There is no Death Part 5

And he twinkled his eyes at me as much as to say, "I have shut _you_ up.

You will not venture to describe any of the marvels you have seen to me after this." Of course the failure did not discompose me, nor shake my belief. I never believed spiritual beings to be omnipotent, omnipresent, nor omniscient. They had failed before, and doubtless they would fail again. But if an acrobatic performer fails to turn a double somersault on to another man's head two or three times, it does not falsify the fact that he succeeds on the fourth occasion. I was sorry that the test had been a failure, for Dr. H----'s sake, but I did not despair of seeing the box again. And at the end of a fortnight it was left at my house by Mr. Olive, with a note to say that it had been found that morning on the mantel-piece in Mr. Haxby's bedroom, and he lost no time in returning it to me. It was wrapt in the brown paper, tied and sealed, apparently just as we had carried it to the _seance_ in Ainger Terrace; and I wrote at once to Dr. H---- announcing its return, and asking him to come over and open it in my presence. He came, took the packet in his hand, and having stripped off the outer wrapper, examined it carefully.

There were four tests, it may be remembered, applied to the packet.

I. The arterial silk, procurable only from a medical man.

II. The knots to be tied only by medical men.

III. Dr. H----'s own crest, always kept on his watch chain, as a seal.

IV. The lid of the cardboard box, glued all round to the bottom part.

As the doctor scrutinized the silk, the knots, and the seals, I watched him narrowly.

"Are you _quite sure_," I asked, "that it is the same paper in which you wrapt it?"

"I am _quite sure_."

"And the same silk?"

"Quite sure."

"Your knots have not been untied?"

"I am positive that they have not."

"Nor your seal been tampered with?"

"Certainly not! It is just as I sealed it."

"Be careful, Dr. H----," I continued. "Remember I shall write down all you say."

"I am willing to swear to it in a court of justice," he replied.

"Then will you open the packet?"

Dr. H---- took the scissors and cut the silk at each seal and knot, then tore off the gummed white writing paper (which was as fresh as when he had put it on), and tried to pull open the card-board box. But as he could not do this in consequence of the lid being glued down, he took out his penknife and cut it all round. As he did so, he looked at me and said, "Mark my words. There will be nothing written on the paper. It is impossible!"

He lifted the lid, and behold _the box was empty_! The half sheet of notepaper and the half cedar wood pencil had both _entirely disappeared_. Not a crumb of lead, nor a shred of paper remained behind.

I looked at the doctor, and the doctor looked completely bewildered.

"_Well!_" I said, interrogatively.

He s.h.i.+fted about--grew red--and began to bl.u.s.ter.

"What do you make of it?" I asked. "How do you account for it?"

"In the easiest way in the world," he replied, trying to brave it out.

"It's the most transparent deception I ever saw. They've kept the thing a fortnight and had time to do anything with it. A child could see through this. Surely your bright wits can want no help to an explanation."

"I am not so bright as you give me credit for," I answered. "Will you explain your meaning to me?"

"With pleasure. They have evidently made an invisible slit in the joining of the box cover, and with a pair of fine forceps drawn the paper through it, bit by bit. For the pencil, they drew that by the same means to the slit and then pared it, little by little, with a lancet, till they could shake out the fragments."

"That must have required very careful manipulation," I observed.

"Naturally. But they've taken a fortnight to do it in."

"But how about the arterial silk?" I said.

"They must have procured some from a surgeon."

"And your famous knots?"

"They got some surgeon to tie them!"

"But your crest and seal?"

"Oh! they must have taken a facsimile of that in order to reproduce it.

It is very cleverly done, but quite explicable!"

"But you told me before you opened the packet that you would take your oath in a court of justice it had not been tampered with."

"I was evidently deceived."

"And you really believe, then, that an uneducated lad like Mr. Haxby would take the trouble to take impressions of seals and to procure arterial silk and the services of a surgeon, in order, not to mystify or convert _you_, but to gratify _me_, whose box he believes it to be."

"I am sure he has done so!"

"But just now you were equally sure he had _not_ done so. Why should you trust your senses in one case more than in the other? And if Mr. Haxby has played a trick on me, as you suppose, why did you not discover the slit when you examined the box, before opening?"

"Because my eyes misled me!"

"Then after all," I concluded, "the best thing you can say of yourself is that you--a man of reputed science, skill, and sense, and with a strong belief in your own powers--are unable to devise a test in which you shall not be outwitted by a person so inferior to yourself in age, intellect and education as young Haxby. But I will give you another chance. Make up another packet in any way you like. Apply to it the severest tests which your ingenuity can devise, or other men of genius can suggest to you, and let me give it to Haxby and see if the contents can be extracted, or tampered with a second time."

"It would be useless," said Dr. H----. "If they were extracted through the iron panels of a fireproof safe, I would not believe it was done by any but natural means."

"Because you do not _wish_ to believe," I argued.

