Part 4

"Drink," he replied, "does not alter a man's character; it simply exposes it. That crime is generally associated with drunkenness is true, but that it causes it is unusual, and it is frequently a deterrent. The weakness in a man is sure to find vent through some channel, and I would rather not picture some of the crimes that our drunkards would probably have committed had not the absorption of this attraction turned their thoughts in another direction. Among weak natures and deformed characters we should expect to find both drunkards and criminals of all kinds."

"I quite agree with you," said Miss Folker. "I don't believe that it is any use trying to make people sober; our best whips always drink, don't they, father? And nothing you could do would ever stop them."

Our host seemed to think this was an unfortunate remark, for I noticed him glance at the butler as he replied, "If they do they soon have to go, I know that."

"You misunderstand me," Sydney said, turning to Miss Folker. "I believe there is great use in trying to make people sober, for weakness of any kind encouraged leads to disease; but one does little service to the cause of truth by telling lies."

"What would you do, then?" broke in Miss Smith, who had been listening intently.

"With the habitual drunkard," replied Sydney, "there is only at present one course open. He should be placed under restraint as a temporary lunatic, which he is. But drunkenness is a mere stage in the growth of mankind, and can only work itself out through the lessons of experience. To try to prohibit drink is to hinder progress; to say that there is more drunkenness now than formerly, is simply to say that the greater part of our race is considered strong enough to face the temptation. Give a savage as much spirit as he cares for, and he will kill himself in a few months. Our forefathers, in much the same way, though with more caution, used to lie nightly under the dinner-table; but now, among those classes which can afford to drink as much as they like, only persons with hereditary tendencies, or those who are unusually weak go to this extreme either in private or public. They have partially learned their lesson. Among the more ignorant there would be ten times the drunkenness if their wages allowed it. If you consider a man, though he starves his wife and children, cannot afford to get hopelessly drunk more than about twice a week; and this is one of the reasons why the poor have taken longer to learn by experience this lesson. But they, too, are slowly improving under increased temptations."

"Well, Sydney," said our host, "you are the most extraordinary man. You always seem to take a view of things from a reversed position."

"It is an excellent plan," Sydney replied, laughing, "now and then to stand on your head; in that position you see the world from quite a new aspect, for instead of your eyes being turned naturally to the earth with only an occasional glimpse of the heavens above, your view for the time is altered. It does not, however, do to keep in that attitude too long, or the blood will flow to your brain."

"But," asked Miss Smith, "do you not think that such doctrines might be very dangerous?"

"All truth is dangerous to those who wish for an excuse for weakness," he replied. "But there are many at the present time who want a little light thrown on the subject; for the man who does any action, however right in itself, feeling that thereby he may be throwing his influence on the side of selfishness, must therein be damned. Alcohol is probably one of our greatest gifts if rightly used, and being so, must of necessity be a frightful curse if abused."

"Gift indeed!" sniffed Lady Todman, "when every doctor will tell you it has no feeding property."

"That is quite true," Sydney continued. "It is not a food, and therein lies its great charm for an age when people eat far too much for the sedentary lives they live; but it prevents the waste of tissue, and enables man to keep in health without half his time and two-thirds of his energy being exhausted in the process of digestion. It is, however, a so-called poison, and must be treated as such; but the poisons of to-day will probably become the nutriment of the future. On the other hand, sugar, a splendid food for savages and labourers, is little better than a slow poison to those who neglect exercise. Some day we shall have a new commandment--'Thou shalt not take sweet things.' Considering the misery brought about in families through dyspepsia, I have a good mind to try and start a new order of lemontotallers at once.

"If, however, you want a temperance sermon, you must go to the drunkard, and as an antidote to what I have said, if you care to hear it, I will tell you a story of a friend of mine who is now dead. He was a young man of great ability, who had passed through the University, carrying off some of its most coveted prizes. For some years having heard nothing of him, I decided to look him up. I knew that he had been ordained, and, retaining his fellowship, had accepted a quiet living in the country, intending to spend his spare time in literary work. It had surprised me that since then I had heard nothing from him, nor had any book of his been published. I found him a hopeless wreck, and this, in a few words, is what he told me.

