An Astral Partner.
339
AN ASTRAL PARTNER. By Hon. Albion W. Tourgee. (Concluded.)
WE found young Morris dozing on the bed. His father told me that the "seances," as they are termed, were very ex hausting, and he denied himself the pleasure of hearing from the other members of his family as frequently as he should wish, to avoid over-tasking his son, especially now that he was in college, where his studies seemed to be as much as should be required of him. There were times, he said, when it was impossible for the young man to rest unless he had communion with the unseen. In such cases, he took the train to the city, went at once to his father's office, and re turned the same day. Rousing the young fellow, Mr. Morris in formed him that I had consented to come and " see if Esther would communicate" with me. "Oh, she will talk with him fast enough," answered the son. " She has been anxious to meet him for a long time." It seemed to be very singular that both father and son spoke of the sister and mother, not as dead or separated from them, but as if present, though invisible. We sat down at a plain wooden table which was in the center of the room. The cloth had been removed, and on the table was an or dinary hinged slate. "I bought this on my way back from your office to-day," said my client, showing me the brand of a well-known city firm burnt into the frame. " My trunk has not yet arrived, and the one we generally use is in that. You see there is no writing on it," he continued, handing it to me. I nodded in reply. "I wish you would examine it, and if you desire, you can rub it with a moist cloth to make sure."
Oh fudge! " I replied. " I have not come here to make spiritualistic tests. I know nothing about such things, and might very easily be deceived. At least, I am in no mood for the experiment. I came at your request to receive a communication from your daughter in regard to our case. If she has anything to say I am here to hear it." I do not doubt I spoke in an incredulous tone. I felt that I was being made an actor in a farce which was neither humorous nor creditable, and sincerely wished myself out of it. I own I was startled, however, when as I finished there came three sharp raps under the table just where my elbow rested on it. "Yes, yes, my dear, in a minute," said Mr. Morris, as if speaking to an impatient child. He took up a slate-pencil lying on the table as he spoke, bit off a small piece two or three times the size of a pin's head, dropped it between the slates and asked me if I would like to tie them together. "Why should I? You forget that all this is nonsense to me. Go on in your own way and let me see the result. I am here merely as your counsel, not as one anxious to investigate specific phenomena." He shut the slate; they each put a hand on it and asked me to do the same. Al most the instant that I had done so, there came an indistinct scratching, as of some one writing inside the slate — at least there is where the sound seemed to come from. This continued for several minutes — I should say ten or fifteen— sometimes stop ping and then beginning again, for all the world as one does who stops to think in writing a letter. At last it ceased, and there came three raps under the slate. We took
