 | Tales of Glauber-Spa |  |
MEDFIELD.
Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
And have no vigour in them.
—Tempest.
Two or three years ago I passed a few weeks,
about the end of summer and beginning of autumn, at
a pleasant village, within a few days' journey from the
city of New-York. Here I became acquainted with a
gentleman residing in the place, of the name of Medfield,
one of the most interesting men I have known.
He lived on a beautiful and well-cultivated farm, and
was said by his neighbours to be in the possession of
an easy fortune. I, for my own part, found him possessed
of leisure, knowledge, and courteous manners.
He showed me many civilities; he introduced me to
all the pleasant walks and drives for miles round; he
led me to all the picturesque spots in the neighbourhood,
both those sheltered and retired places whose
beauty is in themselves, and those which are beautiful
from the scenery they command; he made me acquainted
with the vegetable and mineral riches of the
region, rare plants and curious fossils; he related the
local traditions, and told me something of the state of
society, with which, however, as I gathered from his
conversation and from the account given me by others,
he mingled little, except in occasional acts of kindness.
Even now, while I write, I think I see him standing
might be called handsome, rather tall of stature, and
somewhat slenderly but elegantly shaped; his garb,
though negligent, adjusting itself to his person with a
natural and unavoidable grace—an oval countenance,
a complexion fair and somewhat pale, a finely arched
forehead, on the upper edge of which the lapse of
thirty-five years had somewhat thinned the light brown
hair that curled over it, a clear gray eye, and the remaining
features moulded with more than usual regularity.
There was, however, an unsettled and often
unpleasant expression, which almost neutralized the
agreeable effect of this symmetry of features. In the
midst of an animated conversation you would all at
once perceive that his thoughts were wandering; a
shade of alarm would pass over his countenance, and
a shudder over his frame, and he would shrink as if
from contact with some object which he wished to avoid.
From these peculiarities of manner I was prepared to
expect some eccentricities, not to call them by a worse
name, in his way of thinking. Nothing of the kind
however appeared; although he discoursed freely on
all subjects, and our conversation took in a large variety.
On questions of politics and religion, his
opinions were as rational as those of most men. He
was a philanthropist after the fashion of the age, but
he was no more an enthusiast in his plans of benevolence
than some hundreds of worthy persons of my acquaintance.
Of foreign and ancient literature he knew
as much as most well-educated men in this country;
and of old English literature something more; and his
remarks on the authors he had read were those of a
man of taste and judgment. Many of the fine old
ballads in our language he knew by heart, as well as
the imitations of them produced by modern authors;
and he would repeat to me, as we sat together in the
twilight, the ballad of Thomas the Rhymer with the
in a fine impressive manner that even now vibrates on
my nerves whenever I recall it to mind.
Among his neighbours Medfield had the reputation
of great judgment and equity, as well as benevolence.
He had formerly acted as a magistrate, but since the
death of his wife, which happened a few years before I
knew him, he had ceased to employ himself in that
capacity, though his neighbours still referred their disputes
to his friendly decision. Since that event his
manners, formerly cheerful, and sometimes, when earnestly
bent on gaining a favourite point, imperious to a
fault, had, as I was told, undergone a change. Always
kind and generous, he was now more so than ever; all
sternness was gone from his temper, which was now
marked by a uniform grave tenderness. Some even
acknowledged to me that "the squire had some strange
ways with him lately," a specimen or two of which I
was shortly to witness.
I have no great passion either for angling or shooting;
the former is a dull inactive sport, the latter a fatiguing
one, and I am exceedingly awkward at both;
but at the time I mention I was seized with the ambition
of acquiring some skill in their exercise. I had
therefore provided myself, before I left town, with an
excellent fowling-piece, chosen for me by a good judge
of such matters, and an ample and neatly-assorted
store of hooks, lines, flies, and other implements for
angling. With this apparatus I frequently went out,
and sometimes solicited Medfield to accompany me,
but without success. He pleaded sometimes an engagement,
and always an aversion to these sports, and
once or twice he ridiculed them so effectually that I
was half-persuaded to throw my flies into the fire, and
make a present of my fowling-piece to a ragged boy
with a crownless hat, who looked at it most wishfully
whenever I met him, and whom I once saw, when I
it with an appearance of intense interest.
I could not, however, yet give up a favourite project I
had formed of performing some exploits in this line
worth telling of when I should return to the city.
I well remember the first and only time that I walked
out in company with Medfield, with my gun on my
shoulder. I was to visit a spot of much picturesque
beauty, to which he undertook to be my guide. We
set out from his house, and on our way passed by my
lodgings. Begging him to wait at the door for a moment
in order to give me an opportunity of drawing on
a pair of boots, I entered the house, and when I
came out I had my fowling-piece on my arm.
"Let me beg of you," said Medfield, "if you value
your own comfort, to leave that unwieldy thing at home.
You will be fatigued enough, I assure you, before you
return, without encumbering yourself with any unnecessary
burden."
"What!" I answered, "would you have us to go
scrambling over stiles and fences, and traversing fields
without any apparent purpose, like a couple of boys
looking for birds' nests? Or do you mean to alarm
the worthy farmers by leading them to suppose that we
are going to rob their orchards or cornfields? Or
would you have us pass for a lawyer and sheriff, coming
with a still more unwelcome design upon somebody's
real estate? This fowling-piece assures them of the
contrary, and clears up the mystery. I dare say I
shall have no occasion to use it—at all events I shall
not look out for any."
Medfield desisted from any further objection, though
somewhat reluctantly, as I could see by his subsequent
gravity and silence. Our path at length brought us to
the place of which he spoke. It was a long level
passage, three or four rods in width, between two parallel
rows of steep precipices, while from the rich
butternut and hickory trees, throwing their broad
rough coated arms across the path, and forming a verdant
canopy overhead. Below, the ground was carpeted
with grass, and squirrels were leaping and chirping
among the boughs above. One of these, a fine
little animal, was very busily employed in shelling a
half-ripe nut which he had gathered from one of the
trees, stopping occasionally to utter a short sharp bark
of defiance and scorn. The temptation was irresistible;
I raised my piece and fired with better fortune
than usual, for the creature fell dead at my feet. On
turning to look for my friend, I perceived he had left
me, and casting my eye down the embowered avenue, I
caught a glimpse of him hurrying out of sight. I followed,
however, walking as fast as I was able, and
sometimes running a little, and in a few minutes had
overtaken him. My game was in my hand, and I
swung it about with an air of some ostentation.
