Chapter XVII (5)

"I had the mid watch. The night was dark and terrible, the wind howled furiously and the heaving sea tossed our ship about like a bit of cork. I stood by the mizzen mast, holding on by the fife-rail, and shielding my face from the blinding spray that came driving over the deck. Suddenly I heard my name pronounced as distinctly as I ever heard it in my life--'Walter! Walter!' and it was my mother's voice that spoke. She continued to call me from the gloom about the main mast, and without stopping to reflect, or thinking where I was, I leaped forward. Hardly had I reached the after-companion-way, when I heard a crash behind me, and was called to myself. I turned and found that an iron-banded burton-block had fallen from the top and struck the deck exactly where I had been standing! Had I remained by the fife-rail three seconds longer than I did, my brains would have been dashed out. I always regarded that as an interposition in my behalf of a power independent of human will."

DEATH FORETOLD IN A VISION.--The following facts are vouched for by S. Bigelow, a gentleman of unquestioned integrity and a shrewd observer. In the early days of our war one Albert Dexter, near Ionia, Mich., enlisted in Co. D, Third Michigan Cavalry. His sister, Mrs. John Dunham, living then and now in Ionia, had what she terms a vision the day before he enlisted in which she saw him--her brother Albert--on horseback; saw him wheel and fall from his horse. She told Albert of her vision and importuned him not to go, but he made light of her fears and vision, and went with his company to the fields of blood and carnage, and often in his letters he referred to his sister's fears and vision in a light and joyful mood; but in his last letter he seemed to believe in the vision and in its probable fulfillment. More than two years had passed since the vision, and no unfavorable news from Albert, when one afternoon in autumn, as Mrs. Dunham was alone in her quiet home, she heard a loud rap at the door, opened it, saw no one, felt impressed, and queried with herself, "Why can't they tell me?" but could get nothing definite beyond her impressions, and the plain, loud rap about which she could not be mistaken. But during the quiet hours of night her spiritual vision was quickened, and she saw Albert on horseback, advance, then wheel, and then saw him shot and fall, and as plainly as though she had been by his side. She saw just where he was hit, how he fell, etc. Hence she knew all, having full confidence in such manifestations, as they were not new to her.

She suffered intense agony and a sleepless night, not expecting herself to survive; was pale and haggard in the morning, and scarcely able to be up. She told her friends and family about the matter in detail, even to the writing of a letter by the lieutenant informing them. She gave the contents of the letter before it was written. This was on Tuesday night and following morning. The next Sunday Mrs D. was visiting six miles from Ionia, and during the day a messenger came bringing a letter, which John Dexter had just received from the lieutenant of the Third Michigan Cavalry, giving particulars of his brother Albert's death while engaged in action the previous Tuesday, confirming in every detail what Mrs. D. had seen and told; and farther, she felt or saw the messenger with the letter while yet far from the house, and told him what he had, and gave the contents of the letter, assuring him that it was no news to her.

Another brother, James, enlisted and went to the war, and one evening as Mrs. D. was in bed and Mr. D. was reading, they both heard plainly the report of a pistol (or what seemed to them such), and Mrs. D. saw Albert and James come in and fall near her bed, and told Mr. D. that James was dead, which was fully confirmed by letter in about two weeks.

THE ASSASSINATION OF GARFIELD PREDICTED.--The assassination of Garfield was foretold by many sensitives, for that great event seemed to cast a strong shadow before it. Several of these prophecies have been published since the event, and consequently have lost their weight as evidence, while others had been widely published before the terrible tragedy. The following rests on the integrity of S. Bigelow, and is unquestionably true.

A gentleman in Cleveland, O., well known there, saw and knew that Garfield would be assassinated long before he left his quiet Mentor home, and was so oppressed with the knowledge that he told Mayor Rose and Dr. Streator, two very prominent and wealthy friends of Garfield, and both active politicians as well, and they conferred with others, and finally wrote to Garfield about it; but the sensitive, in the meantime, felt impelled to do something, and that he must go and see Garfield and warn him, but being a stranger and in humble circumstances he thought he could not go; but he could get no peace until he did, and finally plucked up courage to undertake the, to him, dreaded mission, and went alone and sad, to Mentor. Garfield met him in person (not by secretary as he did others) at the door, and greeted him cordially, and thus enabled him to overcome his embarrassment in a measure, and to talk freely, which he did, and as a consequence Garfield's bed was moved from his bedroom on the lower floor to the chamber.

This precaution prevented the crime for a time, which was ripe for execution. The same gentleman felt impelled to go to Washington with the fateful vision, but was prevented from going, and thus unwarned, Garfield met his death.

