The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, October 29, 1878, Image 1

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    VOL. XII. NEW BLOOMFIELD, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1878. NO. 44.
THE TIMES.
In Independent Family Newspaper,
IS PUBLISHED EVERT TUESDAY BT
F. MORTIMER & CO.
BUBSCTtlPTION 1 III C E .
(WITHIN THH COUNTY.
One Year $12
Six Months 75
(OUT 0 TAB COUNTY.
One Year, (Postane included) $1 PO
Six Months, (Postage lucluded) 85
Invariably In Advance I
W Advertising rates furnished upon appll.
cation.
For The Times.
GOLDEN ROD AND LIFE EVER-LASTING.
O, lonely ileitis of golden rod,
And pearly Hfo-everlastlng, you,
When white with frost, or moist with dew,
How many a vanished year I've trod !
Each Autumn by the hand of God,
Beneficent, adorned anew,
Beneath a sky as soft a nd blue
As ever bent o'er earthly sod.
When sing the birds, the bees may woo
Flowers that more brightly gleam and nod ;
But none so charm sad Memory's view
As life-everlasting's pearly hue,
And magic of the golden-rod
So, lonely fields, I dote on you.
Georgetown, D. C, W. L. Shoemaker.
A GHOSTLY WARNING.
I CALL it a ghostly warning because,
though it came not in the night
watches, in faraway tones, from the lips
of a filmy apparition, it did come to me
in thename of a dear friend long since
gone to the Unknown Land.
In the spring of 1875, 1 visited New
York, and wishing to be entirely free
for the business which necessitated
my presence there, instead of going to
the house of a relative, engaged board in
convenient locality under the same roof
with an acquaintance. Excepting this
lady, one friend and a cousin, no one to
whom I was known was, during the
first week, aware that I was in the city.
This cousin, a very favorite one, then
chanced to be in America for a few weeks,
having left his wife and family tempo
rarily alone in their home in Paris. As
G 's evenings hung rather heavily
on his hands while away from his fami
ly, to which he was always devoted, he
was good enough to enliven by his wel
come presence many of mine, which
otherwise would have been as dull as
evenings in a boarding-house full of
strangers must be.
One evening, perhaps the third or
fourth after my arrival, came the warn
ing, delivered in a very straightforward,
prosaic,unghostly way by the letter-carrier.
One always examines the outside
of a letter to see whom it is from, prob
ably for the same reason that leads one
to listen to what others say about one's
friends before hearing what these have
to say for themselves. I looked at the
letter curiously. It was post marked in
the city at five o'clock of the previous
afternoon, yet it was directed in a hand
I had never expected to see again save
when I looked with tearful eyes over a
bundle of yellow old letters tied up care
fully in a corner of my desk at home. It
was curious, I thought, that this rather
peculiar chirography should be duplica
ted. Then I observed, witha start, that
the middle name in the direction was
not that which belongs to me, but one
which I had adopted for two or three
years of my childhood, preferring it to
the family name which my parents gave
me. I had outgrown the whim and re
turned to my baptismal name, but the
friend referred to always took a sort of
pleasure in reminding me of this and
several other childish fancies which we
had held in common. No one now liv
ing, so far as I was aware, so much as
knew that I bad signed the name.I now
saw before mo.
" Deaiiest E : It is sometimes
permitted to us who have already step
ped into the light to give words of com
fort or of warning to those who still
wander in darkness. My word to you
now is one of warning.
' One who is very dear to you is about
to trust his life to the treacherous deep.
If he does so he will be lost. Upon you
rests the responsibility. Prevent him
from recrossiug the ocean if you value
his life.
" I am now, as of yore, ever lovingly
yours, Annie M. H .
" By the hand of A. B. Bears .Spiritual
Medium."
I don't think I am naturally supersti
tious, but it would be difficult to describe
the effect of this letter upon my mind.
It was not merely the nature of the com
munication, but its entire unexpected,
ness, that made it impressive. I read it
carefully. The handwriting, if not pre
cisely the same as that of my frlend,cer
talnly resembled it very strongly, and,
though I had with me none of the actual
writing to compare with it, I felt reason
ably sure that my memory on this point
was trustworthy. After thinking care
fully over my list of acquaintances, I
felt certain that there was none of them
who would be willing to play a practical
joke of such a nature, and I knew of no
one in the city who had ever heard An
nie's name. Then, too, there was the
middle name of childish fancy which I
had never Blgned Bince the dnys Annie
was my sole correspondent.