"Well," said he, "you have killed a squirrel, I see;
may I ask what you are going to do with it?"
"A good shot, was it not? a part of the charge
went through the head. Why, I may throw it away,
or give it, perhaps, to my landlord's dog."
This answer drew upon me a rebuke, mild in its
terms but somewhat severe in its import, for taking the
life of a happy, harmless creature, from mere wantonness.
I defended myself as well as I was able, but
came to the conclusion that whatever might be my
friend's other accomplishments, he was certainly, as I
had heard him before acknowledge, no sportsman.
It was not long after this that I had engaged a black
fellow to procure me a box of earth-worms, or "angle-dogs,"
as he called them. They were brought me in the
morning; I put them in my pocket along with my fishing-tackle,
and going out I met with Medfield, who
asked me to accompany him, and look at some improvements
of some length about his grounds, we sat down under
the shade of a large buttonwood-tree which stretched
its long arms over a brook pent in a narrow channel,
full of little cascades and rapids, and pools boiling
with the force of the current that rushed into them. It
was, in short, a very trout stream. My friend's attention
was occupied for a moment in giving directions to
a labourer, while I, tempted by the appearance of the
brook, had cut off a long tapering bough from the tree,
and fastening upon it my fishing-line, had taken out my
box of worms and began very leisurely to impale one
of them on the hook. Just then, Medfield, who had
dismissed the labourer, turned towards me. As his
eye fell upon me, he started with a look of horror.
"In the name of mercy what are you doing?"
asked he.
"Only going to try my luck at angling a little in
this brook," answered I, quietly. "It looks like a
capital stream for trout. I prepared myself this morning
on purpose for a fishing excursion."
"But if you must follow that idle sport," returned
Medfield, "cannot you do it in a manner less inhuman
and disgusting? Have you forgotten the admonition
of the poet of the Seasons?—
Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds!' "
He went on to repeat in his fine way the whole of
the passage, and finally persuaded me to commit my
whole stock of worms to the bosom of the great
mother from which they were taken, and to make him
a kind of promise, that if I continued to follow the profitless
diversion of angling, I would do it in a less exceptionable
manner.
Other instances of similar behaviour about this time
fell under my observation. At one time I saw Medfield
come into the village, a lame, half-starved, snappish
tyke, whose bad manners, my friend said, were evidently
owing to his having nothing in his stomach. On
another occasion he gave a wagoner a crown for lightening
a load apparently too heavy for his horses. But
what most surprised me was the equanimity with which
he bore all kinds of reproaches. I once saw him
stopped in the street by a person of rather decent appearance,
who appeared to enter immediately into earnest
and rapid conversation, and as I came up I could
perceive that he was censuring him for some action of
his, in terms of greater severity than were exactly consistent
with good breeding. Medfield answered him
mildly, which appeared only to exasperate him the
more, and he replied with a torrent of abuse and malediction.
My own blood, I confess, was hot with indignation
at such epithets applied to my friend, but Medfield
heard them with as much serenity as if he had been
listening to his own praises, until finding that the man
would hearken to no explanation, he put his arm within
mine and walked away.
"Poor fellow," said he, "I cannot greatly blame
him. He thinks himself injured by an act which I
was obliged to perform as a magistrate some years
since, and now whenever he sees me, which is not
often, he makes a point of telling me, as he says,
`what he thinks of me.' I only wish that the composure
with which I hear his opinion of me did not irritate
him so much."
One day I took the liberty of remarking to my
friend upon the peculiarity of character indicated by
the examples I have already mentioned. He acknowledged
immediately, that his humanity might seem in
many instances overstrained and excessive, and sometimes
perhaps affected.
"It is, however, no virtue of mine," continued he, "if
it. I have been disciplined to it by a mysterious cause
apparent to no one but myself. You have been witness
to so many of my actions, which must have struck
you as exceedingly singular, that I have been thinking
I ought, as a matter of justice to myself, to give you
the explanation of my behaviour. I have deferred it
the longer on account of the unpleasant nature of some
of the incidents of my story, and perhaps, after all, it
may not be worthy of your attention."
I assured Mr. Medfield, with perfect truth, that I
should be not only a willing, but an interested listener,
and that I should hardly forgive him were he not now
to gratify the curiosity he had excited.
"By what I am about to relate," said he, "I run
the risk of losing ground in your good opinion. I
wish you therefore to understand, once for all, that I
am naturally by no means a credulous or superstitious
man. On the contrary, my disposition has always
been to examine and to doubt, rather than to admit
and believe. An early fondness for mathematical
studies gave my mind the habit of insisting, even too
much perhaps for the common purposes of life, on
strict demonstration of whatever was proposed for my
belief. I took delight in sifting the grounds of a received
opinion, and rejecting it peremptorily, when it
seemed to me supported by incomplete evidence. On
some knotty and controverted points I merely contented
myself, like the worthy Bishop Watson, with
keeping my opinion in suspense, but my general inclination
was to believe too little rather than too much. If,
therefore, any parts of my narrative should strike you as
incredible, you will do me the justice to suppose that
the incidents which you find too extraordinary for belief,
appeared as repugnant to my notions of the laws
of nature as they now do to yours; and that it was
in the idea that they were not a delusion.
"About five years ago I was in many respects a different
man from what you find me at present. At that
time I was the husband of a most beautiful and gentle
woman, and the father of a little daughter of three
years of age, the loveliest of children. I was a man
of strong passions, and a temper that brooked no control,
and kindled at the slightest opposition. I was
allowed to be generous, and my generosity gained me
many friends, but I often lost them by that fierce and
imperious temper. If an insult was offered me, I returned
it with insults still more intolerable; I repaid
scorn by bitterer scorn; I yielded every thing to humble
entreaty, but nothing to a frank and bold claim
of right, however just. These peculiarities of manners
and character I was, however, by no means disposed
to tolerate in others; nothing so soon roused my
indignation as any conduct which exhibited them, and
I was instantly on terms of hostility with any one who
had the misfortune to resemble me in this respect.
