Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1882-05-23
GaLes arlo Sketftfs.
fHE NAN WITH fwe SOULS.
CHAPTER I.

Il was nine o'clock on an April evening,
the end of one of my evenings on duty in
the library of the London Institution. A
porter had come to turn out the gas, and
had brought with him my share Of the
last postal delivery secondhand book
list and letter. The letter was address
ed In mems hand, but in the corner was
the word '.immedia e. underlined, in
what was clearly a lady's hand. 1t ran
thus:
G. w. r. HOTEL, PADDISeToS, Tuesday.
Dear Nicholson Il suppose you've for
gotten my very existence, and so I'll begin
bv saving that came up 10 Johns just be-
fore you went down. and that knew Heath.
of Brasenose. Perhaps you may remember
my dining with you in Trinity one night, and
our going to Madame Packs afterward.
Your surprise at hearing from me will be
nothing to your surprise at my asking If you
can look me up tonight. ] ought, OF. course,
to come and see you, but only got TO town
from North Wales this afternoon, am of to
Oxford to morrow morning. and feel so tired
that cannot bring myself to stir out of my
give my asking you to come at such short
notice and 90 late. Yours very truly,
FRANK 5. AssIIE.
should probably not have remembered
Anstie but for his reminder. My friend
Heath had taken a Professorship out in
Japan, and before leaving Oxford had
asked me to call on an old fag Of his,
named Anstie, who was coming up to
Johns. Almost Immediately after doing
so had gone down myself, and Anstie
had dropped quite out Of my memory. But
/ remembered him nova pleasant young
fellow with thoughtful. dreamy looking
face-and remembered our going to
Madame Packs together. What he should
have so particularly to say to me. and
why he couldn't write it or at least give
me some inkling Of it in his letter, puzzled
me. But, whatever it might be, | must
go; so got into the Underground at
Moorgate street.
In the train tried to recall all the de-
tails OF our short acquaintance. but my
mind was blank as to anything except
that visit to Madame Packs. Madame
Pack was lady who came TO Oxford
once every year and gave exhibitions Of
mesmerism and electro-biology. These
arts have been thoroughly investigated
long ago, and we know their limits-we
know that much Of the power once claimed
for them was purely imaginary. But we
know Just as certainly that large fraction
of ordinary men and women can be put in
an abnormal state by the simplest and
most harmless means, and that in this state
smaller, but still appreciable. fraction can
be made by the mere assertions of the
operator to believe or do the greatest alb
surdites, to undergo the most complete
illusions of their senses. to lose all feeling
of pain, and to experience at one moment
q paralysis of muscular power, at another
remarkable increase of it. Madam
Pack was no mean proficient in inducing
such phenomena, and her proficiency was
much assisted by her physique; tall. dark
and handsome. she was ordinarily pleas
ant looking enough. but when needful. she
would throw into her looks and gestures
an imperiousness which fascinated an i'm
questionable subject rs a snake iascin-
ates its prey.
The stopping of the train at Prsd street
put an end to the reeolectiOns of Madam
Pack, with which had beguiled the time,
and in a couple of minutes 1 was being
shown into Anstie's sitting-room. /
found him alone. lying on a sofa. and as
he rose and shook hands was painfully
struck by the change in him; he seemed
the mere shadow of himself I'm sorry
to find you done up | said; you're not
looking we'll" "Oh." he replied, ..but
for weakness never felt better; but had
an illness last year. from which I've not
quite recovered yet. and little thing like
an eight hours journey is apt to knock
me up"
After handing me cigar and ordering
coffee. he said: ~ don't think I've met
you since that night we saw Madam Pack
Il know you went down a few days after
ward. You'll be surprised to hear that
asked you to take the trouble of coming
here, and at this hour. to inform you of
some experiences of my own. arising out
of mesmerism. won't apologize. how
ever, because when you've heard what
I've got to say. you'll feel-whatev-
er you may think of my sanity or veracitv
that the strangeness of it has sufficient
ly repaid your trouble. But | can only
tell it on condition that while I'm alive
you won't give hint about it
to anybody else. You needn't be afraid
I'm asking you to share the knowledge of
anything discreditable to me or to any
body. and If die. you are perfectly free
to do a. you like" "My dear Anstie."
replied. "you may count on me to OBJ
SctNc tuc touui,iui iiVSt TiSluiN Dut. III
the matters SO serious as you seem to
make it, haven't you told any one else
and If motifs it right that should be your
sole contidant."
why" ssid Anstie, II can't tell any
relative because I've none to tell. was
the only child of only children; my pa
rents were carried off by yellow fever in
Jamaica when | was baby, and the
grandfather who brought me up died a
year before went to Oxford And al
though there are, of course, many men
whom know better than | know
you. and who know me better than
you do. I've got good reasons for speaking
to you rather than to any of them. In the
first place. none of them. to my know
ledge. take the slightest interest in
mesmeric phenomenal or for aught know
regard them as anything but the most
trivial imposture. In the second place,
I'd rather not commit my experiences to a
friend who'd be often seeing me and as
often arguing with me about them. And,
though wish some one to know them in
case of my death. there isn't really the
least reason why they should be known
till then toemore than one person. So. let
me fill your cup again and I'll begin"
CHAPTER