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that two persons were intently watching me; The girl spoke with a passionate energy one was Wynn, whom I had taken into my which set aside fear—“I am not with them of counsel at the outset; with a glance he directed my own will, God knows! They said they had my attention to my other observer, the young a claim to me, that they were my only relatives, girl on the platform. Her hands were firmly and I feared it was true. Thank God, it is not clasped, her lips slightly apart, and her dilated true! Do not, oh, do not let them take me eyes, fixed full upon me, expressed an inde-away with them!" scribable blending of pleading and terror.

But my work with Leffingwell was not yet done; the audience had perceived the change in his countenance, but supposed it the result of his own efforts. Now, however, they began to suspect some counter-plot. Wynn, well-known to the whole assembly, broke the silence with a few words.

"It happens that an individual possessing a higher degree of the power to which Mr. Leffingwell lays claim is present this evening, so that the fowler is apparently taken in his own snare."

Several exclamations of "Good! Let the gentleman come forward," were the response.

I did not, however, leave my place, but asked to be allowed to interrogate Mr. Leffingwell; an immediate and perfect stillness succeeded. The replies were made by Leffingwell with deliberate distinctness.

I am unused to the melting mood, but I confess the girl's words and tones appealed to me as no acting ever did. Indeed, the effect on all present was electric.

Wynn spoke in a low tone with his sister, who sat next him, and both arose and went toward the platform. Miss Wynn addressed Janet Ware, who looked in her face searchingly a moment, and then clung to her arm.

I resumed my dialogue with Mr. Leffingwho

well.
"Has Miss Ware relatives? and if any,
are they ?"

"An uncle, her mother's brother, Paul Williams."

"Where is he now?" "In Boston."

And now, reader mine, if you doubt whether all this be very convincing, I acknowledge the reasonableness of your doubts, but then and "Were you six years ago there I did not take time to weigh the matter. It was, however, no part of my plan to establish the identity of Leffingwell and Mark Tufts,

My first query was, in Concord, New Hampshire ?" Answer. "I was."

"Will you allow me to look at your left even if such a result had been possible. I dehand?"

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cided to withdraw the influence, which, as all experimenters in this bizarre branch of psychology are aware, is comparatively an easy process. The man awoke, much as from an ordinary sleep, looked about him, and finally, as he recognized the place and missed Janet, with whom Wynn and his sister had withdrawn, his features assumed a ludicrous mixture of bravado and consternation, visibly heightened as I approached him. Intimidation, though, was not my sole object. I spoke to him in a tone audible to himself only.

"You are foiled with your own weapons, Tufts," said I. "There are several of us who know you; I have no personal grudge against you, and if you are discreet-this return to your native State scarcely looks like it--you will not delay to make the distance between yourself and the State Prison wider than it is now.

She supposes this through the agency of You have not exposed yourself to-night, but you yourself and Mrs. Leffingwell ?"

"Through our agency."

At this juncture Janet Ware, since such was the girl's name, who had listened with intense interest to every word of our colloquy, made an attempt to rise. Mrs. Leffingwell arrested her motion, at the same time addressing to her a whispered remark.

I spoke to the woman then with a degree of confidence for which I felt full warrant: "Mrs. Leffingwell, let me assure you that it will be for your interest, your own and Mr. Leffingwell's, to remain passive." There was more, probably, in my tones than in my words, for the woman cowered and desisted.

VOL. XV.-No. 87.-Z

have put it in our power to expose you at a moment's warning."

He scrutinized my features rapidly; I permitted it a moment, and then walked away. He exchanged a few sentences with Mrs. Leffingwell, and then approaching the audience, assured them that it was not his fault if an entertainment different from that laid down in the programme had been offered them this evening. That he hoped to meet them again tomorrow evening, when he would resume the subject, and, he trusted, convince the most skeptical that neither himself nor Mrs. Leffingwell urged claims of any kind which they were unable satisfactorily to establish.

I doubted if they would let him go, but they did, I presume on account of the presence of Mrs. Leffingwell.

I

MY THEORY, AND A FEW FACTS
AGAINST IT.