OMENS.--Almost every one has good and had omens, and although they may think that they have entirely outgrown such superstition, they will find that there yet lingers more or less of the feeling from education or heredity. They do not believe that seeing the moon over the left shoulder indicates bad luck, and over the right good fortune, yet they would prefer to see it over the right. They do not think Friday a more unlucky day than the other six, yet avoid commencing important business on that day. There are a great number of omens and signs, many of them peculiar to the individual; others world-wide, and held from remote antiquity. Of these it may be said that while of themselves these signs and omens have no relation to the events they presage, if we suppose a person to accept a certain omen as foreshadowing a certain event, a superior being foreknowing that event and desiring to impress it on the mind of such person, might use the sign to convey the warning. To further illustrate: There may be no connection between seeing the moon over one's right shoulder and a fortunate event in store; but a superior being, foreseeing that event, may so influence our minds as to make us catch a glimpse of the crescent on the right.

Mrs. Bancroft, a daughter-in-law of the great historian, has described an uncanny circumstance which happened at a wedding in 1863, where the wives of Major Thos. Y. Brent and Capt. Eugene Barnes, of the C. S. A. met, each wearing her bridal dress. While dressing for the occasion, Mrs. Brent's companion discovered a blood spot upon the dress of the Major's wife, which could not be accounted for, and somewhat excitedly exclaimed: "It is a bad omen!" Two days after, Mrs. Brent experienced a severe pain in the region of her heart, although at the time in the best of health. This occurred at the birth-place of her husband. Two days later she heard that while storming a Federal fortification, her husband was killed on July 4th, 1863, as far as she could learn at the identical time that she experienced the heart-pain. The Major was shot in the breast by a Minie ball and instantly killed. Another fact occurred at the time of finding the blood spot, and that was Mrs. Thomas Bright addressing the two ladies as "war widows." She believes in omens, and believes that these facts pointed to the death of the lady's husband, which occurred so soon after.

A DREAM REALIZED.--The Mobile _Register_ published the following, under the title of "A Dream Realized," which should be regarded as a trance, in which state the transcendent knowledge was given by some superior intelligence:

"A man named Bronson, who was an agent for a seed house, was travelling through Tennessee making collections. One night, after he had finished his business in Chattanooga, he made ready for a horseback ride of fifteen or twenty miles the next day. Upon retiring to his room for the night he sat down to smoke a cigar.

"He was neither overtired nor sleepy, but, after smoking a few minutes, he had what he termed a vision. He was riding over the country on horseback; when at the junction of two roads he was joined by a stranger. He saw this man as plainly as one man can see another in broad daylight, noting the color of his hair and eyes and taking particular notice of the fact that the horse, which was gray in color, had a "y" branded on his left shoulder.

"The two rode along together for a mile or more, and then came to a spot where a tree had been blown down and fallen across the narrow highway. They turned into the woods to pass the spot, he in advance, when he saw the stranger pull a pistol and fire at his back. He felt the bullet tear into him, reeled and fell from his horse, and was conscious when the assassin robbed him and drew his body further into the woods. He seemed to see all this, and yet at the same time knew that he was dead. His corpse was rolled into a hollow and covered with brush, and then the murderer went away and left him alone.

"In making an effort to throw off the brush, he awoke. His cigar had gone out, and, as near as he could calculate, he had been unconscious, as you might call it, for about fifteen minutes. He was deeply agitated, and it was some time before he could convince himself that he had not suffered any injury. By-and-by he went to bed and slept soundly, and next morning the remembrance of what had happened in his vision had almost faded from his mind.

"He set out on his journey in good spirits, and found the road so romantic, and met horsemen going to town so often, that he reached the junction of the roads without having given a serious thought to his vision.

"Then every circumstance was recalled in the most vivid manner.

"He was joined there by a stranger on a gray horse, and man and beast tallied exactly with those in the vision. The man did not, however, have the look or bearing of an evil-minded person. On the contrary, he seemed to be in a jolly mood, and he saluted Bronson as frankly as an honest stranger would have done. He had no weapons in sight, and he soon explained that he was going to the village to which Bronson was bound, on business connected with the law.

"The agent could not help but feel astonished and startled at the curious coincidence, but the stranger was so talkative and friendly that there was no possible excuse to suspect him. Indeed, as if to prove to his companion that he meditated no evil, he kept a little in advance for the next half hour. Bronson's distrust had entirely vanished, when a turn in the road brought an obstruction to view. There was a fallen tree across the highway! This proof that every point and circumstance in the vision was being unrolled before his eyes, gave the agent a great shock. He was behind the stranger, and he pulled out his revolver and dropped his hand beside the horse to conceal it.

"'Well, well!' said the man, as he pulled up his horse; 'the tree must have toppled over this morning. We'll have to pass around it to the right.'

"Bronson was on the right. The woods were clear of underbrush, and, naturally enough, he should have been the first to leave the road, but he waited.

"'Go ahead, friend,' said the stranger, as if the words had been addressed to the horse; the animal which the agent bestrode started up.

"Bronson was scarcely out of the road before he turned in his saddle. The stranger had a pistol in his right hand. What followed could not be clearly related. Bronson slid from the saddle as a bullet whizzed past him, and a second later returned the fire. Three or four shots were rapidly exchanged, and then the would-be murderer, uttering a yell showing that he had been hit, wheeled his horse to gallop off. He had not gone ten rods when the beast fell under him, and he kicked his feet from the stirrups and sprang into the woods and was out of sight in a moment. The horse had received a bullet in the throat and was dead in a few minutes."