"You are right," he confessed, "I do _not_ wish to believe. If you convinced me of the truth of Spiritualism, you would upset all the theories I have held for the best part of my life. I don't believe in a G.o.d, nor a soul, nor a future existence, and I would rather not believe in them. We have quite enough trouble, in my opinion, in this life, without looking forward to another, and I would rather cling to my belief that when we die we have done with it once and for ever."

So there ended my attempt to convince Dr. H----, and I have often thought since that he was but a type of the genus sceptic. In this world, we mostly believe what we want to believe, and the thought of a future troubles us in proportion to the lives we lead here. It must often strike spiritualists (who mostly look forward to the day of their departure for another world, as a schoolboy looks forward to the commencement of the holidays) as a very strange thing, that people, as a rule, evince so little curiosity on the subject of Spiritualism. The idea of the spirits of the departed returning to this world to hold communication with their friends may be a new and startling one to them, but the very wonder of it would make one expect to see them evince a little interest in a matter which concerns us all. Yet the generality of Carlyle's British millions either pooh-pooh the notion as too utterly ridiculous for their exalted minds to entertain, or inform you, with superior wisdom, that if Spiritualism is true, they cannot see the use of it, and have no craving for any further knowledge. If these same people expected to go to Canada or Australia in a few months' time, how eagerly they would ask questions concerning their future home, and procure the best information on what to do, whilst they remained in England, in order to fit themselves for the journey and the change.

But a journey to the other world--to the many worlds which perhaps await us--a certain proof that we shall live again (or rather, that we shall never die but need only time and patience and well-living here to reunite us to the dear one gone before)--_that_ is a subject not worthy of our trying to believe--of not sufficient importance for us to take the trouble of ascertaining. I pity from my soul the men and women who have no dead darling buried in their hearts whom they _know_ they shall meet in a home of G.o.d's own choosing when this life ends.

The old, cold faiths have melted away beneath the sun of Progress. We can no longer be made to believe, like little children, in a shadowy indefinite Heaven where the saints sit on damp clouds with harps in their hands forever singing psalms and hymns and heavenly songs. That sort of existence could be a Heaven to none, and to most it would be a h.e.l.l. We do not accept it now, any more than we do the other place, with its typical fire and brimstone, and pitch-forking devils with horns and tails. But what has Religion given us instead? Those whose common-sense will not permit them to believe in the parson's Heaven and h.e.l.l generally believe (like Dr. H----) in nothing at all. But Spiritualism, earnestly and faithfully followed, leaves us in no doubt. Spiritualists know where they are going to. The spheres are almost as familiar to them as this earth--it is not too much to say that many live in them as much as they do here, and often they seem the more real, as they are the more lasting of the two. Spiritualists are in no manner of doubt _who_ their eyes will see when opening on another phase of life. _They_ do not expect to be carried straight up into Abraham's bosom, and lie snugly there, whilst revengeful demons are torturing those who were, perhaps, nearest and dearest to them down below. They have a better and more substantial religion than that--a revelation that teaches them that the works we do in the flesh must bear their fruit in the spirit, and that no tardy deathbed repentance, no crying out for mercy because Justice is upon us, like an unruly child howling as soon as the stick is produced for chastis.e.m.e.nt--will avail to wipe off the sins we have indulged in upon earth. They know their expiation will be a bitter one, yet not without Hope, and that they will be helped, as well as help others, in the upward path that leads to ultimate perfection. The teaching of Spiritualism is such as largely to increase belief in our Divine Father's love, our Saviour's pity, and the angels' ministering help. But it does more than this, more than any religion has done before. It affords the _proof_--the only proof we have ever received, and our finite natures can accept--of a future existence. The majority of Christians _hope_ and _trust_, and say they _believe_. It is the Spiritualist only that _knows_.

I think that the marvellous indifference displayed by the crowd to ascertain these truths for themselves must be due, in a large number of instances, to the unnatural but universal fear which is entertained of Death and all things connected with it. The same people who loudly declaim again the possibility of seeing a "ghost," shudder at the idea of doing so. The creature whom they have adored and waited on with tenderest devotion pa.s.ses away, and they are afraid to enter the room where his body lies. That which they clung to and wept over yesterday, they fear to look at or touch to-day, and the idea that he would return and speak to them would inspire them with horror. But why afraid of an impossibility? Their very fears should teach them that there is a cause.

From numerous notes made on the subject I have invariably found that those who have had the opportunity of testing the reality of Spiritualism, and either rejected or denied it, have been selfish, worldly, and cold-hearted people who neither care, nor are cared for, by those who have pa.s.sed on to another sphere. Plenty of love is sure to bring you plenty of proof. The mourners, who have lost sight of what is dearest to them, and would give all they possess for one more look at the face they loved so much, or one more tone of the voice that was music to their ears, are only too eager and grateful to hear of a way by which their longings may be gratified, and would take any trouble and go to any expense to accomplish what they desire.