"He had come down to the country for the purpose of having leisure to study and write. For some time all went well. He had been brought up not to take wine, and was one of the few teetotallers of his College. His father had died from drink when Hamlin was a boy, and his mother had done all in her power to keep her child from following in the same course. 'I never,' he said, 'touched drink till I was ordained. My curacy was in the West End of London, and as the time drew near for me to preach my first sermon, I became hopelessly nervous, feeling that I should break down, or losing all self-control, behave like a lunatic. The thought horrified me. As I went over my sermon in private, my hand shook so that I could not read the words. In despair I tried a remedy many University men resort to when they have to read the lessons in chapel. I took a small dose of brandy and tried the effect. It was only about a tablespoonful, yet the result was miraculous. In a few minutes I felt capable of preaching in St. Paul's. On the following Sunday, having provided myself with a flask, I took a double dose in the vestry before the sermon, and the result was equally successful. From that day to this I have never preached without the aid of a stimulant.'

"For some time he confined his abuse of alcohol to this purpose, but before he came into the country the habit had grown, and he took spirits every evening, though not in large quantities. On being appointed rector to a small parish, the loneliness of his life added to his temptation.

"'I knew I was damned,' he said, 'but was helpless. Week by week, as I got less effect from the usual amount, I increased it. At last I began to feel the result. My interest in my work died down; the services in the church became a hollow and hateful mockery. I felt languid, and disinclined to take exercise, whilst my thoughts now always ran in one direction, to the moment when again I could drink--drink and be happy--feel the blood course freely through my veins, and my brain wake from its now normal condition of torpor; for you must understand that I never drank to what is called excess, that is to say, was never obviously the worse for drink. One night, after having been sleeping soundly for some hours, I woke oppressed with a feeling of nameless horror. The perspiration poured down me, and yet I shivered; then it seemed as if the very fiends of hell were tearing at my soul, mocking me, shouting my ordination vows into my ears, bidding me look at the damned souls in torture whom I had promised to watch over here, and had neglected. Thus I lay for an hour in anguish unspeakable, and at last got up, dressed, and went out into the cool night air. As I began to feel better I vowed to God never again to touch a drop of alcohol.

"'On the following morning it seemed that, after all, the whole state of my mind had been exaggerated, and was only probably due to indigestion. I, however, kept my vow for a few days and became a wreck. Sunday was drawing near. What should I do? I began my sermon after taking an unusually large dose, and preached contentedly from a passage chosen to strengthen my resolution during the night of misery--"Thy vows, O God, are upon me." Only once since,' he concluded in a whisper, 'have I made a vow, and that was after the first week spent with the real visible fiends in hell, when the doctor came and found that the minister whom all respected was suffering from _delirium tremens_!'"

There was a pause, and Lady Todman, who had been listening intently to the story, which she evidently intended to retail with a little extra colour at her next temperance meeting, asked what was the poor fellow's end.

"I am glad to say," Sydney replied, "that the day after I left he gathered up what little power was left him, and seeing that his life was hopeless, faced death bravely."

"I hope he was truly penitent before the end," said Lady Todman.

"I think he showed that conclusively," replied Sydney, "when he shot himself."

There was a moment's silence; and then, before anyone could continue the subject, which had become depressing, he turned the drift of talk quite naturally into a new channel, and was very soon keeping most of the party laughing over some comical experiences in the hunting-field. Though he made himself the hero for his own satire, we all knew him well enough to be sure that he was speaking from observation, and not personal experience.

"Well," I said, when the ladies had left us, and I had taken the opportunity to move over next to him, "was it the temperance question which brought you here to-night?"

"No," he replied, "it was not that; but a little private matter, which I hope to be able to accomplish later on."

The conversation then became general, as is usually the case under the friendly influence of tobacco.

We found only two ladies waiting for our arrival in the larger drawing-room, the others had gone into a dimly-lighted and smaller apartment adjoining. Lady Todman informed us, with a look of disgust, that the others were tempting the devil to rap on a circular table, from which we gathered that our hostess was indulging in her favourite occupation of playing at spiritualism.

"You don't seem to approve of spiritualism, Lady Todman," I remarked, rather hoping to draw Sydney into discussion with her on the subject.

"I certainly don't," she replied. "I consider it not only a great waste of time, but also wicked."

"I am glad to find," said Sydney, "that in this case we can agree if I may use the word dangerous instead of wicked, which is much the same thing."

"But why dangerous?" asked Miss Smith, who was the other lady present. "It is nothing but rubbish, and I don't see that people can do much harm by unconsciously pushing a table about, and we cannot fancy that any one would rap on purpose."

"Have you ever been present at one of these gatherings?" he replied. And being answered in the negative, continued, "Is it wise to judge without experience? There may be more than you fancy even in so apparently childish a performance as table-turning."

Whilst he spoke we were roused by low, yet excited voices in the next room, and he went toward the drawn curtains and quietly passed through, followed by Miss Smith and myself.

