There is yet one other dark chapter, perhaps the darkest of all, which my duty compelled me to read.
I began with Dr. Mansfield, in Boston; let me end with him there.
In addition to the answering of sealed letters sent to him by mail, this Medium exercises his Mediumistic powers on questions propounded to him, or rather to the Spirits through him, at his own home.
His method of work, as described by several highly intelligent observers, is somewhat as follows:—There are two tables in the room of séance, at one of which sits the Medium, at the other the visitor. The visitor at his table writes his question in pencil at the top of a long slip of paper, and, after folding over several times the portion of the slip on which his question is written, gums it down with mucilage and hands it to the Medium, who thereupon places on the folded and gummed portion his left hand, and in a few minutes with his right hand writes down answers to the concealed questions; these answers are marvels of pertinency, and prove beyond a cavil the Clairvoyant or Spiritual powers of the Medium. So remarkable are the results of this phase of Mediumship, that through them and through the high standing and intelligence of those who believe in him, this particular Medium is a tower of Spiritualistic strength. Examine my informants as narrowly as possible, there appeared to be no possibility of fraud. The impression had gradually deepened in my mind that here is an instance of genuine Spiritual power. But the fraudulent character of his dealings with the sealed letters made me fear that falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus.
On the 14th of May, 1885, I called on Dr. Mansfield at his house, No. 28 Dartmouth Street, and was ushered into the second story front room—a bedroom. There were, I think, three front windows looking on the street; at the farthest was the Medium's table, so placed sideways to the window, and close to it, that the full light fell on the Medium's left hand, as he sat at it, and faced the middle of the room. In front of the Medium, as he sat at the table with his back to the wall, were the usual writing materials, lead pencils and mucilage bottle, and beyond them, on the edge of the table farthest from the Medium, and between him and the rest of the room, was a row of books, octavos, etc., extending the whole length of the table and terminating in a tin box, like a deed box, with pamphlets on it. When the Medium sits at his table, this row of books is between him and his visitor. The table for the visitor is a small one, near one of the other windows and six or seven feet from the Medium. On this table were a number of strips of paper and a pencil.
The Medium, who did not ask my name, bade me take a seat at the small table and write my question on one of the strips of paper, and then to fold down the paper two or three times.
I sat down and wrote, "Has Marie St. Clair met Sister Belle in the other world?" I then folded that portion of the strip of paper down three times, and told the Medium that it was ready for the mucilage; he came over from his table at once with a brush of mucilage, and spread it abundantly under the last fold. Then, taking the strip between his thumb and forefinger, he walked with it back to his table, keeping it in my sight all the time. As soon as he took his seat and laid the strip on his table before him, I rose and approached his table, so as to keep my paper still in sight; the row of books entirely intercepted my view of it. The Medium instantly motioned to me to return to my seat, and, I think, told me to do so. I obeyed, and as I did so could not repress a profound sigh. Why had no one ever told me of that row of books? The Medium did not sit in statue-like repose, but moved his body much, and his arms frequently; his hands I could not see, hidden as they were, behind the row of books. After a minute or two the Medium looked up and said, 'I don't know whether I can get any communication from this Spirit,' a remark which a long experience with Slate-Writing Mediums has taught me to regard as a highly favorable omen, and as an indication that they have read the question and are now about to begin the little game, in which I always take much interest, of experiencing great difficulty in obtaining the 'rapport,' as they term it. Dr. Mansfield frowned, shook his head and assumed an air of great doubt and perplexity. I was certain that there would be now an ostentatious display of the strip of paper, and sure enough, in a minute more the Medium, strip in hand, came over to my table, and shook his head ominously. He placed his left hand on the portion of the strip containing my question, and began tapping on it with his forefinger. 'Pray, tell me,' I said, 'is that motion of your forefinger voluntary or involuntary?' 'It's my telegraph to 'em,' he replied, 'getting 'em to come.' 'I don't want to weary you,' I rejoined, 'but if that tapping will bring them, do keep it up! I cannot tell you how anxious I am to hear from this Spirit.' He paused, and then made some marks, like cabalistic signs, which are still to be seen on the paper. Then the tapping was resumed. Then more cabalistic signs were made. At last he said, 'Put your left foot against mine, and your left knee against mine, and hook your forefinger into mine, and pull hard.' I did so. 'Stop,' he cried, 'is it Maria?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'that's it, she is called "Marie." It's Marie!' 'I have to go by the sound,' he rejoined. We then pulled forefingers again. 'Stop,' he cried, 'is there a "Saint" about it?' 'Yes,' I answered, 'St. is the first part of the next name! I have so longed to have her come to me.' Dr. Mansfield arose, gathered up the strip and returned to his table. I could go now unopposed and stand by him while he wrote the following: 'I am with you my dear Bro but too xcited to speak for a moment have patience brother and I will do the best I can do to control. Your sister
Marie St. Clair.'
The change in kinship, and its novelty, staggered me somewhat; clearly they manage things differently in the 'Summer-land.' However, I mastered my emotion. 'And now,' I said, 'for the great question,' and was going hastily to my table to write it. 'Stop,' said the Medium, 'you're too excited to ask that question now. Put some other questions first. Then when you are calmer put the important question.' (A clever stroke! He did not know enough of me or of Marie to answer anything definitely—a few intermediate questions might furnish him with many a clue.) 'But, my dear sir,' I cried, 'what can I ask about? I have but one thought in my mind; that engulfs all others. If I don't ask that, I shall have to ask Marie if she minds this pouring rain, or some twaddle about the weather.' 'Well, well, you'd better ask it then, and get it off your mind, and we'll see how far Marie can answer it.' (Here let me recall that stanza in Sister Belle's communication wherein she says:
"My form was sold to doctors three
And you have all that's left of me," etc.)