs. Holmes having been released from some very perplexing knots, avowedly by Spirit power, proceeded to what is called the 'Ring Test, 'and I was honoured by being selected to make the experiment. I sat inthe centre of the room and held both her hands firmly in mine. I passedmy hands over her arms, without relaxing my grasp, so as to feel thatshe had nothing secreted there; when suddenly a tambourine ring, jinglers and all, was passed on to my arm. Very remarkable; but stillnot necessarily spiritual. Certain clairvoyants present said they couldwitness the 'disintegration' of the ring. I only felt it pass on to myarm. On the occasion of my second visit this same feat was performed onan elderly gentleman, a very confirmed sceptic indeed. This secondcircle consisted of twenty persons, many of them very pronounceddisbelievers, and not a little inclined to be 'chaffy. ' However allwent on swimmingly. 

"After about an hour of rather riotous dark séance, lights wererekindled and circles re-arranged for the Face Séance which takes placein subdued light. In the space occupied by the folding doors between thefront and back room a large black screen is placed, with an aperture, orpeep-hole, about eighteen inches square, cut in it. The most minuteexamination of this back room is allowed, and I took care to lock bothdoors, leaving the keys crosswise in the key-hole, so that they couldnot be opened from the outside. We then took our seats in the front roomin three or four lines. I myself occupied the centre of the first row, about four feet from the screen, Mr. And Mrs. Holmes sitting at a smalltable in front of the screen; the theory being that the spirits behindcollect from their 'emanations' material to form the faces. Soon afterwe were in position a most ghostly-looking child's face appeared at theaperture, but was not recognised. Several other corpse-like visagesfollowed with like absence of recognition. Then came a very old lady'sface, quite life-like, and Mrs. Holmes informed us that the cadaverouspeople were those only recently deceased. The old lady looked anxiouslyround as if expecting to be recognised, but nobody claimed acquaintance. In fact no face was recognised at my first visit. The next was a jovialJoe Bagstock kind of face which peered quite merrily round our circle, and lastly came a most life-like countenance of an elderly man. Thisface, which had a strange leaden look about the eyes, came so close tothe orifice that it actually _lifted_ its grey beard outside. On theoccasion of my second visit a lady present distinctly recognised this asthe face of her husband, and asked the form to show its hand as anadditional mark of identity. This request was complied with, the figurelifting a thin, white and--as the widow expressed it--'aristocratic'hand, and kissing it most politely. I am bound to say there was lessemotion manifested on the part of the lady than I should have expectedunder the circumstances; and a young man who accompanied her, and whofrom the likeness to her must have been her son, surveyed hisresuscitated papa calmly through a double-barrelled opera glass. I amnot sure that I am at liberty to give this lady's name; but, at thissecond visit, Mrs. Makdougall Gregory, of 21, Green Street, GrosvenorSquare, positively identified the old lady above-mentioned as a Scotchlady of title well known to her. 

"I myself was promised that a relation of my own would appear on afuture occasion; but on neither of those when I attended did I seeanything that would enable me to test the value of the identifications. The faces, however, were so perfectly life-like, with the solitaryexception of a dull leaden expression in the eye, that I cannot imaginethe possibility of a doubt existing as to whether they belonged topersons one knew or not. At all events here is the opportunity of makingthe test. No amount of scepticism is a bar to being present. Theappearances are not limited to a privileged few. All see alike: so thatthe matter is removed out of the sphere of 'hallucinations. ' Everythingis done in the light, too, as far as the faces are concerned. So thatseveral not unreasonable test-conditions are fulfilled in this case, andso far a step made in advance of previous manifestations. 

"We may well indeed pause--at least I know I did--to shake ourselves, and ask whereabouts we are. Is this a gigantic imposture? or are theWitch of Endor and the Cumæan Sibyl revived in the unromanticneighbourhood of the Marble Arch, and under circumstances thataltogether remove them from the category of the miraculous? England willtake a good deal of convincing on this subject, which is evidently onethat no amount of 'involuntary muscular action, ' or 'unconsciouscerebration, ' will cover. What if the good old-fashioned ghost be areality after all, and Cock Lane no region of the supernatural?

"What then? Why, one may expect to meet one's deceased ancestors at anyhour of the day or night, provided only there be a screen for them to'form' behind, and a light sufficiently subdued to preventdisintegration; with, of course, the necessary pigeon-hole for thedisplay of their venerable physiognomies. On their side of the question, it will be idle to say, 'No rest but the grave!' for there may not berest even there, if Delphic priestesses and Cumæan Sibyls come intovogue again; and we may as well omit the letters R. I. P. From ourobituary notices as a purely superfluous form of speech. "

 * * * * *

Speaking now in my own proper person as author, I may mention--as I havepurposely deferred doing up to this point--that a light was subsequentlystruck at one of Mrs. Holmes's Dark Séances, and that the discoveriesthus made rendered the séance a final one. Mr. And Mrs. Holmes retired, first to Brighton, and then to America. 

They were, at the time of my writing, holding successful séances in thelatter place; and public (Spiritualistic) opinion still clings to thebelief that Mrs. Holmes is a genuine medium. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

AN EVENING WITH THE HIGHER SPIRITS. 

At the head of social heresies, and rapidly beginning to take rank as areligious heresy as well, I have no hesitation in placing modernSpiritualism. Those who associate this latest mystery only with gyratingarticles of furniture, rapping tables, or simpering planchettes, aresimply in the abyss of ignorance, and dangerously underrate the gravityof the subject. The later development of Spirit Faces and Spirit Forms, each of which I have examined thoroughly, and made the results of myobservations public, fail to afford any adequate idea of the pitch towhich the mania--if mania it be--has attained. To many personsSpiritualism forms the ultimatum, not only in science, but also inreligion. Whatever the Spirits tell them they believe and do as devoutlyas the Protestant obeys his Bible, the Catholic his Church, or thescientific man follows up the results of his demonstrations. That is, infact, the position they assume. They claim to have attained in mattersof religion to demonstration as clear and infallible as the philosopherdoes in pure science. They say no longer "We believe, " but "We know. "These people care little for the vagaries of Dark Circles, or even thedoings of young ladies with "doubles. " The flight of Mrs. Guppy throughthe air, the elongation of Mr. Home's braces, the insertion of livecoals among the intricacies of Mr. S. C. Hall's exuberant locks, are butthe A B C which have led them to their present advanced position. Thesephysical "manifestations" may do for the neophytes. They are theinitiated. I am the initiated; or I ought to be, if patience andperseverance constitute serving an apprenticeship. I have devoted a goodportion of my late life to the study. I have given up valuable eveningsthrough several consecutive winters to dark séances; have had my hairpulled, my head thumped with paper tubes, and suffered other indignitiesat the hands of the "Invisibles;" and, worse than all, my friends havelooked upon me as a lunatic for my pains, and if my enemies could havewrought their will they would have incarcerated me as non compos, ormade an auto-da-fe of me as a heretic years ago. 

Through sheer length of service, then, if on no other account, I hadgrown somewhat blasé with the ordinary run of manifestations. SpiritFaces no longer interest me; for I seek among them in vain thelineaments of my departed friends. Spirit Hands I shake as unconcernedlyas I do those of my familiar acquaintances at the club or in the street. I have even cut off a portion of the veil of Miss Florence Maple, theAberdeen Spirit, and gone away with it in my pocket: so that it was, atall events, a new sensation when I received an invitation to be presentat a trance séance, where one of the Higher Spirits communicated to theassembled things undreamed of in mundane philosophy. The sitting was astrictly private one; so I must not mention names or localities; butthis does not matter, as I have no marvels in the vulgar sense of theword to relate: only Higher Teachings, which will do just as well withasterisks or initials as with the names in full. 

The scene, then, was an artist's studio at the West End of London, andthe medium a magnetic lady with whom I had frequently sat before, thoughnot for the "Higher" teachings. Her instruction had so far come in theshape of very vigorous raps, which ruined my knuckles to imitate them, and in levitation of a small and volatile chess table, which resistedall my efforts to keep it to the paths of propriety. This lady was notyoung; and I confess frankly this was, to my thinking, an advantage. When I once told a sceptical friend about Miss Florence Cook's séance, and added, triumphantly, "Why, she's a pretty little simple girl ofsixteen, " that clenched the doubts of this Thomas at once, for herejoined, "What is there that a pretty little _simple_ girl of sixteenwon't do?" Miss Showers is sweet sixteen, too; and when "Peter" singsthrough her in a clear baritone voice, I cannot, despite myself, helpthe thought occasionally flitting across my mind, "Would that you weresix-and-twenty, or, better still, six-and-thirty, instead of sixteen!"Without specifying to which of the two latter classes our present mediumbelonged, one might venture to say she had safely passed the former. Shewas of that ripe and Rubens-like beauty to which we could well imaginesome "Higher" spirit offering the golden apple of its approval, howeverthe skittish Paris of the spheres might incline to sweet sixteen. I hada short time before sat infructuously with this lady, when a distressingcontretemps occurred. We were going in for a dark séance then, and justas we fancied the revenants were about to justify the title, we werestartled by a crash, and on my lighting up, all of the medium I couldsee were two ankles protruding from beneath the table. She had fainted"right off, " as the ladies say, and it required something strong tobring her to. In fact, we all had a "refresher, " I recollect, forsitting is generally found to be exhausting to the circle as well as tothe medium. On the present occasion, however, everything was, if not enplein jour, en plein gaz. There was a good deal of preliminarydifficulty as to the choice of a chair for the medium. Our artist-friendhad a lot of antique affairs in his studio, no two being alike, and Iwas glad to see the lady select a capacious one with arms to it, fromwhich she would not be likely to topple off when the spirits tookpossession. The rest of us sat in a sort of irregular circle round theroom, myself alone being accommodated with a small table, not for thepurposes of turning (I am set down as "too physical") but in order toreport the utterances of the Higher Spirits. We were five "assistants"in all--our host, a young lady residing with him, another lady wellknown as a musical artiste, with her mamma and my unworthy self. Installed in her comfortable chair, the medium went through a series offacial contortions, most of which looked the reverse of pleasing, thoughoccasionally she smiled benignantly par parenthèse. I was told--or Iunderstood it so--that this represented her upward passage throughdifferent spheres. She was performing, in fact, a sort of spiritualistic"Excelsior. " By way of assimilating our minds to the matter in hand, wediscussed the Apocryphal Gospels, which happened to be lying on thetable; and very soon, without any other process than the facialcontortions having been gone through, the medium broke silence, and, inmeasured tones of considerable benignity, said:--"Friends, we greet youin the name of our Lord and Master. Let us say the Lord's Prayer. "

She then repeated the Lord's Prayer, with considerable alterations fromthe Authorized Version, especially, I noticed, inserting theSwedenborgian expressions, "the Heavens, " "on earth;" but also alteringthe order of the clauses, and omitting one altogether. She then informedus that she was ready to answer questions on any subject, but that wewere not bound to accept any teaching which she--or let us say they, for it was the spirits now speaking--might give us. "What did we wish toknow?" I always notice that when this question is asked at a spiritcircle everybody simultaneously shuts up, as though the desire forknowledge were dried at its source. Nobody spoke, and I myself was notprepared with a subject, but I had just been reviewing a Swedenborgianbook, and I softly insinuated "Spiritual Marriage. " It was graciouslyaccepted; and our Sibyl thus delivered herself:--Mankind, the higherSpirit or Spirits, said was originally created in pairs, and the soulwas still dual. Somehow or other--my notes are not quite clear how--theparts had got mixed up, separated, or wrongly sorted. There were, however, some advantages in this wrong sorting, which was so frequent anaccident of terrestrial marriage, since it was possible for people to betoo much alike--an observation I fancied I had heard before, or at leastnot so profound a one as to need a ghost "Come from the dead to tell usthat, Horatio!" When the right halves did get together on earth the gooddeveloped for good, the evil for evil, until they got to the heavens orthe other places--they were all plurals. Swedenborgianism has anobjection to the singular number; and I could not fail to identify theteaching of the Higher Spirit at once with that of the New JerusalemChurch. Two preliminary facts were brought before us; the Higher Spiritswere in theology Swedenborgian, and in medical practice homoeopaths. Sowas the Medium. Although there was no marriage in the spiritual world, in our sense of the term, there was not only this re-sorting andjunction of the disunited bivalves, but there were actual "nuptials"celebrated. We were to be careful and understand that what terrestrialscalled marriage celestials named nuptials--it seemed to me rather adistinction without a difference. There was no need of any ceremony, butstill a ceremony was pleasing and also significant. I asked if it wastrue, as I had read in the Swedenborgian book, that all adult angelswere married. She replied, "Yes; they married from the age of 18 to 24, and the male was always a few years older than the female. "

There was a tendency, which I continually had to check, on the part ofthe Medium to wander off from matrimonial to theological subjects; andthe latter, though trite, were scarcely so heterodox as I expected. Ihad found most "spiritualistic" teaching to be purely Theistic. Love toGod and man were declared to be the great essentials, and creeds tomatter little. If a man loved truth, it was no matter how wild or absurdhis ideas might be. The love of God might seem a merely abstract idea, but it was not so. To love goodness was to love God. The love of theneighbour, in the sense of loving all one's kind, might seem hard, too;but it was not really so. There were in the sphere where thisIntelligence dwelt millions of angels, or good spirits, working for thesalvation of men. 