The light was dim, and at first I had some difficulty in seeing anything; but as my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, I noticed six ladies sitting round a table with their hands joined. One of these, a girl of about twenty, was lying back in her chair apparently unconscious, although her eyes were open. The others were watching her with expressions either of alarm or interest.

"What shall we do?" said Lady Folker in a whisper; "she has gone off, and I know that in my book it says if any one goes into a trance one ought to be most careful unless an experienced spiritualist is with you."

"If," said Sydney, "you would care to follow my instructions, we might see something interesting without doing the young lady any further harm. I once had a good deal of experience in these matters."

"Oh! how delightful!" said Miss Folker. "Tell us what we ought to do, and let us see a real live ghost; that would be lovely!"

The instructions were quickly carried out; the insensible girl being laid on a couch. All the rest were asked to go into the drawing-room, and the curtains were then again drawn between the two rooms. After some protest from the remainder of our party, including Lady Todman and the men who had so far taken no part in the performance, the lights were put out, and Alan Sydney brought a small shaded pink lamp from the inner room, where the girl still lay unconscious, and placed it in our midst. Hardly had he done this before the curtains were drawn quickly apart by some invisible means, and we could see into the inner room.

Miss Halcome still lay on the couch, apparently sleeping, but with her face turned from us. A soft light was falling upon her from above; as we watched, the light appeared to take, as it were, form, till we recognized that a woman clothed in white stood leaning over the girl. Then the woman, taking one of the girl's white hands, raised her up and led her into the centre of the inner room.

Miss Halcome moved at first as though walking in her sleep, with eyes open, yet apparently unseeing. When they thus reached the centre, the figure of the woman again began to fade till the girl stood alone before us, still with that strange light falling upon her. She made a beautiful picture, being one of those who possess a physical and purely sensuous loveliness, which appeals especially to men of lower type. Her hair and eyes were brown; her complexion clear, though rather dark; her lips were full, prettily shaped, and of deep colour; as a rule her cheeks carried, for my liking, too deep a rose tint, but they were now more pale than usual.

As she stood there she lifted her arms towards us, and began to sing. Her voice I had always considered to be her chief attraction, for not only was it rich and tuneful, but unusually well trained. I had not heard either song or tune before.

"Come to me, dearest, with a love Eternal, strong as death; Love that but lasts a transient life, And fades with fading breath,

Can bring to this sad heart no joy, No ecstasy divine; Eternity is far too brief To fill this heart of mine.

Though I should change, as all must change. My soul shall ever be, In youth or age, the soul you love Through all eternity.

The beauty now that charms your eye, This youthful form so fair, Shall alter with each passing year. Is it for these you care?

Go! face the truth! If all the grace That earth alone can give, Were turned from one you think you love, What of that love would live?

A little space--say fifty years, Or only five, may be, And all that now you prize so much Shall change to what you see.'"

The last few lines of the song almost died away, for at the commencement of the last stanza a most extraordinary change began to take place in the singer. The only way in which I can describe it is to compare her to a waxen image that was being melted rapidly by the strong light falling from above. Everything seemed to slip away downward and disappear, except the skeleton, which stood with hollow eye-sockets and moving jaw chattering out the last few words. There was a frightful shriek, and at the same moment the curtains fell together.

We were all, Sydney excepted, far too horrified to move. He, however, got up immediately and drew back the curtains. The room was just as we had left it; Miss Halcome still lay on the sofa in exactly the attitude he had placed her. Lady Todman was the first to speak.

"Just as I said, tempting the devil! And a nice fright he has given us all. Not that I was frightened. I just shut my eyes and said my prayers."

The poor old woman was simply shivering as she spoke, and we must therefore excuse her, for it is possible she did not know what she was saying.

"If any one wishes to talk about what we have seen," remarked Sydney, "he should do so at once, before we bring Miss Halcome out of her trance, as I am sure every one will agree with me that nothing of what has occurred should be mentioned in her presence."

"Oh! for goodness' sake!" cried Lady Todman, whose chattering teeth reminded me of the skeleton, "let's wake her up at once, or we shall be having I don't know what next! It is quite sinful, it really is!"

As no one seemed inclined to do more than utter a few disjointed words such as "Awful!" "Most remarkable!" etc., Sydney struck a match, and lighting a powerful lamp held it in front of the girl's eyes.

At this she sneezed twice, and then sitting up said--

"What's the matter? Why did you all leave the table?"

Her companion, holding the lamp still near her eyes, then told her that as she had gone into a trance the others had left the room, but he mentioned nothing of any further experiences; and she, seeming none the worse in any way, followed him into the outer room.