In short I was one of those men of whom if the whole
world were composed, society would be a state of
perpetual warfare, or at best an armed truce, and who
are only tolerated because on important occasions
their pugnacious spirit may be turned to use, and because
in matters of minor importance the prudent and
peaceable part of the community find it a less evil to
let them have their way, than to wrangle with them to
prevent it.
"My wife lamented this defect in my character, and
endeavoured to persuade me to correct it, but in vain.
She produced some impression, however, when she
showed me how my little daughter, whom I loved with
a doting fondness, and who also really bore to me a
strong affection, shrunk and trembled before me when
in my sterner moods; and a glow of shame came over
countenance of so artless and innocent a being—and
of terror at me. The manners which could produce
such an effect, I felt, must be essentially unamiable and
repulsive; but this reflection was followed by no material
amendment.
"My little daughter died, the sweetest blossom ever
mown down by the scythe of death, and my wife in a
little time followed her. On her death-bed she desired
all to withdraw but myself.
" `My dear Charles,' said she, `I have a last request
to make of your kindness. If you grant it, I
shall die in peace.'
"Such an appeal could not be resisted; I answered
that the request should be fulfilled if it was within the
compass of human power.
" `It may cost you some effort,' returned she, `but
you will make it, I am persuaded, both for my sake
and your own. Promise me that you will keep a strict
watch against that severity and impetuosity of temper
which make you less useful and less beloved in the
world than the qualities of your mind and heart would
otherwise make you.'
"I made the promise in sincerity of heart and in
tears.
"Her remains were laid beside those of her little
daughter, and I was left the prey of a grief which I will
not attempt to describe. So strong was the feeling of
desolation which took possession of me, that it sometimes
actually seemed to me as if that it was I who
had died; and that I had been translated to another
world, strange, cold, and lonely, and haunted by the
tormenting remembrance of enjoyments fled for ever.
The proud, stern manners of my prosperous days at
first prevented any sympathy with my affliction, but
mankind are good-natured; I at least have found them
so, since they bore so patiently with my caprices and
depth, the extremity of my sorrow, their behaviour towards
me became visibly kinder and more considerate.
"For a while this sorrow absorbed every other feeling,
and the usual violence and haughtiness of my temper
seemed to be subdued; but life has its duties and its
cares, which none of us are at liberty to decline, and to
which we must all return from the seclusion of mourning.
As I again came forth into the world, I began to
assume my former manners.
"Before my late calamity I had consented to become
a candidate for a public office. I was now attacked in
a newspaper with that coarse invective, too much indulged
in by the press of this country; allusions the
most unwarrantable and unjustifiable were made to my
personal character and history; and actions the most
innocent were, by an artful mixture of truth and falsehood,
perverted into crimes. I was fiercely indignant;
I knew that the shaft came from the hand of a rival
candidate, and I resolved that I would send it back to
his bosom with tenfold force. I went into my study,
and, with the obnoxious article before me, sat down to
pen a reply which my adversary must feel, if the sense
of indignity were not extinct within him. I had already
written part of an article, intended for publication, in
which I briefly and explicitly disclaimed the charges
brought against me, and I now proceeded to retort the
attack. Already thoughts and feelings of supreme and
intensest scorn filled my mind; the fitting words came
crowding to my pen,—phrases of the bitterest derision,
coined by my very heart,—when I felt a touch softly
laid on my right arm. I started, and looked round me,
but saw nothing. Again I began to write, and again
the touch was felt—more strongly than before—again
I started, rose, and surveyed the room, but it contained
no living thing except myself. A third time I began,
and a third time I felt that mysterious pressure. The
window, but at such a distance that I could not easily
be reached by an arm from without. The door was
closed, and there was no furniture in the room under
which a person could effectually conceal himself.
Going to the door, I opened it, and looked in every direction,
but saw no one; I listened attentively for the
sound of retreating footsteps, but heard only the chirp
of grasshoppers in the summer-noon. Returning to my
study, I carefully scanned a second time every corner
of the apartment, removed the table further from the
window, and again sat myself down to write. I
mused a while to recover the train of ideas which the
interruption had caused me to lose; and when I had done
so, again attempted to proceed. Before I had finished a
single sentence, I felt on the hand which was employed
in guiding the pen a distinct, palpable pressure, but at
the same time a gentle and delicate one, as if the
fingers of a female hand were laid on my own. It was
impossible to resist the inclination to turn my head and
to inspect narrowly the room around me, in order to be
certain whether any person was standing by my side,
or behind me. There was no one—all was silence
and emptiness. I strove again to write—the pressure
grew firmer. I brought my left hand over and passed
it along the back of my right—my hair rose on end—
and my blood grew cold in my veins, when I seemed to
feel an invisible human hand lying closely on mine.
With a convulsive start I dropped the pen, and my
hand was instantly released. You may well suppose
that I was now in a state of mind which unfitted me
from proceeding with the article, even if I had not been
restrained by the dread of that mysterious interposition.
"The more I reflected on that incident, the more it
embarrassed me. I laboured to convince myself that
the sensation I had experienced was owing to some
but I was unable satisfactorily to account for it in this
manner. That it was an illusion arising from the state
of high mental excitement in which I was while writing
the article, was a supposition which, independent of other
considerations, my pride would not suffer me to embrace.
I determined, therefore, to settle the point for
myself, by the fullest and most deliberate examination.
The next day I went again into my study, closed carefully
the door and windows, looked under the table and
examined the room thoroughly, to satisfy myself that
no person was concealed there. I then sat down to the
table, took up the unfinished manuscript, and beginning
where I had broken off the day before, proceeded to
complete it. In a moment I perceived the well-known
pressure of the arm, slight and gentle at first—then
firmer—but I disregarded it, and continued to write.
Then came the sense of compression and restraint on
the fingers of my right hand which I had experienced
the day previous, and which now impeded their motion.
Applying my left hand to the investigation, I found a set
of fingers passing over and clasping my own. I subjected,
to the examination of the touch, finger after
finger, and joint after joint of that invisible hand; it
was delicately moulded, the fingers were tapering,
plump and soft, the articulations small and feminine,
and it was joined to a round and slender wrist, but
beyond that I could feel nothing. I attempted to scrutinize
it with my eye, but the sight could not shape for
it even the faintest and most shadowy outline. I bowed
my forehead towards it, and touched flesh that was not
my own. You may judge of the feeling of awe
which filled my mind while I was making this investigation.