I ought to mention that this lady, in her normal condition, issingularly reticent, and that the "communications" I chronicle weredelivered fluently in one unbroken chain of what often rose into realeloquence. 

So Christ came for the good of man, and Christ was not the only Messiahwho had appeared on earth. In the millions of ages that had passed overour globe, and in the other planets of our solar system, there had risenup "other men filled with the spirit of good, and so Sons of God. " Ihere tried to get at the views of the Higher Spirits on the Divinity ofChrist, but found considerable haziness; at one time it was roundlyasserted, at another it seemed to me explained away by such expressionsas I have quoted above. 

Our planet, I was informed, had been made the subject of special carebecause we were more material, more "solid" than the inhabitants of anyother orb. There was an essential difference between Christ and allother great teachers, such as Buddha; and there were no historicalrecords of any other manifestation of the Messiah than that wepossessed; but such manifestations had taken place. 

The Spirit then gave us an account of its surroundings, which is, Ibelieve, purely Swedenborgian. The "celestial" angels were devoted totruth, the "spiritual" angels to goodness; and so, too, there were theHomes of the Satans, where falsehoods prevailed, and of the Devils, where evils predominated. Spirits from each of these came to man andheld him in equilibrio; but gained power as his will inclined towardsthem. The will was not altogether free, because affected by inheritedtendencies; but the "determination" was. I have no idea what the HigherSpirit meant by this; and I rather fancy the Higher Spirit was in somedoubt itself. It rather put me in mind of the definition of metaphysics:"If you are talking to me of what you know nothing about, and I don'tunderstand a word of what you are saying--that's metaphysics. "

All can do good, continued the Sibyl. Evil cannot compel you. Utter onlysuch an aspiration as, "God help me, " and it brings a crowd of angelsround you. From those who came to them from this world, however, they(the Higher Spirits) found that teachers taught more about what we wereto think than what we were to do. Goodness was so easy. A right beliefmade us happier; but right action was essential. 

Pushed by our host, who was rather inclined to "badger" the HigherSpirit, as to irresistible tendencies, the Intelligence said they were_not_ irresistible. When we arrived in the Spirit World we should findeverything that had occurred in our lives photographed. You will condemnyourselves, it was added. You will not be "had up" before an angry God. _You_ will decide, in reference to any wrong action, whether you couldhelp it. Even in the act of doing it a man condemns himself; much moreso there. The doctrine of the Atonement was summarily disposed of as a"damnable heresy. " "Does the Great Spirit want one man to die? It hurtsus even to think of it!"

I then questioned the Medium with regard to the resurrection of thebody; and was told that man, as originally created, was a spiritualbeing, but had "superinduced" his present body of flesh--how he managedit I did not quite gather. As to possible sublimation of corporealintegument, the case of ghosts was mentioned. It was to no purpose Igently insinuated I had never seen a ghost, or had the existence of oneproperly authenticated. I was told that if I fired a pistol through aghost only a small particle of dust would remain which could be sweptup. I was not aware that even so much would remain. Fancy "sweeping up"a Higher Spirit!

I could not help once or twice pausing to look round on this strangepreacher and congregation. The comfortable-looking lady propped in anarm-chair, and with an urbane smile discoursing on these tremendoustopics, our little congregation of five, myself writing away for dearlife, the young hostess nursing a weird-looking black cat; the otheryoung lady continually harking back to "conjugal" subjects, whichseemed to interest her; the mamma slightly flabbergastered at the ratherrevolutionary nature of the communications; and our host every now andthen throwing in a rude or caustic remark. I dreaded to think what mighthave been the result of a domiciliary visit paid by a Commissioner inLunacy to that particular studio!

Back, then, the musical young lady took us to conjugal pairs. It wasvery difficult to convey to us what this conjugal love was like. Was itElective Affinity? I asked. Yes; something like that, but still notthat. It was the spontaneous gravitation in the spheres, either toother, of the halves of the dual spirit dissociated on earth. Not atall--again in reply to me--like flirting in a corner. The two, whenwalking in the spheres, looked like one. This conjugal puzzle was toomuch for us. We "gave it up;" and with an eloquent peroration on theDynamics of Prayer, the séance concluded. 

The Lord's Prayer was again said, with even more varieties than before;a few extemporaneous supplications were added. The process of coming-toseemed even more disagreeable, if one may judge by facial expression, than going into the trance. Eventually, to get back quite to earth, ourSibyl had to be demesmerized by our host, and in a few minutes waspartaking of a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee as though she had neverbeen in nubibus at all. 

What the psychological condition had been I leave for those morelearned than myself to determine. That some exaltation of the facultiestook place was clear. That the resulting intelligence was of deeppractical import few, I fancy, would aver. Happily my mission is not todiscuss, but to describe; and so I simply set down my experience in thesame terms in which it was conveyed to me as "An Evening with the HigherSpirits. "

CHAPTER XLIII. 

SPIRIT FORMS. 

Some years ago I contributed to the columns of a daily paper an articleon Spirit Faces, which was to me the source of troubles manifold. In thefirst place, the inquirers into Spiritualism, whose name I found to belegion, inundated me with letters, asking me to take them to the houseof pretty Miss Blank, the medium. Miss Blank might have been going ontill now, holding nightly receptions, without having exhausted her listof self-invited guests; I had but one answer; the lady was a comparativestranger to me, and not a professional medium; ergo, the legion must asksome one to chaperone them elsewhere. Spirit Faces had got comparativelycommon and almost gone out since I wrote. We are a long way beyond facesnow. Then, again, my second source of trouble was that forthwith, fromthe date of my writing, the Spiritualists claimed me for their own, asMelancholy did the young gentleman in Gray's elegy. Though I fancied mypaper was only a calm judicial statement of things seen, and I carefullyavoided saying whether I was convinced or not, I found myself nolensvolens enrolled among the initiated, and expected to devote about fiveevenings out of the seven to séances. I did go, and do go still to agreat many; so that I feel pretty well posted up in the "LatestIntelligence" of the Spiritual world. But the worst of all is that myown familiar friends, in whom I trusted, have also lifted up their heelsagainst me--I mean metaphorically, of course. "What's the last new thingin spirits?" they ask me out loud in omnibuses or railway carriages, causing my fellow-travellers to look at me in doubt as to whether I am alicensed victualler or a necromancer. As "bigots feign belief till theybelieve, " I really begin to have some doubts myself as to the state ofmy convictions. 

But I wish to make this paper again a simple statement of things heardand seen--especially seen. I flatter myself the title is a nice, weird, ghostly one, calculated to make people feel uncomfortable about thesmall hours of the morning. Should such be the case--as they say inprefaces--the utmost hopes of the writer will be realized. When last Icommunicated my experiences, the ultimate end we had reached was theappearance of a white counterpart of pretty Miss Blank's face at thepeep-hole of a corner cupboard. There were a good many more orless--generally less--successful imitations of this performance invarious quarters, and the sensation subsided. Miss B. Was still facileprinceps from the fact that she stood full light--I mean her spirit-facedid--whilst all the others leaned to a more or less dim religious kindof gloom. In a short time, however, "Katie"--as the familiar of Miss B. Was termed--thought she would be able to "materialize" herself so far asto present the whole form, if we re-arranged the corner cupboard so asto admit of her doing so. Accordingly we opened the door, and from itsuspended a rug or two opening in the centre, after the fashion of aBedouin Arab's tent, formed a semicircle, sat and sang Longfellow's"Footsteps of Angels. " Therein occurs the passage: "Then the forms ofthe departed enter at the open door. " And, lo and behold, though we hadleft Miss B. Tied and sealed to her chair, and clad in an ordinary blackdress somewhat voluminous as to the skirts, a tall female figure drapedclassically in white, with bare arms and feet, did enter at the opendoor, or rather down the centre from between the two rugs, and stoodstatue-like before us, spoke a few words, and retired; after which weentered the Bedouin tent and found pretty Miss B. With her dress asbefore, knots and seals secure, and her boots on! This was Form No. 1, the first I had ever seen. It looked as material as myself; and on asubsequent occasion--for I have seen it several times--we took four verygood photographic portraits of it by magnesium light. The difficulty Istill felt, with the form as with the faces, was that it seemed sothoroughly material and flesh-and-blood like. Perhaps, I thought, theauthoress of "The Gates Ajar" is right, and the next condition of thingsmay be more material than we generally think, even to the extent ofadmitting, as she says, pianofortes among its adjuncts. But I was to seesomething much more ghostly than this. 

The great fact I notice about Spiritualism is, that it is obeying theoccult impetus of all great movements, and steadily going from east towest. From Hackney and Highbury it gravitates towards Belgravia andTyburnia. I left the wilds of Hackney behind, and neared Hyde Park formy next Form. I must again conceal names and localities; I have nodesire to advertise mediums, or right to betray persons who have shownme hospitality--and Spirit Forms. We arranged ourselves in a semicirclearound the curtains which separated the small back drawing-room from thelarge front one, joined hands, sang until we were hoarse as crows, andkept our eyes steadily fixed on an aperture left between the curtainsfor the faces to show themselves. The room was in blank darkness, and, feeling rather tired of the incantation, I looked over my shoulder intothe gloom, and lo! a shadowy form stood self-illuminated not far fromme. At last I had seen it--a good orthodox ghost in white, and visiblein the darkness. It was the form of the redoubtable John King himself, who was, I believe, a bold buccaneer in the flesh, but who looked morelike an Arab sheikh in the spirit. He sailed about the room, talked tous, and finally disappeared. Eventually he reappeared behind thecurtains, and for a brief space the portière was drawn aside, and thespirit form was seen lighting up the recumbent figure of the medium, who was stretched on a sofa, apparently in deep trance. It must be bornein mind that we were forming a cordon round the passage from one room tothe other during the whole of this time. A trio of "spirits" generallyputs in an appearance at these séances. In this case there were JohnKing, whom I had now seen, as well as heard; Katie, the familiar of MissB. ; and a peculiarly lugubrious gentleman named Peter, who, I fancy, hasnot been seen, but who has several times done me the favour of graspingmy hand and hoisting me towards the ceiling, as though he were going tocarry me off bodily to spirit-land. I stand some six feet in my boots, and have stepped upon my chair, and still felt the hand coming downwardsto me--where from I have no idea. 