I put the letter in my bureau-drawer
and turned the key upon it. Putting
this in my pocket, I went out, as usual,
for the day, resolved not to let the mat
ter double me. The business of the day
totally drove it out of mind, until, as I
entered the house at dusk, the memory
came back to me with a slight shock,
such as unwelcome memories frequently
produce. This was repeated and in
tensified when.upou entering my room,
I found the letter lying on the top of the
bureau. I tried the drawers ; all were
locked ; I felt in my pocket : there was
the key. I laughed at myself, and said,
" I must haye locked the stable door,
leaving the horse outside. I'll see that
it's in now, any way." So I put the let
ter into the drawer,and turning the key,
placed it in my pocket before going
down to dinner.
Soon after dinner my cousin came in
and we passed the evening in the pleas
ant parlor of my only acquaintance in
the house, whom I will call Mrs. Mur
ray. During these hours I did not think
of the letter, having determined I would
not think or it ; out wnen J. went into
my room for the night, and turning on
the gas stirring the fire, I went to the
bureau to lay off my bracelets. There,
stuck in the frame of the looking-glass,
was the letter. The drawers were all
locked ; not a thing in them had been
disturbed. A brooch, a little money, a
finger-ring, some laces, and many little
things that niight have tempted a thief
or a pilfering housemaid, were all just
as I had left them, in the same drawer
where the letter had been.
There could be no mistake about the
matter this time. I had locked that
letter in the drawer Just before dinner
and had not since entered the room.
Yet there the thing was staring me
in the face, with the old, well-remembered
handwriting and the long
disused middle name, defying me to
doubt the reality of its presence in a
place where I had not put it.
Holding it in my hand and sitting in
a low chair by the fire, I thought over
the subject of the letter.
It had never seemed to nie to be un
reasonable to believe that if there is a
life beyond the present, the spirits of
those who have reached it before us may
sometimes possess the inclination and
the power to communicate with us.
But I was not all inclined to accept this
communication as coming from the
Spirit Land Bimply because it purported
to do so. I had seen but one or two
professed " mediums," and these by
accident, but they had given me no de
sire to see more of their sport. It'was a
strong argument against the genuine
ness of this communication that it pro
fessed to come through the hands of a
"medium." Still, I would grant to
myself, for the moment, that this letter
undoubtedly was from my dear friend.
"What, in that case, could what ought
I to do V Of course, the person referred
to as in danger could only be my cousin
G , for, as far as I knew, no one else
who was dear to me was then thinking
of crossing the Atlantio or any other
ocean. But it was nonsense to say that
if he were lost the responsibility of hie
loss would rest upon me. If any par
ticular vessel had been mentioned in
which it said it would be dangerous to
sail, or if any special week or month
had been named, I would, to have sat
isfied my conscience, have faced my
cousin's certain ridicule, and used my
best powers of persuasion to induce him
to take passage on another vessel or at a
different time. But there was no such
mention. He did not even know by
what steamer he would leave New
York, as all depended upon his business
arrangements. As it was, how could I
do or say anything to prevent his going
where both his domestic and hla busi
ness relations called him ?
Thinking about it as a real communi
cation from a present but unseen friend,
I at last said aloud, as to one within
hearing :
No, Annie, I can do nothing, and I
will burn this letter, so that it shall not
trouble me anymore."
A distinct whisper, apparently just
by my ear, answered :
" You'll be sorry if you do. Startled,
I looked about the room behind the
sofa, under the bed, back of the window
curtains though I knew as well before
as I did afterward that there was no one
in the room. The occupants of the
room next to mine had been snoring for
the last hour, and the halls had long
been perfectly quiet.
Heedless of the whispered warning, I
persisted in my purpose. The grate-fire
was nearly out, but there were live coals
enough to light thepaper,and I watched
it while it was consumedto ashes.
The next morning I went out, as
usual, spending the day in tedious de
tails of business that would not arrange
itself satisfactorily, and happily forget
ting the burned letter until it was re
called, as I entered the house late in the
afternoon, by the sight of the mail-carrier's
latest budget waiting its several
claimants on the shelf of the hat-rack.
Three letters were for me, and one of
them was directed in the strange-familiar
hand, and mailed in the city that
morning.
In the evening my cousin was to take
Mrs. Murray and me the Academy, of
Design ; so I put the letter, unopened,
into my pocket, and resolutely forgot it
until I had locked myself into my room
for the night. Then I opened it. The
contents were the same as before, only
that this time the missive opened with
a tender reproach for my unbelief, and
the address of the " medium" was placed
below his name.