At length, with a shudder, I quitted my grasp
of the pen, and immediately I perceived that the invisible
hand was gone.
"My perplexity was now greater than ever. I had
have dispelled the mystery, but it ended in setting the
evidence of my senses, or rather of one of them, in
opposition to the conclusions of my reason. Was I to
believe or to distrust that evidence? Was not what I
had experienced a reality to me, a substantial verity,
whatever it might be, or appear, to the rest of the world?
Then, as to the agent in this mysterious interposition,
could it be that the spirit of her to whom I had given the
solemn promise of watching over my temper, was permitted
to remind me of the obligation I had taken, by
this appeal to my outward sense? Must I believe what
was so repugnant to the whole tenor of my previous
opinions? I determined a third time to make the experiment,
and it was followed by precisely the same
result as in the instances I have already related. Taking
the unfinished paper in my hands, I tore it in pieces,
and abandoned my design of replying to the attack
which had been made upon me.
"For several days the strange event which had happened
afforded me food for reflection—reflection deep,
continual, absorbing. Firm as were the convictions of
my reason that the spiritual part of our nature cannot,
without the help of material organs, act upon the perceptions
of one to whom it does not belong, I could
not, I would not believe, that what I had witnessed was
owing to a cause above nature. Still, the uniform
recurrence of the same sensation, under the same
circumstances, perplexed and confounded me. To
divert my thoughts from this subject, I took my fishing-rod
and strolled out to the fine noisy brook that
flows through my farm. It was a beautiful day in July;
the sun was warm, but not powerful, and clouds were
now and then floating lazily over his orb. As I approached
the stream, which hurried from one clump of
softly-waving trees to another, I thought of the lines
in the Castle of Indolence:—
Along the brooks, the crimson spotted fry
You may delude—the while amused you hear
Now the hoarse stream, and now the zephyr's sigh,
Attuned to the birds and woodland melody.
"I felt a sort of relief from the images of mingled
motion and repose, of activity and ease, of change
without effort, which belong to a fine day in this fine
season of the year; and my mind began to partake,
in some sort, of the serenity of the scene around me.
Standing on the green bank, in the shade of a thicket,
I dropped my line into the water. It was a clear and
glassy little pool of the brook, save at the upper end,
where it was agitated with the current that fell into it
over a mossy rock, and I saw the fish playing in its
transparent depths, noiselessly, and with that easy,
graceful motion which belongs to most creatures of
their element. I was leaning intently forward, waiting
for one of them to approach the fatal hook, when I
felt a touch, a distinct touch, laid on my right arm. So
unexpected was this, in the silence and quiet and utter
solitude of the scene around me, and in the pursuit of
amusement which I had never regarded as otherwise
than innocent—and so irritable had my nervous system
become in consequence of the late extraordinary incidents,
that I started at the sensation with the quickness
of lightning, wheeling suddenly to the right, and
jerking involuntarily the line from the water. There
was nothing in sight that could have touched me—and
the only living sound to be heard was my own hard
breathing through distended nostrils, mingling with the
murmurs of the water and the sighs of the wind. For
a while I stood lost in astonishment, but at length recovering,
I searched the thicket, in the shade of which
I stood, to discover whether it concealed any person
who was idle enough to amuse himself in this manner
at my expense. In this search I was, as usual, unsuccessful.
"I sat on the bank a while to recover my composure.
`I must not,' said I to myself, `leave the cause of this
interruption in uncertainty. I will, if possible, discover
whether it be accidental, or whether it be of the
same nature with what I have experienced in other instances.'
Accordingly I arose and again swung the
bait over the stream, and suffered it to sink into the
water. At that instant I felt the monitory touch on
my right arm just above the elbow. Turning my head
in that direction, I suffered the butt-end of the fishing-rod
to press against my breast, keeping firm hold of it
with my right hand only, and applying my left to the
spot where I felt the pressure. There I found the same
invisible hand which I had so closely examined the day
previous, the same delicate and tapering fingers, gently
yet firmly grasping my arm. I threw away my fishing-rod,
and have never attempted the sport of angling
since. The admonition I had received, whether real
or imaginary, induced a train of reflections which
brought me to the conclusion that, however justifiable
it may be as an occupation, it cannot be defended as
an amusement.
"It was at this time that a view of the subject occurred
to my mind which, at length, more than any
thing else decided my opinion. Of all our senses the
touch is the least liable to delusion or mistake. It is
the most direct of all our channels of perception; it brings
its objects to the closest and minutest scrutiny; it is
the least under the control of the imagination, the
least liable to be acted upon by delicate and evanescent
influences. I never heard of an instance in which
the touch became subject to an illusion while the eye
remained faithful to reason and the truth of things. In
all the idle and silly stories of ghosts and apparitions,
in which I believe as little as you do, the supposed
supernatural visiter always addresses itself to the eye
its voice; he rarely ever feels its substance.
The spirit is generally said to elude the touch; a blow
passes through it as through empty air, the arms
stretched to embrace it meet in the midst of its shadowy
outlines. The touch is the test by which we
prove the truth of the information furnished us by the
other senses, and in its decisions the mind acquiesces
with undoubting confidence. So universally and fully
is this axiom admitted, that some of the commonest
phrases in our own and other languages are founded
upon it. When we speak of palpable truth, or truth
demonstrated by the touch, we mean reality which
admits of no dispute; while to the unsubstantial pictures
of the imagination which impose upon us by the
mere semblance of reality, we give the name of visions,
or things apparent to the sight only.
"True it was, that in my own case I had the testimony
of but one of my senses, but it was that sense which
corrects the errors of the others, and which is never
deceived alone. Had the others concurred with it, my
perplexity, I thought, would have been less. Had
those fallible organs, the eye and the ear, presented to
me, the one a definite form, and the other an audible
voice, I might have concluded that what wore the appearance
of a supernatural interposition was but the
hallucination of disturbed nerves, or the phantom of a
disordered mind, and I might have inferred that the
touch was deceived by a natural sympathy with the
other senses. But now my case admitted of no such
explanation.
"I again recurred to the arguments which were familiar
to me, and which had hitherto appeared to my
mind conclusive, against the sensible interference of
the spirits of the departed in matters of human action.
