No sooner had we taken our seats at the table, than the Spirits spelled out, “My dear son, repeat the Lord’s prayer.” Each member looked at the others inquiringly, but no word was spoken except to ask “Who?”
The rappings answered, “My dear son, ha’e ye forgotten your puir auld mither? O my son, repeat the Lord’s prayer.” Mr. McNaughton was a very tall man, with a strong Scotch accent. The rapping still continued to call upon him to repeat the Lord’s prayer. He looked from one to another, but said nothing. His friends urged him to comply with the Spirit’s request; but he was disgusted, and thought it was a trick which his friends were playing upon him, and as they were very jolly, he would not make himself ridiculous by resenting it: but still no further manifestations came, under the then state of things.
His friends told him that if he wanted to witness anything further he would have to comply with the request of the Spirit. After much persuasion, he reluctantly commenced in a very low, indistinct manner to mumble something that sounded like “Our father, which art in heaven.” By this time a universal roar of laughter broke from the company. Still, the Spirit urged him to go on, and he began again with little better success.
His friends knew full well it had been many a day since he had prayed with his “dear auld mither.” The Spirit then spelled that “all should join in repeating the Lord’s prayer,” and we all united in its repetition. The responsive rappings of approval were heard all over the room—on the table, chairs, floor, and wall. Mr. McNaughton looked astonished. The table danced with evident joy, and we were obliged to move back. There it stood, upon one foot, fairly dancing. Mr. McNaughton exclaimed boldly, in his Scotch dialect, “Exthraordinary! Exthraordinary! I begin to understand it now.” The laughter was over. The Spirit of his mother said, “My dear son, do you remember how we used to repeat the Lord’s prayer together, when you were a little laddie?” “Yes, mother. Yes, I comprehend it all. I am converted to the truth of Spiritual manifestations.”
The company remained until ten o’clock, and the manifestations were very satisfactory. They felt more than gratified, and, to use their own words, said, “We cannot go away without giving you some remuneration for the time you have kindly spent with us.” Mr. McNaughton had just lost a lovely daughter, and she gave him sweet assurance of her undying love and her immortal existence.
This is the first instance in which we had ever been offered payment for our time. They offered it in kindness and good faith, believing it was justly our due. But to us it seemed humiliating. We had not needed such aid, as my brother furnished us with provisions from the farm, and, with what I still had left of that received for teaching, I had enough for present purposes; and I fully intended to return with mother, and live at the old home. Still our friends insisted that we should not refuse their kindly intended gift. This first money was received on November 28, 1849.
I will here introduce, for love and veneration to his memory, a letter written about this time by our excellent Quaker friend George Willets, of Rochester, to Mr. E. W. Capron, who handed it over to me. He was one of the noblest of men. And Quaker as he was (he was one of the “Progressive Friends,” commonly called Hicksites), I once witnessed a scene in which a just and righteous indignation caused him to cast off his coat, in readiness to deal in very mundane fashion with an unworthy and misbehaving member of one of the “investigating committees.” “I’ve never fought a man in my life,” he said, “but I will not stand by and see thee insult these children.” The assailant wilted down. The provocation was such that I am sure the angel who may have charge of the short record of Quaker sins, after writing it “dropped a tear on the words and blotted them out forever.”
LETTER FROM GEORGE WILLETS.
(About end of 1848.)