AM not a "Spiritualist." My bells are The next morning the Leffingwells were gone. never rung or my tables moved by unseen They had taken the midnight train down. If hands. I believe that the "mediums" are humthey had waited they might have had Wynn's bugs and impostors; and I have no more desire company, for he went to Boston in the morn- to inquire into the way in which they get up ing train. As he had arranged previously to their "manifestations" than I have to investigo at this time, and as his usual stopping-place gate the manner in which Signor Blitz or Prowas the Revere House, the drama of the preced-fessor Anderson perform their sleight-of-hand ing evening did not probably influence him in tricks. Of the two, I think these much the those circumstances; but it may have furnish- cleverer and more respectable performers. Nor ed the motive which prompted him to inquire have I any faith in ghosts, omens, presentiof the clerk if Mr. Paul Williams were among ments, and supernatural warnings. I believe the guests, and the reply being affirmative, it them to be the product of weak nerves or overmay have induced him to seek out that gentle- excited imaginations. Any occasional coincidence between the omen and the event I hold

man.

The result was the confirmation in each par- to be purely accidental. ticular of the items elicited from Tufts.

Janet Ware was the daughter of Mr. Williams's only sister, who had married, and with her husband removed to Illinois. Their sole child was Janet, and when she had attained her twelfth year both her parents fell victims to that fearful scourge, cholera. A neighbor had taken home the child, and written to Mr. Williams a letter which never reached its destination. A year afterward Mr. and Mrs. Leffingwell, on a tour through the Western States, had accidentally encountered Janet, and discovered in her such a susceptibility to the odic influence, so termed by Mr. Leffingwell, as to make her a very desirable acquisition. She was timid and easily wrought upon, and the myth of kinship, invented on the spur of the moment, had been overpowering.

The child had a tolerably hard discipline, though it might have been worse. For the six months and more that she had been wandering about, good care had been taken that she should find no opportunity of escape, and entire seclusion, except when under the eye of Mr. and Mrs. Leffingwell, secured to her at least a degree of immunity from bad influences.

Mr. Williams was induced to accompany Wynn on his return to Epping; and when he saw Janet, who bore her mother's name, her strong resemblance to that mother was to him convincing proof that his sister's child stood before him.

I have since seen a full-length portrait by Sully of Mrs. Ware before her marriage. I should unhesitatingly have pronounced it an incomparable likeness of Janet, or, as she is now, Mrs. Wynn. There were just the same large, shadowy, violet eyes fringed with lashes of uncommon length and richness; the same low, pearly brow and profuse brown waving hair with golden lights on it; the same faint tinge on the cheek, just like the inside of a seashell; the same curve of the bright red lip; the same poise of the head on the white slender neck. A little sad I should say the face is, but Elinor, Wynn's sister, now my wife, affirms that Janet is as cheerful a little sprite as ever gladdened a man's hearth-stone.

Such is my theory. In general it is perfectly satisfactory to me. But I own that I can not reconcile with it certain incidents with which I was closely connected. I have propounded my theory. I will now narrate the incidents.

Many years ago-five-and-twenty or thereabouts-two lads, Harry Burton and George Walters, entered my counting-room on the same day. They were sons of old friends of mine, though they had never seen or heard of each other till they found themselves seated at the same desk in my office. There was a strange likeness between these lads; not close enough, certainly, to make it difficult to distinguish them; but none the less perplexing on that account. The complexion, the color of the hair and eyes, were altogether different, and there was no very striking similarity in the general cast of the features. The likeness lay rather in the absolute identity of expression. The glance of the eye and the turn of the mouth were the same in both. The tone of the voice was exactly alike. To the last I could never, by the ear, distinguish which was speaking. Their movements and gestures were similar. In a word, their resemblance was spiritual rather than material. It was as though one soul animated two bodies.

It was not a little singular also-since one came to us from Massachusetts and the other from Virginia-that they were dressed precisely alike. This continued to be the case ever afterward. I do not believe that there was any direct understanding to this effect, or that either of them was fairly conscious of it. Another coincidence was that they were born on the same day, and, as nearly as could be ascertained, at the very same moment.

From the first, these lads conceived a great fondness for each other. We read of love at first sight-theirs was friendship at first sight. They became almost inseparable.

In my counting-room George and Harry grew up to be two as fine young fellows as one would wish to see, and gave promise of becoming capital men of business. Partly on their own account, and partly from old friendship to their fathers, I had them much at my house, and was

by no means sorry to perceive a strong affection | took their departure. The separation was to springing up between them and Agnes and Mary Clay, the pretty twin-nieces of my wife.