Shall I confess to you that they appeared to me to
have lost somewhat of their force, when I considered
The moral purposes which such an interference might
serve were apparent; and was it not, I asked myself, as
presumptuous in the philosophers of this age to say that
they were contrary to the laws of nature, as it would
be, in a generation during whose existence a comet
had never appeared, to deny that such bodies, eccentric
as were their courses, belonged to the system of
the universe. I see that you do not agree with me:
well, I pray that you may never have reason to do so
from your own experience. Do not mistake me, however;
I did not immediately pass from disbelief to
credulity. I was determined to keep my opinion in
suspense until the number and uniformity of instances
should leave me no other way of accounting for what
had happened than by ascribing it to a cause above
nature.
"The incidents I have related took place in solitude,
in places and at moments when there was no one to
witness the effect they produced upon me; but I was
now to experience the same extraordinary interposition
in the midst of a crowd of my fellow-men. In the
election to which I have already alluded I had been unsuccessful,
principally, I believe, on account of the unpopularity
of my manners. My antagonist, the writer of
the attack on me in the public prints, who was all smiles
and suavity, was returned by a large majority. I had
some friends, however, who adhered to me firmly, and
who wished to give me a testimony of their respect
by the customary compliment of a public dinner.
This I declined, alleging, as a principal reason, my
late domestic calamities, but offered to meet them in
another manner at any time they might appoint. A
day was fixed upon, and I made my appearance before
an assembly of those who had given me their suffrages.
If you have never been a candidate at a country
election you can have no idea of the warmth of
between the candidate and his supporters—the hardy,
intelligent, independent masters and cultivators of the
soil. I looked round on their strong-featured, sunburnt,
honest faces, and shook their hard hands with
a pleasure which I cannot describe.
"In obedience to the general expectation, I addressed
the meeting. I thanked my friends for the zeal they
had shown in my behalf;—fruitless though it had been,
it gave them no less a claim on my gratitude than if it
had been attended with the accident of success. I
alluded to the accusations which had been brought
against me—slanders worthy, I said, of the source
from which they had proceeded. I vindicated myself
from them briefly and concisely, for I was anxious to
arrive at a point in my discourse on which I intended
to dilate more at length, namely, the conduct of my
antagonist and his party. Having come to this topic,
I felt myself inspired by that degree of excitement
which gives force and fluency of language, and the
power of moving the minds of others; and I thought
to utter things which should be remembered, and repeated,
and felt by those against whom they were levelled.
I had already begun my philippic, and was
proceeding with a raised voice and some vehemence
of gesture, when I felt myself plucked by the sleeve.
Pausing for an instant, I looked round, but saw no one
who touched, or appeared to have touched me. I proceeded,
and the signal was repeated. It occurred to
me that there was probably some creature of my adversary
near me, who wanted to interrupt and confuse
me, and I cast brief and fierce glances to the right
and the left, which made my worthy friends who stood
near me recede, with looks of anxiety and almost of
alarm. Again I began, raising my arm as I spoke,
but at that moment it seemed clogged with the weight
of a mill-stone, and fell powerless to my side. Eager
interruption might come, provided I got clear of it, I
made a strong effort to shake off the encumbrance,
raising at the same time my voice, and attempting to
finish in a full sonorous tone the sentence I had begun.
Instantly I felt at my throat a cold rigid grasp,
as of a hand of iron—a grasp quite different from the
gentle and apparently kind pressure I had sometimes
before experienced, choking the voice as it issued
from my lungs, and forcing me down into my seat.
So completely had I been absorbed in the subject of my
harangue that I did not, until the moment that I found
myself in my chair, conjecture the real cause of the
interruption. The idea then flashed upon my mind
that this was an interference of the same nature with
that which had withheld me from replying to the
newspaper attack of my antagonist. My emotions of
awe, alarm, and discouragement, at this stern and
mysterious rebuke, were overpowering, and it was with
difficulty that I collected myself sufficiently to whisper
to a friend who was near me, requesting him to apologize,
as well as the case would admit, for my inability
to proceed. He arose and attributed what had happened,
I believe, to a sudden indisposition, while I retired
hastily from the assembly.
"Arriving at my house, I gave myself up to various
and distracting reflections. I asked myself whether
I, who had ever prided myself on my superiority to
vulgar prejudices and superstitions, who had scoffed at
stories of supernatural visitations, must now surrender
myself to the belief that the ordinary laws of nature
were daily broken for my sake, and that I was the
object of constant solicitude and care to a being of the
other world, who was disquieted for me in the midst of
that eternal repose prepared for the spirits of the
good? Was not this interference of such a nature as
to destroy all liberty of action, and to reduce me to a
even in obeying the instinct of self-defence, which
forms a part of the moral constitution of all the nobler
animal existences, and which was so emphatically a
part of my own? Could it be the will of the Supreme
Father, could it be the desire of the loved and lost
one, whom haply he permitted to return to this world
in order to watch over and admonish me, that I should
be reduced to a pusillanimous passive being, submitting
tamely to every injury, and leading a life of mere sufferance
and inaction, like the plants of the soil, or the animals
who are but a degree above them?
"I did not at that time reflect—I did not even know,
how little the utmost malice of slander avails against
an established reputation for integrity—how the plain
tale of the honest man, related without passion, puts
down the foul calumny of the unprincipled, and how
little it gains, or rather how much it loses, by being
coupled with a retaliatory attack, with words of anger
and phrases of vituperation.
"This restraint upon what seemed to me the necessary
liberty of a rational being, this hindrance in the way of
actions which I esteemed justifiable and laudable, raised
my impatience to a tremendous pitch. I walked my
room rapidly until the sweat started from every pore; I
chafed like a wild beast caught in the toils. What is
life, said I to myself, if it is to be held on these conditions?
to suffer every indignity from your enemy,
and when you strive to repel him, to be smitten with
impotence, and to retire with defeat, disappointment,
and shame from the contest—nay, more, to be bound
hand and foot, and thrown in his path to be buffeted
and trampled on, without escape, and without redress.
Even if the interference were to a good end, of what
value is the virtue which is the fruit solely of coercion?
what merit is there in not doing what I am continually
struggling to do, and find myself restrained?
"Several days and nights passed away in a state of
sleepless dejection, from wounded pride, impatience of
restraint, and the perplexity arising from the unresolved
mystery of my condition. When I went out, I observed
that men seemed to look at me with an air of curiosity,
as upon one to whom something extraordinary had
happened; and it was manifest that my appearance
furnished them with a new topic of conversation. I
was wasted almost to a shadow, and I started when I
saw myself in the glass, so pale, emaciated, and hollow-eyed.