A YOUNG LADY'S DREAM.--Miss Amelia Ederly, young lady highly endowed, both mentally and physically, and free from superstition or inclination to the marvelous, while visiting friends one evening shortly before her death, related a dream which she had a few days previous, which had vividly impressed itself on her mind. She thought she saw herself ready for burial, with her parents and friends weeping around her. She had no feeling; only surprise that her body was clothed with a blue dress with yellow roses, and she attempted to expostulate at this want of taste, but no one gave attention to her remarks. She jested about the dream, and it seemed not to make any deep impression; but ten days after this visit she was taken sick and died. She had mentioned her dream only once, and her sickness could not be referred to mental impression received thereby.

A WARNING VOICE.--Dr. Fisher, of Waterford, England, is authority for the following:

"Miss Louisa Benn, who lived with her mother in Wednesbury, had become desirous of going to Australia; her friends assisted her to means. After she had made preparations, she left her home for London, and secured passage on a ship. On the day before the sailing of the ship her mother heard a cry of, 'Oh, mother,' seemingly from the cellar, and in her daughter's voice. She was so alarmed that she telegraphed for her daughter to return, which she reluctantly did, for she was already on board, and her luggage being stored away, could not be given her. Her regret vanished when news came that the vessel was lost, and with it nearly all the passengers."

AN OBJECTION.--Here arises an objection often urged against such premonitions. Of an hundred or more of passengers, one only is warned, while all the others are allowed to go on board and blindly meet their fate. If such warning come from God, with whom all things are possible, the objection would have pertinence, and be unanswerable unless relegated to the mystery of Godliness. But such warnings do not come from God, but from spirit intelligences just above ourselves, departed friends who preserve an interest in those who remain on earth. It is not probable that all, or even any considerable portion of these intelligences, are able to forecast the future, or possess the equally essential ability to impress their thoughts on their earthly friends. The few who know the events of the future may find it impossible to communicate with their friends. Hence the rare occurrence of such premonitions, and the strange spectacle of only a single individual among hundreds receiving intimations of approaching danger. Thus where the laws and conditions of impressibility are understood, it is not anomalous that so few are impressed, but this fact confirms the theory of sensitiveness.

Premonitions and presentiments of coming events form a numerous class of well attested cases. They usually relate directly to the person receiving them, and those recorded in a majority of instances refer to sickness or death. It may be supposed that a great majority of premonitions received, are not recognized, or at least recorded. Many by reception defeat their fulfillment, quite as many, probably, as bring their fulfillment by being received. When an individual has a premonition that he is to die at a certain time, and does thus die, it is said the prophecy so worked on his mind that it killed him at the appointed time. Possibly this might happen, but it rarely does. Far more often the knowledge prepares for the event, and the individual survives to point at the prophecy as a failure. Again, the presentiment comes with the certainty of a decree of fate, and the future is without shadow of turning, and inexorable to our efforts or our prayers.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DREAM.--The following dream by Abraham Lincoln is a matter of history, and is in harmony with the susceptible nature of that great man. He related it to Mrs. Lincoln and others present in the following words:

"About ten days ago I retired very late. I had been up waiting for important dispatches. I could not have been long in bed, when I fell into a slumber and began to dream. There seemed to be a death-like stillness about me. Then I heard subdued sobs, as if a number of persons were weeping. I thought I left my bed and wandered down stairs. There the silence was broken by the same sobbing, but the mourners were invisible. I went from room to room. No living person was in sight, but the same mournful sounds met me as I passed along. I was puzzled and alarmed. What could be the meaning of all this? Determined to find out the cause of a state of things so mysterious, I kept on until I arrived at the 'end room,' which I entered. There I met a sickening surprise. Before me was a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in funeral vestments. Around it were stationed soldiers who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of people, some gazing mournfully upon this corpse, whose face was covered; others weeping pitifully, 'Who is dead at the White House?' I demanded of one of the soldiers. 'The President,' was his answer; 'he was killed by an assassin!' Then came a loud burst of grief from the crowd, which awoke me from my dream. I slept no more that night; and although it was only a dream, I have been strangely annoyed by it ever since."

This occurred but a short time before the event it heralded, which plunged the nation into grief. Had the President given heed to its warning, and not been persuaded by his wife, who gave no credit to the supernatural, the course of events would have been different. Had he heeded the dream it would have been brought forward as evidence to prove the worthlessness of such visions.

A LITTLE GIRL PREDICTS HER OWN DEATH.--Little Maud, three-year-old daughter of George T. Ford, of Elmore, Mich., came to her mother one day and said, "Maudie is not going to stay; she is going away off to be buried up in the cold ground." About a week later, she said, "Let Maudie go and ride with you to-day, for she will never go again." On the morning of the day of her death, she came to her mother and said, "Maudie don't feel well. Don't you feel sorry for Maudie? She is going away off where you will never see her again." Her mother clasped her to her bosom, wondering what she could mean, but was not long left in doubt. The child grew seriously ill, and later in the day she said, "Good-bye--lift me up--I hear the band playing--I am going now," and passed away.