For a long time I was puzzled to guess how the couples were to pair off. Each of the young men seemed to be equally attentive to each of the sisters. I could perceive no division of affection. I used sometimes to wonder if each of the young men did not love both of the girls, and vice versa. However, I suppose there was a difference perceptible to their hearts. In due time I learned that it was to be George and Mary, and Harry and Agnes.

But God willed that the two-fold marriage was not to take place. Agnes was called to pass the portals of the Silent Land. This bereavement seemed to draw still closer, if possible, the bonds between the survivors; and when at length George and Mary married, there was no thought that Harry should leave them.

In due time the young men left my countingroom and established themselves in business, with flattering prospects. Then came the great crash of 1837, in which so many of our mercantile houses went down. Among those which were swept away was the house of Burton and Walters. I would gladly have assisted them, but it was beyond my power. My own house, which had stood unmoved for a quarter of a century, was sorely shaken, and barely weathered the storm.

George and Harry clung together in adversity as closely as they had done in prosperity. Together they had failed, and together they would re-establish their fortunes. They went to New Orleans and recommenced business under the old name. Success crowned their efforts, and before many years the house of Burton and Walters had gained a firm position in the Crescent City. From New Orleans up the Mississippi and Ohio, and across the lakes, they were known, personally and by reputation, at every point for business.

During all these years their friendship remained unbroken. They had but one home, and a stranger could never have told which was the head of the family. Mary was equally dear to both. She was seen with one as often as with the other, and with both oftener than with either. Her friends used jestingly to call her Mrs. "Burton-and-Walters," and would ask her how her "husbands" were.

In their frequent visits to New York my house was invariably their home. They had passed the summer and early autumn of 1852 with us, and were ready to return to New Orleans. Harry and George had business to transact on the river, which might detain them somewhat. Myself and wife were to start for New Orleans by sea in about a week; and, at our earnest request, Mary was induced to remain to accompany us, while Burton and Walters went overland. We all expected to be in New Orleans at about the same time.

On the evening of October 4th (I must now be particular about dates), George and Harry

be for so short a time that few regrets mingled with the parting. All that evening and the next day Mary was as gay and happy as usual. Why should she not be? What evil had she to apprehend?

"Well, Mary," said I, as she was about to retire the next evening, "where do you suppose your husbands are now?”

"In Buffalo, I presume; I hope they are as happy as I am. What a lovely night it is!" she added, drawing aside the curtains and looking out into the calm moonlight. "Surely nothing evil could happen on a night like this." And she bade us good-night with her usual glad smile.

I was roused from sleep by an eager, continuous rapping at my chamber-door. It seemed as though some one, faint with mortal terror, was seeking entrance.

"Who's there?" I exclaimed, springing to the door.

in.

"It's me-
-Mary. For Heaven's sake let me
Oh God!"

I opened the door, and there stood, or rather cowered, Mary Walters. Her snowy night drapery was not whiter than her white face. The pale dawn mingling with the faint gas-light in the hall made her look still more ghastly. Her large eye was dilated with horror; her breath came and went in quick, convulsive gasps.

"In Heaven's name, Mary, what is the matter? What has happened?" I asked, as I bore her to the sofa.

"Dead! dead! Both dead-George and Harry! I heard him call me, and I could not go to him. Oh my God, have mercy upon me!" The wild paroxysm soon passed away. She became calm and composed. But a look of stony, unutterable woe settled upon her face, more fearful than the wildest burst of agony.

"Tell us what has frightened you, Mary. Was it a dream?"

"A dream? No. It was all real! I heard him call me with his dying breath, and I could not help him-could not go to him!"

Her voice sounded low and hollow, but she went on speaking with the utmost distinctness:

"I was awakened by hearing his voice calling me. I know it was he. You can not distinguish his tones from Harry's; I can. 'Mary! Mary!' he said; and his voice sounded low and faint, as though it came from a thousand miles away. Yet it was clear and audible, as though breathed into my ear."

"Why, you foolish child, you have been dreaming. It's all over now."

"I was not dreaming. I was as broad awake as I am now. Could he call me, and I sleep

on ?"

"All a dream," said my wife; "I have had the same a hundred times when my husband has been away."