But my later experiences have still to be told. I was invited a fewweeks ago to a very select séance indeed, where the same medium was toofficiate. This family, who spared no expense in their investigations, had actually got a large, handsome cabinet standing in their dining-roomas a recognised piece of furniture. It was only used, however, on thisoccasion for the imprisonment of the medium. The evolutions of JohnKing, who soon appeared, all took place outside the cabinet door. He wasonly "materialized" to the middle; and, to our utter amazement, came upto the table, and apparently _through_ the table, into the very middleof the circle, where he disported himself in various ways, keeping upan animated conversation the whole time, and frequently throwing himselfinto the attitude of a person swimming on his back. He also went upwardsas high as the gasalier, and altogether did a good many marvellousthings, considering that all this time he presented the appearance ofonly half a man illuminated by his own light. 

On one occasion only have I been seated next to the medium during themanifestation of any of these forms. At this séance I held him firmly byone hand, and a slightly sceptical lady had the other. We never let gofor a moment, but during the whole of the sitting, while John King, Katie, and Peter were talking, tiny children's hands were playing withmy arm, hands, and hair. There were, of course, no children in the room. Peter, the lugubrious, is great at light porterage. I have known himbring a large collection of valuable Sèvres china, and a timepiece withits glass case, from the chimney-piece to the table--no easy task in thelight, much less in blank darkness. He also frequently takes down thepictures from the wall and puts them on the table. Katie winds up alarge musical box, and wafts it, while playing, all over the room. Ofcourse we rub our eyes and ask what on earth, if it be on earth, doesthis mean? I have not--to keep up the diction of my subject--the _ghost_of an idea. If it's conjuring, why don't the mediums say so, and enterthe field openly against Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke and Dr. Lynn? Evenif I had a decided opinion about it I should refrain from propounding ithere, because, in the first place, it would be an impertinence, and, inthe second, no conclusion can be arrived at upon testimony alone. Peoplemust see for themselves and draw their own inferences. In the meantimethe thing, whatever it is, grows and grows upwards. A year ago I had tojourney down east to find it. Now I must array myself gorgeously like aStaffordshire miner, and seek the salons of the West. The greatdesideratum, it still appears to me, is that some man with a name inscience should examine the matter, honestly resolving to endorse thefacts if true, but to expose them mercilessly if there be a loophole forsuspicion. Omne ignotum pro magnifico habetur. I used to think ghostsbig things, but that was before I knew them. I should think no more ofmeeting a ghost now than a donkey on a dark night, and would infinitelysooner tackle a spirit than a burglar. People's curiosity is roused, andthe sooner somebody gets at the truth the better. It is a somewhatirksome task, it is true; but no general principle can be arrived atexcept by an induction of particulars. Let us be Baconian, even to ourghosts. If they _are_ ghosts, they are a good deal more substantial thanI had thought. If they are not, let somebody, in the name ofnineteenth-century science, send them off as with the crow ofchanticleer, and let us hear no more of Spirit Faces or Spirit Forms. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

SITTING WITH A SIBYL. 

The connexion of modesty with merit is proverbial, though questioned bySydney Smith, who says their only point in common is the fact that eachbegins with an--m. Modesty, however--waiving the question ofaccompanying merit--is a trait which, in my mystic inquiries and deviouswanderings, I meet with far more frequently than might be expected. Ihave just met with two instances which I hasten to put on record, ifonly to confute those who say that the age in general, and spiritmediums in particular, are not prone to be modest and retiring. My firstmodest person was a Spirit Photographer; my second was a Sibyl. I mighthave looked for bashfulness in the latter, but was certainly surprisedto meet with it in the former. I suddenly learnt from the Medium thefact that a Spirit Photographer had settled down in my immediateneighbourhood, and the appearance of his ghostly advertisement brings tomy recollection some previous mystic experiences I myself had in thisway. 

A now celebrated medium, Mrs. Guppy, née Miss Nicholl, was, in the daysof her maidenhood, a practitioner of photography in Westbourne Grove;and, as far as I know, she might have been the means of opening up tothe denizens of the Summer Land this new method of terrestrialoperations. Ever on the qui vive for anything new in the occult line, Iat once interviewed Miss Nicholl and sat for my portrait, expecting atthe least to find the attendant spirit of my departed grandmamma ordefunct maiden aunt standing sentinel over me, as I saw departedrelations doing in many cartes de visite in the room. I confess therewas a kind of made-up theatrical-property look about the attendantspirits which gave one the idea that the superior intelligences musthave dressed in a hurry when they sat or stood for their portraits. Theylooked, in fact, if it be not irreverent to say it, rather like so manybundles of pneumatical rags than respectable domestic ghosts. However, as long as I got the ghosts I did not care about the dress. Tenue desoir point de rigueur, I would have said, as they do outside the cheapcasinos in Paris, or "Evening dress not required, " if one must descendto the vernacular. Well, I sat persistently and patiently through I amafraid to say how many operations, and the operator described me asbeing surrounded by spirits--I always am according to Mediums, but myspirits must be eminently unsociable ones, for they seldom give me aword, and on this occasion refused to be "taken" as resolutely as thebashful gentleman in the _Graphic_ who resisted the operations of theprison officials to obtain a sun-picture of his interestingphysiognomy. There was indeed a blotch on one of the negatives, which Iwas assured was a spirit. I could not see things in that light. 

Foiled on this particular occasion my anxiety was dormant, but neverdied out. I still longed for a denizen of the other world to put in anappearance, and kept on being photographed over and over again until Imight have been the vainest man alive, on the bare hope that the artistmight be a Medium malgré lui or undeveloped. I had heard there were suchbeings, but they never came in my way. I was really serious in thiswish, because I felt if it could be granted, the possibility ofdeception being prevented, the objectivity of the phenomena would beguaranteed. At this time I was heretical enough to believe that mostghosts were due to underdone pork or untimely Welsh rare-bits, and thatthe raps assigned to their agency were assignable to the active toes ofthe Medium which might be anywhere and up to anything with theopportunities of a dark séance. 

A short time since, however, M. Buguet, a celebrated French SpiritPhotographer came from Paris to London, and received sitters for themodest sum of _30s. _ each. This would have been much beyond my means;but I suppose my wish had transpired, and that gentleman sent me aninvitation to sit gratis, which, I need not say, I thankfully accepted. I felt sure that M. Buguet did not know either my long-lost grandmotheror lamented maiden aunt, so that any portraits I might get from himwould be presumably genuine. I sat; and over my manly form, when thenegative came to be cleaned, was a female figure in the act ofbenediction. I have no notion how she got there--for I watched everystage in the operation, and selected my plate myself; but neither, onthe other hand, does she bear the faintest resemblance to anybody I everknew. 

Still M. Buguet is not my modest photographer. Elated by success so far, I called on the local gentleman who advertised in the _Medium_; but thelocal gentleman was "engaged. " I wrote to the local gentleman appointingan interview; but the local gentleman replied not. Yet still hisadvertisement remains; and I see in every spiritualistic album dozens of"property" relations in the shape of quasi-spirits, and wonder why thelocal gentleman would not take me, so as to be immortalized in thesepages. 

Equally modest was the advertising Sibyl. I wrote to the Sibyl, andsomebody replied, and "respectfully declined. " But I was not to be done. There is more than one Sibyl in the world. I called on No. 2 withoutannouncing my intention or sending in my name. This Sibyl at onceadmitted me, and I mounted to the first floor front of a respectablesuburban lodging-house. 

I waited anxiously for a long time, wondering whether Sibyl waspartaking of the onions, whose presence in that modest domicile wasodoriferously evidenced to my nose, though it was then scarcelyhalf-past one o'clock. Presently a portly middle-aged man, who mighthave been Sibyl's youthful papa, or rather aged husband, entered, wipinghis mouth. He had clearly been partaking of the fragrant condiment. 

Where was Sibyl?

"She would be with us directly, " the gentleman said, varying theproceedings by picking his teeth in the interim. 

She _was_ with us in a minute, and never, I suppose, did picturesqueanticipations more suddenly collapse and come to grief than mine. I hadpictured Sibyl a bright ethereal being, and the realization of my idealweighed twelve stone, if an ounce. She was a big, fleshy, large-bonedwoman of an utterly uncertain age, not without considerable good-naturein her extensive features; but the pervading idea that you had when youlooked at Sibyl was that there was _too much of her_. I could not helpthinking of the husband who said he did not like a big wife: hepreferred two small ones; and then again I fell into wonderment as towhether the man who was still engaged with his dental apparatus wasSibyl's husband or papa. 

I told them I was anxious to test Sibyl's powers; and, with a few passesfrom his fat dumpy hands, the man soon put her to sleep. It looked to melike an after-dinner nap, but I was told it was magnetic. It might havebeen. By the way, I had unmistakable evidence from my olfactory organthat Sibyl _had_ been eating onions. 

I had provided myself with two locks of hair, as I had heard that"psychometry" was among Sibyl's qualifications. I handed her the first, and she immediately proceeded to describe a series of tableaux whichappeared to pass through her mind. She kept handling the lock of hair, and said, "The person to whom this belongs is ill--weak, " which was trueenough, but might, I thought, be a shot. I should mention, however, thatit was quite impossible Sibyl could know me. She had not even heard myname. She then described a bedroom, with some person--she could not seewhat person--lying in bed, and a lady in a blue dress bending over her. This, again, I thought might flow out as a deduction from her premisesof the hair belonging to an invalid. The blue dress was correct enough, but still so little special as to be a very possible coincidence. Shethen, however, startled me by saying, "I notice this, that on the tableby the bedside, where the bottles of medicine are standing, milk hasbeen spilt--a large quantity--and not wiped up. " This was a trivialdetail, not known to me at the time, but confirmed on subsequentinquiry. 

She then passed on to describe a second tableau, where the same personin the blue dress was in a room _all hung over with plates_, along witha gentleman whom she described very accurately. He was the occupant ofthe house where the patient lay, and, having a hobby for old china, hadturned his dining-room into a sort of crockery shop by hanging it allover with the delf. 

This was curious enough, though not very convincing. It seemed as thoughthe influence of this person who had given me the hair was stronger thanthat of the hair itself. With the second lock of hair we failed utterly. She said that also came from a sick person, but a person not sick withthe same disease as the other. She was quite positive they came fromdifferent people, and asked me to feel the difference of texture. I amsorry, for Sibyl's sake, to say they both came from the same person, andwere cut at the same time, though from different parts of the head, which made one look silkier than the other. 

As a test of Sibyl's clairvoyance, this was not very satisfactory. Sheread the inscription on a card when her eyes were bandaged, pressing itto her forehead; but then olden experiences in the way of blindman'sbuff convince me that it is very difficult to say when a person isproperly blinded. 

Altogether, then, I never quite got over my previous disappointment atSibyl's bulk. Had she been pretty and frizzle-headed like Miss Annie EvaFay, or like Miss Showers or Miss Florence Cook, I might have beendisposed to make more of her coincidences and to wink at her failures. We _are_ so liable to be led away by our feelings in these matters. Sibyl was large, had eaten onions, and would have been improved if shehad brushed her hair, and so I am afraid I rather grudged the somewhatexorbitant fee which the fat-handed man--not Sibyl--took and pocketed inan interval of his dental pursuit, and I passed out from that suburbanlodging, none of us, I fancy, very well satisfied with one another. Ihave an idea I unconsciously expressed my inner feelings ofdisappointment with Sibyl and something stronger in reference to hermale companion. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

SPIRITUALISTS AND CONJURERS. 

