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Page 46
One day Benjamin West desired to give me lessons in oil-painting. The
next, my brother Joseph, dead now for ten years, asked forgiveness for
his share in a little quarrel of ours which had embittered a portion of
his last days,--of which, by the way, I am confident that Miss Fellows
knew nothing. At one time I received a long discourse enlightening me on
the arrangement of the "spheres" in the disembodied state of existence.
At another, Alison's dead grandfather pathetically reminded her of a
certain Sunday afternoon at "meetin'" long ago, when the child Allis
hooked his wig off in the long prayer with a bent pin and a piece of
fish-line.
One day we were saddened by the confused wail of a lost spirit, who
represented his agonies as greater than soul could bear, and clamored
for relief. Moved to pity, I inquired:--
"What can we do for you?"
Unseen knuckles rapped back the touching answer:--
"Give me a piece of squash pie!"
I remarked to Miss Fellows that I supposed this to be a modern and
improved version of the ancient drop of water which was to cool the
tongue of Dives. She replied that it was the work of a mischievous
spirit who had nothing better to do; they would not infrequently take in
that way the reply from the lips of another. I am not sure whether we
are to have lips in the spiritual world, but I think that was her
expression.
Through all the nonsense and confusion of these daily messages, however,
one restless, indefinite purpose ran; a struggle for expression that we
could not grasp; a sense of something unperformed which was tormenting
somebody.
One week we had been so much more than usually annoyed by the dancing of
tables, shaking of doors, and breaking of crockery, that I lost all
patience, and at length vehemently dared our unseen tormentors to show
themselves.
"Who and what are you?" I cried, "destroying the peace of my family in
this unendurable fashion. If you are mortal man, I will meet you as
mortal man. Whatever you are, in the name of all fairness, let me see
you!"
"If you see me it will be death to you," tapped the Invisible.
"Then let it be death to me! Come on! When shall I have the pleasure of
an interview?"
"To-morrow night at six o'clock."
"To-morrow at six, then, be it."
And to-morrow at six it was. Allis had a headache, and was lying down
upstairs. Miss Fellows and I were with her, busy with cologne and tea,
and one thing and another. I had, in fact, forgotten all about my
superhuman appointment, when, just as the clock struck six, a low cry
from Miss Fellows arrested my attention.
"I see it!" she said.
"See what?"
"A tall man wrapped in a sheet."
"Your eyes are the only ones so favored, it happens," I said, with a
superior smile. But while I spoke Allis started from the pillows with a
look of fear.
"_I_ see it, Fred!" she exclaimed, under her breath.
"Women's imagination!" for I saw nothing.
I saw nothing for a moment; then I must depose and say that I _did_ see
a tall figure, covered from head to foot with a sheet, standing still in
the middle of the room. I sprang upon it with raised arm; my wife states
that I was within a foot of it when the sheet dropped. It dropped at my
feet,--nothing but a sheet. I picked it up and shook it; only a sheet.
"It is one of those old linen ones of grandmother's," said Allis,
examining it; "there are only six, marked in pink with the boar's-head in
the corner. It came from the blue chest up garret. They have not been
taken out for years."
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