described them; but I had no conception till now of what hard work dying really is.' 'Had I known this years ago, as I know it now, I would have felt far more for others in similar circumstances than I ever did.' 'Ah! my dear children, you see, I am now just as helpless in your arms as you ever were in mine.' Of telegraphic messages about him, he said: 'I bless God for the telegraph; because these will serve as calls to God's people to mind me in their prayers.' Of the Queen's inquiry-' It is very kind.' Of a young attendant- Affection is very sweet: and it is all one, from whatever quarter it comes-whether from this Highland lassie or from a peeress-just as to a thirsty man cold water is equally grateful from a spring on the hillside as from a richly ornamented fountain.' Parting with an humble servant-God bless you, my friend!' 'I would be most willing that any man who ever wrote or spoke against me should come in at that door, and I would shake hands with him.' These are fresh and racy death-bed utterances, true to the nature of the man who, to the last, retained his genial originality; the man who, with genuine courtesy and his wonted humor, apologized for the trouble he was giving, referring to Charles the Second's begging his courtiers to excuse him for being such an unconscionable time in dying; the man who, child-like as he always was, chose 'bairns' hymns,' as he called them, for his solace in his weakness-Oh! that will be joyful,' 'There is a happy land,' relishing them as he relished that one of Cowper's, 'There is a fountain filled with blood,' and preferring them to all other uninspired songs of praise." AN EVENING WITH A MESMERIZER. BY THE EDITOR. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, A A short time ago I was present at a mesmeric performance. few clerical friends concluded sagely to watch the pranks of the strange power called mesmerism. The operator we knew well, as an honest, reliable gentleman. Many of the six or eight hundred people in the audience we knew favorably. We will try to study the hidden element. Certainly we ought to understand it. For are not we a scholarly trio, who have studied Philosophy, Natural Science, and, what is better, Theology? Indeed, one a professor of Natural Science. Surely we ought to fathom the mystery. Fifteen men are brought on the stage, ranging from the age of 18 to 35 years. Some mesmeric subjects refuse to attend, fearful that the operator might bring them on the stage against their will. For certain temperaments are perfectly under his control. He called a few of the audience forward, who hopped about on the stage like boys playing at horse-driving in the parlor. Boys, see there what fine cherries," said the mesmerizer. "Had you not better pick some?" Off they all rush after the fruit, raising themselves on tip-toe and reaching up for the cherries, going through the motion of filling their pockets with them. Then walking through the hall to show the laughing people the fine fruit on their empty hands. He set them all working their arms like the piston of a steam engine, accompanying the motion of the arms and body with a corresponding puffing. How these men get excited at playing marbles without a marble, and base ball without a paddle or ball! They ride a most exciting race on imaginary horses, shouting to the fleet steeds the operator put in their minds, and lustily laying on the whip as they near the end of the course. All of a sudden every one fancied himself driving a span of gay horses, on a swift run. How they shout and twist about on their seats, and violently pull the lines with all their might, in the most intense excitement. "There, you have upset," said the charmer, and down tumble all the chairs, and all is turned into the wildest confusion. All try to hold on to the lines, some lying on their backs, others are dragged by the fugitive horses. Right in the midst of this pell-mell the charm is removed. They find themselves rolling about on the floor, entangled in the wreck of a runaway and upset, in the presence of hundreds of people. How they shrink to their seats, burying their faces in their hands, amid roars of laughter. A half dozen of grave, finely dressed gentlemen fancy themselves engaged in the pea-nut, apple and orange business. Suiting the arm to the supposed basket hung on it, they pass through the audience, and for a while the hall rings with animated cries of"oranges, apples, pea-nuts; fine oranges, three for five cents; shad-o, sh-a-ad-o." How dashed the poor fellows are when they awake, as from a dream, right among the crowd, in the midst of their laugh-provoking traffic. "What is that on your arm? Ah, what a pretty baby!" and off they go, the fifteen strong men, the most of them right in the presence of their sweethearts, each fondling the dear little baby on his arms, pressing it to his heart, swinging the sweet thing to and fro, each singing his own peculiar lullaby to quiet and please the tender object of his care. "Alas, the poor thing is dead," and lo! each one in the whole party set up such a heart-rending howling lamentation over the death of his dear baby as I have never witnessed in all the many funerals that I have attended. And it was real bona-fide grief, setting them to sobbing, and with their handkerchiefs wiping away the tears that profusely flowed down their cheeks. Quickly as thought their mourning is turned into laughter. First laughing heartily on their chairs, then dashing these on to the stage, and roaring with boisterous mirth, bending over as if burdened down with a sense of