Part 26

“Thoughts thus crossing each other haphazard, as in the nightmare of a vision, growing up into fantom sights and sounds, and all serving to create horror; not because those sights and sounds are really visitations from a world without, but that they are ghastly, monstrous renewals of what have been in this world itself, set into malignant play by a malignant mortal. And it is through the material agency of that human brain that these things would acquire even a human power; would strike as with the shock of electricity, and might kill, if the thought of the person assailed did not rise superior to the dignity of the original assailer; might kill the most powerful animal, if unnerved by fear, but not injure the feeblest man, if, while his flesh crept, his mind stood out fearless.

“Thus when in old stories we read of a magician rent to pieces by the fiends he had invoked, or still more, in Eastern legends, that one magician succeeds by arts in destroying another, there may be so far truth, that a material being has clothed, from his own evil propensities, certain elements and fluids, usually quiescent or harmless, with awful shapes and terrific force; just as the lightning, that had lain hidden and innocent in the cloud, becomes by natural law suddenly visible, takes a distinct shape to the eye, and can strike destruction on the object to which it is attracted.”

“You are not without glimpses of a mighty secret,” said Mr. Richards, composedly. “According to your view, could a mortal obtain the power you speak of, he would necessarily be a malignant and evil being.”

“If the power were exercised, as I have said, most malignant and most evil; though I believe in the ancient traditions that he could not injure the good. His will could only injure those with whom it has established an affinity, or over whom it forces unresisted sway. I will now imagine an example that may be within the laws of nature, yet seem wild as the fables of a bewildered monk.

“You will remember that Albertus Magnus, after describing minutely the process by which the spirits may be invoked and commanded, adds emphatically that the process will instruct and avail only to the few; that _a man must be born a magician_!—that is, born with a peculiar physical temperament, as a man is born a poet.

Rarely are men in whose constitutions lurks this occult power of the highest order of intellect; usually in the intellect there is some twist, perversity, or disease. But, on the other hand, they must possess, to an astonishing degree, the faculty to concentrate thought on a single object—the energic faculty that we call WILL. Therefore, though their intellect be not sound, it is exceedingly forcible for the attainment of what it desires. I will imagine such a person, preeminently gifted with this constitution and its concomitant forces. I will place him in the loftier grades of society.

“I will suppose his desires emphatically those of the sensualist; he has, therefore, a strong love of life. He is an absolute egotist; his will is concentered in himself; he has fierce passions; he knows no enduring, no holy affections, but he can covet eagerly what for the moment he desires; he can hate implacably what opposes itself to his objects; he can commit fearful crimes, yet feel small remorse; he resorts rather to curses upon others than to penitence for his misdeeds. Circumstances, to which his constitution guides him, lead him to a rare knowledge of the natural secrets which may serve his egotism. He is a close observer where his passions encourage observation; he is a minute calculator, not from love of truth, but where love of self sharpens his faculties; therefore he can be a man of science.

“I suppose such a being, having by experience learned the power of his arts over others, trying what may be the power of will over his own frame, and studying all that in natural philosophy may increase that power. He loves life, he dreads death; _he wills to live on_. He cannot restore himself to youth; he cannot entirely stay the progress of death; he cannot make himself immortal in the flesh and blood. But he may arrest, for a time so long as to appear incredible if I said it, that hardening of the parts which constitutes old age.

“A year may age him no more than an hour ages another. His intense will, scientifically trained into system, operates, in short, over the wear and tear of his own frame. He lives on. That he may not seem a portent and a miracle, he _dies_, from time to time, seemingly, to certain persons. Having schemed the transfer of a wealth that suffices to his wants, he disappears from one corner of the world, and contrives that his obsequies shall be celebrated.

“He reappears at another corner of the world, where he resides undetected, and does not visit the scenes of his former career till all who could remember his features are no more. He would be profoundly miserable if he had affections; he has none but for himself. No good man would accept his longevity; and to no man, good or bad, would he or could he communicate its true secret.

“Such a man might exist; such a man as I have described I see now before me—Duke of ——, in the court of ——, dividing time between lust and brawl, alchemists and wizards; again, in the last century, charlatan and criminal, with name less noble, domiciled in the house at which you gazed to-day, and flying from the law you had outraged, none knew whither; traveler once more revisiting London with the same earthly passion which filled your heart when races now no more walked through yonder streets; outlaw from the school of all the nobler and diviner mysteries. Execrable image of life in death and death in life, I warn you back from the cities and homes of healthful men! back to the ruins of departed empires! back to the deserts of nature unredeemed!”

