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MRS. STOWE'S LAST NOVEL.

Mrs. Stowe's last novel, Old Town Folks, like many of her other writings, has in it a vein of pure, elevated Spiritualism, which adds to its depth and interest. The Anti-Slavery Standard in reviewing the work says of it:-"There is one phase of development in this book, personated in one of the characters, which will have special significance to those who have watched with interest the progress of that phenomenon commonly known as Spiritualism. Mrs. Stowe has never been identified with this class, yet she has given evidence that she has not been a thoughtless observer of such manifestations."

As an illustration of Mrs. Stowe's interest in Spiritualism, and acceptance of its phenomena, we cite the following passage from this her latest work:-

It was a bright, clear, starlight night in June, and we were warned to go to bed early, that we might be ready in season the next morning. As usual, Harry fell fast asleep, and I was too nervous and excited to close my eyes. I began to think of the old phantasmagoria of my childish days, which now so seldom appeared to me. I felt stealing over me that peculiar thrill and vibration of the great central nerves which used to indicate the approach of those phenomena, and looking up, I saw distinctly my father, exactly as I used to see him, standing between the door and the bed. It seemed to me that he entered by passing through the door; but there he was, every line and lineament of his face, every curl of his hair, exactly as I remembered it. His eyes were fixed on mine with a tender human radiance. There was something soft and compassionate about the look he gave me, I felt it vibrating on my nerves with that peculiar electric thrill of which I have spoken. I learned by such interviews as these how spirits can communicate with one another without human language.

The appearance of my father was vivid and real even to the clothing that he used to wear, which was earthly and homelike, precisely as I remembered it. Yet I felt no disposition to address him, and no need of words. Gradually the image faded; it grew thinner and fainter, and I saw the door through it as if it had been a veil, and then it passed away entirely.

What are these apparitions? I know that this will be read by many who have seen them quite as plainly as I have, who, like me, have hushed back the memory of them into the most secret and silent chamber of their hearts.

I know, with regard to myself, that the sight of my father was accompanied by such a vivid conviction of the reality of his presence, such an assurance radiated from his serene eyes, that he had at last found the secret of eternal peace, such an intense conviction of continued watchful affection and of sympathy in the course that I was now beginning, that I could not have doubted if I would. And when we remember that, from the beginning of the world, some such possible communication between departed love and the beloved on earth has been among the most cherished legends of humanity, why must we always meet such phenomena with a resolute determination to account for them by every or any supposition but that which the human heart most craves ? Is not the great mystery of life and death made more cruel and inexorable by this rigid incredulity? One would fancy, to hear some moderns talk, that there was no possibility that the departed, even when most tender and most earnest, could, if they would, recall themselves to their earthly friends.

For my part, it was through some such experiences as these that I learned that there are truths of the spiritual life which are intuitive, and above logic, which a man must believe because he cannot help it-just as he believes the facts of his daily experience in the world of matter, though most ingenious and unanswerable treaties have been written to show that there is no proof of its existence.

THE LATE REV. WM. HARNESS.

In the Times of Tuesday, Nov. 16th., is the account of the death of the Rev. William Harness, Incumbent of All Saints, Knightsbridge, and Prebendary of St. Paul's, in his 80th year. Harness was the schoolfellow of Byron at Harrow, and they were warm friends until Byron's death. Byron offered to dedicate Childe Harold to him, but he declined. He was the friend of numbers of literary men of eminence, and a great friend of Miss Mitford's, the materials for whose Life he collected, and wrote the preface to the work just out. I dare say you wonder what all this aims at. Simply this: that Mr. Harness was a firm believer in spiritual phenomena, though he said little about it. But, one evening at Miss Coutts's, just after my History of the Supernatural appeared, he said to me, "I am going to read that directly." I said, "Do you believe in such things?" "Believe?" he replied, "Why, don't you know who first published the account, the Wynyard apparition ?" I said, "No." "Nor who first published the account of the apparition of an old friend to Miss Jane Porter at Esher?” "No," I said. "I published them both," he said, "and know that such things are true.'

Mr. Harness was almost everywhere to be met in aristocratic and select literary circles, and, I dare say, that the majority of his acquaintances never suspected this belief under his homme du monde ordinary aspect, any more than I did, after knowing him WILLIAM HOWITT.

many years.

A SINGULAR “MANIFESTATION."

A LADY, lately become interested in the subject of Spiritualism, but having witnessed none of the ordinary phases of the "manifestation," experienced on the night of December 6th, 1868, a little incident which must undoubtedly be referred to spiritual origin, and which leads to the supposition that the lady herself may be gifted with "spiritual sight."

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This lady, whom I will call "L— L- " is staying in London with a friend, in a house where an old lady breathed her last on Saturday, December 5th. This old lady was a pious and a patient sufferer, through a tedious and painful illness. She expired peacefully. L-L- and her friend had been in the habit of occasionally visiting the sick woman, to read to her and minister in various ways to her comfort. L-Lhad seen her very shortly before her decease, and went immedi

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ately afterwards to look at her peaceful corpse. She felt herself greatly affected by the spectacle, this being the first corpse of a grown person ever seen by her. The remembrance of the waxlike and placid countenance haunted her; and at length became so oppressive a thought to LL, that she strove in every way to banish the recollection of it, and to shake off from herself the painful sense of the presence of death, which so entirely had taken possession of her. She slept in a room beneath the chamber in which the corpse lay.