PRINCE LEOPOLD'S DREAM.--Another instance, important in consequence of the noble station of the person to whom it relates, is given in the _Fortnightly Review_, by W. H. Myers:

"The last time I saw Prince Leopold (being two days before he died), he would talk to me about death, and said he would like a military funeral.

"Finally I asked, 'why do you talk in this morose manner?' As he was about to answer, he was called away and said, 'I will tell you later.' I never saw him to speak to again, but he finished his answer to me to a lady, and said: 'Two nights now, Princess Alice has appeared to me in my dreams, and says she is quite happy and wants me to come and join her; that is what makes me so very thoughtful.'

"I take this to be a sign of his approaching removal to the world of spirits, in which, as a member of a Spiritualistic family, he has been, from his earliest youth, an implicit believer, thus illustrating the truth of the observation, that, 'Signs are vouchsafed to the believing, now, as of old.'"

ANOTHER CASE.--Miss Mary Paine, when on her way to visit some friends in Gainesville, Ga., on passing the Mars Hill Graveyard, ordered her driver to stop the team, which he did. Then she exacted a promise from him that he would bring her back and bury her by the side of her sister Jane. "For," said she, "I shall never come back alive. I shall die away from home, and I want you to promise to bring me back for burial." To this declaration she clung, nor would she be persuaded that, as she was in good health she would have a pleasant visit and return home happy. Before three weeks had passed she died of a congestive chill, at her friend's house in Gainesville, and as she had requested, was brought back to Mars Hill and buried by the side of her dear sister.

Dr. H----, who is of exceedingly skeptical organization, said that he once had an experience which baffled his powers of explanation, and caused him to doubt his materialistic views. He had been called to a distant farm-house on an intensely dark and stormy night to visit a patient. There was a stream with wide marshy borders, across which a narrow causeway had been constructed, barely wide enough for carriages to pass. As he drove onto one end of this narrow way, suddenly there came the thought that he would meet a runaway team, and his horse and carriage be overturned into the morass. At that time of night this was wholly improbable; but the thought came to him instantly with all its contingencies. "If I should meet a team, what shall I do?" he asked himself. Then he thought there was one place wider than the rest, and he answered, "I would reach that place and get as far out of the way as possible." "Get there, then; get there," was the urgent impression. He involuntarily hurried his horse, reached the place, and, driving to the very edge, drew rein. He was in a tremor of nervous excitement, yet had seen nor heard nothing to excite him more than the interior impression. But he soon found his haste had not been in vain. He heard the rattle of wheels and clatter of hoofs, as a runaway team struck the further end of the causeway, and in a moment they swept past him. Had they met him unprepared, he certainly would have met with a serious, if not fatal, accident. This intelligence which saw the approaching team and the great danger in which Dr. H. would be placed, was independent of his mind, for it brought a knowledge that mind did not, nor could not know until revealed by some foreign power. Whence came the premonition, the thoughtful care? Not out of the air. It was from an intelligent, individualized entity above and beyond physical existence; and all theories which leave out this element fall short of covering the multitudinous facts which unite and bind them together in a harmonious whole.

SEEN AT HIS FUNERAL.--Dr. John E. Purdon, now of Valley Head, Ala., is authority for the following narrative, which records the appearance of a soldier soon after his death, and may be taken as evidence of the sensitiveness on one side, and of the reality of the existence of the appearance on the other:

"In the year 1872, while in charge of the convalescent hospital, Sandown, Isle of Wight, I returned from a short visit to London, bringing with me for change and rest Miss Florence Cook, who afterwards became so celebrated a medium. On the evening of my return home, I took a walk with Miss Cook along the cliffs towards Shanklin. During the walk she drew my attention to a soldier who seemed to her to be behaving in a curious way, turning round and staring at me, and omitting the usual military salute which she had noticed the other men give as they passed by. As I could see no one at the time my curiosity was excited, and when she said the man had passed a stile just in front of us, I crossed over and looked carefully about. No soldier was in sight; on one side was an open field; on the other, perpendicular cliffs. I asked a country man at work in the field if he had seen a soldier pass just before I appeared, but he had not.

"On my return from town I found that a certain chronic patient who had been a long time in the hospital, and on whom I had performed a minor surgical operation some time before, had died of pulmonary consumption.

"Miss Cook and another young lady on a visit to my wife, never having seen a military funeral, persuaded her to take them to a cross-road, where they would see the troops pass without being seen themselves. As we marched past, the coffin being carried on a gun-carriage, Miss Cook said to my wife, 'Why is the little man in front dressed differently from the other soldier?' My wife answered that she could not see any one in front, nor could the other girl either. Miss Cook then said, 'Why does he not wear a big hat like the others? He has on a small cap and is holding his head down.' They then returned home, and the funeral party passed on to the graveyard which was two miles from the hospital. Just after the firing party had fallen in to march home, Hospital Sergeant Malandine came up to me in the graveyard and said: 'Private Edwards reports sick, sir, and asks permission to return by train.' I asked what was the matter, and the sergeant answered that Edwards had had a great fright from seeing the man we were burying looking down into his own grave at the coffin before it was covered by the clay!"