"How it's done" is the question which, in the words of Dr. Lynn, we wantto settle with reference to his own or kindred performances, and, stillmore, in the production of the phenomena known as spiritual. I havespent some years of my existence in a hitherto vain endeavour to solvethe latter problem; and the farther I go, the more the mystery seems todeepen. Of late, the two opposed parties, the Spiritualists and theConjurers, have definitely entered the arena, and declared war to theknife. Each claims to be Moses, and denounces the others as meremagicians. Mr. Maskelyne holds a dark séance, professing to expose thespiritualistic ones; Dr. Lynn brandishes against them his strong rightarm upon which is written in letters all of blood the name of one'sdeceased grandmother, while, in return, Dr. Sexton exposes theconjurers, and spoils one's enjoyment of a hitherto enjoyable evening, by showing "how it's done"--how the name of one's departed relative isforged and painted early in the afternoon, instead of "coming out" onthe spot--and in spots--like measles or nettle-rash (as we feel defunctrelations ought to come) or walking in and out of the corded box atpleasure, and even going so far as to give the address of the clevermechanist down a by-street near Notting-hill Gate, who will make themysterious packing case to order in return for a somewhat heavy"consideration. "

I accepted Dr. Lynn's invitation to be present on his "opening night;"and wondered, in passing, why everybody should not make their cards ofinvitation such thorough works of art as his. Now I am going to doeven-handed justice all the way round; and I must say that Dr. Lynn'sexperiment of fastening his attendant to a sort of penitential stoolwith copper wire, surrounded by scrutineers from the audience, and thenmaking the man's coat come off, and a ring pass over his arm, behind asimple rug held in front of him, is quite as wonderful as anything Ihave ever witnessed at a séance. It has the great advantage of beingdone in the light, instead of, as in Mr. Fay's case, in darkness, andwithout a cabinet. In fact, I have no idea how it's done; though I haveno doubt the first time I see Dr. Sexton he will point to somethingunsatisfactory in the bolts to which that doorkeeper is fastened, andgive me the addresses of the ironmonger who will sell me some like them, or the tailor who will manufacture me a swallow tail coat with animperceptible slit down the back. Then again, I have, as I said, seenyoung Mr. Sexton go in and out of the corded box, and I know how that'sdone; but Dr. Lynn's man goes into three, one inside the other. Well, Ican understand that if Dr. Sexton's theory be correct, it may perhaps beas easy to get into a "nest" of three as into one box; but how, in thename of nature--or art--does the nautical gentleman get out of thedouble sack in which he is tied? I cannot bring myself to print what Dr. Sexton's theory of the box is, because it appears to be such a wantoncruelty to "expose" things when people go to the Egyptian Hall onpurpose to be mystified. I remember how the fact of having seen Dr. Sexton do the trick of reading the names in the hat spoilt my enjoymentof Dr. Lynn's experiment. He really appeared quite bungling when I knewall he was about. He did not, on this occasion, produce the letters onhis arm; but I saw he could quite easily have done so, though the doingit would have been no sort of reproduction of Mr. Forster'smanifestation, who showed you the name of some relative when you hadlooked in on him quite unexpectedly. I can quite understand how it isthat the spiritualists, who hold these matters to be sacred asrevelation itself--in fact, to be revelation itself, are shocked atseeing their convictions denounced as trickery and "exposed" on a publicplatform; but I confess I do not quite see how they can adopt the tuquoque principle, and "expose" Dr. Lynn and Messrs. Maskelyne and Cookeas tricksters, because they do not pretend to be anything else. Itwould have been fatal if the magicians had "found out" Moses, and theywisely refrained from trying; but it would have served no purpose forMoses to "find out" the magicians: and it strikes me Moses would havedeemed it very infra dig. To make the attempt. The two things stand onquite different grounds; and I cannot help thinking that thespiritualists unwisely concede a point when they accept the challenge ofthe conjurers. I am quite aware that the theory of the spiritualistsmakes of many a conjurer a medium malgré lui, and says he ought to comeout in his true colours. It was so Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke wereoriginally introduced to a London public at the Crystal Palace under theauspices of an eminent spiritualist; but it really appears to me thatsuch an assertion amounts to begging the question; for I doubt whetherit would not "pay" quite as well to come out boldly in Mr. Williams's orMr. Morse's line as in that of Dr. Lynn or Mr. Maskelyne. 

In a lengthened confab which I once had with Mr. Maskelyne himself afterone of his performances, he told me that by constant attendance at theséances of the Davenports he found out how that was all done; and, beinga working watchmaker, was able soon to get the necessary apparatusconstructed. I must again be just, and state that while the cabinetséance of Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke seems to me the exact counterpartof the Davenports', their dark séance fails to reproduce that of thespiritualists as the performances of Professor Pepper himself. True, this latter gentleman does all his exposés on a platform which is sacredagainst all intrusion, and Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke assume to allowas much examination as the spiritualists. But I myself, who have seenMr. Home float around Mr. S. C. Hall's drawing-room, and handled himabove and below in transitu, quite fail to discern any reproduction ofthat phenomenon in the heavy, lumbering levitation of the lady by meansof the scissors-like apparatus behind her, which we are only privilegedto behold from the stalls. The dancing walking-stick is as palpably madeterpsichorean by a string as the chairs I have seen cross Mr. Hall'sdrawing-room in full light were not drawn by strings, for I was able tolook closely at them; and I do not know how that was done. 

Fresh from Dr. Lynn's really marvellous performances of recent times, and with Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke's equally clever tricks in mymind's eye, though not quite so recently, I still am bold to say Ibelieve there are still six of one to half-a-dozen of the other. If theconjurers reproduce the spiritual phenomena in some instances, thespiritualists distance the conjurers in others. I speak of phenomenaonly. The magicians produced many of the same phenomena as Moses; but, even so, if we are orthodox we must believe the source of suchmanifestations to have been utterly different. 

But I am, as I said, wise in my generation, and stick to phenomena. Iventure to think the conjurers unwise in irritating the spiritualists, who are a growing body, by placarding their entertainment as exposés, even though such announcements may "draw" the non-spiritual public. Isuppose, however, they understand the science of advertising better thanI do; but I feel sure the spiritualists are unwise to follow theirexample, because they have got nothing to expose. Dr. Lynn or Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke are as much pleased as conscientious mediums wouldbe shocked at being proved clever tricksters. The only folks who areinjured by being told "how it's done, " are the British Public, who paytheir five shillings to be mystified at the Egyptian Hall, just as thespiritualists do in Lamb's Conduit Street. 

If it is to come to a race for the championship--and seriously it wouldseem that, having begun, the two parties are bound to continue thestrife--one can scarcely imagine anything more attractive than such acombined display of talent. Dr. Lynn gets lots of people to come and see"How it's done"--the gentleman with the mandolin is well worth a visit, and I cannot guess how he does it--while Messrs. Maskelyne and Cookemust really be making a good thing of it. Mr. Williams's séances aredecidedly attractive (and how he does it has puzzled me for years, as Isaid), nor does the Progressive Institute seem to decrease in interest;but let us only picture the fascination of a long evening where Pepper'sGhost should be pitted against John King, Mrs. Guppy and Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke's lady float in competition round the room or evenin from the suburbs, while the Davenports and Dr. Lynn's man shouldwriggle out of or into iron rings and their own dress coats! Until somesuch contest takes place, the public mind will probably gravitatetowards the conjurers rather than the spiritualists, and that throughthe actually suicidal policy of the latter; because while thespiritualists of necessity can show no visible source of theirmanifestations, one of their own rank devotes himself to aiding theconjurers by showing in reference to their tricks, "How it's done. " Itwould have been wiser, surely, to stand upon dignity, and in a trulyconservative spirit (is it too late even now to reassume it?), say, "These men are mediums, but it does not suit their pockets to confessit. "

Well, they are signs of the times. London loves to be mystified, andwould only have one instead of manifold methods to be so if thespiritualists and conjurers were to strike hands, and reduce us all tothe dead level of pure faith or relentless reason and cold commonsense!

CHAPTER XLVI. 

PROS AND CONS OF SPIRITUALISM. 

It has been repeatedly urged upon me on previous occasions, and alsoduring the progress of these sheets through the press, that I shouldmake a clean breast of my own belief or disbelief in spiritualism; thatbesides being descriptive, I should go one step beyond a mere catalogueof phenomena, and, to some extent at least, theorize on this mysteriousand generally proscribed subject. 

Let me say at the outset that against the proscription of this, orindeed any topic which does not offend against morals, I would at thevery outset protest as the height of unwisdom. Thus to taboo a subjectis at once to lend it a factitious interest, and more than half toendorse its truth: and I believe modern spiritualism has been verygenerally treated in this way. Whether truth has gained by suchindiscriminate condemnation and prejudgment is, I think, greatly open toquestion. 

For myself, I have, from the first, steadily refused to look uponspiritualism in this bugbear fashion. The thing was either true orfalse--or, more probably still, partly true and partly false: and I mustbring to bear on the discovery of its truth or falsehood, just the samecritical faculties that I should employ on any other problem of commonlife. That, I fancy, is no transcendental view of the matter; but justthe plain common sense way of going to work. It was, at all events, right or wrong, the method I adopted to get at such results as I proceedto make public. I declined to be scared from the study either by Bogeyor my esteemed friend Mrs. Grundy, but went at it just in the calmBaconian inductive method in which I should have commenced any otherstudy or pursuit. 

What I want to do is to tabulate these results in the same order as thatin which they occurred to me; and here I am met by a preliminarydifficulty, not incidental to this subject only, but common to anynarrative where we have to take a retrospective glance over a number ofyears. We are apt to view the subject from our present standpoint; and Ishall try to avoid this by quoting, whenever I can, what I published, orcommitted to writing in the course of my investigations. I shall notcull from others, because I want to make this purely a personalnarrative. 

Let me add, too, I do not in the least expect persons to believe what Isay. Some, I think, will regard me as a harmless (_if_ a harmless)lunatic, on account of certain statements I may have to make. Otherswill consider the whole thing as decidedly unorthodox and "wrong. " Foreach of these issues I am prepared. I would not have believed any oneelse if they had, prior to my experience, told me what I am going totell them here; and therefore I do not expect them to believe me. All Ihope to do is to interest persons sufficiently in the subject to inducethem to look into the matter on their own account; for verily I believe, as a distinguished spiritualist once said to me, that this thing iseither an important truth or else one of the biggest swindles everpalmed off upon humanity. 

One word more, and I proceed to my narrative. Of the three aspects underwhich it is possible to view spiritualism, the scientific, thetheological, and the social, I shall not touch at all on the first sinceI am not a scientific man; shall only glance at the second, because thisis not the place for a theological discussion. I shall confine myself tothe third, therefore, which I call the social aspect; looking at thesubject as a question of the day, the truth about which we are as muchinterested in solving as any other political or social question, but theinvestigation of which need not make us get excited and angry and callone another bad names. I venture to hope that by these means I maymanage to compile a not unedifying or uninteresting narrative, thoughour subject be withal somewhat a ponderous one. 

In order then to cover the preliminary part of my narrative, and to letmy readers somewhat into the state of my own mind, when I had looked atthe subject for several years, I will quote some extracts from a paperI read before a society of spiritualists at the Beethoven Rooms a fewyears ago under the title "Am I a Spiritualist?" I may mention that theassembly was divided, and never decided whether I was or not, and whatis more, I do not think they are quite decided to the present day. I ama patient investigator still; but I really do not feel it necessary toissue perpetual bulletins as to the state of my convictions. 

Taking as my thesis, then, the question, Am I a Spiritualist? it willcertainly appear, at first sight, I said, that the person best qualifiedto answer this question is precisely the person who puts it; but alittle consideration will, I think, show that the term "Spiritualist" isone of such wide and somewhat elastic meaning--in fact, that the wordvaries so widely according to the persons who use it--that the questionmay really be asked of one's self without involving an inconsistency. 