Again I sat down and thought it all
over, coming to the same conclusion as
before. Even supposlng,I reasoned.that
this is a genuine communication from
Annie, she is mistaken in Imagining
that I can do anything to save G 's
life upon such vague information as
this. If she knows as much of the fu
ture as she here professes to do, she
must know much more than has here
been told , and if she could write what
she has written, she can write more.
If that " medium" thinks I'm going to
him to make inquiries, he's mistaken.
The communication either is or is not
from Annie. If it is, she must remem
ber that I always detested hints and
oracular utterances, and know that I
shall wait till she gives me proof of her
power to foretell future events. If it is
not from herself, the whole thing is
despicable, unworthy of a thought. But
who, I reasoned again, could have
either the information necessary to en
able him even so far to personate Annie
or the motive to induce him to do it ?
Certainly, no one that I knew.
So I went to bed with theresolveihat,
as I could know nothing, I would
think no more about it a resolution
easier to make than to adhere to.
The next morning my first thought
was how I should d ispose of the com
munication. Plainly, it was of no use
to lock it up, and as little to burn it. I
would carry it with me. If I lost it in
crossing the lower part of Broadway,
that would surely be the last of this
copy, and perhaps the discouraged wri
ter would not try it again. So, crossing
hurriedly in the neighborhood of the
" Herald" office, I drew out my pocket
handkerchief, and with un emotion of
relief felt that the uncanny little mis
sive bad fallen upon the mud-covered
pavement amid thick-coming hoofs and
wheels. But I had congratulated my
self too quickly. A gentleman who
crossed the street just after me saw it
fall, and in the mistaken kindness of
his heart, followed half a block to re
store the document. I'm afraid he
thought my acknowedgementa very
ungracious, yet I tried my best to dis
semble. Two more efforts to rid myself of the
letter met with no better success. There
was nothing for It but to fetch the mud.
colored epistle back with me, and that
evening, as my cousiu had other en-
gagements and Mrs. Murry had gone
out, I had nothing to hinder me from
reflection on its contents.
I would not allow myself to think
that I believed in the genuineness of the
communication, yet the morel thought
it of the more unaccountable It became.
Still, I was strongly fixed in the opin
ion that ever, if the communication
were what it purported to be, there was
no step that I could or ought to take In
regard to it.
For a few moments I thought of
handing the letter to my cousin to read,
and so shifting whatever responsibility
there might be over to his broad shoul
ders. But that, I reflected, would be
but a cowardly thing to do. Even if he
should now laugh at the warning as
doubtless he would do yet, if on his
homeward voyage, an accident should
happen to the steamer on which he was,
the memory of the despised warning
would be sure to awaken, as people al
ways think of the things they should
not and perhaps, by disturbing t he cool
ness of his judgment and arousing the
notion of fatality which slumbers in us
all, the prophecy might help to Its own
fulfillment. That was a responsibility
I would not take.
The letter continued a dreadful plague
tome. I burnt this second one, and the
next day's mail brought a third nearly
literal copy. This I tried to hide, but
every evening,when I unlocked my door
the letter appeared in some new and
conspicuous place now pinned to the
head of my bedstead, then to a window
curtain ; now on the sofa,or again stuck
in the frame of the looking glass
once tied to the gas-fixture, 'and.twlee
to the door-handle. I could not get rid
of its ever-reproachful face, silently
saying:
" I warn and you will not heed."
As far as I could without exciting sus
picion as to my motives in making the
inquiries for I dreaded the sort of noto
riety which would surely attach to one
who was supposed to have received a
supernatural communication I satis
fied myself that the landlady and ser
vants had, and could have had, nothing
to do with this letter and its mysterious
migrations. It was acertalned that there
had once been a duplicate key to my
hall-door. The other doors were bolted
on both sides.
Now, whether it was altogether owing
to the efTect on my imagination of this
mysterious agility of an inanimate
thing, or whether it was the vexatious
and troublesome nature of the business
which detained me in town, and the
physical and mental weariness it induc
ed, combined with the undeniably pois
onous cookery of the fashionable board-ing-house,had
together seriously affected
my nervous system, I do not know, but
certain it is that day and night I could
not escape from the haunting refrain,
" I have warned you, but you will not
heed, and you will be responsible for a
life. For his life the life of the father
of the beautiful children you are so fond
of, the husband of the woman who is
dear to you, the friend whom you love
for his own sake. It is for his life you
will be responsible."