APPEARANCE AFTER DEATH.--_Light_, a journal that exercises great discretion in the facts it publishes, vouches for the following appearance coincident with death, received from Mr. F. J. Teall:

"In the year 1884 my son Walter was serving in the Soudan, in the 3d King's Royal Rifles. The last we heard from him was a letter informing us that he expected to return to England about Christmas time. On October 24th I returned home in the evening, and noticing my wife looking very white, I said, 'What is the matter with you?' She said she had seen Walter, and he had stooped down to kiss her, but, owing to her starting, he was gone; so she did not receive the kiss. He was in his regimentals, and she thought he had come on furlough, to take her by surprise, knowing the back way; but when she saw he was gone and the door not open, she became dreadfully frightened. My son Frederick and daughters Selina and Nellie were in the room, but none of them saw Walter; only Fred heard his mother scream, 'Oh!' and asked her what was the matter.

"I thought, having heard many tales of this kind, that I would jot it down, so I put the date on a slip of paper. After that we had a letter from the lady nurse of the Ramleh Hospital, in Egypt, to say that the poor boy had suffered a third relapse of enteric fever. They thought that he would have pulled through, but he was taken. When we got the letter it was a week after he died; but the date when the letter was written corresponded with the day Walter appeared, which was on October 24th, 1884. My wife never got over the shock, but brooded over it, and finally died April 29th, 1886, of mental derangement."

FOREWARNING.--Miss Lena Harman, as reported in the _Globe-Democrat_, is authority for a most instructive narrative of ghastly interference in the affairs of men, which forms another link in the chain of evidence showing that there is a spirit-world interested in the events of this. Miss Harman was a warm friend of Mrs. Lena Reich, who was foully murdered by her husband in New York. She had not seen her for several months prior to her death, but the last time she met her, Mrs. Reich told her a pitiful story of her husband's abuse, and said she ought not to have married him for she had been forewarned. She had been obliged to have him bound over to keep the peace, and knew he would yet kill her. The warning came before she was married, even before their engagement. In her own words it happened this way. "Adolph had been courting me for some time, and I knew that I loved him. One night, a terrible dark, storming winter night, he told me that he loved me, and offered himself to me. I acknowledged that I was not indifferent to him, but asked a few days to think over the matter and consult my friends. Adolph did not like this delay, and tried to reason me out of it, but I was firm and carried my point. Well, we sat up very late that night together, no one else but ourselves being in the room. When he finally left it was past midnight, and the weather was very cold, so I fixed up the fire to make me a cup of tea to quiet my nerves, and warm me up before going to bed. I was a little sorry I had been so positive to Adolph about the time, as I loved him and I thought I might as well say yes, any way, so that he would have gone home so much happier.

"As I poured out my cup of tea I said aloud to myself, 'Yes, I love Adolph.' Just then I heard a noise on the stairs, and, thinking some one was going by my door, I turned off the gas, because I did not want any one to know I was keeping such late hours. As the fire in the stove gave out a ruddy light, and the half-darkness of the room seemed so peaceful, and suited my mood of mind so well, I did not light the gas again, but sat and sipped my tea in the darkness, saying little things to myself aloud. Suddenly, however, I heard a slight noise behind me, and at the same time I heard a church clock, strike the hour of one. Well, I looked around without a thought of anything strange, and saw my Ernest, to whom I had been previously engaged, and who died before the ceremony, almost at the altar. He was dressed in the same clothes as when I saw him last--his wedding suit--for we were going to our wedding when he died of heart disease.

"I shrieked and tried to fly from my room, but he spoke: 'Do not move, Lena; I will not harm you. I come because I love you, and because I pity you. Lena, if you marry Adolph Reich you will lead the life of a dog. He will be cruel and jealous, and unreasonable, and, worse than all, he will murder you in the end. Yes, he will murder you! Stay! I see the scene now! He grasps your hair; he holds a sharp carving knife in the other hand; you reach out for the knife and seize it, when, with a terrible oath, he draws the keen blade out of your grasp, and almost severs your fingers in doing so! Oh! he has you down on the bed; he draws the knife; you struggle and scream. He strikes the blade into your neck!--your beautiful neck; you struggle more violently and escape. With the blood spurting from your wound, you run from the room and fall in the hall; and the villain escapes, carrying the knife with him! Oh, terrible! terrible!' Then there was a silence; Ernest said no more for some minutes, and I was too much horrified to speak; but again he said: 'Lena, I love you as much as I ever did, and it won't be long now before you join me here, and we shall be happy again. Oh, do not marry Reich, as you value your life and soul! Farewell! God keep you!' and he was gone!"

