The unmitigated humbug has only to describe the alleged presence with a little elasticity, and the description will surely fit—albeit somewhat loosely—one or another of our departed friends. Who amongst us does not know someone on the other side passably good-looking, rather tall, of medium colouring, and somewhat stout? And if we plead that we do not, it is of no consequence—the medium glibly asserts that the spirit he or she describes has got behind our chair by mistake, and is really searching for someone else. But apart from this obvious fraud, can we believe that any one of those whom we have loved and lost would so degrade themselves and us as to appear at a public séance before a company of strangers. Surely we would rather not see them at all, than see them in such circumstances. At any rate, we would rather—much rather—possess our souls in patience, until our departed loved ones can appear to us in private—as they sometimes can—without the intervention of any medium whatsoever.
With regard to automatic or spirit writing, there is, I believe, just as much fraud practised. The mere fact that Sir somebody or other has a touching belief in one or two of these automatic scribes is quite enough for most people, and, consequently, they never dream of questioning the integrity of any medium who professes to convey to them messages from the dead. It is sufficient that the man with the title, the great man of science, believes. But they forget, often wilfully forget, that the cleverest man is often the most simple; that a great judge has not unfrequently had his pockets picked; and that eminence in one direction by no means denotes ability in another.
Snobbishness is responsible for much. The big man is credulous, and because he is credulous the little man is credulous too. Hence, consistency in the spirit world, in clairvoyance, in automatic writing, is, for the moment, almost universally accepted, and direct communication with the spirit world erroneously looked upon as an every-day occurrence. It will be otherwise when the man in the street wakes up and discovers the occult for himself. Experience will, I think, teach him, as it has taught me, that although ghosts may on very rare occasions come to order—and when they do, their coming is, I believe, quite as surprising to the medium as it is to the audience—by far the greater number of superphysical phenomena appear spontaneously; and it is through such spontaneous appearances only that we can hope to make any progress in our communication with the other world.
CHAPTER IX
NIGHT RAMBLINGS ON WIMBLEDON COMMON AND HOUNSLOW HEATH
If there are any places in London that should be more haunted than others, assuredly those places are the parks and commons. When I was living on the south side of the river, I spent many nights tramping about Wimbledon, Clapham, Wandsworth, Tooting and Streatham Commons. Since then I have lived at Blackheath, Hampstead, Hounslow and Dulwich, so that I may say I know pretty nearly every inch of these places. I can see myself now standing on Wimbledon Common close to a pool, in the dead of night. No one about, and the reflection of the moon staring at me from the unruffled surface of the water. I am trying to get impressions of any event that may have taken place there. I got none. Suddenly a hand falls on my shoulder; I swing round, and peering into my face is the white, haggard face of a tramp.
“You ain’t going to drown yourself, are you?” he said.
“Why?” I asked, anticipating a severe rebuke from this withered and worn scarecrow of humanity.
“Why,” he said, “because don’t do it here! I can show you a much better spot, where the water is deep, and where, when once you get in, you can’t very easily get out.”