There answered me a whisper so musical, so potently musical, that it seemed to enter into my whole being and subdue me despite myself. Thus it said:

“I have sought one like you for the last hundred years. Now I have found you, we part not till I know what I desire. The vision that sees through the past and cleaves through the veil of the future is in you at this hour—never before, never to come again. The vision of no puling, fantastic girl, of no sick-bed somnambule, but of a strong man with a vigorous brain. Soar, and look forth!”

As he spoke, I felt as if I rose out of myself upon eagle wings. All the weight seemed gone from air, roofless the room, roofless the dome of space. I was not in the body—where, I knew not; but aloft over time, over earth.

Again I heard the melodious whisper:

“You say right. I have mastered great secrets by the power of will. True, by will and by science I can retard the process of years, but death comes not by age alone. Can I frustrate the accidents which bring death upon the young?”

“No; every accident is a providence. Before a providence snaps every human will.”

“Shall I die at last, ages and ages hence, by the slow though inevitable growth of time, or by the cause that I call accident?”

“By a cause you call accident.”

“Is not the end still remote?” asked the whisper, with a slight tremor.

“Regarded as my life regards time, it is still remote.”

“And shall I, before then, mix with the world of men as I did ere I learned these secrets; resume eager interest in their strife and their trouble; battle with ambition, and use the power of the sage to win the power that belongs to kings?”

“You will yet play a part on the earth that will fill earth with commotion and amaze. For wondrous designs have you, a wonder yourself, been permitted to live on through the centuries. All the secrets you have stored will then have their uses; all that now makes you a stranger amid the generations will contribute then to make you their lord. As the trees and the straws are drawn into a whirlpool, as they spin round, are sucked to the deep, and again tossed aloft by the eddies, so shall races and thrones be drawn into your vortex. Awful destroyer! but in destroying, made, against your own will, a constructor.”

“And that date, too, is far off?”

“Far off; when it comes, think your end in this world is at hand!”

“How and what is the end? Look east, west, south, and north.”

“In the north, where you never yet trod, toward the point whence your instincts have warned you, there a specter will seize you. ’Tis Death! I see a ship; it is haunted; ’tis chased! it sails on. Baffled navies sail after that ship. It enters the region of ice. It passes a sky red with meteors. Two moons stand on high, over ice-reefs. I see the ship locked between white defiles; they are ice-rocks. I see the dead strew the decks, stark and livid, green mold on their limbs. All are dead but one man—it is you! But years, though so slowly they come, have then scathed you. There is the coming of age on your brow, and the will is relaxed in the cells of the brain. Still that will, though enfeebled, exceeds all that man knew before you; through the will you live on, gnawed with famine. And nature no longer obeys you in that death-spreading region; the sky is a sky of iron, and the air has iron clamps, and the ice-rocks wedge in the ship. Hark how it cracks and groans! Ice will imbed it as amber imbeds a straw. And a man has gone forth, living yet, from the ship and its dead; and he has clambered up the spikes of an iceberg, and the two moons gaze down on his form. That man is yourself, and terror is on you—terror; and terror has swallowed up your will.

“And I see, swarming up the steep ice-rock, gray, grizzly things. The bears of the North have scented their quarry; they come nearer and nearer, shambling, and rolling their bulk. In that day every moment shall seem to you longer than the centuries through which you have passed. Heed this: after life, moments continued make the bliss or the hell of eternity.”

“Hush!” said the whisper. “But the day, you assure me, is far off, very far! I go back to the almond and rose of Damascus! Sleep!”

The room swam before my eyes. I became insensible. When I recovered, I found G—— holding my hand and smiling. He said, “You, who have always declared yourself proof against mesmerism, have succumbed at last to my friend Richards.”

“Where is Mr. Richards?”

“Gone, when you passed into a trance, saying quietly to me, ‘Your friend will not wake for an hour.’”

I asked, as collectedly as I could, where Mr. Richards lodged.

“At the Trafalgar Hotel.”

“Give me your arm,” said I to G——. “Let us call on him; I have something to say.”

When we arrived at the hotel we were told that Mr. Richards had returned twenty minutes before, paid his bill, left directions with his servant (a Greek) to pack his effects, and proceed to Malta by the steamer that should leave Southampton the next day. Mr. Richards had merely said of his own movements that he had visits to pay in the neighborhood of London, and it was uncertain whether he should be able to reach Southampton in time for that steamer; if not, he should follow in the next one.

The waiter asked me my name. On my informing him, he gave me a note that Mr. Richards had left for me in case I called.

