Chapter X.

A Seance

Francis Hogarth did not forget his promise to Mr. Dempster, and went to his house at the hour appointed, to be witness of the seance.  A number of his friends and fellow-converts were there, and the proceedings of the evening were opened by a short and earnest prayer that none but good spirits should be permitted to be present, and that all the communications they might be permitted to hear might be blessed to the souls of all of them.

The medium was a thin, nervous-looking youth of about nineteen; but, as Mr. Dempster assured Mr. Hogarth, was in every way to be trusted, as his character was irreproachable, and of great sincerity and simplicity.  Francis was very incredulous as to the appearances being caused by spiritual agency, and though he could give no satisfactory explanation of the extraordinary movements of tables, easy chairs, sofas, &c., he felt that these things were very undignified and absurd, as every unbeliever always feels at first; but the eagerness of the large party who were gathered together had something infectious in it.  Many of them had known severe bereavement—­many of them had been tossed on the dark sea of doubt and despondency—­and the brief messages communicated by raps, or by the voice of the medium, gave them consolation and hope.

To Francis, the details communicated appeared to be meagre and unsatisfactory.  The spirits all said that they were happy, which to some present was a fact of inestimable value, but to him it was a matter of course.  He never had believed, since he had thought out the subject in early manhood, that God would continue existence if He did not make it a blessing.  But to others who, like many before him, had intelligently accepted of a sterner theology, and who had been struggling through years of chaotic doubts and fancies for footing on which to rest, he saw that these assurances gave real strength and support.  An hour had passed amidst these manifestations—­the interest of the believers continued to be unflagging, but Francis felt a little tired of it.  He had lost no dear friend by death.  The future world had not the intense personal interest to him that it had to others.  The dearest beings in the world to him were his two cousins, and they were divided from him by circumstances almost as cruel as the grave.  How few have done justice to the sad partings, the mournful alienations that have been caused by circumstances!  Bereavement in all its varied bitterness has been sung by many poets in strains worthy of the subject; but circumstances are so insidious, and often so prosaic, that their tragical operation has been rarely treated of in verse.