When persons ask me, as they often do, with a look of unmitigatedhorror, "Is it possible that you, a clergyman, are a spiritualist?" I amoften inclined to answer, "Yes, madam, "--(for it is generally a lady whoputs the question in that particular shape)--"I _am_ a spiritualist, andprecisely because I am a clergyman. I have had to express more than oncemy unfeigned assent and consent to the Common Prayer Book, and theThirty Nine Articles; and that involves belief in the inspiration of allthe Bible (except the Apocrypha), and the whole of that (_not_ exceptingthe Apocrypha) is spiritual, or spiritualistic (if you prefer the term)from beginning to end; and therefore it is not _in spite of_ my being aclergyman, but _because_ I am a clergyman that I am such a confirmedspiritualist. "

I could answer thus, only I do not, simply because to do so would bedishonest. I know my questioner is using the word in an utterlydifferent sense from what I have thought proper to suppose. Besides suchan answer would only lead to argumentation, and the very form of thequestion shows me the person who puts it has made up her mind on this, as probably on most other subjects; and when a feminine mind is oncemade up (others than ladies have feminine minds on these subjects) it isvery little use trying to alter it. I never do. I administer someorthodox verbal sedative, and change the subject. But even accepting theterm in the way I know it is meant to be used--say, for instance, as itcomes from the mouth of some conservative old gentleman, or supposedscientific authority--one's medical man to wit--"Do you believe inspiritualism?" meaning "Are you such an ass as to believe intable-turning, and rapping, and all that kind of nonsense?"--even so, the question would admit of being answered by another question; though Irarely enter so far on the matter with those whose minds are evidentlyquite comfortably made up on the matter. It is such a pity to interferewith cherished opinions. I have found out that there are Athanasiancreeds in science as well as in theology; and really, whilst they formrecognised formulæ in the one or the other, it is positively lost labourto go running one's head against them. The question I want to ask--notthe gentle apothecaries, but my readers--is, What do you mean bybelieving in spiritualism? Many of the phenomena of spiritualism Icannot but believe, if I am to take my five senses as my guides in thisas in other matters, and quite setting aside any credence I may give torespectable testimony. When, however, I pass from facts to theories, andam asked to account for those facts, then I hesitate. There are somehere, I know, who will say that the spiritualist like the lady whohesitates is lost--who think me as heterodox for doing so, as theinflexible old ladies and the omniscient apothecaries did on account ofmy even deigning to look into the evidence of such phenomena. I feelreally that I have set myself up like an animated ninepin to be knockeddown by the first thorough-going spiritualist who cares to bowl at me. But whatever else they think of me--sceptical though they deem me onsubjects where perhaps you are, many of you, a little prone todogmatize--I claim the character at least of an honest sceptic. I do notaltogether disavow the title, but I understand it to mean "inquirer. " Iconfess myself, after long years of perfectly unbiassed inquiry, stillan investigator--a sceptic. It is the fashion to abuse St. Thomasbecause he sought sensible proofs on a subject which it was certainlymost important to have satisfactorily cleared up. I never could read thewords addressed to him at all in the light of a rebuke--"Because thouhast seen thou hast believed. " The Church of England treats the doubt ofSt. Thomas as permitted by God "for the more confirmation of the faith;"and I feel sure that professed spiritualists will not be so inconsistentas to censure any man for examining long and carefully matters whichthey believe to admit of demonstration. I heard the most eloquent oftheir advocates say, when comparing spiritual with credal conviction, "Our motto no longer is 'I believe, ' but 'I know. '" Belief may beinstantaneous, but knowledge will be gradual; and so it is that, standing at a certain fixed point in very many years' study ofspiritualism, I pause, and--so to say, empanelling a jury--ask thequestion it seems I ought to answer at others' asking--Am I aSpiritualist?

One word of apology further before entering on the details of thematter. It will be inevitable that the first personal pronoun shallrecur frequently in the course of this paper, and that so the papershall seem egotistical. The very question itself sounds so. I am notvain enough to suppose that it matters much to anybody here whether I ama spiritualist or not, except in so far as I may be in any sense arepresentative man. I believe I am. That is, I believe, nay, am sure, that a great many persons go as far as I do, and stop where I stop. There is a largish body of investigators, I believe, dangling there, like Mahomet's coffin, between heaven and earth, and it would be acharity to land them somewhere. Of the clerical mind, I do _not_ claimto be a representative, because the clerical mind, quâ clerical, hasmade up itself that the phenomena in question are diabolical. Of courseif I accepted this theory my question would be utterly irrelevant, and Ishould claim a place among the spiritualists at once. The diabolicalpeople not only accept the phenomena, but admit their spiritual origin, and, more than this, identify the spirits. They are in point of fact themost thorough-going spiritualists of all. 

In sketching their creed, I have mentioned the three stages throughwhich most minds must go in this matter. Some few, indeed, take them byintuition, but most minds have to plod patiently along the path ofinquiry, as I have done. The first stage is acceptance of the phenomena, the second the assignment of those phenomena to spirits as their source, the third is identification of these spirits. 

1. On the first part of my subject I shall venture to speak with someboldness. I am not a philosopher, therefore I can afford to do so. Ishall suppose my five senses to serve my purposes of observation, asthey would be supposed to serve me if I were giving evidence in a courtof justice. If I saw a table move, I shall say _it did_ move, not "itappeared to move. " I do this in my capacity of a commonplace instead ofa philosophical investigator; and I must say, if I were, as I supposedmyself just now, in the witness-box, with a good browbeating counselcross-examining me on this point, I would rather have to defend theposition of the commonplace inquirer than the philosopher, pledged todefend the philosophy of the last fifty years, and bound hand and footby his philosophic Athanasian Creed, and I don't know how many articles, more than thirty-nine, I fancy. 

In the latter part of the year 1856, or beginning of 1857, then, I wasresiding in Paris, that lively capital being full of Mr. Home's doingsat the Tuileries. At that time I knew nothing, even of table-turning. Ilistened to the stories of Mr. Home and the Emperor as mere canards. Inever stopped to question whether the matter were true, because I in myomniscience knew it to be impossible. It is this phase of my experiencethat makes me so unwilling to argue with the omniscient people now; itis such a waste of time. At this period my brother came to visit me, andhe had either been present himself or knew persons who had been presentat certain séances at Mr. Rymer's. He seemed staggered, if notconvinced, by what he had heard or seen, and this staggered me too, forhe was not exactly a gullible person and certainly by no means"spiritual. " I was staggered, I own, but then I was omniscient, and so Idid what is always safest, laughed at the matter. He suggested that weshould try experiments instead of laughing, and, not being aphilosopher, I consented. We sat at the little round table in our tinysalon, which soon began to turn, then answered questions, and finallytold us that one of the three, viz. , my wife, was a medium, andconsequently we could receive communications. I went to a side table andwrote a question as to the source of the manifestations, keeping itconcealed from those at the table, and not rejoining them myself. Theanswer spelt out by them was--"We, the spirits of the departed, arepermitted thus to appear to men. " Again I wrote--"What object is servedby your doing so?" The answer was--"It may make men believe in God. " Ihave said I am not a philosopher, therefore I do not mind confessingthat I collapsed. I struck my flag at once as to the _impossibility_ ofthe matter. At the same time I did not--as I know many ardentspiritualists will think I ought--at once swallow the whole thing, theory and all. I should not have believed if a man had told me this;was it to be expected that I should believe a table? Honesty is my bestpolicy; and I had better, therefore, say I was never so utterly knockedover by anything that occurred to me in my life before or since. Myvisage of utter, blank astonishment is a joke against me to this hour. We pursued the inquiry almost nightly during the remainder of my stay inParis--up to late in the summer of 1857 that is--and also on our returnto England; but, strangely as it seems to me now, considering how webegan, we did it more as a pastime than anything else. The only time wewere serious was when my wife and I sat alone, as we often did. Ofcourse when I came to inquire at all into the matter I was met byFaraday's theory of involuntary muscular action, and also with thedoctrine of unconscious cerebration--I was quite ready to accept either. My own position, as far as I can recall it, then was that the spiritualagency was "not proven. " My wife had great reluctance against admittingthe spiritual theory. I was simply passive; but two circumstances seemedto me to militate against the theories I have mentioned: (1. ) The tablewe used for communicating was a little gimcrack French affair, the topof which spun round on the slightest provocation, and no force whatever, not even a philosopher's, applied to the surface would do more than spinthe top round; but when the table turned, _it turned bodily, legs andall_. (2. ) As to that ponderously difficult theory of unconsciouscerebration communicated by involuntary muscular action, whenever weasked any questions as to the future, we were instantly checked, andtold it was better that the future should not be revealed to us. I wasanxious about a matter in connexion with an election to an appointmentin England, and we asked some questions as to what form the proceedingswould take. The reply was that certain candidates would be selected fromthe main body, and the election made from these. I thought I had caughtthe table in an inconsistency, and said--"There now you _have_ told ussomething about the future. " It immediately replied--"No, I have not;the matter is already settled in the minds of the examiners. " Whencecame that answer? Certainly not from our minds, for it took us both bysurprise. I could multiply a hundredfold instances of this kind, but, ofcourse, to educated spiritualists these are mere A B C matters; whilstnon-spiritualists would only accept them on the evidence of their ownsenses. I do not mean to say they actually question the facts to theextent of doubting one's veracity, or else nearly all testimony must gofor nothing; but there is in these matters always room for doubtingwhether the narrator has not been deceived; and, moreover, even ifaccepted at secondhand, I doubt whether facts so accepted ever become, as it were, assimilated, so as to have any practical effect. 

My facts at all events came at first-hand. I suppose a man need not beconsidered credulous for believing in his own wife, and nearly all thesephenomena were produced by my wife's mediumship. It was not until latein the year 1865 or early in 1866, that I ever sat with a professionalmedium. My wife, moreover, from first to last, has steadily disbelievedthe spirit theory, so that she has not laid herself open to suspicion ofbeing prejudiced in favour of the subject. She has been emphatically aninvoluntary, nay, even unwilling agent in these matters. 

During these eight or nine years the communications were generally givenby automatic writing, though sometimes still by tilting of the table. Iam very much tempted to quote two, which linger in my recollection, principally, I believe, because they were so destructive of thecerebration theory, besides being curious in themselves. I kept norecords until a later date. At present all rests on tradition. Each ofthese cases occurred in presence of myself, my wife, and a pupil. In theformer, he was a young Englishman, who had lived a great deal abroad, whose mother was a Catholic and father a Protestant. He had been broughtup in the latter faith; and when I desired him to ask a mental question, he asked, in French--that being the language most familiar to him--"Isthe Catholic or the Protestant religion the true one?" Mark you, henever articulated this, or gave the least hint that he was asking inFrench. He did it in fact, spontaneously. My wife immediately wrote "Tamère est Catholique"--so far, in French, with difficulty, and thenbreaking off into English, "Respect her faith. "

In the second instance, my pupil was a French youth, a Catholic, who wasliving in my house, but used to go to his priest frequently to beprepared for his first communion. One day when we were writing, thisyouth asked who the communicating spirit was, and received in reply thename of Louis D----. The name was totally unknown to us; but to oursurprise when the youth came back from his visit to the priest that dayhe informed us that his reverend instructor had dwelt strongly on thevirtues of Louis D----. Seeing the boy look amazed as the name which hadjust been given at our séance was pronounced, the priest inquired thereason; and, on being informed, of course directed his catechumen neverto join in such diablerie again. 

The impression, then, left on my mind by these years of desultorydabbling with--rather than study of--the subject, was decidedly that thephenomena of spiritualism were genuine. Looking at the matter from mypresent standpoint and frame of mind, it seems to me incredible that Ishould have thought so little of the source of the phenomena. It was, asI said, that I was then dabbling with, not studying, the subject. 

But even without advancing beyond this rudimentary stage, I saw a veryserious result produced. I saw men who literally believed in nothing, and who entered on this pursuit in a spirit of levity, suddenlystaggered with what appeared to afford even possibility of demonstrationof another world, and the continued existence of the spirit after bodilydeath. I believe a great many persons who have never felt doubtthemselves are unaware of the extent to which doubt prevails amongstyoung men especially; and I have seen many instances of this doubtbeing--if not removed--shaken to its very foundation by their witnessingthe phenomena of spiritualism. "Yes, but did it make good consistentChristians of them?" asks one of my excellent simple-minded objectors. Alas! my experience does not tell me that good consistent Christians areso readily made. Does our faith--I might have asked--make _us_ the goodconsistent Christians it ought to do, and would do perhaps, if we gaveit fair play?