The warning was fulfilled to the letter. After the infliction of the terrible wound which caused her death; she had crawled out of her room, and fell in the hall from the loss of blood. How many similar warnings pass unheeded, and yet how greatly might the recipients be benefited by heeding them!

Effects of Physical Influences on the Sensitive.

Individuals who are influenced to an unusual extent by their surroundings, are regarded as nervous,--a name covering a multitude of ills for which no other term is at command. A cat entering the room, however stealthily, in some awakes the most disagreeable feelings. Another is so sensitive to the electric state of the weather as to presage the coming storm several hours or days in advance. Sunday is so called because of its supposed connection with the phases of the moon. The superstitious observation of the Signs arises from the dull understanding or ignorance of this influence. That man is a magnet, and has polarity corresponding to that of the earth, is a plausible conjecture, which receives confirmation by the influence of the earth currents on many forms of disease. Some patients are so exceedingly sensitive that they can lie at ease in no other position than with their heads to the north; and it has been argued that if such position is best for the sensitive it is for all.

More especially is the influence of physical forces seen when death occurs after a lingering disease, which, by reducing the bodily strength, makes that of the spirit more susceptible.

"He's going out with the tide," is the common expression of all the rough coastwise people. It may be called a superstition of sea-faring races; but it is a fact that for some inscrutable reason the old, sick and infirm more often die at the ebb-tide than when the tide is rising. A poet beautifully expresses this belief:

"When the tide goes out he will pass away,
Pray for a soul's serene release!
That the weary spirit may rest in peace,
When the tide goes out."

A physician on the Connecticut coast, who had made special observations, said: "for more than thirty years I have lived and observed among the rough, hardy souls hereabout; and for more than fifty my father before me gathered facts and wisdom from practice. I have stood by hundreds of death-beds of fishermen and farmers, old and young, during the last quarter of a century; but I can hardly recall a single instance of a person dying of disease, who did not pass away while the tide was ebbing. It is a fact that in critical cases I never feel concerned to leave a patient for an hour or two when the tide is coming in; but when it is receding, and particularly in the latter stages of the ebb, I stay by, if I can, till the turn comes. You'll scarcely credit it, but the daily record of the tides is the most important part of the almanac in my practice. If a patient who is very low lives to see the current turn from ebb to flow, I know the case is safe till the ebb sets in again."

"When the tide comes in death waits for dole,
When the tide ebbs it takes a soul."

Francis Gerry Fairchild says that during five years he noted the hour and minute of ninety-three demises, and of these all but four (who died of accidents) went out with the ebb of the tide. In his own words: "I who have sat with my fingers on the wrist of many a feeble patient, and noticed the pulse rise and strengthen, or sink and vanish, with the turning of the tide, know that it is fact."

Of twenty-one cases of death registered on the sea coast of Long Island at Orient, by Capt. D. B. Edwards, I find, by careful examination, that with only one exception, the aged, or those who had been suffering from long sickness, died at the ebb of the tide. Those cases were taken as they came, and afford an average that may be depended upon.

Not that the coming and going of the ocean wave as it rolls round the world has special influence. The cause is more profound, and blended with the force of gravitation. Not only is the ocean agitated and piled up beneath the moon; the deeper and more elastic aerial sea is more strongly fluctuated, and the electric and magnetic conditions change with certain periodicity. The maximum of positive force is attained at high tide, constantly increasing as the tide comes in, and then recedes to the zero of negativeness with its outgoing. With the flood of water, and higher pressure of atmosphere, the forces of life are stimulated by the increasing positiveness. When these stimulants withdraw, the tide runs to the negative pole, and a soul ebbs from the mortal shore. Man is sensitive to the influences of the sun and moon, and to the stars.

The influence of the moon in cases of lunacy has been observed from ancient times, and a lunar month measures the cycle of changes in most cases of madness.

During health these subtle changes are not felt, or too feebly to be remarked. It is during sickness, when the physical energies are so enfeebled that slight forces turn the balance for or against, that the most palpable effects are produced. There are moon-tides and sun-tides in the ocean and in the air. Sometimes these augment, at others depress each other. The magnetic disturbances are much greater at times than others; hence the subject is complicated; but when investigated it will be shown that there is co-operation between vital force and the energies of nature.

A spirit is a harp attuned to respond to the touch of myriad forces. It is placed in the center of these multitudinous energies, coming in from every direction. It is sensitive to the touch of the sun, the moon and the planets, and to that of the farthest star that twinkles on the verge of the Milky Way; not in the sense of astrology, but in as faithful a manner. If the magnetic needle trembles because of a spot in the sun; if the magnetic currents of the earth are disturbed by activity of the solar disc, can we for a moment doubt but the more delicately ethereal spiritual perception will feel such disturbances? The sweet influence of the Pleiades has more than poetic meaning, and the cold light of the moon brings on its beams the breath of love.