Sunday night was a remarkably stormy and wild night with heavy showers and gusts of wind, and there was no moon. Nevertheless L L was suddenly awakened by a light in the room, as though it were illumined by soft moonlight; indeed, at the time, she supposed that it was moonlight, and so clear was the illumination, that the objects in the room became distinctly visible to her. Startled by the illumination, she sat up in bed, and gazed around her. In the middle of the mantel shelf, opposite to her bed, had stood a work box; this she saw distinctly, but to her astonishment, she also beheld, standing upon this work box, a perfectly white and graceful vase filled with lovely sprays of long leaves, such as grapes and ferns, and a variety of beautiful flowers, all equally snowy white with the vase, both leaves and flowers. She was much surprised by thus seeing this beautiful and strange object unlike anything which she knew to be in the room or in the house. As she sat contemplating it in wonder, the room again became dark; she then lay down, and believes that she fell asleep.

But again came the sudden and mild illumination of the room, and she once more looked towards the mantelpiece. There she still beheld the vase and flowers; but this time the mysterious object was not standing upon the box, but beside it, to the right hand side. L— L- wondered still more at thus seeing that the vase with the flowers had been moved, or had moved itself. The room once more sank into gloom, and L L Llay in her bed pondering and no little puzzled— indeed somewhat agitated. Then again, and again, for nine successive times in all, did the mysterious light appear and disappear; each time exhibiting the vase removed farther and farther to the right of the work-box, along the mantel shelf, until at the ninth and last time, it was beheld standing upon the floor, when it disappeared entirely. L L connected this beautiful vase and its graceful contents in some way with the corpse laid out in the chamber above.

Did this little vision perhaps symbolize the purity of the newly released spirit, filled with the freshness and fragrance of Heavenly Life? And did the nine times of its appearance

typify completion? Who can say? But unquestionably the vase and flowers, and their movements originated in spiritual presence; possibly were a sign of affection and gratitude from the emancipated spirit who thus endeavoured to shew her remembrance of L- L- by this presentation of a graceful and fragrant object, seeking thereby, as if by a 66 vial of sweet odours," to banish the haunting thoughts of decay and motility; and to spread around odours of immortality in place of the odours of the grave.

MANIFESTATIONS OF MUSIC, VOICE, AND
DIRECT WRITING.

Sept. 5th.-Mr. Edward Childs called on us expressly to talk over the little events which I had reported, and which he had just been reading in the September number of the Magazine, and as we talked we heard the voice of Joseph Campion. lowered the light and then heard that of Amos, greeting us. Amos said that Ebenezer Wyatt was pleased at the mention I had made of him, and had prepared a few verses which he would recite at a future opportunity. He then arranged with us for resuming the séances which had been interrupted for more than a month, and bade us farewell.

Sept. 9th. Mr. and Mrs. Childs, accompanied by Mr. E. Childs, called on us. After supper, hearing the usual heralding voice of Joseph Campion, we composed ourselves for a sitting. In the course of it Ebenezer made himself heard, and repeated the intimation made by Amos about the verses; but would not repeat them until Mr. Childs could arrange to take them down. Ebenezer was this evening very strong in his comb music, operatic, as well as ballad; also gave imitations of some of the speakers at the Gower Street conferences. Apropos to Mr. Jencken, who used to attend these, Amos gave a narrative of the attack made upon him in Spain. Alonzo Bates sang with perfection three character songs, with dramatic dialogue; Ebenezer Wyatt, the irrepressible, taking part in the dialogue Ebenezer gave as a recitation the particulars of being called up by his schoolmaster after three days' truanting, and which he calls a reminiscence of schoolboy days. The applause this recitation received stimulated him to ask permission to give another; but we had been sitting for two hours, so it was postponed, and our invisible friends took leave.

of one.

Sept. 17th. This evening Mr. Austin called on us. He told us that he had not been at a séance for three months, partly

on account of business engagements, and partly on account of his health; for he had felt this a little shaken by being out evening after evening at the invitation of so many new friends. But my last report having been shown him, he could not help calling to talk over the subject. After a time he said he wondered if Sancto were still able to manifest his presence as he used to do. I lowered the gas, and immediately we heard the well-known accents of Joseph Campion, first faintly, then more and more distinctly; then Amos's whispering voice saluted us. He said that his friend Antonius Sancto was present. I said we had not heard his music for three months, and were fearing we had lost it entirely. Sancto then spoke, said he was always ready to play, and that his continuing to come to our séances depended only upon the present medium. At Sancto's wish I placed the instruments upon the table, and he, selecting the large concertina, played airs which he invited us to call for. We had two visitors with us this evening, my brother Henry, the photographer, and a lady friend, who had never been present at a séance, and I was glad their accidental presence made no difference in the free action of our invisible friends. When we left Sancto to his own selecting he played what we had not heard him play before, "Ah! che la Morte;" then a fresh variation of the "Carnival of Venice;" and what he announced as an extemporised echo of spirit music. As the music went on, Ebenezer, Norton, and Alonzo made themselves successively heard by their greetings and observations. After playing the pieces I have mentioned, Sancto and Amos invited conversation, but our visitors could talk of nothing else than the music. I asked Mrs. D. whether she did not think Sancto played with more than usual animation and constancy? Sancto said— "It's the return of the dove, Doctor," alluding I suppose, to the protracted absence of Mr. Austin, the medium. Sancto then played, for half an hour a series of airs, gliding from gay into grave, and then into gay again, modern airs, ancient airs, not forgetting my old favourite, the "Copenhagen;" not merely playing the air, but playing with it, introducing bits of curious and intricate variation. In this way he went on for full half an hour with great fervour, and would have continued, had I not suggested (in a pause) that we should consider the distance the medium had to go. Sancto asked for another quarter of an hour, as there were a few more airs he wanted to play. The medium agreed on condition that he might leave in time to get home by twelve. Sancto resumed his play, introducing some tunes, that, by I know not what means, he seemed to know were old favorites of my brother, and continued until Ebenezer's voice shouted "Twenty minutes past eleven!" My brother

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