So, then, my study of spiritualism had been purely phenomenal. It was avery sad and serious event which drove me to look deeper. Some peoplewill, I daresay, think it strange that I allude to this cause here. Thefact that I do so shows, at all events, that I have looked seriously atspiritualism since. It was none other than the loss, under painfulcircumstances, of one of my children. Now I had always determined that, in the event of my losing one near and dear to me, I would putspiritualism to the test, by trying to communicate with that one. Thiswill, I think, show that, even then, if I did not accept thespiritualistic theory, I did not by any means consider the positionuntenable. The very day after my boy's death, I got his mother to sit, and found she was writing a little loving message purporting to comefrom him. This, a sceptic would say, was natural enough under thecircumstances. I said no word, but sat apart, and kept writing "Who isit that communicates? write your name. " Suddenly the sentence wasbroken off, and the child's name written, though I had not expressed mywish aloud. This was strange; but what followed was stranger still. Ofcourse, so far all might have been fairly attributed to cerebration--ifsuch a process exists. It was natural enough, it might be urged, thatthe mother, previously schooled in the belief of the probability ofcommunication, should write in her lost child's name. For years the samething never occurred again, though we sat night after night for thepurpose of renewing such communications. I can certainly say of myselfthat, at this time, I _was_ a spiritualist--as thorough and devout a oneas any existing; and the fact that I was so, when carried away by myfeelings, makes me the more cautious to test and try myself as towhether my feelings may not sometimes sway my judgment even now; whetherthe wish be not often father of the thought, at all events in theidentification of spiritual communications, and so, possibly, of thespiritual nature of such communications altogether. 

However, from this time--the autumn of 1865--my spiritual studiesunderwent an entire change--they _were_ studies--serious studies. I nowkept a careful journal of all communications, which journal I continuedfor three years, so that I can trace all my fluctuations of opinion--forI did fluctuate--during that period. Now, too, it was necessary for meto consult those who had already gone deeply into the subject; and therecord of my experiences would be both imperfect and ungracious if I didnot here acknowledge the prompt kindness of the two gentlemen to whom Iapplied--Mr. Benjamin Coleman and Mr. Samuel Carter Hall. I wascomparatively a stranger to each of them, but they replied to myinquiries with the most ready courtesy, and I am happy to date mypresent friendship with each of them from this time. At Mr. Hall's I metMr. Home, and on the second occasion of my doing so, not only saw himfloat, but handled him above and below during the whole of the time hefloated round Mr. Hall's drawing-room. I am unphilosophical enough tosay that I entirely credit the evidence of my senses on that occasion, and am as certain that Mr. Home was in space for five minutes as I am ofmy own existence. The ordinary solution of cranes and other cumbrousmachinery in Mr. Hall's drawing-room I cannot credit, for I think weshould have seen them, and I am sure I should have felt ropes round Mr. Home's body. Chairs went from one end of the room to the other _in fulllight_; and nobody had previously tumbled over strings and wires, sothat I don't think there could have been any there. 

I fancy, as far as any order is traceable in the somewhat erratic courseof spiritualistic experiences, that most people arrive at spiritualismviâ mesmerism. It so happened that this order was exactly inverted inmy case. It was not until 1866 that I found I possessed the power ofmagnetism, and moreover, had in my house a subject whom Alphonse Didier(with whom I afterwards put myself in communication) declared to be "onein a thousand. " Some of the details of this lady's case are verycurious, but this is scarcely the place to dilate upon them further thanas they affected my spiritualistic studies. She passed withextraordinary ease into the condition of lucidity, when she wasconscious only of basking in light, anxious to be magnetized more deeplyso as to get more thoroughly into the light, and, moreover, aware onlyof the existence of those who had passed away from earth. She knew theywere with her: said I _must_ know it, as I was there too, and that itwas I only who would not "let her" see them. The fact that "our life istwofold" was to me most marvellously brought out by my magnetictreatment of this lady; and, moreover, the power of influencing actioncould not fail to be suggestive of the truth of one of the cardinaldoctrines of spiritualism--that we are thus influenced by disembodiedspirits, as I, an embodied spirit, could influence another spirit in thebody. Some of the likes and dislikes which I, so to say, produced thenin 1866 have remained to the present hour. For instance, one particulararticle of food (I will not mention what, or it would be fatal to myreader's gravity), for which she previously had a penchant, I renderedso distasteful to her that the very smell of it now makes heruncomfortable. I must plead guilty to having experimented somewhat inthis way; but what a wonderful light it sheds upon the great problem ofthe motives of human action! By the simple exercise of my will I couldmake my patient perform actions the most abhorrent to her. Forinstance--the ladies will appreciate this power--at a time whencrinolines were extensive, I made that poor creature draggle about in acostume conspicuous by the absence of crinoline, and making her looklike some of the ladies out of a Noah's ark. 

During this period my wife and I constantly sat alone, and she wrote. Itis no disrespect to her to say that writing is not her forte, but thecommunications she made in this way were exceedingly voluminous, andcouched in a particularly happy style, though on subjects far above therange of ordinary compositions. We never obtained a single communicationpurporting to come from our child, but the position claimed by thecommunicating intelligence was that of his spirit-guardian. 

Having now probably said enough in these confessions to convince everynon-spiritualist that I am insane, because I believed the evidence of mysenses, and even ventured to look into matters so unorthodox andunscientific as mesmerism and spiritualism, I go on to "make a cleanbreast, " and set myself wrong with the other moiety of my readers. Imust candidly confess that the experiences of this year (1866) did notconfirm my sudden conviction of the spiritual agency in these phenomena. I drifted back, in fact, to my previous position, accepting thephenomena, but holding the cause an open question. The preface to thebook, "From Matter to Spirit, " exactly expressed--shall I sayexpresses?--my state of mind. There is one passage in that preface whichappears to me to clinch the difficulty--"I am perfectly convinced that Ihave both seen and heard, in a manner which should make unbeliefimpossible, things called spiritual, which cannot be taken by areasonable being to be capable of explanation by imposture, coincidence, or mistake. So far I feel the ground firm under me. But when it comes towhat is the cause of these phenomena I find I cannot adopt anyexplanation which has yet been suggested. If I were bound to chooseamong things which I can conceive, I should say that there is some sortof action--some sort of combination of will, intellect, and physicalpower, which is not that of any of the human beings present. Butthinking it very likely that the universe may contain a few agencies, say half a million, about which no man knows anything, I cannot butsuspect that a small proportion of these agencies, say five thousand, may be severally competent to the production of all the phenomena, ormay be quite up to the task among them. _The physical explanations whichI have seen are easy, but miserably insufficient: the spiritualhypothesis is sufficient but ponderously difficult. _" This statement isnatural enough from the scientific side of the question. Perhaps thetheological inquirer, taking the fact into consideration that Scripturecertainly concedes the spiritual origin of kindred phenomena, wouldrather reverse the statement, and say (what I individually feel) thatthe psychological explanation is the ponderously difficult--thepneumatological, the comparatively easy one. 

It is now no secret that the author of this excellent treatise, isProfessor De Morgan; and I can only say that if I am accused ofheterodoxy, either from the spiritualist or anti-spiritualist side ofthe discussion, I am not ashamed to be a heretic in such company. Let meput the matter in the present tense, indicative mood--that is the stateof my opinion on the cause of the phenomena. Admitting the facts, I holdthe spiritual theory to be "not proven, " but still to be a hypothesisdeserving our most serious consideration, not only as being the only onethat will cover all the facts, but as the one I believe invariably givenin explanation by the intelligence that produces the phenomena, evenwhen, as in our case, all those present are sceptical of or opposed tosuch a theory. 

3. It may perhaps sound illogical if, after stating that I hold thespiritual origin of these phenomena unproven, I go on to speak of theidentification of the communicating spirit; but I hope I have made itclear that, even if I do not consider the spiritualistic explanationdemonstrated, it is still a hypothesis which has much in its favour. 

I have already mentioned the subject of identification in the case ofthe first communication purporting to come from our little child, andhow no such communications were received for a period of some yearsafter. In December, 1866, I went to the Marshalls', entering as anentire stranger, and sitting down at the table. I saw some strongphysical manifestations--a large table being poised in space, in fulllight, for some seconds. It was signified there was a spirit present whowished to communicate, and the message given by raps to me was--"Willyou try to think of us more than you have done?" I asked the name, andmy child's was correctly given, though I had not been announced, and Ihave no reason to believe my name was known. The place where he passedaway from earth was also correctly specified. I then asked for myfather, and his name was correctly given, and a message added, which Icannot say was equally suggestive of individuality. It was--"Brightinspiration will dawn upon your soul, and do not hide your light under abushel. "

Another case in which I tested individuality strongly, with utterabsence of success, was also brought before me somewhat earlier in thisyear. I was sent for by a lady who had been a member of my congregation, and who had taken great interest in these questions. She was suddenlysmitten down with mortal disease, and I remained with her almost to thelast--indeed, I believe her last words were addressed to me, andreferred to this very subject of identification--she consulting _me_ asto the great problem she was then on the very point of solving! As soonas she had gone from us, I went home, and tried to communicate with her. I was informed that her spirit was present, and yet every detail as tonames, &c. , was utterly wrong. 

In the spring of the following year I went again to the Marshalls', incompany with one or two other persons, my own object being to see if Icould obtain communication from the spirit of a highly-gifted lady whohad recently died--and also, I may mention--had been the medium of myprevious slight acquaintance with Mr. Coleman. She was very muchinterested in these matters, and, when in this world, her great fortehad been writing. She published a volume of poems, which won the specialcommendation of the late Charles Dickens, and her letters were mostcharacteristic ones. I mentioned that I wished to communicate with thespirit I was thinking of, and said I should be quite satisfied if theinitials were correctly given. Not so--the whole three names wereimmediately given in full. I do not feel at liberty to mention thenames; but the surname was one that nine out of ten people always speltwrongly (just as they do _my_ name), but on this occasion it wascorrectly spelt. I asked for a characteristic message, and received thewords, "I am saved, and will now save others;"--about as unlike myfriend's ordinary style as possible. It may be said her nature hadundergone revolution, but that was not the question. The test was thatsomething should be given, identifying the spirit, by the style of its_former_ writing while embodied on earth. 

With one more case, bearing on this subject of identity, and bringingthe matter up to the present date, I feel I may advantageously closethis portion of my experiences--though as I do so, I am thoroughlydissatisfied with myself to find how much I have left unsaid. It is sodifficult to put these things on paper, or in any way to convey them toanother;--most difficult of all for one unblessed with leisure, andcombining in his single self the pursuits of some three laboriouscallings. 

Last year, whilst sitting at Mrs. B----'s, I was touched by a hand whichseemed to me that of a small girl, and which attracted my attention bythe way it lingered in mine--this would amuse Professor Pepper--and thepertinacity with which it took off my ring. However, I never took anysteps to identify the owner of the hand. 

Some few months ago, my wife and I were sitting, and a communicationcame ostensibly from our child. It was quite unexpected; and I said, "Ithought you could not communicate. " "I could not before, " was the reply. "But you have not tried me for two years. " This we found was true; butwe actually had to look into dates to ascertain it. He added, that healways was present at séances where I went, and especially at Mrs. B----'s. It will, I daresay, sound strange to non-spiritualists, but theinitiated can understand the conversational tone we adopt. I said, "But, Johnny, that was not your hand that touched me at Mrs. B----'s. It wastoo large. " The answer was, "No! it was Charlie's turn. " I said, "What_do_ you mean by Charlie's turn?" The word was rewritten with almostpetulant haste and remarkable plainness, "Charlie's _twin_. " Charlie ismy eldest boy, and his twin-brother was still-born. He would be betweenthirteen and fourteen years of age, and that was precisely the sizedhand I felt. This was curious; as the event had occurred a year before, and such an explanation had never even crossed my mind. I was promisedthat, if I would go to Mrs. B----'s again, each of the children wouldcome and place a hand in mine. I went to the ordinary séance some timebefore Christmas, and was then told that the test I wished--which I hadnot then specified--should be given to me at a private séance. We hadthe private séance, but nothing occurred. 

