not the slightest influence;” but his statement is merely a part of his jugglery, and the writer of the “Cornhill” narrative is begging the entire question when he terms it “unreserved,” as if it were true. If Mr. Home is really a conjuror, it is not only a reservation but a denial of the very basis and essence of the truth which it is our business to seek out and ascertain. As an answer to a charge, it is equivalent to a plea of “Not Guilty,” but as evidence to disprove the charge, it is frivolous and immaterial.
It is hardly more to the purpose to discuss Mr. Home’s personal appearance, or the ease and playfulness of his manner, or his apparent respectability. We can hardly expect him to cultivate the airs of a Cagliostro, if he professes to be none, while we give him credit for tact in a superior degree, when we admit the eminence to which he has attained as a Medium. His demeanour may be the effect of adroitness or sincerity, of conscious power or of conscious innocence. All that we can say upon this head is, that his demeanour alone does not convict him. As it is equally insufficient to procure his acquittal, we may dismiss it from our minds as of no more weight than his representations.
If he would favour us with a séance, we should have the best means of forming a conclusive opinion as to the value of both of these. In the meantime we confine ourselves to the description of his performances in the “Cornhill Magazine,” and judge, hypothetically, what these amount to.
Inasmuch as these performances were accompanied by devices obviously adapted to conceal the particular agencies employed, I conceive that they should be viewed with suspicion from the very outset. This is the proper mood in which to approach their consideration. Speculation as to motives or inferences from demeanour, and still less the statements of Mr. Home himself, should be brushed away as so much dust which is simply calculated to mislead us.
When we come to the substantial allegations of the narrative, I find that the writer describes the séance as commencing about nine o’clock in the evening in a spacious drawing-room, no matter where. The company consisted of eight or nine ladies and gentlemen who took their seats at a round table in the centre of the room. In other parts of the room there were sofas and ottomans, and between the centre table and three windows, which filled up one side of the room, there was a large sofa. The windows were draped with thick curtains and protected by spring blinds. The space in front of the centre window was unoccupied; but the windows on the right and left were filled by geranium stands. The reader is invited to observe the words I have italicised, for they indicate circumstances of considerable importance in the exhibitions which followed. We have a right to assume that Mr. Home was already acquainted with the furniture of the apartment and with the manner in which it was disposed. At all events, there was nothing to prevent him from taking a full survey of its capabilities before the séance actually commenced. For whether he has the appearance of a Cagliostro or the reverse, or is easy, or stiff, or candid, or reserved, there can be no doubt that the nature of his function, interpret it as we will, must develop the power of prompt and accurate observation.
The writer passes over some preliminary vibrations and implied performances by the table as of very subordinate interest. At all events, they may have served as requisite preliminaries, and may have prepared the mood of the spectators for the greater marvels to follow. I infer that they were directly instrumental, in a further sense, in arranging the spectators in the very position which suited the subsequent requirements of Mr. Home. If we reflect for a moment we shall see the obvious objection to his placing the spectators at the outset in the position they afterwards assumed. Had he asked, of his own wish or desire, that none of them would sit with his back to the window, the request would have sounded singularly suspicious, and might have aroused the vigilance of some one or other present. It is really a great point to assign to the spirits not only a share in the performance of the tricks themselves, but to call in their aid in arranging the spectators, as I infer, from the following sentence, was done on this occasion.
Thus, the writer says, that “from the unmistakeable indications, conveyed in different forms, the table was finally removed to the centre window displacing the sofa, which was wheeled away. The deep space between the table and the window was unoccupied, but the rest of the circle was closely packed.”
My readers will again observe the part of the arrangement on which I lay stress, because, as I infer, it was absolutely essential that no person should be directly facing the side of the room from which I have reason to suppose that a chief phenomenon subsequently emanated. We are further told that “some sheets of white paper, and two or three lead pencils, an accordion, a small hand-bell, and a few flowers, were placed on the table.” Then “sundry communications took place,” and “at length an intimation was received, through the usual channel of correspondence, that the lights must be extinguished.”
Of course, for the more elaborate class of tricks which can only be performed by some such means as I am about to describe, it is important that the room should be as obscure as possible. The writer of the “Cornhill” narrative himself admits as much in his very brief comment on the intimation received from the table. “As this direction is understood to be given only when unusual manifestations are about to be made, it was followed by an interval of anxious suspense. There were lights on the walls, mantelpiece, and console-table, and the process of putting them out seemed tedious. When the last was extinguished a dead silence ensued, in which the tick of a watch could be heard.” I must confess to a passing contempt for the spirits who can do nothing unusual till all the candles are put out, and I assume this is a reason why they have not as yet ventured on any exhibitions in a public capacity. Moreover, I cannot conceive a more accommodating audience for a conjuror’s devices, nor indeed a much more ridiculous spectacle, than a company of ladies and gentlemen, prepared for something out of the common,