My friends entreated me to take exercise, and
I was persuaded to provide myself with a horse, a
fleet animal in the harness, which the man who
brought him to me assured me, honestly enough, was
the best creature in the world, bating some caprices of
temper which only required a little wholesome castigation.
`When the horse refuses to go,' said he, `you
have nothing to do but to take a whip and whip the
devil out of him.'
"The horse was put into a light sulky, and I drove
out daily. The rapid motion, and the quick succession
of objects, were a sensible relief to the gloomy monotony
of my reflections. My excursions comprehended
a considerable extent of country, lying in the
sober and mature beauty of September; and the deep
hush of the scene and the season began to communicate
somewhat of a correspondent tranquillity to my
feelings. My horse had as yet shown none of the caprices
of which the seller had given me notice, and I
began to think that they were occasioned merely by
unskilful management on his part; when at length, one
day as I was returning in some haste from a morning
drive of greater length than usual, he gave me a specimen
of his humours. All at once he stopped short
in the middle of the road. I shook the reins over his
neck, cracked the whip about his ears, touched him
with the end of the lash, spoke to him, chirrupped,
stimulus usual in such cases, but in vain. The only
effect they had was to make the animal break, at
times, into a short bouncing gallop, which he performed
with such a wonderful economy of space as not to get
forward more than a rod in a minute. I had engaged a
friend to dine with me that day, and remembering the
prescription of the owner of the horse, I got out of my
carriage in no little indignation to `whip the devil out
of him.'
"I struck him smartly with the lash, and as I did so
I felt the monitory pressure on my arm, but I paid no
attention to it at the time, thinking it occasioned by
some accidental entanglement of the reins which I was
holding. The animal answered the blow by running
a few steps backward. Taking the whip in my left
hand, I wound the lash spirally round the handle, and
restoring it to the right, I raised it to deal a series of
heavier and severer blows with the stock, but immediately
I perceived a force which I could not resist
pulling it down to my side. Shuddering, I desisted from
my intention, and after a pause of a few moments, to
recover from the shock caused by this new interposition,
I took the animal by the bridle to lead him forwards;
he obeyed the motion without hesitation; and
after leading him a few rods I again got into the carriage,
and he proceeded at his usual pace.
"After this I took little pleasure in my rides, in
consequence of the perpetual apprehension of a check
from my invisible monitor, fearing as I did to urge
my horse beyond his voluntary speed, lest I should
incur a repetition of these ghostly admonitions, of
which I now entertained a kind of nervous dread,
and which, instead of becoming more indifferent to
them as they grew more frequent, I only regarded
with greater terror. Instead of driving out, therefore,
I began to take long walks, wandering into unfrequented
It was a fine season, about the beginning of October;
a few light early frosts had fallen, the days were
soft and sunny, and the woods glorious with the splendours
of their annual decay. My walks, begun at
early sunrise, were often protracted to nightfall.
Sometimes I carried a fowling-piece, but I had not
yet thought of using it, when once straying into a deep
unfrequented wood, I observed, not far distant from me,
sitting on the prostrate trunk of a tree, a partridge or
pheasant, as it is differently called in this country,
though like neither of the birds known in England by
these names. The shy and beautiful bird, unaware of
my near approach, yet roused to attention by the
rustling of the leaves, stood with his crested head and
ruffed neck erect, as if listening to the sound, in order
to determine whether it boded danger. I raised my
fowling-piece to my eye and levelled it, and immediately
I felt the muzzle drawn towards the ground as if
loaded with a sudden weight. I raised it again, taking
fresh aim, but before I could discharge the piece, it was
drawn downwards a second time. Was this the effect
of an excited imagination, or of my own want of skill,
or was it in fact a supernatural admonition? The
worst certainly could not be so painful as this state of
doubt; and in conformity with the habit and inclination
of my mind, I instantly resolved that I would obtain
all the certainty of which the case admitted.
Kneeling down, therefore, I rested my fowling-piece
on a log which lay before me, and placing my hands,
one on the stock, and the other under the lock, with its
forefinger on the trigger, I directed the muzzle towards
the object. Before I could take accurate aim, I felt
my right arm suddenly pulled back, the piece was discharged,
and the ball passed over the head of the
bird, which, spreading its mottled wings, rose with a
and ran from my sight.
"Here was what appeared to me a clear interposition
of some external power which had caused me to discharge
the piece before I was prepared. But who or
what was the agent by whom I had been restrained?
In the present case it was an interposition of benevolence,
and effected its end by mild methods. But
what was I to think of the chill and iron grasp which
had stifled my utterance, and nearly deprived me of
the breath of life when I strove to speak in my own
defence? And in what light should I regard the force
which but a day or two previous had struck my arm
powerless to my side? Could it be that the gentle
being who once shared my fortunes was the agent of
such violence,—or was another employed in the ungrateful
task of subduing my more obstinate moods,
while to her was left the care of admonishing me by
light pressures, and soft touches of her own delicate
hand?
"There was nothing less fitted to awaken or keep
up the idea of communication with the supernatural
world than the aspect of nature around me. The
woods were all yellow with autumn, or rather the prevailing
colour was a bright golden tinge, here and there
interspersed with flushes of crimson, purple, and
orange. There was no shadow throughout this wide
extent of forest, at least there appeared to be none, for
the light came through the semi-transparent leaves, or
was reflected from their glowing surfaces, with the
same golden hue as when it left the orb of the sun.
It was a scene of universal warmth and cheerfulness.
In the broad glare of the common sunshine, to an imagination
excited by the idea of a spectral visitant, the
sight of one's own shadow keeping pace with him,
and mimicking all his actions, has something in it
actually frightful. The wild motions of the clouds
the uncertain outlines of things seen by a feeble light,
the alarmed fancy shapes for itself images of terror.
But here was no shadow, no dimness, all was brightness
and glory around me. Yet even here, said I to
myself, alone as I seem, I have my companions. Invisible
beings are ever at my side, they glide with me
among the trunks of these trees; they float on the
soft pulsations of the air which detach the yellow
leaves from the boughs; they watch every motion of
my frame, and every word of my lips. Never was
prisoner, suspected of having formed a plan to escape
from his captivity, so vigilantly guarded and observed.