Such is my case. To one section of my readers I shall appear credulous, to another hard of belief. I believe that I represent the candidinquirer. As for being scared off from the inquiry by those who call itunorthodox, or cry out "fire and brimstone, " I should as little think ofheeding them as the omniscient apothecaries who smile at my believing inmesmerism. If a man's opinions are worth anything--if he has fought hisway to those opinions at the bayonet's point--he will not be scared offfrom them by the whole bench of Bishops on the one side, or the Collegeof Surgeons on the other. Not that I for one moment plead guilty toheterodoxy, either scientific or theological. I am not, as I have saidseveral times, a philosopher, but I believe it is scientific to hold asestablished what you can prove by experiment. I don't think my creedcontains a jot or tittle beyond this. And as for theological orthodoxy, I simply take my stand upon the Canons of the Church of England. If allthis spiritual business is delusion, how comes it that No. 72 of theConstitutions and Canons Ecclesiastical says: "Neither shall anyminister, not licensed, attempt, upon any pretence whatever, either ofpossession or obsession, by fasting or prayer, to cast out any devil ordevils?"

The question, however, is not of this kind of orthodoxy. It ratherrefers to the creed of spiritualism. The question, in fact, to which Iand the many who think with me pause for a reply, is:--Allowing, as wedo, some of the phenomena--but considering the pneumatologicalexplanation hypothetical only--and therefore any identification ofcommunicating intelligence impossible--are we (for I am sincerely tiredof that first person singular, and glad to take refuge in a community), are we, or are we not, spiritualists?

So far was I able to commit myself in my address to the spiritualists ofHarley Street. I was, I confess, greatly pleased when, in 1869, theDialectical Society took up this matter, because I felt they were justthe people to look into it dispassionately. They were bound to no set ofopinions, but regarded everything as an open question, accepting nothingsave as the conclusion of a logical argument. I joined theSociety--straining my clerical conscience somewhat to do so--andeventually formed one of the committee appointed by the Society toinquire into the matter, and having a sub-committee sitting at my ownhouse. This, however, broke up suddenly, for I found even philosopherswere not calm in their examination of unpalatable facts. One gentlemanwho approached the subject with his mind fully made up, accused the ladymedium of playing tricks, and me of acting showman on the occasion. Asthere was no method of shunting this person, I was obliged to break upmy sub-committee. To mention spiritualism to these omniscient gentlemenis like shaking a red rag at a bull. As a case in point (though, ofcourse, I do not credit these gentlemen with the assumption ofomniscience), I may quote the replies of Professor Huxley and Mr. G. H. Lewes to the Society's invitation to sit on their committee:--

"Sir, --I regret that I am unable to accept the invitation of the Councilof the Dialectical Society to co-operate with a committee for theinvestigation of 'spiritualism;' and for two reasons. In the firstplace, I have no time for such an inquiry, which would involve muchtrouble and (unless it were unlike all inquiries of that kind I haveknown) much annoyance. In the second place, I take no interest in thesubject. The only case of 'spiritualism' I have had the opportunity ofexamining into for myself, was as gross an imposture as ever came undermy notice. But supposing the phenomena to be genuine--they do notinterest me. If anybody would endow me with the faculty of listening tothe chatter of old women and curates in the nearest cathedral town, Ishould decline the privilege, having better things to do. 

"And if the folk in the spiritual world do not talk more wisely andsensibly than their friends report them to do, I put them in the samecategory. 

"The only good that I can see in a demonstration of the truth of'spiritualism' is to furnish an additional argument against suicide. Better live a crossing-sweeper than die and be made to talk twaddle by a'medium' hired at a guinea a séance. 

"I am, Sir, &c. , "T. H. HUXLEY. 

"29th January, 1869. "

Confessedly Professor Huxley only tried one experiment. I cannot helpthinking if he had not approached the subject with a certain amount ofprejudice he would have been content to "Try again. " The side-hit atcurates of course I appreciate!

"Dear Sir, --I shall not be able to attend the investigation of'spiritualism;' and in reference to your question about suggestionswould only say that the one hint needful is that all present shoulddistinguish between facts and inferences from facts. When any man saysthat phenomena are produced by _no_ known physical laws, he declaresthat he knows the laws by which they are produced. 

"Yours, &c. , "G. H. LEWES. 

"Tuesday, 2nd February, 1869. "

I am not, as I have said, a scientific man, nor do I advance theslightest pretensions to genius; therefore I have no doubt it is somemental defect on my part which prevents my seeing the force of Mr. G. H. Lewes's concluding sentence. I have worked at it for years and amcompelled to say I cannot understand it. 

I sat, however, through the two years' examination which the Societygave to the subject; and it is not anticipating the conclusion of thischapter to say I was fully able to concur in the report theysubsequently issued, the gist of which is continued in the finalparagraph:--

"In presenting their report, your committee taking into considerationthe high character and great intelligence of many of the witnesses tothe more extraordinary facts, the extent to which their testimony issupported by the reports of the sub-committees, and the absence of anyproof of imposture or delusion as regards a large portion of thephenomena; and further, having regard to the exceptional character ofthe phenomena, the large number of persons in every grade of society andover the whole civilized world who are more or less influenced by abelief in their supernatural origin, and to the fact that nophilosophical explanation of them has yet been arrived at, deem itincumbent upon them to state their conviction that the subject is worthyof more serious attention and careful investigation than it has hithertoreceived. "

With those cautiously guarded words I venture to think that any one whoeven reads the body of evidence contained in the Dialectical Society'sreport will be able to coincide. 

To return to my more personal narrative. 

As far as I can trace any order in this somewhat erratic subject, Ithink I may venture to say that the manifestations of the last few yearshave assumed a more _material_ form than before. It sounds a littleHibernian to say so, I know; but I still retain the expression. Supposing, for the moment, that the effects were produced by spirits, the control of the medium for the production of trance, spirit-voice, automatic writing, or even communications through raps and tilts of thetable was much more intellectual--less physical than those of which Inow have to speak--namely, the production of the materialized SpiritFaces and Spirit Forms. 

Two phases of manifestation, I may mention in passing, I have notseen--namely, the elongation of the body, and the fire test--both as faras I know peculiar to Mr. Home: nor again have I had personal experienceof Mrs. Guppy's aërial transit, or Dr. Monk's nocturnal flight fromBristol to Swindon. Nothing of the kind has ever come at all within thesphere of my observation: therefore I forbear to speak about it. 

I shall never forget the delight with which I received a letter from agentleman connected with the literature of spiritualism, informing methat materialized Spirit Faces had at last been produced in full light, and inviting me to come and see. I was wearied of dark séances, of fruitand flowers brought to order. John King's talk wearied me; and Katie'swhispers had become fatally familiar: so I went in eagerly for the newsensation, and communicated my results to the world in the two paperscalled _Spirit Faces_ and _Spirit Forms_, the former published in_Unorthodox London_, the latter in Chapter 43 of the present volume. This class of manifestation has since become very common. I cannot say Iever considered it very satisfactory. I have never discovered anytrickery--and I assure my readers I have kept my eyes and ears very wideopen--but there are in such manifestations facilities for charlatanismwhich it is not pleasant to contemplate. This, let me continuallyrepeat, is a purely personal narrative, and I have never seen any SpiritFace or Form that I could in the faintest way recognise. Others, I know, claim to have done so; but I speak strictly of what has occurred tomyself. The same has been the case with Spirit Photographs. I have sat, after selecting my own plate and watching every stage in the process;and certainly over my form there has been a shadowy female figureapparently in the act of benediction;[2] but I cannot trace resemblanceto any one I ever saw in the flesh. Perhaps I have been unfortunate inthis respect. 

Very similar to Miss Cook's mediumship was that of Miss Showers; a younglady whom I have met frequently at the house of a lady at the West-endof London, both the medium and her hostess being quite above suspicion. In this case, besides the face and full form we have singing in a clearbaritone voice presumably by a spirit called Peter--who gives himselfout as having been in earth-life, I believe, a not very estimablespecimen of a market-gardener. I am exceedingly puzzled how to accountfor these things. I dare not suspect the medium; but even granting thetruth of the manifestations, they seem to me to be of a low class whichone would only come into contact with under protest and for the sake ofevidence. 

Mr. Crookes used to explain, and Serjeant Cox still explains thesemanifestations as being the products of a so-called Psychic Force--aterm which I below define. Although I am as little inclined tohero-worship, and care as little for large names as any man living, yetit is quite impossible not to attach importance to the testimony ofthese gentlemen; one so eminent in the scientific world, and privilegedto write himself F. R. S. , the other trained to weigh evidence and decidebetween balanced probabilities. But it would seem that while PsychicForce might cover the ground of my earlier experiences, it singularlyfails to account for the materializations, and obliges us to relegatethem to the category of fraud, unless we accept them as being what theyprofess to be. This I believe Serjeant Cox ruthlessly does. He claims aswe have seen to have "caught" Miss Showers, and was not, I believe, convinced by Miss Cook. Mr. Crookes was: and, when we remember that Mr. Wallace, the eminent naturalist, and Mr. Cromwell Varley, theelectrician, both accept the spiritual theory, it really looks as thoughthe scientific mind was more open to receive--perhaps driven toreceive--this which I frankly concede to be the only adequate cause forthe effects, while the legal mind still remains hair-splitting uponconflicting evidence. Whereabouts the theological mind is I do not quiteknow--perhaps still dangling between the opposite poles of Faith andReason, and dubiously debating with me "Am I a Spiritualist or not?"

In a recent pamphlet reprinted from the Quarterly Journal of Science, Mr. Crookes thus compendiously sums up the various theories which havebeen invented to account for spiritualistic phenomena, and, in so doing, incidentally defines his now discarded theory of Psychic Force whichowns Mr. Serjeant Cox for its patron:--

_First Theory. _--The phenomena are all the results of tricks, clevermechanical arrangements, or legerdemain; the mediums are impostors, andthe rest of the company fools. 

It is obvious that this theory can only account for a very smallproportion of the facts observed. I am willing to admit that someso-called mediums of whom the public have heard much are arrantimpostors who have taken advantage of the public demand forspiritualistic excitement to fill their purses with easily earnedguineas; whilst others who have no pecuniary motive for imposture aretempted to cheat, it would seem, solely by a desire for notoriety. 

_Second Theory. _--The persons at a séance are the victims of a sort ofmania or delusion, and imagine phenomena to occur which have no realobjective existence. 

_Third Theory. _--The whole is the result of conscious or unconsciouscerebral action. 

These two theories are evidently incapable of embracing more than asmall portion of the phenomena, and they are improbable explanations foreven those. They may be dismissed very briefly. 

I now approach the "spiritual" theories. It must be remembered that theword "spirits" is used in a very vague sense by the generality ofpeople. 

_Fourth Theory. _--The result of the spirit of the medium, perhaps inassociation with the spirits of some or all of the people present. 

_Fifth Theory. _--The actions of evil spirits or devils, personifying whoor what they please, in order to undermine Christianity and ruin men'ssouls. 

_Sixth Theory. _--The actions of a separate order of beings, living onthis earth, but invisible and immaterial to us. Able, however, occasionally to manifest their presence; known in almost all countriesand ages as demons not necessarily bad, gnomes, fairies, kobolds, elves, goblins, Puck, &c. 

_Seventh Theory. _--The actions of departed human beings--the spiritualtheory _par excellence_. 

_Eighth Theory. _--(_The Psychic Force Theory_). --This is a necessaryadjunct to the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th theories, rather than a theory byitself. 

According to this theory the "medium, " or the circle of peopleassociated together as a whole, is supposed to possess a force, power, influence, virtue, or gift, by means of which intelligent beings areenabled to produce the phenomena observed. What these intelligent beingsare is a subject for other theories. 