It is well known that many diseases are aggravated by the approach of night, while others are most severe during the day. All nervous pains become intensified at the approach of night--a fact admitted, but referred by material science to the imagination, the fancy having free reign during the silent hours of darkness. During the day, the half of the earth illuminated is positive to the other unilluminated hemisphere. Hence the sensations of evening are different from those of morning. We have enjoyed the light and been positive during the day; when night advances, we become passive in the enveloping darkness, and enter a state twin sister to death, to arise in the morning again to meet the positive day.

Sleep during the night is more restoring than during the day--a distinction recognized by animals and plants. Night is no more terrible than day, yet the mind, oppressed by the negative condition then imposed on all things, peoples it with fancies. The hour of midnight is the established season for ghostly appearances. He who boldly walks along the churchyard path at noonday, would fain whistle to keep his courage up at the hour of midnight. Even Hæckel, the great naturalist, confesses that as the evening fell on him, while alone on the extreme point of Ceylon, and the shadows deepened on the weird forest and lonely sea, an "uncanny" feeling crept over him.

And the soul moves in the circle of the seasons; not only has human life its Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter; in the long three score years and ten, it swings through this circle with each succeeding procession of seasons, and experiences the changing impressions they so rapidly bring.

Unconscious Sensitiveness.

SILENCE AND RECEPTIVITY.--I sit down with the friend of my heart, and neither speak a word; we visit in close communion of souls, in silence; spoken words would be only jarring discord. The shallow mind is supplied with a wind of words: like a dictionary he is all words, but without a thought. The highest thought, the most profound feelings, are beyond the sphere of speech.

The restless wind is ever sighing; the restless, unbalanced soul is ever chattering its half-formed thoughts. The shallow brook splashes and dashes over its bed with noisy tongue; the deep river flows onward without a ripple on its broad surface to tell of its tremendous power.

If we would learn of nature we must retire to her solitudes and let no one intrude. The dearest and nearest may draw with well meaning hands an opaque vail between us and the sun. In the solitude of the forest, by the shores of the sullen sea, and in the depths of star-lit night, we rest as dwarfs, overpowered by the stupendous elements, yet the center of all forces and phenomena. We are in the vortex of creative energies, and if we silently question, the answers fall as soon as our minds are receptive to them. In its adoration of the boundless, the soul mirrors its own infinitude. The shoreless expanse of sea, with sky and wave blending, lost in mist, in the never-reached horizon; the depths of stars, beyond and beyond, in vistas leading out into absolute void, beyond all created things--to such the soul acknowledges kinship, and in them finds its satisfaction. The thoughts of the stars are untongued, but they vibrate across the limitless ether, and are eloquent to the receptive mind.

Immeasurably more needful of receptivity born of silence, is the contact with the infinite realm of spirit. The ocean of being, invisible, is before us. We may not dictate, nor with blatant cry make demands. We shall be grateful for a grain of manna from the heavenly skies; we may gather a full repast. As spiritual beings, into the warp and woof of whose existence enter the strands of immortal life, we are capable of comprehending the laws of this unseen, and heretofore unknown universe. As suns are pulsating centers of light, spiritual beings are pulsating centers of thought, and as light waves go out circling until lost on the remotest coast line of the universe, so thought-waves go out from the thinking mind, and are caught up by all minds receptive to them.

By the sea, the soul sees the inner world expressed by a series of changing pictures. The ships sailing from harbor, with all their white sails set, and bent to the breeze which wafts them into the gray mist until lost to view, express the voyage of human beings. The white birds, with flapping wings, are the purposeless spirits of the air. The stars, what consolation they have given the wretched in long ages of suffering, by their eternal placidity, their quietude from the feverish follies which we know intuitively belong to a lower life.

The truly receptive mind is least alone when alone. Then it becomes the headland against which beat the waves of thought from every thinking being in the universe. Like the telegraph receiver, it picks out the thoughts to which it is sensitive, and the others go on to those receptive to them. It thus becomes apparent that there can be an education superior to all others; the education of receptivity, or sensitiveness to the thought atmosphere or psychic-ether. Not that this can take the place of the ordinary training of the faculties, for their training, rudely performed as it is, often leads to a high sensitiveness; more often leads away from it. The poet is most sensitive to poetic thought, and in this sense is a medium, not only for individual poets, but, perhaps, unconsciously, for the inseparable thoughts of all. The truly great statesman receives influx from the United Congress of all past leaders. Through the sensitive preacher, all preachers of the past find tongue. The man of science, if successful in research, may be praised for skill and faithfulness, but beyond these qualities are the impressions descending from all who think or ever have thought on their special subjects. There is a sensitiveness of organization, and not of culture, which makes of the possessor a mouth-piece, an instrument, such as it is. There is a sensitiveness, better here called receptivity, which comes of right culture, and is the highest form of mediumship, though its possessor may be wholly unconscious of his gift.

RECEPTIVITY AND GREATNESS.--Here and there are those who by organization are sensitive and ready instruments to bless the world with the light of higher spheres. There have been many in the past fifty years. Centuries have gone by and not one of these barren--centuries during which man remained stationary or retrograded into dense ignorance.