"As I walked slowly homeward, I came to an opening
in the forest, on the top of a little eminence, where
I stopped and turned to take a last look of the sun as
he descended. His mild golden rays were streaming
with a sweet and sleepy languor, as if the lids of that
great eye of heaven were half-closed over it, softening
but not veiling its brightness; while beneath, the earth
slept in Sabbath stillness, as if yielding itself up to
the sole enjoyment of that genial splendour. I sighed,
as I thought of the contrast thus presented between
my own enthralled and agitated spirit, and the repose
and liberty of every thing around me. As I proceeded,
sunset came on, and twilight stole over the woods.
Sometimes I passed through a gloomy thicket of evergreens;
and as darkness always heightens the feeling
of the marvellous, I almost expected to descry some
dim half-defined form in the shadow, the visible presentation
of my ghostly attendant. I saw, however,
nothing; powerfully as I had been affected by the incident
I have just related, my imagination refused to
body forth a visionary shape from the indistinct outlines
of things around me; but I reached home in a
state of extreme excitement.
"I went to my chamber, but I was too much agitated
revolving in my mind circumstances of the mysterious
visitation of which I was the subject; I watched the
moon as she rose, and saw her climb the zenith; and
I said to myself, though half ashamed of the thought,
`Will not the dead of night, the witching hour at
which our forefathers believed the dead were permitted
to leave their graves and walk the earth visible to men,
show me the form of that being which keeps perpetual
watch over me? Must even the light of the moon,
powerful as it is to endue things with strange shapes,—
that light which the Mantuan poet called malignant,
from its being peopled with terrifying phantoms,—show
me only the accustomed and familiar objects of day?
Shall I never be permitted to behold the external shape
of the mysterious existence which so often manifests
itself to another of my senses, that I may determine
with more certainty its nature, and whether its interposition
be for good or evil? But it must be for good,
for it interposes only to prevent some act of cruelty or
passion.' These reflections, it will easily be imagined,
did not dispose me to slumber. It was not until the
stars began to grow pale that a sense of fatigue compelled
me to throw myself on the bed, nor even then
were my eyes soon closed in sleep. It was late, however,
very late when I awoke, the light streaming into
my windows pained my eyes as I opened them. My
black man, an honest, faithful creature, who had grown
old in the family of my wife's father, and whom at her
request I had taken into my service, was just opening
the door.
" `What o'clock is it?' said I; `look at my watch
on the table.'
"He took up the watch, but appeared to find some
difficulty in distinguishing the hour.
" `Hand it to me, you stupid creature,' said I, `and
let me see for myself.'
"I looked at the dial, which informed me that it was
half-past ten o'clock.
" `Rascal!' exclaimed I, `have you not been positively
directed never to neglect calling me at seven
o'clock, if I were not already up?'
" `Yes, master, but I thought you might have need
of rest. I am certain that I heard master walking his
room till very late, and I was afraid he would not like
to be disturbed.'
" `What business had you to set your thoughts or
your fears against my orders? How did you know
that I had not some appointment to keep, or some important
business to transact before this hour? I had
actually an appointment, and your negligence has
caused me to break it. But I will take care to teach
you a lesson that you will remember. Leave the room
instantly, call again in half an hour, and I will pay you
your wages, and you shall—'
"I was going to add that he should immediately
quit my service, but at that moment I felt the bedclothes,
which lay across my shoulders and the lower
part of my face, pressed over them so tightly and
closely, and with such a prodigious weight, as to
smother my voice, or at least to reduce it to sounds
choked and inarticulate. In vain I struggled to free
myself; the sheets seemed, as we sometimes fancy them
in a fit of the nightmare, to be thick plates of the
heaviest and hardest of metals, and lay upon me with
an immoveable rigidity. The black man retreated
from the room with a face of blank astonishment; but
as soon as he was gone, the enormous weight ceased to
press upon me, and I again breathed freely. I arose
and put on my clothes; in a short time the negro presented
himself, and I paid him his wages up to that
morning. He looked surprised, but I sent him about
some ordinary service, without entering into any explanation.
"It might be thought that these successive admonitions,
manifest as their design had become, would have
made me cautious of transgressing the bounds of a
just moderation of temper, and have restrained me from
every act bordering on inhumanity. I was not yet,
however, wholly cured. One day, as I was returning
from one of my usual walks, I chanced to pass by a
farm of which I was the proprietor. I had been of
late so entirely absorbed in other matters that I had not
visited it to inspect its condition, but I now observed that
the house was in bad repair, the shutters dropping
from the hinges, the windows broken and patched
with rags, and the fences everywhere falling down.
The tenant had taken the farm on condition of rendering
me half the annual product. The portion I had
already received was not equal to my expectations;
and the autumnal crops, then ready for gathering, exposed
as they were to the depredations of animals, I
thought would be little or nothing.
"I sent for the man as soon as I got home. He
made no haste to come; but in a day or two, after a
second message, he deigned to make his appearance,
He was a stout, broad-shouldered, dark-complexioned
man, with a blackguard cast of the eye, and a resolute
demeanour. His beard was of some ten days'
growth; he wore a tattered hat, and an old greatcoat
tied round his middle with a fragment of an old
silk handkerchief. In short, he had every mark of
being an idle, saucy, good-for-nothing fellow, and a very
unpromising subject for a quarrel.
" `Johnston,' said I to him, `I fear you do not keep
your farm in the best order.'
" `I do the best I can, squire,' was the laconic
answer.
" `But I saw the fences down the other day, and
observed strange cattle feeding in my meadows and
spoiling the next year's crop of grass.'
" `I have nothing to do with the next year's crop,
squire, till I know whether I am to stay another year
on the place.'
" `That you may know from this moment. Your
lease is from the twentieth of November to the twentieth
of November; so you may make up your mind
to leave the premises the very day your lease expires;
for I am determined that so worthless a tenant shall
remain on the farm no longer.'
"The man laughed in my face. `I rather guess,
squire,' returned he, `that you will be troubled to git
me out quite as soon as you expect. I believe there
was no writing in the business; and as for the law
about them matters, I know what it is as well as you,
for I heard the judge lay it down once in court. No,
squire, I thank you; I shall not budge a foot; I shall
stay in that house for the winter. I will not be turned
out, wife and children and all, in the cold weather, just
because you ha'n't made so much money by me as you
meant to do—and what is more, you can't turn me
out. I know what the law is as well as you.'