It is obvious that a "medium" possesses a _something_ which is notpossessed by an ordinary being. Give this _something_ a name. Call it"_x_" if you like. Mr. Serjeant Cox calls it Psychic Force. There hasbeen so much misunderstanding on this subject that I think it best togive the following explanation in Mr. Serjeant Cox's own words:--

"The Theory of _Psychic Force_ is in itself merely the recognition ofthe now almost undisputed fact that under certain conditions, as yet butimperfectly ascertained, and within a limited, but as yet undefined, distance from the bodies of certain persons having a special nerveorganization, a Force operates by which, without muscular contact orconnexion, action at a distance is caused, and visible motions andaudible sounds are produced in solid substances. As the presence of suchan organization is necessary to the phenomenon, it is reasonablyconcluded that the Force does, in some manner as yet unknown, proceedfrom that organization. As the organism is itself moved and directedwithin its structure by a Force which either is, or is controlled by, the Soul, Spirit, or Mind (call it what we may) which constitutes theindividual being we term 'the Man, ' it is an equally reasonableconclusion that the Force which causes the motions beyond the limits ofthe body is the same Force that produces motion within the limits of thebody. And, inasmuch as the external force is seen to be often directedby Intelligence, it is an equally reasonable conclusion that thedirecting Intelligence of the external force is the same Intelligencethat directs the Force internally. This is the force to which the nameof _Psychic Force_ has been given by me as properly designating a forcewhich I thus contend to be traced back to the Soul or Mind of the Man asits source. But I, and all who adopt this theory of Psychic Force, asbeing the agent through which the phenomena are produced, do not therebyintend to assert that this Psychic Force may not be sometimes seized anddirected by some other Intelligence than the Mind of the Psychic. Themost ardent spiritualists practically admit the existence of PsychicForce under the very inappropriate name of Magnetism (to which it has noaffinity whatever), for they assert that the Spirits of the Dead canonly do the acts attributed to them by using the Magnetism (that is, thePsychic Force) of the Medium. The difference between the advocates ofPsychic Force and the spiritualists consists in this--that we contendthat there is as yet insufficient proof of any other directing agentthan the Intelligence of the Medium, and no proof whatever of the agencyof Spirits of the Dead; while the spiritualists hold it as a faith, notdemanding further proof, that Spirits of the Dead are the sole agents inthe production of all the phenomena. Thus the controversy resolvesitself into a pure question of _fact_, only to be determined by alaborious and long continued series of experiments and an extensivecollection of psychological facts, which should be the first duty of thePsychological Society, the formation of which is now in progress. "

It has frequently struck me, especially in connexion with certaininvestigations that I have been making during the last few years, thatSpiritualism is going through much the same phases as Positivism. Itseemed at first impossible that the Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comtecould culminate in a highly ornate Religion of Humanity, with its fallritual, its ninefold sacramental system. It is even curious to noticethat it was the death of Clotilde which brought about the change, byrevealing to him the gap which Philosophy always does leave between thepresent and the future. So too Spiritualism is beginning to "organize"and exhibits some symptoms of formulating a Creed and Articles ofBelief. The British National Association of Spiritualists, which hashonoured me by placing my name on its Council, thus states itsprinciples, under the mottoes:--

"He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shameunto him. "--Proverbs xviii. 13. 

"In Scripture we are perpetually reminded that the Laws of the SpiritualWorld are, in the highest sense, Laws of Nature. "--Argyll. 

"He who asserts that, outside of the domain of pure Mathematics, anything is impossible, lacks a knowledge of the first principles ofLogic. "--Arago. 

DECLARATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PURPOSES. 

"Spiritualism implies the recognition of an inner nature in man. Itdeals with facts concerning that inner nature, the existence of whichhas been the subject of speculation, dispute, and even of denial, amongst philosophers in all ages; and in particular, with certainmanifestations of that inner nature which have been observed in personsof peculiar organizations, now called Mediums or Sensitives, and inancient times Prophets, Priests, and Seers. 

"Spiritualism claims to have established on a firm scientific basis theimmortality of man, the permanence of his individuality, and the OpenCommunion, under suitable conditions, of the living with the so-calleddead, and affords grounds for the belief in progressive spiritual statesin new spheres of existence. 

"Spiritualism furnishes the key to the better understanding of allreligions, ancient and modern. It explains the philosophy ofInspiration, and supersedes the popular notion of the miraculous by therevelation of hitherto unrecognised laws. 

"Spiritualism tends to abrogate exaggerated class distinctions; toreunite those who are now too often divided by seemingly conflictingmaterial interests; to encourage the co-operation of men and women inmany new spheres; and to uphold the freedom and rights of theindividual, while maintaining as paramount the sanctity of family life. 

"Finally, the general influence of Spiritualism on the individual is toinspire him with self-respect, with a love of justice and truth, with areverence for Divine law, and with a sense of harmony between man, theuniverse, and God. 

"The British National Association of Spiritualists is formed to uniteSpiritualists of every variety of opinion, for their mutual aid andbenefit; to promote the study of Pneumatology and Psychology; to aidstudents and inquirers in their researches, by placing at their disposalthe means of systematic investigation into the now recognised facts andphenomena, called Spiritual or Psychic; to make known the positiveresults arrived at by careful scientific research; and to directattention to the beneficial influence which those results are calculatedto exercise upon social relationships and individual conduct. It isintended to include spiritualists of every class, whether members ofLocal and Provincial Societies or not, and all inquirers intopsychological and kindred phenomena. 

"The Association, whilst cordially sympathizing with the teachings ofJesus Christ, will hold itself entirely aloof from all dogmatism orfinalities, whether religious or philosophical, and will content itselfwith the establishment and elucidation of well-attested facts, as theonly basis on which any true religion or philosophy can be built up. "

This last clause has, I believe, been modified to suit certain membersof my profession who were a little staggered by its apparent_patronizing_ of Christianity. For myself (but then, I am unorthodox) Icare little for these written or printed symbola. Having strained myconscience to join the Dialecticians, I allow my name, withoutcompunction, to stand on the Council of the Association, --and shall bereally glad if it does them any good. The fact is, I care little forformal creeds, but much for the fruit of those creeds. I stand by thatgood old principle--"By their fruits ye shall know them;" and thatreminds me that to my shreds and patches of "experience" I am to appendsome pros and cons of this matter. They have cropped up incidentally aswe have gone on: but I could with advantage collect them if my limitsadmitted of sermonizing. 

As to the fruits of Spiritualism, I can only say that I have neverwitnessed any of these anti-Christianizing effects which some personssay arise from a belief in Spiritualism. They simply have not comewithin the sphere of my observation, nor do I see any tendency towardsthem in the tenets of Spiritualism--rather the reverse. 

Then again, to pass from practice to faith, Spiritualism professes to bethe reverse of exclusive. In addressing the Conference of 1874, anddefending my position as a clerical inquirer, I was able to say:--"Onthe broad question of theology I can conceive no single subject which aclergyman is more bound to examine than that which purports to be a newrevelation, or, at all events, a large extension of the old; and which, if its claims be substantiated, will quite modify our notions as to whatwe now call faith. It proposes, in fact, to supply in matters we havebeen accustomed to take on trust, something so like demonstration, thatI feel not only at liberty, but actually bound, whether I like it ornot, to look into the thing. 

 * * * * *

Whether your creed is right or wrong is not for me to tell you; but itis most important for me that I should assure myself. And while Irecognise that my own duty clearly is to examine the principles youprofess, I find this to be eminently their characteristic, _that theyreadily assimilate with those of my own Church_. I see nothingrevolutionary in them. You have no propaganda. You do not call upon me, as far as I understand, to come out of the body I belong to and joinyours, as so many other bodies do; but you ask me simply to take yourdoctrines into my own creed, and vitalize it by their means. That hasalways attracted me powerfully towards you. You are the broadestChurchmen I find anywhere. "

I am not writing thus in any sense as the apologist of Spiritualism. Iam not offering anything like an Apologia pro vitâ meâ in making theinquiries I have done, am doing, and hope to do. I have elected to take, and I elect to maintain, a neutral position in this matter. All I havedone is to select from the Pros and Cons that present themselves to mymind. If the Pros seem to outweigh the Cons--or vice versâ--be it so. Icannot help it. I have scarcely decided for myself yet, and I am aveteran investigator. Others may be more speedy in arriving at aconclusion. 

Among the more obvious "Cons" are the oft-quoted facts that some peoplehave lost their heads and wasted a good deal of their time onSpiritualism. But people lose their heads by reading classics ormathematics, or overdoing any one subject however excellent--evenfalling in love: and the ingenuity displayed in wasting time is somanifold that this is an objection that can scarcely be urged speciallyagainst Spiritualism, though I own Dark Séances do cut terribly intotime. 

Then again one is apt to be taken in by mediums or even by spirits. Yes;but this only imposes the ordinary obligation of keeping one's eyesopen. I know spiritualists who believe in every medium quâ medium, andothers who accept as unwritten gospel the idiotic utterances of adeparted buccaneer or defunct clown: but these people are so purelyexceptional as simply to prove a rule. Do _not_ accept as final inso-called spiritual what you would not accept in avowedly mundanematters. Keep your eyes open and your head cool, and you will not go farwrong. These are the simple rules that I have elaborated during myprotracted study of the subject. 

"We do not believe, we know, " was, as I said, the proud boast aspiritualist once made to me. And if the facts--any of the facts--ofSpiritualism stand _as_ facts, there is no doubt that it would form thestrongest possible counterpoise to the materialism of our age. Itpresses the method of materialism into its service, and meets thedoubter on his own ground of demonstration--a low ground, perhaps, but atremendously decisive one, the very one perhaps on which the Battle ofFaith and Reason will have to be fought out. 

If--let us not forget that pregnant monosyllable--if the assumptions ofSpiritualism be true, and that we can only ascertain by personalinvestigation, I believe the circumstance would be efficacious inbringing back much of the old meaning of the word [Greek: pistis] whichwas something more than the slipshod Faith standing as its modernequivalent. It would make it really the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. 

Even if the dangers of Spiritualism were much greater than theyare--aye, as great as the diabolical people themselves make out--Ishould still think (in the cautious words of the Dialecticians)Spiritualism was worth looking into, if only on the bare chance, howeverremote, of lighting on some such Philosophy as that so beautifullysketched by Mr. S. C. Hall in some of the concluding stanzas of his poem"Philosophy, " with which I may fitly conclude--

 And those we call "the dead" (who are not dead-- Death was their herald to Celestial Life)-- May soothe the aching heart and weary head In pain, in toil, in sorrow, and in strife. 

 That is a part of every natural creed-- Instinctive teaching of another state: When manacles of earth are loosed and freed-- Which Science vainly strives to dissipate. 

 In tortuous paths, with prompters blind, we trust One Guide--to lead us forth and set us free! Give us, Lord God! all merciful and just! The FAITH that is but Confidence in Thee!

THE END. 

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Alluded to above, p. 350. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Notes: | | | | Page 36: Single closing quote mark after "He will accept | | you" _sic_ | | Page 79: "next my boy" _sic_ | | Page 110: Wormwood Scrubbs _sic_; platform amended to | | platforms | | Page 185: anatotomized amended to anatomized; full stop | | following "few friends" removed | | Page 186: hooping cough _sic_ | | Page 234: umpromising amended to unpromising | | Page 244: "vary scrubby ground" amended to "very scrubby | | ground" | | Page 338: flabbergastered _sic_ | | Page 341: facilè princeps amended to facile princeps | | Page 360: scarely amended to scarcely | | Page 365: closing parenthesis added after "particular shape" | | Page 370: invesgator amended to investigator | | Page 388: closing parenthesis added after "assumption of | | omniscience" | | | | In the last essay, while there are paragraphs numbered 1 | | and 3, there is no paragraph numbered 2 in the original. | | | | Hyphenation has generally been standardized. However, when | | hyphenated and unhyphenated versions of a word each occur | | an equal number of times, both versions have been retained | | (beershop/beer-shop; nowadays/now-a-days; | | reaction/re-action; reassumption/re-assumption). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+