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When this theory is offered in seriousness as a final solution of the mystery in question, we are tempted to ask, Who is electricity? what is his mental and moral status ? and how and where did he get his education? Or if by electricity is here simply meant the subtile, imponderable, and impersonal fluid commonly known by that name, then let us ask, Who is at the other end of the wire? for there must evidently be a who as well as a what in the case. But when the advocates of the electrical theory are brought to their strict definitions, they are compelled to admit that this agent is nothing more than a medium of the power and intelligence that are manifested. Now a medium, which signifies simply a middle , distinctly implies two opposite ends or extremes, and as applied in this case, one of those ends or extremes must be the source, and the other the recipient of the power or influence that is transmitted through the medium or middle; and it is an axiom of common sense that no medium can be a perfect medium which has anything to do with the origination or qualification of that which is intended simply to flow through it, or which is not absolutely free from action except as it is acted upon. That there are so-called mediums which refract, pervert, falsify, or totally obliterate the characteristics of that which was intended to be transmitted through them, is not to be denied; but these are by no means perfect or reliable mediums, either in physical or psychic matters.
If the little instrument in question, therefore, is, through the medium of electricity or any other agency, brought under perfect control and then driven to write a communication, the force that drives and the intelligence that directs it can not be attributed to the medium itself, but to something behind and beyond it which must embrace in itself all the active powers and qualifications to produce the effect. Now let us see where Mr. Headley gets the active powers and qualifications to produce the phenomena manifested by his Planchette. He shall speak for himself:
That a spirit, good or bad, has anything to do with this piece of board and the tips of childrens fingers, is too absurd a supposition to be entertained for a moment. We are driven, therefore, to the conclusion that what is written (by honest operators) has its origin either in the minds of those whose hands are on the instrument, or else it results from communication with other minds through another channel than the outward senses. At all events, on this hypothesis I have been able to explain most of the phenomena I have witnessed. I had, with others, laughed at the stories told about Planchette, when a lady visiting my family from the city brought, as the latest novelty, one for my daughter. Experiments were of course made with it, with very little success, till a young lady came to visit us from the West, whose efforts with those of my son wrought a marvelous change. She was modest and retiring, with a rich brown complexion, large swimming eyes, dark as midnight, and a dreamy expression of countenance, and altogether a temperament that is usually found to possess great magnetic power. My son, on the contrary, is fair, full of animal life, and enjoying everything with the keenest relish. In short, they were as opposite in all respects as two beings could well be. As the phenomena produced by electricity are well known to arise from opposite poles, or differently charged bodies, they would naturally be adapted to the trial of Planchette.
H. now finds the mysterious agency, electricity, completely unchained, and under the hands of this couple Planchette becomes very active. Indifferent to its performances at first, he was induced to give it more serious attention by the correct answers given to a couple of questions asked in a joking manner by his wife, concerning some love affairs of his before they were married, and which were known to none present except himself and wife. Of course these answers, being in his wifes mind when she asked the question, were supposed to be communicated through the agency of electricity or magnetism to the two operators, and the mystery was thus summarily disposed of. But an interest being thus for the first time aroused in Mr. H.s mind, he proceeds to inquire a little further into the peculiarities of this new phenomenon, and proceeds as follows:
Seeing that Planchette was so familiarly acquainted with my lady friends, I asked it point blank: Where is Mary C ? This was a friend of my early youth and later manhood, who had always seemed to me rather a relative than an acquaintance. To my surprise it answered, Nobody knows.I supposed I knew, because for twenty years she had lived on the Hudson River in summer, and in New York in the winter.
Is she happy? I asked. Better be dead, was the reply.
Why? Unhappy was written out at once.
What makes her unhappy? Wont tell.
Is she in fault, or others? Partly herself.
I now pushed questions in all shapes, but they were evaded. At last I asked, How many brothers has she?
One, was the response. That, said I, is false; but not having heard from the family for several years, I asked again, How many did she have? Three. Where are the other two? I continued. Dead.
What is the name of the living one? John. I could not recollect that either of them bore this name, but afterward remembered it was that of the eldest. Now I had no means of ascertaining whether this was all true, but convinced it was not, I began to ask ridiculous and vexatious questions, when the answers showed excessive irritation, and finally it wrote Devil . I then said: Who are you? Brother of the Devil.
What is your occupation? Tending fires.
What are you going to do with me? Broil you.
What for? Wicked.
Now while I was excessively amused at all this, I noticed that the two young operators were greatly agitated, and begged me to stop. I saw at a glance that the very superstitious feeling that I was endeavoring to ridicule away, was creeping over them, and I desisted Another day I asked where a certain gentleman was who failed years ago, taking in his fall a considerable amount of my own funds. I said Where is Mr. Green? In Brazil.
Will he ever pay me anything? Yes.
When? Next year.
How much. Ten thousand dollars.
Neither of the operators knew anything about this affair, and the answer, Brazil, was so out of the way and unexpected, that all were surprised. Whether the man was there or not, I could not tell, nor did I know if he ever had been there indeed, the last time I heard from him he was in New York.