The note was as follows:

I wished you to utter what was in your mind. You obeyed. I have therefore established power over you. For three months from this day you can communicate to no living man what has passed between us. You cannot even show this note to the friend by your side. During three months, silence complete as to me and mine. Do you doubt my power to lay on you this command? Try to disobey me. At the end of the third month the spell is raised. For the rest, I spare you. I shall visit your grave a year and a day after it has received you.

So ends this strange story, which I ask no one to believe. I write it down exactly three months after I received the above note. I could not write it before, nor could I show to G——, in spite of his urgent request, the note which I read under the gas-lamp by his side.

THE SEPTEMBER GALE.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

I’m not a chicken; I have seen Full many a chill September, And though 1 was a youngster then, That gale I well remember; The day before, my kite-string snapped, And I, my kite pursuing, The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat;— For me two storms were brewing!

It came as quarrels sometimes do, When married folks get clashing; There was a heavy sigh or two, Before the fire was flashing,— A little stir among the clouds, Before they rent asunder,— A little rocking of the trees, And then came on the thunder.

Lord! how the ponds and rivers boiled, And how the shingles rattled! And oaks were scattered on the ground As it the Titans battled; And all above was in a howl, And all below a clatter,— The earth was like a frying-pan, Or some such hissing matter.

It chanced to be our washing-day, And all our things were drying: The storm came roaring through the lines, And set them all a-flying; I saw the shirts and petticoats Go riding off like witches; I lost, ah! bitterly I wept,— I lost my Sunday breeches!

I saw them straddling through the air, Alas! too late to win them; I saw them chase the clouds as if The devil had been in them; They were my darlings and my pride, My boyhood’s only riches,— “Farewell, farewell,” I faintly cried,— “My breeches! O my breeches!”

That night I saw them in my dreams, How changed from what I knew them. The dews had steeped their faded threads, The winds had whistled through them; I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them; A hole was in their amplest part, As if an imp had worn them.

I have had many happy years, And tailors kind and clever, But those young pantaloons have gone Forever and forever! And not till fate has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn My loved, my long-lost breeches!

FACTS FOR THE WEATHERWISE.

WEATHER SIGNS.

The sun is bright, the sky is clear, But grandma says a storm is near; And when I asked how she could know, She said the peacock told her so, When, perching on the old fence rail, He screamed so loud and dropped his tail; And the shy cuckoo on the wing Repeated over the same thing; And “More wet!” all the bob-whites cried That in the grassy meadows hide; The soot that from the chimney fell Came down, it seems, this news to tell; The kettle sang the self-same tune When it boiled dry so very soon; The grass this morning said so, too, That hung without a drop of dew; And the blue swallows, flying low Across the river, to and fro. So all these told her very plain That ere the evening it would rain; But who told them, and when, and how? That’s what I want to find out now. _St. Nicholas._

THE SIROCCO OF ITALY.

Italy is visited by a hot wind from the south which is known as the “Sirocco.” This wind will run the temperature in southern Italy up to 110 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, and has a most peculiar effect on the human system, causing intense weakness and irritable depression.

The Sirocco is said to be indirectly the cause of more murders, and of quarrels in which blood is shed, than any other phenomenon in nature.

WEATHER PROVERBS.

The absence of dew for three days indicates rain. Heavy dew indicates fair weather. Clouds without dew indicate rain. If there is a heavy dew and it soon dries, expect fine weather; if it lies long on the grass, expect rain in twenty-four hours.

With dew before midnight, the next day will surely be bright. If you wet your feet with the dew in the morning, you may keep them dry for the rest of the day.

If it rains before seven, ’twill clear before eleven. Rains from the south prevent drought, but rains from the west are always best. If it rains before sunrise, expect a fair afternoon. If it rains when the sun shines, it will rain the next day. Rain is likely to commence on the turn of the tide.

Marry the rain to the wind and you have a calm. If rain commences before daylight, it will hold up before 8 A.M.; if it begins about noon, it will continue through the afternoon; if it commences after 9 P.M., it will rain the next day; if the wind is from the northwest or southwest, the storm will be short; if from the northeast, it will be a hard one.

THUNDER IN ENGLAND.

An early English author writes:

“Thunders in the morning signifie wynde: about noone, rayne; in the evening great tempest.

“Somme wryte (their ground I see not) that Sondayes thundre should brynge the death of learned men, judges, and others; Mondayes thundre, the death of women; Tuesdayes thundre, pleantie of graine; Wednesdayes thundre, much blodshede; Thursdayes thundre, pleantie of shepe and corne; Fridayes thundre, the slaughter of a great man and other horrible murders; and Saturdayes thundre, a generall pestilent plague and great deathe.”

HOW TO USE A BAROMETER.

The following rules are those which are used by the Seawanhaka-Corinthian Yacht Club in their very successful attempts to forecast the weather with the aid of the barometer.