something indescribably funny, some strong fellows holding their sides, as if there were danger of something going wrong there.. Not put on, but genuine side-splitting laugh ter. What produces all this? Mesmerism. What is that? I do not know. We see its effects, but cannot tell what it is, or where located, whence it cometh and whither it goeth. Is it in the body? In the soul? In the spirit? Or in all three? Or in neither? Who can tell? It effects and controls all. It is a substantial force, and no sham. A tremendous power for one mind to have over another. One person can inject his thoughts and will into another one's mind, so that he is made to act like a machine or puppet. The mesmerizer can control his subjects at will, compel them to do as he pleases. We admire the eloquence of a Whitefield, a Clay or a Webster, before which the hearts of multitudes bent as the tree tops bend before the sweep of the tempest, but compared with the mesmerizer the eloquent orator possesses comparatively limited powers. Whitefield could make the phlegmatic, philosophic Franklin empty his pocket into the collection of the Georgia Orphan House, whereas the mesmerizer could have sent him from house to house, through the streets of Philadelphia, with hat in hand, asking alms for the fatherless. Given a preacher with ordinary oratorical gifts, and a skillful mesmerizer, with a congregation of mesmeric subjects before him, what could he not do with them? An authoritative command, a clap of the hand, would compel every one to empty his pockets into the Lord's treasury, and do just what he was bidden. True, this would be a forced mechanical obedience to the Gospel, without any moral or spiritual change. And much so-called piety is of this sort, does not proceed from a changed and sanctified heart, but from a brief spell of good feeling. In spending this evening with a mesmerizer, one could not help but think of spurious conversions, of surface-work and surface piety in the church. Although never so sincere, it takes no root; it comes and goes with equal ease and suddenness. Mesmerism unmasks one's disposition and temperament. Most people conceal their true nature, live a life of seeming. Under a smooth and gentle outside smoulder the embers of a rough and harsh spirit. The humblest souls are often proud of their humility. Remove their self-imposed restraint, and their real disposition will crop out. These men, under the spell of mesmerism, disclosed the real good or evil that was in them. One who seemed intensely humble, strutted over the stage like the perfection of a swell. Another, who perhaps had never rode behind a span of horses, handled the lines and the whip with all the skill and enthusiasm of a thorough-bred man of the turf. A few whom I had given credit for amiability and gentle forbearance, were the most contentious at base-ball and marbles, and among the first to roll up their sleeves for a fight. And some who receive credit for courage and bravado buried their faces, covered with beautiful blushes, in their hands, when they woke from their dream, and heard people laughing at them. It is indeed natural for persons to shrink from such an exposure, when under the influence of mesmerism. In a room by themselves, or in company with a few familiar friends, they might be willing to exhibit their half-unconscious antics, but to do it on a stage where hundreds of strangers look and laugh at you, is an exposure few would consent to. All people, good and evil, are living on a public stage, before hundreds of spectators, who approve of or condemn their actions. A man is seen drunk; how he should blush for shame and sin when he gets sober. Another is beside himself in a fit of anger; how ashamed he must feel when he is in his right mind again. And so with all sinful habits; they are not indulged in "in a corner," indeed cannot be. The good and the evil, saints and sinners, live, speak and act in the sight of "a great cloud of witnesses "in the sight of God, of angels, and of their fellow-beings. What a shame, a damning shame, to act ignobly and wickedly in such a presence. What a glory to act "soberly, righteously and godly" on such a stage. Thus the early Christians were "made a gazing stock (a spectacle on a stage) both by reproaches and afflictions." (Hebrews 10: 33). They were "made a spectacle (as on a stage in the amphitheatre, before a vast crowd of people) unto the world, and to angels, and to men." (1 Cor. 4: 9). So our life, however private, is not as concealed as we suppose. We are living on a great stage. Life is a theatre of action. Every life, from the newborn infant to the hoary grand-sire is in some sort a living epistle, read by few or many; but read and known by some. Our thoughts and desires push themselves to the surface. They grow, like seed-germs, into perceptible plants, poisonous, or pure and healthful. Shakspeare has the right view of it: "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, And so he plays his Part. The sixth age shifts SOCRATES AN ALCIBIADES ON PRAYER. BY PERKIOMEN. Plato lived perhaps four hundred years before Christ. His "Dialogue on Prayer" is entitled Alcibiades the Second. Socrates and Alcibiades are the speakers. And thus they speak Socrates. You do well, O Alcibiades! in going to your devotions with eyes fixed upon the earth, and solemn mien. How well it is that mortals should be thoughtful on such occasions, since it is possible for man to pray down evils upon himself, and to receive curses in answer to his petitions from the gods, which might turn to his destruction. |