"So I thought at first, and I looked around,

to be sure where I was. I saw every object in
the room.
The moonbeams came calmly in
at the window, just as they did when I retired.
I saw my dress on a chair by the bedside. It
partly hid the open grate. I saw the clock on
the mantle. I heard it strike two. I was half
reassured, and said to myself, 'It was a dream.'
Then again I heard his voice calling, 'Mary!
Mary!' I tell you it could be only his voice.
Do I not know it? Could I ever mistake it?
It seemed as though my name was wrung out
from his lips by the agonies of death. I tried
to spring up. I was powerless. I could not
move a limb. I tried to speak, but could not
utter a sound."

a tone of deeper agony. Then for a moment
all was still. Some one said, 'It's all over.
He's dead. Call Burton.' Then I heard a voice,
apparently from another room, saying, 'Good
God! Burton is dead!' With a strong wrench
I burst the invisible bonds that had held me.
The distant scene faded away. I saw the dawn
streaming in at the window, and heard the
clock on the mantle strike six. I rushed down
to your door, where you found me."
I could not but be impressed with the earn-
estness with which she spoke. Still I put the
best face on the matter.

"You were nervous, Mary.
your fears were unduly excited.

Your fancy and You have had "Oh, the night-mare, Mary. You must not a severe attack of the night-mare. It's all over lie upon your back, child." now. Before night you will have a dispatch

"Mr. Winter," said she, "you have known me from a child. Did you ever know me to be nervous or fanciful? I was not disquieted. I had no evil forebodings. I never went to rest a happier woman than last night. I never slept more calmly than I did until I was awakened by my husband's cry. I was never more fully awake and conscious than I was during those

heard my husband's dying voice, and I shall never hear it again with my living ears. I tell you he is dead-they are dead. I must go this

Her piteous look moved me.

"It was not the night-mare. I was not ly-telling you that all's well." ing on my back. Listen to me. I lay upon my side looking toward the grate, which was partly hidden by the chair, upon which hung my clothes. As I lay, incapable of speech or motion, a picture-no, not a picture-a real scene slowly opened up far within that grate. It was far off-how far I know not-a thousand miles perhaps; but there it was. I saw it. My husband was lying in a narrow room, light-long hours of deadly agony. I tell you that I ed by a single lamp, in the extremity of mortal agony. I saw Harry bending over him, vainly endeavoring to relieve him. At intervals I heard him call my name in the same fearful | very day after them. I shall never see them tones that had awakened me-tones that never living, but I must look on their dead faces. yet came from human lips until the seal of Mr. Winter, you will help me now. I must death was upon them. The little room where go." he lay was only half-lighted, and the chair partly hid it, so that I could only partially make it out. It seemed more like the cabin of a vessel than an apartment in a house. But there he lay, in mortal agony, calling upon me. I saw all; I heard all. I knew that in my body I was lying here in your house, yet in soul I was there too. I knew every thing that passed there and here. I heard every footstep that passed along the pavement here. I saw all the while every thing in my room. I saw the calm moonlight shining coldly through the half-drawn curtains. I was there too. In soul I was in that dark room. I saw the death-dews gathering on his forehead. I heard him calling my name. I heard too, as I remember, something that sounded like the rush of waters poppling against the side of a vessel. Then all was dark.

I could see nothing; but I heard my husband's groans of agony, I heard him again and again call my name. The clock on the mantle struck successively three, four, and five; so I knew that I had lain in speechless, motionless agony, three hours. Day began slowly to break here and there-here calm and bright, there gusty and overcast. Then, as the gray dawn lighted up the room-both rooms —that in which I lay in body, and that in which my husband's life was ebbing away-I saw there new faces. I heard eager voices whispering; what they said I could not distinguish. At last I heard my husband's voice calling my name in

"Yes, Mary, I see that you are bent upon it. If we do not hear good news to-day, you shall go by the evening train."

Toward noon a telegraphic dispatch was brought to me. I gave it a hasty glance, and hurried to Mary.

"Here, my child, is good news! Is not this a consoling message from two dead men?Listen: Buffalo, October 6, 8 A.M. Start for Cleveland in an hour. All well.-B. & W.' Now, how about your dreams ?"

"It was no dream," she replied. "I saw him die. I heard his last cry with my own mortal ears. His living voice I shall never hear again. But I may look upon their dead faces. I must go. Will you aid me ?" "But, Mary, you heard-or thought you heard-all this in the night; and here you have a message from them, alive and well, hours afterward."