"I was provoked beyond measure at the man's insolence.
`Scoundrel!' said I; `do you set me at
defiance? Did I not put you on that farm out of
charity?'
" `And now you would turn me into the street to starve,
out of charity, I s'pose. There is just as much charity
in one case as in the other. I was needy, and you
thought to take advantage of my situation for your
own profit; you have been disappointed, and now you
want to be rid of me.'
" `Fellow,' said I to Johnston, `your dishonesty and
ingratitude are bad enough, but your ill-manners are
past all bearing. Leave the house instantly.'
"I shall never forget the look of cool impudence
which the man gave me, as he answered, that having
come at my request on a matter of business, he should
he was no lackey of mine, to come and go at my bidding,
and that having entered the house by my special
invitation, he should take his own time for leaving it.
" `Then I must endeavour to quicken your speed,'
said I, reaching my hand to the wall near me, where
hung a large horsewhip; with which, in the extremity
of my anger, I resolved to chastise the insolence
of the plebeian. Immediately I felt a soft pressure on
the wrist, as if a gentle hand strove to detain my
own. This was no time, however, nor was I in a
mood, to be withheld from my purpose by any thing
short of irresistible force. There stood the insolent
and ragged rascal who had provoked me; he had
thrown off his great-coat, and stood in the only garments
left, a tattered shirt and pantaloons, placing himself
in an attitude of defence, looking as if ready to
spring upon me, and watching me with a quick eye
and a determined look, which, however, indicated no
more passion than might give firmness to his purpose
and vigour to its execution. I broke impatiently from
the soft restraint which impeded me, raised my hand
to the whip, seized it, and had already lifted it over
Johnston's head, when I felt my arm suddenly arrested
by a firm, rigid, painful grasp. I strove to move forward,
but could not: it seemed as if every part of my
frame was imprisoned with bars and shackles of iron;
I felt them on my breast, my sides, my arms, and my
thighs. No words can describe the tumult of feelings
in my bosom—indignation, surprise, disappointment,
all wrought to the highest pitch, and all subsiding into
horror. Johnston, who was waiting to repel and return
my blow, and who evidently intended to fell me
to the earth, if possible, had I struck him, grew pale as
he looked at me, and walked away, turning once or
twice as he left the room to fix his eyes upon me. I
heard afterward that he had acknowledged that, fearless
him—with such a frightful and demoniac energy did it
speak of the violent passions which raged within me.
"I was now left alone; but not as formerly was I
released as soon as the occasion for restraint had
ceased. On the contrary, the rigid pressure still continued
to impede my motions on every side. My left
hand, however, was at liberty, and as somewhat of my
presence of mind returned, I began to investigate the
nature of the strange invisible shackles which confined
me. That powerful grasp was still on my right
arm. I searched it—it was not a hand of flesh—I
felt the smooth, cold articulations of a skeleton. The
gentle being who had given me the first admonition,
had resigned me for the time to severer guardianship.
I endeavoured to move my hand forward and towards
either side,—it was obstructed by a kind of irregular
lattice-work, which, on examining it closely, proved to
be the bones of a skeleton. I felt the parallel ribs;
I passed my hand through them, and touched the
column of the spine. Words cannot describe my horror.
I did not swoon; I did not lose consciousness; but
with dilated eyes, and erected hair, and cold shudderings
passing over my whole frame, I explored the mysterious
objects which surrounded me; I continued the
examination until not a doubt remained, and I came to
the conclusion that I was surrounded by a group of
skeletons, one of which held my arm, and another
clasped me in its horrible embraces. Shortly afterward
my arm was released—the stricture around my
chest was gone, and I could move my limbs without
difficulty. In a state of extreme exhaustion, I sank down
upon the nearest seat.
"My incredulity with respect to these interpositions
had previously to this, as I think I have intimated,
been overcome; and it now remained for me to consider
whether I would incur a repetition of such admonitions
terrible manner because it was manifest that milder
means had no effect upon me. I began to watch all
my actions and words, to abstain from the utterance of
every thing unkind or angry, and from the doing of
every thing which could give pain to a living creature.
I have in some measure reaped the reward of my circumspection
in the complacent feeling which attends
the overcoming of temptation, or, in perhaps better
phrase, the sense of gratitude at having been preserved
from odious and mischievous actions. My life has
since been passed with great tranquillity, though still
saddened with the memory of my loss. Yet I confess
to you that with this perpetual restraint upon my
actions, this sense of a presence which checks and
chastises what is wrong, I am far from happy. I feel
like a captive in chains, and my spirit yearns after its
former freedom. My sole desire and hope is, that by
a patient submission to the guidance appointed me, I
may become fitted for a state where liberty and virtue
are the same, and where in following the rules of duty
we shall only pursue a natural and unerring inclination."
Here Medfield ended. I endeavoured to reason with
him on the subject of his story, and to show him that
what he had experienced was only a delusion of the
imagination, a monomania, as it is termed by the physicians,—though
I did not venture to call it by that
name,—a diseased relation between the mind and one
of the senses, to which a man of the soundest and
clearest judgment might be subject.
He heard me for a little while, and then interrupting
me, said, "All that you say is only what has occurred
to my own mind. I am willing to believe you as ingenious
in argument as most men, but I can scarcely
suppose that you will advance any thing new in favour
of incredulity on this point, which I have not already
to allow its utmost weight. It was all in vain.
Skeptical as I naturally was on such subjects, I could
not bring myself to set aside the evidence of the most
scrutinizing and least fallible of our senses, the sense
which conveys to us the most certain information of
the world about us. You will only weary me by the
revival of a dispute which I long ago settled for myself.
Let us, my dear sir, talk of something else."
After some conversation on indifferent topics, I
parted from Medfield, with a full conviction that his
melancholy had produced some alienation of mind. I
returned in a few days afterward to New-York. In the
course of the winter I had a letter from him, somewhat
melancholy in its tenor. He spoke of ill-health,
and impaired spirits, and complained of the monotony
and weariness of the season. In the month of June
afterward, as I was looking over the columns of a
newspaper, I saw announced in the obituary the death
of Charles Medfield, of —, aged 36 years.
| Tales of Glauber-Spa | |