THE AUTHOR’S STORY.
In the autumn of 1891, the author of this narrative was business manager of the Modesto (California) Daily News. One afternoon while he was engaged in an important consultation with the late Senator J. D. Spencer, one of the owners of the News, there was a knock at the door of the editorial rooms. In a twinkling an old gentleman entered; he was a venerable-looking, long-bearded man, with Hebraic features.
Before Senator Spencer and I could say, “Good day, sir!” the old man said something like this: “Gentlemen, I am Dr. Louis Schlesinger, the famous Spiritualist medium. It is well known that I can talk with the good angels, and I desire to have a series of seances here in Modesto.”
“Our advertising columns are open,” I said, “and we shall be pleased to announce your meetings at the regular rates.”
“I have no money to spare,” he replied; “but I think you will say something about me when I show you that man lives after death.”
The Senator whispered to me (on discovering that the old gentleman was quite deaf), “I guess he’s escaped from the Stockton Lunatic Asylum.”
Stockton was but twenty miles away, and I assented, but said, “Suppose we sound him before we send for an officer.”
So we agreed to give Dr. Schlesinger an opportunity to convince us that he was a man of rare endowments, as he pretended to be.
Coming to the point, it was arranged that the Senator should retire to the press-room while I remained with the aged suspect.
“Take eight or ten slips of paper,” said Dr. Schlesinger, “and write one name on each—some of living, some of dead persons; and don’t tell me or anybody on earth what names you have written on the slips. Roll them into little pellets—and come back here with your mind at rest, for I am not insane, as you think.”
We were somewhat surprised, for both were certain that the old gentleman could not have heard Senator Spencer’s whispered doubt concerning our visitor’s sanity.
In a few minutes Senator Spencer returned, bearing a number of paper pellets which he held in his clenched right hand.
Doors were closed and a table was rolled to the center of the room. Dr. Schlesinger closed his eyes and appeared to fall into a light slumber. At once there were many distinct raps on the table, as if some one had thumped upon it with a finger. This was rather singular, as we could see that our visitor’s hands in no manner touched the table.
Suddenly the old man opened his eyes and said: “Gentlemen, are you satisfied that I do not know any of the names on those papers?”
As Senator Spencer was as truthful and honorable a man as ever lived, one whose word was better than most men’s bonds, I replied: “I am sure you have not seen the names and that you do not know one of them.”
“And some of the names are not known to anybody in California,” added the Senator.
“Then I’ll have to show you that I can talk with the spirits of the departed,” said Dr. Schlesinger.
Without further delay he said: “I see the spirit of your mother standing over you. She calls you Dillard, which is your middle name, and she says she died in Kansas City, and was buried in the old cemetery at Westport. Am I right?”
Senator Spencer turned pale and said: “That is absolutely correct. Which one of the pellets bears her name?”
He then held the bits of paper between his right finger and thumb, and when he had picked up three or four of them, the medium said, “That is the one which contains your mother’s maiden name.”
I have now forgotten the maiden name of the Senator’s mother, though I think it was Dillard. The answer, however, was correct.
Next, without asking me to write anything down, the medium thus addressed me: “I see the spirit of your mother’s mother. Her name was Eliza Johnson, and she calls you ‘my son,’ and says, ‘Tell Anne that immortality is the glorious truth of human life.’ Anne was the name of her eldest child—your mother.”
If Senator Spencer was convinced that Dr. Schlesinger had told him the truth, I had the same kind of conviction in my case; for every word uttered was correct. I have never understood how this old man came to the results announced, nor have I ever seen any one who was able to explain his power.
With the memory of my Modesto experiences fresh in mind, I decided, when I came upon Dr. Schlesinger in San Francisco, in 1893, to institute a series of daylight seances in the presence of some of the most distinguished citizens of San Francisco. As I was then a writer of the San Francisco Daily Examiner staff I found rare opportunities for enlisting the men desired in the experiments. I was not then, nor am I now, in any manner affiliated with Spiritualists, nor do I set forth the facts of this narrative for the purpose of making converts to any theory of mind or matter.
The manuscript from which this work is printed was written at the time of the matters recorded, on an order from the Examiner. Owing to the fact that Mayor Ellert afterwards regretted that he had allowed a seance to be held in his office, the Examiner was induced to suppress the story, which now appears in detail for the first time. It should be borne in mind that all that follows was written at the time of the events described.