While looking round on the faces present I noticed that of a young man who was a stranger to me. As the girl came forward a look of terror passed over his features such as I had never seen before, and hope never to see again. There was still more mystery, apparently, behind even the late mysterious performance, and I began to wonder whether my friend's motive for coming might not have something to do with the terrified face before me.

Shortly after this, to every one's relief, the carriages began to be announced. I asked Sydney if he were driving, and finding that he was not, offered to take him with me.

"No," he replied, "let us both walk. I get too little exercise as it is, and cannot afford to miss an opportunity."

I agreed, and sending the coachman home, we started together.

There is no time like night for walking, and as the south-west wind blew softly against us, I felt as though it would have been pleasant to spend hours in the open air. There was much that I wanted to say, but for a few moments the delight of quiet night kept us both from speaking. At last I broke the silence.

"Well, that was the most extraordinary experience," I remarked; "can you throw any light upon it? Talk about the days of miracles being over!"

"The days of so-called miracles will never be over," replied my friend, "till all have equal knowledge. A miracle is but a natural law, of which most persons have hitherto been ignorant, brought into play at length by one who is better informed than the majority."

"But you had nothing to do with the manifestation of to-night, had you?" I asked.

"It was all my doing, with the exception of the first act, and even that was ruled by my influence; but I will explain it to you, as by doing so I shall save trouble later on. I told you that I had come to-night for a reason, and that my object was an important one you may judge by my using a power in public which I have seldom cared to exercise. No one, however, suspects that I had anything to do with what happened beyond being able to give them a little information; all the credit or discredit will be with the performers at the table. Let me first explain what I did, and then give you an idea of my motive.

"Before the ladies left us I exercised my will on Lady Folker and two others to try table-turning that evening. It is a slightly dangerous amusement that has recently revived; and is nothing else but a convenient form of semi-mesmerism caused by the joining of hands. If, which is unusual, no one tries to cheat or to fool the others present, the persons will soon feel a tingling sensation in their arms and hands, and lastly through their whole bodies; when the balance of will is fairly even, nothing may happen for some time, but at last one will-force must predominate the others, and quite unconsciously that power influences all the rest, so that every hand moves by the order of a semi-dormant will. Hence the moving and tilting of the table, the message received, etc. Sometimes the motive-will, being partially entranced, becomes a medium for the transmission of thoughts passing through the mind of some absent friend, for under certain conditions thought can be transferred, even as the sound of the voice through a telephone; but this is too lengthy a matter to go into now.

"As a rule, however, one of the party being more susceptible than the others, will before long become unconscious, or completely mesmerized. This is, as you know, what happened to-night, and in this condition the predominant will, whether the owner thereof be absent or present, gains complete control, speaking through his or her voice, and in fact acting the part of hypnotizer on a patient. Sometimes one of the party present, and then another, will so act on the medium, and each one be unconscious of doing so."

"I begin to see now," I said, "what happened. Your will acted on the girl, and you made her do just what you wished. But how about the skeleton?"

"You are mistaken," my friend answered, "and you forget about the curtains going back of their own accord. I adopted a simpler method, and one less harmful to the girl. Those at the table mesmerized her, but I mesmerized all the others present; from the time the curtains had been drawn till I myself threw them back not a single thing took place, and the room was in silence with the exception of the shriek of horror when I relaxed my power, and you saw, as you thought, the curtains fall together."

"Do you mean to say that the girl had nothing to do with it, and that she never moved?"

"She never stirred so much as a finger, but her condition assisted me in a way that you will understand better when I explain the laws which govern the transmission of will-force, for in her state what power she possessed was added to my own."

"And you mean to say that during all this time we were staring like a pack of fools at a blank curtain?" I demanded.

"I should hardly put it in that way myself," he replied. "It is true that that is what your bodily eyes were doing to all appearances, but your minds had a most impressive scene in front of them, which though it reached them from a different channel than the eye, was none the less vivid."

"But how did you convey the impression?" I asked.

"That," he replied, "requires what I fortunately possess, a vivid imagination, and it was only necessary for me to call up the visions for them to pass also before you; but it is exhausting work, as you will find some day if you try it, for the mind must never wander for a moment, and few people have learnt the art of perfect self-concentration. It is also necessary that for the time being the operator should be in a half-entranced state, or the pictures would be meagre and unreal. This condition, which for the sake of convenience may be called day-dreaming, requires much practice, but it is nevertheless fairly easy to learn. I will before long show you the method of acquiring the habit, so that you can judge for yourself of its use."

"And now," I asked, "what was your motive for giving us such a terrible experience? You succeeded in giving one young man, whose name I don't know, such a scare that he will be some weeks before he gets over the effects."