During the daytime my work smoth
ered this refrain, so that I only heard it
as a disturbing echo ; but when evening
came with its relaxations, I could not
shut it out.
- At the theatre, the brilliant stage
where Reignold played Henry V., or
where Wallack personated the jaunty
youth of fashion, seemed written over
with the flaming words. When I dined
friends, and one said in a laughing way
about som6 trifling thing :
" You will be responsible for that," I
felt as if I had received judicial con
demnation. When my cousin stood on
the rug in front of Mrs. Murray's sitting-room
fire, telling in eloquent words
about Old World wonders which had
burnt themselves into his artist heart, I
beard them only through a din of surg
ing waters, In which I saw his noble
head uselessly struggling, or I heard his
voice as through the sobs of wife and
children lamenting her husband and
father.
I had maturely reflected and decided
upon my course, and I would not per
mit reason to be overridden by imagina
tion so far as to let the latter influence
my actions ; yet many a night I woke to
find myself bitterly weeping and pray
ing the pardon of G 's wife that I
had not at least tried the effect of giving
him the warning.
I was glad when my business-was at
length dispatched and I could leave the
city ; but it was not until several weeks
After this that my cousin started for
France. The twelve days that elapsed
between the sailing of his steamer and
that on which its safe arrival was re
ported In the New York papers were
very long. And when it was all over,
how angry I was at myself that I should
have paid any heed to such a vague,
and, as it now seemed, transparently
spurious sort of warning.
My next thought was to send! to a
friend the letter of which I still held the
third copy (its power of self-movement
forsook It when I left New York), with
the request that he would ascertain for
me If there were any such person as A.
B. Sears, professing to be a " Spiritual
medium." After some weeks the answer
was returned:
"Yes, A. B. Sears is the nom-de.
guerre of Abiathar Parsons who, un
der his proper name,boarded in the same
house where you boarded last spring."
Abiathar Parsons 1 Then I remem
bered. In the days when Annie H-
and I,as recently -separated schoolmates,
were carrying on an active correspond
ence by mall, this Parsons was a clerk
in the employ of the storekeeper who
acted as postmaster in our native- vil
lage. Upon inquiry, which I caused to
be made of the housekeeper at my late
lodgings, I found that during my stay
in New York he had occupied the room
next to Mrs. Murray's parlor, and on
the same floor with my room, and that
his place at table had been nearly oppo
site my own. Parsons had not borne
the best of reputations during his clerk
ship with the postmaster, and after a
stay of a year or so had drifted away,
carrying his laziness and cunning to a
more appreciative market. In the well
covered, florid-faced man with dark hair
I had failed to recognize the lank, sal
low, red-haired youth whom I had only
seen and hardly noticed behind the
counter. Evidently his memory had
been better than mine, and from the
position of his room In relation to Mrs.
Murray's parlor he might easily have
overheard the conversations between my
cousin and myself relative to the former
returning to Europe. How Mr. Parsons
obtained access to my room and bureau
drawers I do not certainly know, but as
it seems that he had once occupied the
apartment for some weeks, it may not
be doing him injustice to suggest that he
then supplied himself with duplicate
keys, thinking that they might prove
useful in some possible contingencies.
Possessing, as be did, a remarkable
facility in imitating handwritings a
facility which had more than once
turned the eye of suspicion upon the
postmaster's clerk and remembering
that of Annie H , which must often
have passed through his hands, while
knowing that she had long since passed
a way, his cunning presented to Abiathar
Parsons alias A. B. Sears the idea
that as he knew me, and probably re
membered many little things connected
with my family and early life which he
could use to advantage in trading upon
my credulity (while he remained by me)
here was an excellent opportunity to
get a little money and extend his repu
tation as one whose predictions of the
future must be relied upon, seeing that
he knew so much of the post.
If, by any chance, the steamer on
which my cousin had met with disaster
and he had failed to reach his home, I
would probably have made no investi
gation, but have simply accepted tho
communication as having been a genu
ine but simply unheeded warning from
the Spirit Land, and all the rest of my
life have been weighed down with a
burden of remorse as heavy as any ever
borne by an actual murderer.
The trick of Mr. Parsons-Sears was a
very Bimply one, now it has been told,
and I have not found it any easy task
to excuse myself to myself for the im
portance I attached to the supposed
warning and for the real suffering so
uselessly endured on account of it. But
since that time I have felt much more
charity than before for those unfortu
nate people who in hours of doubt, anx
iety and grief have resorted for knowl
edge or consolation to sources which in
their calmer moments the would have
seen offered but spurious draughts of
either.