As mountain peaks catch the light of morning when all the valleys and plains below are wrapped in darkness, so these sensitives arise into the atmosphere of spirit, and bathe their foreheads in its glory.

Who should be more sensitive to the urgencies of a threatened state than he who has the responsibilities of government? Whom would the departed statesman, who, loving his country, seek to impress, if not the ones in power, who could make such impressions available? But those in power may not be impressible, and this is most unfortunate for the state. They MAY be, and then it can be truthfully said that the forces of heaven fight its battles.

Such an one was Lincoln. His receptive mind responded to the thought waves of the psychic atmosphere, and he became the center of a thought-vortex--the concentration of unnumbered intelligences--with the holy spiritual fervor of the sage and prophet. Feeling himself called to a mighty task, and consecrated to its accomplishment, his great and earnest soul responded to the breath of inspiration. He was misunderstood by men because he acted from motives they could not comprehend, and which were uncomprehended by himself; but during the years of darkness, anxiety and care, the cabinet on which he relied was not the executive officers, but one formed of those Fathers of the Republic, who, on the hour of its birth, gave its flag to the breezes of heaven. He failed at times; disasters came, representing the periods when the clouds obscured the clear light of inspiration. He disregarded the impressions of impending danger, and disobedience sealed the record of his labors with his blood!

Then in invention, the contrivances by which the elements are harnessed and become willing servants, we take one man as an illustration. A poor uneducated country lad, with a simple knowledge of telegraphy sufficient to send messages over the wires, that is all--no college learning, no one to assist, to direct, to advise. He soon entered a field where no mortal could advise, where no mortal had been or knew aught to advise him. He became sensitive, and the secret chambers of the lightning were unlocked to him. What to other men who had devoted a life-time of study was obscure and mysterious, became to him the ABC to higher readings. He sent his voice across the continent, he recorded the sounds so that the instrument would in all after years give us back the tones of those we love; he prolonged the lightning's lurid flash into a continuous blaze, and converted night into day; he made the current leap from the wire to the passing train and over an intangible wire from ship to ship, across leagues of sea.

TRUE INSPIRATION.--OLE BULL.--What is meant by the oft-repeated assertion that great and exceptional persons are inspired? More especially in music and poetry is the influx from some foreign source distinctly marked. Ole Bull, the king of all violin players, was, by his own confession, subject to an influence beyond himself. When a boy, he was attempting, unaided, to translate into musical sounds the splendor of his ideal, a "voice" encouraged him constantly with "Bravo!" which he accepted as a sign that he was doing well. Unlike Socrates' "demon," instead of being always the same, it was that of many celebrated musicians. On one occasion, the voice of Handel murmured in his ear after a rendition of that composer's "Hallelujah Chorus," "Only shadow music sung by shadows." "My soul asked, 'Where, then, is the substance, Master?'" "In my world," the voice replied, "where alone all things are real, and music is the speech."

PAGANINI.--Of Paganini it was said that he not only enchanted his listeners, but played as one enchanted, losing consciousness, and throughout his performances remained as one entranced. So real were musical conceptions flashed on his mind, that they became objective, and danced before him in wild expression of rhythmic motion.

How far the ecstasy of all true musicians may account for their super-normal efforts, depends on the meaning accepted of ecstasy. It really is a state of sensitiveness to harmonious sounds, which at its best differs little from the most exalted form of clairvoyance, or, perhaps better, clair-audience.

BLIND TOM.--All have heard of Blind Tom, an idiotic negro, uncouth, untaught, yet who was able to play the most intricate music, in a manner only attainable to others by years of study and practice. His improvisations were the wonder and delight of the listeners, and were dashed off with the fingers of what might truly have been regarded as an automaton. By what method could his astonishing facility of execution, delicacy of expression, and masterly touch be explained? He was never taught a lesson in music, was incapable of forming a continuous train of thought; yet no conservatory ever graduated a superior performer. We are forced to accept one of two conclusions: either that he was of himself superior to any one in musical ability, or that he derived this gift from an outside source. The first, on the face of it, appears an absurdity. He was no more the cause of the music he produced than was the piano on which he played. Both were instruments, he standing between the force and its effect.

HANDEL.--In the sphere of sacred music, perhaps Handel stands without a peer. So far above the ordinary level is his sublime work, that he receives not his full mead of praise; for we applaud most that which echoes some part of ourselves, and with his strains we are bowed in humility and awe. In twenty-three days he produced "The Messiah," a work which, for vastness of conception and exquisite finish, is the grandest and most perfect choral work the world has ever known. He belonged to no school, has no imitators, for he is too far removed for imitation to be attempted. Well has it been said that the power of such souls baffles criticism. That they tower so far above the common level, and possess such exceptional mental and moral powers, leads to the supposition that they touch a thought-sphere not touched by those less sensitively endowed.

BEECHER.--This great preacher, who left Plymouth pulpit vacant, a vacancy which never can be filled, is a fine illustration of these views.