The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 80, June, 1864. Various
three highly susceptible ladies and Stellato as medium-in-chief. Miss Turligood, a sort of Oroveso to the Druidical chorus, was a muscular spinster, fierce and forty, sporting steel spectacles, a frizette of the most scrupulous honesty, and a towering comb which formed what the landscape-gardeners call "an object" in the distance. Next this commanding lady, with fat hands sprawled upon the table, sat Mrs. Colfodder, widow, according to the flesh, of a respectable Foxden grocer. By later spiritual communications, however, it appeared that matters stood very differently; for no sooner had the departed Colfodder looked about him a little in the world to come than he proceeded to contract marriage with Queen Elizabeth of England, thereby leaving his mortal relict quite free to receive the addresses of the late Lord Byron, whose proposals were of the most honorable as well as amatory character. Miss Branly, by far the most pleasing of the lady-patronesses, was a fragile, stove-dried mantua-maker,—and, truly, it seemed something like poetic justice to recompense her depressed existence with the satisfactions of a material heaven full of marryings and givings in marriage.
"Will Sir Joseph tip for us again?" inquired Miss Turligood, with her eyes fixed upon a crack in the mahogany table. "Will he? Will he not? Will he?"
Sir Joseph vouchsafed no answer.
"Hark! wasn't that a rap?" cried Stellato, in a husky whisper.
Here every one pricked an ear towards the table.
"Doctor Franklin, is that you?"
"The Doctor promised to be present to give a scientific and philosophical view of these communications," parenthesized the interrogator.
"Doctor Franklin, is that you?"
A faint creaking is audible.
"Byron's sign, as I'm a living woman!" ejaculated the Widow Colfodder.
"Her spiritual partner and guardian-angel," explained Miss Turligood,—and this for my satisfaction as the last-comer.
Direct examination by the widow:—
"Have you brought your patent lyre here to-night?"
For the enlightenment of the company:—
"He played the lyre so beautiful on earth, that when he got to the spheres a committee gave him a golden one, with all the modern improvements."
Question concerning the lyre repeated. A mysterious rubbing interpreted as an affirmative reply.
"Have you brought Pocahontas with you? (she 'most always comes with him)—and if so, can she kiss me to-night?"
The table is exceedingly doubtful.
"Could she kiss Colonel Prowley, or even pull his hair a little?"
No certainty of either.
"Can she kiss Miss Turligood?"
The table is satisfied that it couldn't be done.
"Let me try her," urged Stellato, with the confidence of an expert; then in seductive tones,—
"Couldn't Pocahontas kiss Miss Branly, if all the lights were put out?"
Pocahontas thought it highly probable that she could.
Here some interesting badgering. Miss Branly declined being kissed in the dark. Miss Turligood thought it would be very satisfactory, if she would, and couldn't see why any one should object to it. She (Miss Turligood) would willingly be kissed in the dark, or in the light, in furtherance of scientific investigation.
Stellato suggested a compromise.
"Might not the kissing be done through a medium?"
At first the table thought it couldn't, but afterwards relented, and thought it might.
"Would Pocahontas appoint that medium?"
She would.
"Should the alphabet be called?"
It should not.
"Would the table tip towards the medium indicated?"
It could not be done.
"Should somebody call over the names of all mediums present, and would the table tip at the right one?"
Ah, that was it!
"I suppose you and I have no share in this Gift Enterprise," whispered Colonel Prowley.
"Order! order!" shouted Miss Turligood, glancing in our direction with great severity. "This general conversation cannot be permitted. We are about to have a most interesting manifestation.—Pocahontas, do you wish me to call over the names?"
Pocahontas did not object.
"Very well, then, you will tip when I come to the name of the medium through whom you consent to kiss Miss Sarah Branly?"
Pocahontas certainly would.
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