CLASSIFICATION OF MEN—THE SUPERSTITIOUS ELEMENT IN MAN—THE OLD CULTS CONTINUED IN THE NEW—FIRE WORSHIP—THE SORCERERS—MY LEGAL FRIEND'S STORY A LAUGHABLE ONE INDEED—THE DESPONDENT OLD MAID, THOUGH ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED—AN AUNT ARRIVES IN "THE NICK OF TIME"—THEY HUNT UP A FORTUNE-TELLER—MRS. SEYMOUR, THE SORCERESS, AND HER PRETTY LITTLE "ORATORY"—THE "PRIE-DIEU"—THE OLD MAID MARRIES—MRS. SEYMOUR'S PLAN FOR INSURING THE AFFECTION OF HUSBANDS—HER POWERS AS A CHARMER—THE SACRED BOX AND ITS FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS CONTENTS—MRS. SEYMOUR IS LOST SIGHT OF—SEARCH FOR HER IN BROOKLYN AND AT BOSTON—THE CHARMED BOX OPENED BY MR. AND MRS. ——, AND THE CONTENTS FOUND TO HAVE CHANGED FORM MATERIALLY—MY LEGAL FRIEND AND I LOOK AFTER MATTERS—A PORTION OF THE TRANSFORMED VALUABLES FOUND—A MRS. BRADLEY, A "MEDIUM" IN BOSTON, PROVES TO BE THE IDENTICAL MRS. SEYMOUR—THE HIGH-TONED DEVOTEES OF BOSTON—SUDDEN PROCEEDINGS TAKEN—MRS. SEYMOUR AND HER HUSBAND COME TO TERMS—RESULTS—RESPECTABLE VICTIMS OF THE SORCERERS NUMEROUS—THE DUPES IN THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA."
What the human race might have become without the love of the mysterious or marvellous in its composition, would be a pretty subject of speculation for the philosophers, but one which human genius will prove perhaps ever unable to solve. There are three classes of human beings,—or so I am apt to divide them in my "philosophy,"—the good, and in different degrees, sensible; the crafty; and the simple and weak, neither positively good or bad. These latter two divisions comprehend the vast majority of mankind, made so, to a great extent, by the institutions which the race has, in its ignorance, wrought out for itself, and by which it is constantly cursed, until one by one it outgrows, along the course of the ages, these outrages upon itself, which itself has imposed. This process of outgrowing we call progress, and so it is, perhaps; but it would be more satisfactory progress if, when it overrides or abates one wrong or malicious incumbrance upon a race, it could or would also avoid the establishment of another equally bad. The love of the mysterious is, to a great extent, the religious element in man. Some writers hold that it is such to the full extent; but I am not about to decide that, even for myself alone, much less for others. True it is, however, that in all historic time this element, or whatever else one is pleased to call it, has been the medium through which the intellectual and tyrant forces in the race have subjected the weaker to their sway. The ancient oracles played upon the superstitious in men in the government of whole races and nations, and to-day the oracles of old are reproduced among us in a thousand ways, and the religions of the past, in their symbolizations, exist among us, and exert their influence, almost unconsciously to the masses.
For example. That beautiful cult, or religion of old, sun-worship,—is traceable in modern institutions, and the old fire-worship, so wondrous, still lives in that word Purity (from the Greek word pur, fire), which is the expression of our highest or deepest sense of all that is morally perfect; and in the very steeples of our churches is the old fire-worship symbolized; for the steeple is but a representation of the old obelisks, which were themselves but symbols of the tall shafts of fire which shot up from the top of some mountain, like Sinai, when the worshippers built thereon the vast bon-fires,—or good, i. e., holy,—fires to which the vast assemblages poured forth their devotions. And in even the names of the days of the week we preserve the memories of the old superstitions, and to some extent the superstitions themselves—Sun-day, day devoted to the worship of the sun, and so on. In Thurs-day, or Thor's-day, we are kept in mind of the old Scandinavian god, as potent in the estimation of his worshippers as the Jehovah of the Hebrews was to them, though a somewhat different character.
Through all grades, and shades, and degrees the superstitious element of to-day finds itself fed. The sublime and the ridiculous still exists as of old, and the advertising columns of the public journals tell but too plainly and painfully of the susceptibility of the masses to the deceits and frauds to which the superstitious element in them subjects them. The sorcerers are not yet extinct, and the prophets, as good as most of those of ancient days, and magicians as expert as those whom the greater magician, Moses, outwitted, are still to be found; and I suspect these excel those of ancient times in one important, the most important, art—that of money-getting. But they have an advantage over their prototypes in that they have the influence of the public journals of these days to widely proclaim themselves—to make their pretensions heard by a larger audience. I suspect that many a reader of this would be surprised to learn, could he be statistically informed, how vast is the number of the victims of modern sorcery. These are not confined to the lower orders, as many an intelligent and educated man, who has not made the special matter of remark here a study, might quite sensibly suspect. None of the conventional grades of society, whether the same be measured by money, by the education of books, or what is called "blood," or high hereditary social position, is lacking in them; and it is remarkable that the victims from the educated circles are as much more intense, generally, in their superstitions, as their superiority in other respects to the uneducated is marked and distinguished. I suppose this may be accounted for thus: Being once led into superstition, the man of letters resorts to his pride of intellect to sustain himself in it, and deepen his convictions; for although we cannot exactly believe whatever we please,—for the character of evidence must be a matter of some consideration with us, must have weight with us,—yet when we are led on to a certain point, and have averred our belief in any absurdity, we are disposed to admit its logical consequences, however wide apart from good sense they may be.
In this narrative I have first to deal with parties of high social position—of education, and much refinement, of course,—but descended from a long line of ancestors more or less noted for their inclination to believe everything which came to them under the similitude of religion or superstition of any kind—anything which seemed to them inexplicable; anything, in other words, mysterious to them.
A lawyer of my acquaintance—in fact an old friend, who had employed me many times before, especially in the ferreting out of legal evidence in criminal matters—came one day into my office with a broad grin on his face. I was in pretty good humor, and was beguiling an hour or two,—while I was awaiting the advent of a party who I hoped would bring me some valuable news of the working of a little plot of mine in the investigation of a case,—with Dickens's Martin Chuzzlewit. Of course I was in good humor, enjoying that rare word-painter's faithful pictures of American society as he found it; and my friend, the lawyer, was of course enjoying himself, otherwise why that irresistible grin, which, in my mood, stirred me up to outright laughter as he entered?
"What's up?" I said. "Deliver yourself instanter; for I want to hear the fun."
"O, ho," he replied, "I've the jolliest affair to tell you of that ever occurred in the line of my experience. I am counsel, advocate, and judge in the matter, and expected to be constable, jury, and executioner, all in one; for the whole thing, involving love and lovers, 'potions and pills,' quacks, schemers, thieves, and everything else, is left in my hands, and I've come over to divide the honors with you—"
"Well, well; after your long opening, suppose you come down to the points in the matter—'judge,' 'executioner,' or whatever you please to call yourself in the premises."