Seen and Unseen | Page 8

enough (in view of the preceding facts) it was she who persuaded Miss
Greenlow and me to attend our first séance in Boston. Mrs Edna Hall
had honoured Mrs Lankester's introduction most hospitably; but she
was too busy a woman to do as much for us as her kindness suggested,
and she had therefore introduced us to another friend--Mrs Maria
Porter--a most picturesque, clever, and characteristic figure in Boston
society in the eighties.
Both these ladies accompanied us to the "Sisters Berry." Mrs Edna Hall
had no sort of illusions on the subject. She said quite frankly that she
only took us there because it was a feature of American life which we
ought not to miss, and which would probably amuse us, if only by
showing the gullibility of Human Nature.
One is always apt to read past experiences in the light of present
convictions. Fortunately, I kept a diary at the time, and have a faithful
record of what took place, and, which is still more valuable, of the
impressions formed at the time.
The extracts connected with this séance in Boston, and later
experiences in New York, are taken partly from my record at the time
and partly from the chapter on "Spiritualism in America," published in
my book entitled "A Year in the Great Republic."
Speaking of this first séance in Boston, I see that I have said:
"I went to the 'Sisters Berry' in a very antagonistic frame of mind,
determined beforehand that the whole thing was a swindle (italics are
recent), accompanied by friends who were even more sceptical than
myself, if that were possible." I go on then to describe the usual cabinet,

and pass on to the following extract:--
An old Egyptian now appeared, and a man in the circle, who had been
sitting near my friend Miss Greenlow all the evening, went up and
spoke to him, and then asked "that the lady who had been sitting near
him" might come up also, which she did; but she said she could
distinguish no features, and only felt a warm, damp hand passed over
hers. Miss Greenlow was next called up by the spirit of a young man
who wished to embrace her, but who was finally proved to be the
departed friend of the lady who sat next to her. Miss Greenlow returned
to her seat, furious, declaring that it was a horrible, coarse-looking
creature, unlike anyone she had ever seen in her life.
Mrs Porter made valiant attempts to investigate the figures who came
forth at intervals, but was invariably waved back by the master of the
ceremonies.
"Will that lady kindly sit down? This spirit is not for her. It wishes to
communicate with its own friends, and she is disturbing the conditions,
and forcing the spirit back into the cabinet."
There were evidently many old stagers there, who flew up like
lamp-lighters on every possible occasion, with exclamations of: "Oh,
Uncle Charlie, is that you?" "How do you do, Jem?" and so forth.
One old lady, in a mob cap and black gown, was introduced as a certain
Sister Margaret who had taught in St Peter's School, Boston. She came
to speak to a former pupil, who gave her spiritualistic experiences in
such remarkably bad grammar as reflected small credit on Sister
Margaret's teaching of the English language.
This girl told us how anxious she had always been to see her old
teacher, who had appeared to her several times in the séance room, but
never in her old garments--a sort of sister's dress. After wishing very
fervently one night, Sister Margaret appeared dressed in mob cap and
gown, saying: "Don't you see my dress? I came in it at your wish."
"Yes," answered the girl; "and I thank you for gratifying my wish.

Since which time," she added, "I have been a firm believer in
spiritualism."
A young French girl, in draggly black garments and a shock of thick
black hair, then came forward and rushed amongst us, trying to find
someone to talk French with her. My friend Mrs Hall went up first, and
then I was told to go up and speak to her. I took hold of her hands, and
grasped them firmly for a moment. They seemed to be ordinary flesh
and blood, but I am bound to confess that they appeared to lengthen out
in a somewhat abnormal fashion when the pressure was removed.
Her face was very cadaverous, and she spoke in a quick, hurried way,
as if time were an object. She said she understood a little English, but
could not speak it. Her mother had been French; her father an Indian,
"un brave homme."
It seemed to me that a good deal of kissing and embracing went on.
One old grey-headed