"If they are not dead now, they will be before I can reach them. It was a forewarning. I heard his dying voice. I must go. Will you help me ?"

It was in vain to struggle against this fixed idea; and I left her with a promise to see her safely on her way. My friend Marston was to start in a couple of days for New Orleans by the western route, and at my earnest entreaty he agreed to hasten his departure and go that very evening.

So we chatted gayly, over our wine and cigars, of ghosts and omens; of dreams, visions, and apparitions; of spiritual rappings and table-turnings; distributing the blame for these things pretty impartially between dreams, nightmares, roguery, and folly; summing up the whole matter in the comprehensive word, 'Humbug."

At Buffalo they met a score of persons who | To do Mrs. Walters justice, this is her first had seen George and Harry leave for Cincin- offense of that kind." nati in perfect health. Marston and Mary lost no time, and followed on their route. As they had intended, Burton and Walters had twice stopped over a train to transact some business. At Cincinnati they were almost overtaken; George and Harry were only six hours ahead. The river was too low to allow the usual steamers to run when fully loaded. But the Forest City was to run down the next day without freight to Cairo, and there take in a cargo. Just as they had decided to wait for her, they learned that the little Fox, which, it was said, could run in a heavy dew, was about to start. They took passage on her, and set off without delay.

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"How were they? Mrs. Walters is with me. She got frightened, and would follow after. We hoped to overtake them here."

"She need have no fear. They were never better. They intend to stop at Memphis. You'll overhaul them there."

The Forest City remained at Cairo for two days. From here Marston wrote me a full account of all that had happened. Mary, he said, was unmoved in her opinion. She was not wild or demonstrative, but calm and sad. "The bitterness of death is passed," she said, in reply to all attempts at encouragement. "I shall never behold them alive, but I shall look upon their dead faces. You are very kind; I thank you for it. But they are dead. I heard his dying words." "What nervous things women are!" moralized Marston. "I wonder what she will say when she meets her husband!"

This letter reached me by the evening mail of the 12th. I will own that I was greatly reassured by it; for in spite of myself, I could not wholly divest myself of a lingering feeling that something was amiss.

Some friends dined with me that evening. Among them was Watson, of the Telegraph Company. I told them of the whole affair, and made light of Mary's vision and her journey. I took some blame to myself for permitting her to go on such a wild-goose chase. Perhaps I was not altogether unselfish, for my wife and myself had anticipated much pleasure from her company on our voyage. "But you know," I added, apologetically, "when a woman takes a whim into her head, there's no beating it out.

Late in the evening, a telegraphic dispatch was left at my door. It was addressed to a mercantile friend, who had sent it up to me.

"Ha! here's something about Burton and Walters," said I, as I ran my eye hastily over it.

so.

"What is it? Read it."

"Memphis, October 12. Cotton, so-and-
Jones all right. Smith and Parker failed.
Burton and Walters both dined
Tell Winter.'"

River low.
here to-day.
"Dined!

Well, that does not look much like dead men. I'll wager that at this very moment Mrs. Walters is enjoying a pleasant supper with her two husbands," said Watson. "After all, she's a woman out of a thousand. Here's a happy evening to them! What a pair Burton and Walters are-always together. I do believe if one should die the other could not survive."

"They were always so," I replied. "You know they were brought up in my countinghouse."

"Yes, and they are a credit to you," said Watson. "Give me another cigar. Thank you. Don't trouble yourself for a light-this will do."

As he spoke he took up the dispatch which I had flung upon the table.

"Ha! What's this?" he cried, as his eye fell casually on the concluding words. "Confound their carelessness. They're always making blunders. Did you see how this reads: Burton and Walters died here to-day.' That's how the careless fellows have written it.”

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So it was; a little indistinctly written indeed, but it was evidently died, not dined.

"Of course," said Watson, "it should be dined. Though, for the matter of that, it's about the same thing in Memphis, judging from a horrid dinner I once got there. I almost died of it. As it is, there's no great harm done, for we know what it should have been. But it might have done a world of evil. Suppose Mrs. Walters had been here! I'll bring those fellows up with a short turn. Come down to the office with me, and see how they'll catch it."

We reached the office, and Watson took his seat at the instrument. The sharp clicking of the machine was heard as his message flew over the wires:

"What do you mean by your blunders? You sent on word that Burton and Walters died, instead of dined, as it should have been. Mind your p's and q's."

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