You should also avoid the experiment of making an old pianoforte, with open lattice-work, play when closed, in the presence of similar wary people, or they will surely walk up to it and tap on the wires through the very same holes, producing similar results.
The foregoing suggestions are an exact transcript of the deceptions practised by two well known London Mediums in the presence of the writer, whose name, together with those of the gentlemen who were present at the exposure, the Editor is empowered to publish should he think proper.
Incidentally, the writer would say a few words to some persons in private life, who, actuated by no other motive than a pure love of mischief, practise similar deceptions on their unsuspecting friends. As the latter can imagine no interested motive, they blindly believe in the supernatural origin of the phenomena, and consequently circulate reports which obtain credence on their authority. The practical jokes, which have so deluded them, may appear harmless; but should the deception remain undiscovered, it is likely to implant in many a weak mind the germ of insanity, which all future explanations will fail to eradicate.
To the professional Mediums, I say, I am watching their performances, and, if necessary, will offer them some further instructions hereafter.
THE ICEBERG.
BY A. STEWART HARRISON.
_-_John_Everett_Millais.png)
“You’ve been a whaler, Ben?”
“Ay, sir, I have; many long years ago, tho’.”
“Now, what do you think of as the most perilous of your enterprises?”
“D’you mean what I think most difficult—wonderful-like?”
I nodded.
“Well, sir, I’ve been pitched out of a boat many a time; once, I recollect, that I was pitched out and got a touch with his tail as well. Lord bless you! it gave me a head-ache for a month, to say nothing of the ducking.”
“Ever seen any ice?”
“I should say I had. There’s a note-book in that corner drawer—no; that one under the further end—that’s got something about ice in it. Ay! that’s it, pictures and all. Why I drawed these five-and-twenty year ago. Hardly seems like it, tho’. It’s a rum story, it is—sort of Robinson Crusoe like. You’ve read that?”
“A good many times. Did you ever know anybody who hadn’t?”
“I never knew a youngster that hadn’t. I believe that book ’s been the cause of more boys going to sea than any that was ever written.”
“Suppose we look over your note-book; I should like to see your story.”
“Oh! it isn’t written so that you could under-