Punch (44.1863)

April 18, 1863.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

159

We sat about the table, _

In a still aud solemn ring,

Prepared to swallow spirits,

Raps, Hands, or anything—

We were not of the sceptics,

Who scorn on mysteries fling.

Closely we screened the fire-light;

The curlains close we drew.

If the candles had been lighted
We felt they would burn blue,

As when lights are set to spirits,

They invariably do.

There was a Medium present,

But his name I will not tell,

Lest the unbelieving scoffer
Our seance call a sell;

But I feel profound conviction,

That a lie he’d scorn to tell.

So long as there was daylight,

The spirits kept aloof:

Though frequently requested
To put us to the proof
To tap us neath the table,

Or to float us to the roof.

But as daylight drew to gloaming
Betwixt the dark and light,

We were conscious of a feeling,

Half hope and half affright—

As if spirits were about us,

Though yet denied to sight.

We had talked of ghosts and goblins,

In all ages, faiths and lands,

Of spirit-haunted houses,

Strange sounds and shadowy hands,

Of sigils aud of pentacles,

Crystals and magic wands.

And as the darkness deepened
And twilight vanquished day—

Till what you saw or saw not,

• ’Twas difficult to say,

And your neighbour’s face loomed dimly,
And his voice seemed far away—

Our feelings waxed more eery,

And a casual finger-tap.

Seemed to vibrate tnrough the system,
Like a sudden thunder-clap,

And at this awful moment
We heard—distinctly—“ Rap 1 ”

“ Rap ! Rap 1 ” above the ceiling—

“ Rap 1 Rap 1 ” beneath the floor !

“Rap ! Bap ! ” outside the window !

“ Rap 1 Rap ! ” inside the door.

AT HOME WITH THE SPIRITS.

{By a Competent and Candid Observer.)

Till it seemed the force of Rapping
Could really do no more.

“Are there spirits here?” awe-stricken,
Spake the Medium—and lo 1
“ Yes ”—“ yes ”—was rapped on all sides,
And the table to and fro,

Heaved as a great ship heaveth,

When stormy winds do blow.

It was awful in the darkness,

To know those spirits near;

The loud and lusty rappings
Of their airy hands to hear,

Aud we all expressed a longing
Bor something to appear!

Sudden from out the darkness.

On the right or left hand side,

Arose above the table,

At the Medium’s command,

A white somethin" and we knew it
Was a shrouded spirit-hand!

It moved along the table,

It wavered to and fro,

It tickled those who asked it.

And all present seemed to know
That hand—the hand of some one
DeparLed long ago 1

One knew it was her father’s.

By wristband, form, and growth;

One that it was her mother’s,

Was ready to make oath,

And I my affidavit.

Will take that it was both.

I may not tell how sweetly
The accordion it played;

How strangely-knotted handkerchiefs,
Upon our knees it laid.

In the dark beneath the table,

How to and fro it strayed.

Nor let the scoffing sceptic
Say, darkness served as frame
To a conjuror’s apparatus.

Or helped a trickster’s game;

Our Medium strove by candle
And touch such doubt to shame.

He bade us ope the shutters,

The candles kindle bright,

But the spirits rapped, requesting
Decrease of earthly light;

He begged us grasp—the spirits _

Rapped, “ Squeeze us not so tight.”

And when the hands had finished
With their mysterious play,

The candid Medium told us
To look another way—

Bor he felt towards the ceiling
Borne by the spirits’ sway.

We looked away, obedient,

And lo, from out the gloom,

We heard his voice above us.

And far off in the room.

Proclaim “ I am uplifted,”

Sceptic—remember Home !

And some are sure they saw him,
Bloat through the darkened air,
And others felt his bootikins,

Light on their shoulders bear,

And that he had been flying
We heard him say, we swear 1

Then he bade the lamps be lighted,
And—sceptics to appal—

We found him calmly seated
Where the spirits let him fall,

And his name upon the ceiling
Pencilled was read by all!

I who have seen these marvels.

I who these raps have heard,

Shall I misdoubt my senses,

Because it seems absurd,

That spirits should take sights at us.
Or a man fly like a bird ?

I sat there in the darkness,

I saw the lights put out;

Belt tables move, heard spirits
Their messages rap out,

And heard the Medium from mid air
Speaking, rebuke my doubt!

With all this proof conclusive.

Can candid souls remain,

Still crushed beneath the burden
Of bigot reason’s chain,

Nor to the mighty Medium
Bow, of believing fain ?

What William TIowitt vouches
And Samuel Carter Hall,

And Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton,
Is surely proved for all—

Though Brewster be uncandid
Ancl Baraday be small.

What if these modern miracles
In darkness still confide ?

What if the names of witnesses
Beneath initials hide ?

The eye of faith is single
The throat of faith is wide!

GLASGOW CANNIBALS.

We thought that the Scotch had given over Cannibalism, and that
one “ Christian o’ the cleik,” mentioned by Slr Walter, was the last
Scottish gentleman who adhered to the custom of eating other Scottish
gentlemen. It seems, however, at all events by implication, that even
in Glasgow (which is now the capital of Scotland) the practice is still
pursued, although the writer of the following passage in the Glasgow
Herald very properly treats the habit as one not suited to the best
society:—

“But tlie dinner! ay, there’s the mb! for who would dine on boiled potatoes
and a Glasgow Magistrate at home, when he could feast on the fat things of many
lands in the Queen’s Rooms, and at the expense of the Queen Insurance Company ?”

Mr. Punch owns himself as much surprised as a gentleman ought to
oe at anything. He is well acquainted with Glasgow, and has met
many of its excellent Magistrates, but though he emphatically admits
that they were all nice men, in a social sense, it did not occur to him
that they were liable to be eaten by their fellow-citizens. Municipal
authorities are generally,supposed to be good, rather at, than on, a plate;
but it would seem that Glasgow, viewed from a Magistrate’s point of

sight, is “not where he eats, but where he is eaten.” And devoured
with potatoes, too. But perhaps this is complimentary, and implies
that the worthy Magistrates are regarded as the salt of the earth. We
sincerely hope that the Glasgow kitchens, far and away the greatest
invention of the day, will gradually tend to wean the Glaswegian
public from this objectionable practice. Bor ourselves, sooner than
eat a Magistrate, we would live on herrings all our days, and that’s just
an awfu’ word for one of our appetite to say.

Little Polish Waxlights.

The Government of Yienna liberally winks at the
Custom-houses, to Cracow, of

through Austrian

transmission,
cases containing

articles which resemble wax tapers, are said to be candles intended lor
the use of churches, and correspond exactly in length to _Minie rifles.
These commodities are probably designed for the service of the altar of
Breedom, which is a holy purpose; but if they are not holy candles, at
any rate they are not wicked.

A Real Hebraist to Dr. Colenso.—“ Birst Catch your Hare.’