A Rising Barometer.—A rapid rise indicates unsettled weather. A gradual rise indicates settled weather. A rise with dry air and cold air increasing in summer indicates wind from the northward; and if rain has fallen, better weather may be expected. A rise with moist air and a low temperature indicates wind and rain from the northward. A rise with southerly winds indicates fine weather.

A Steady Barometer.—With dry air and seasonable temperature indicates a continuance of very fine weather.

A Falling Barometer.—A rapid fall indicates stormy weather. A rapid fall with westerly wind indicates stormy weather from the northward. A fall with a northerly wind indicates storm, with rain and hail in summer, and snow in winter. A fall with increased moisture in the air and heat increasing indicates wind and rain from the southward. A fall with dry air and cold increasing in winter indicates snow. A fall after very calm and warm weather indicates rain with squally weather.

The barometer rises for northerly winds, including from northwest by north to the eastward for dry or less wet weather, for less wind, or for more than one of these changes, except on a few occasions, when rain, hail, or snow comes from the northward with strong wind.

The barometer falls for southerly wind, including from southeast by south to the westward, for wet weather, for stronger wind, or for more than one of these changes, except on a few occasions, moderate wind, with rain or snow, comes from the northward.

COWS TELL RAIN.

A sign of coming rain or strong wind is evident when a herd of cows gather together at one end of a pasture, with their tails to windward. Again, when cows are unusually frisky—so that sedate old grandmother cows caper about the field and butt imaginary objects with their horns, while they fling up their heels—often storms are in the air.

Cows are sometimes thus playful in the witching hours of twilight, to the terror of nervous ladies who must cross their pastures.

But when in twilight cows follow one another along a field path unpleasantly close and gambol unpleasantly around one, fear of a storm need not necessarily add terror to the situation. For cows are very inquisitive, and in the dusk of twilight like to make careful investigation of strangers, without meaning any offense.

Cows show a sign of heat and its accompaniment, annoying insects, when they thus collect together, rubbing themselves against each other, and one might read in this a sign of fair weather ahead.

FIRE AS A BAROMETER.

Willsford, in his “Nature’s Secrets” (1658), tells us:

“When our common fires do burn with a pale flame, they presage foul weather. If the fire do make a huzzing noise, it is a sign of tempests near at hand. When the fire sparkleth. very much, it is a sign of rain. If the ashes on the hearth do dodder together of themselves, it is a sign of rain. When pots are newly taken off the fire, if they sparkle (the soot upon them being incensed), it presages rain.

“When the fire scorcheth, and burneth more vehemently than it useth to do, it is a sign of frosty weather; but if the living coals do shine brighter than commonly at other times, expect then rain. If wood or any other fuel do crackle more than ordinary, it is an evident sign of some tempestuous weather neer at hand; the much and suddain falling of soot presages rain.”

GOOSE-BONES AND PROPHECIES.

The goose-bone predictions are perhaps more closely watched in Kentucky than anywhere else, and it may be called the Kentucky weather prophet.

We must take the breastbone of a last spring’s goose—none other will do, for the prophecy does not extend beyond the year in which the goose is hatched. It must be divided into three different parts, which represent the three divisions of winter.

The breastbone of a goose is translucent, but at places has cloudlike blots upon it. These blots denote cold weather, and the prophecy is made according to their density and position.

ORIGIN OF COLD WAVES OF AIR.

Dr. Klein, in reference to the use of daily weather reports, states that in Europe, as in America, in all cases, the reports of the weather westward of a given station are of the greatest importance, while reports from stations to the east are, on the average, of minor importance in making weather predictions.

A southerly wind in the region of Ireland, Scotland, or Norway indicates the approaching side of an area of low barometer. It is therefore a sign of a coming change in the weather.

A northerly wind in those regions indicates, for Germany, that the pressure of the air from the ocean is high, and can be considered as a sign of steady pleasant weather.

The region of high barometer is generally separated from oceans and from equatorial regions by lofty chains of mountains. The coldest and densest stratum of air can therefore not flow away toward the sea.

The area of greatest cold on this continent is not prevented by any range of mountains from extending southward and eastward, but is only hemmed in on the west by the Rocky Mountains. Thus while the Pacific Coast is protected from an overflow of very cold air, the whole eastern portion of America becomes peculiarly subject to it.

A HOROSCOPE OF THE MONTHS.[7]

BY MARION Y. BUNNER.

The Nature of the Destiny and Some of the Idiosyncrasies Which Have To Do with Persons Born Under the Sign “Libra,” Representing the Period Between September 23d and October 23d.

_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

Footnote 7: