THE Liberal Clergyman arrived at the fourth
meeting of the Psychical Society at an unusually
late hour, and laboring under visible
excitement.
"I have," he said, "just come from the
deathbed of a man whom most of you have seen,
and over whose eccentricities you have undoubtedly
been puzzled, as I have been, during the
past decade. The man I speak of, passed away
less than two hours ago, but before his dissolution
I secured his permission to relate to this
society the particulars of his singular connection
with the most remarkable instance of psycho-spirit
control I ever heard of. What gives an
added interest to the story, which he detailed to
me on the occasion of my first visit a week ago,
is the fact that, by a most surprising coincidence,
the narrative completes and establishes the truth
of a story related to me over ten years ago by a
man whose last hours I similarly attended. With
.
the permission of the chair, and the indulgence
of the society, I will relate the substance of both
statements — one a tale of shattered hopes, the
other a confession of a great wrong — reenforcing
the story by reference to the diary of the older
man, which was entrusted to me at the time of
his death."
The chair having expressed its pleasure at
the prospect afforded the society to add to the
voluminous occult data already in its possession,
the Liberal Clergyman plunged into his narrative.
THE CLERGYMAN'S STORY.
As a preface to my story, I will first read you
several extracts from the diary of Prof. Herman
Dinkledonkle, a scientist and philosopher, whose
very peculiar views have never before been
announced, and which, were they to be made public,
would probably expose his theories to the
ridicule of the thoughtless:
Jan. 1, 1884. — The constant degeneration of
the human race weighs heavily upon me. There
can be no doubt that the physical deterioration of
mankind continues unchecked, and that it will
only be a matter of a few more centuries before
the genus homo is dwarfed to the stature of pygmies.
The prospect is one which must fill the
mind of every thinker with the most painful
misgivings. What can be done — what agent
can be invoked to retard this frightful degeneration?
This is the thought that constantly possesses
my mind. Oh, that I, Herman Dinkledonkle,
might be the humble instrument by
which this retrogression would be arrested, and
a new race of physical giants be placed upon the
earth. Who would not be willing to suffer, to
sacrifice himself, mentally and physically, in
such a sublime cause? The thought intoxicates,
overwhelms, me! I can write no more.
Feb. 9, 1884. — I still dream of the discovery
that is to save the human race from extinction,
but so far my experiments have been in vain.
The secret is yet hidden from me, and still the
degeneration of the species goes on.
May 14, 1884. — Still groping.
July 20, 1884. — A flood of light breaks in
upon me. At last, I have unveiled the secret of
human degeneration, and, what is of infinitely
greater value, the means by which it may be
arrested. In the excitement attendant upon my
new discovery, I have neglected to keep a record
of my affairs for several weeks. It therefore
behooves me to set down, plainly and without
circumlocution, the conclusions I have reached
anent what can only be regarded in the light of
a revelation.
I note first, and briefly, that the physical degeneration of mankind has been gradual — so
gradual, in fact, as to be almost imperceptible
from century to century. It is this insidiousness
that has lulled the human race into a false sense
of security, and rendered its redemption so
difficult.
I note, secondly, that this degeneration keeps
pace with the ageing of the universe — with the
ageing of the earth — with the ageing of the soil.
From the soil comes all that the human animal
requires for the maintenance of physical life.
He is of the soil, and be is sustained by the
products of the soil. There was time when the
soil was pure — when its atomic particles
possessed a thousand times more virtue in disseminating
the life-sustaining principle in vegetation
than it does to-day. The products of that vitalized
soil made men physical giants. They did
not know the meaning of bodily ailments. Their
physical organism, preserved by the absolutely
pure products of the earth, was perfect. Such
men as Adam, Noah and Methuselah lived for
centuries without exhausting their physical
powers. In the ages that followed, the physical
man began to deteriorate. Mankind continued
to live upon the products of the soil, but those,
products had lost their vitality. Even so wise
a pagan philosopher as Socrates marvelled at
this organic degeneration of the human species,
without discovering the real cause of the physical
decline. It has remained for me, Herman
Dinkledonkle, to make known the truth.
I therefore note, thirdly, that the vegetable
products of the earth are to-day poisoned by the
accumulations of ages of decomposed matter.
The soil has lost its pristine purity — it is no
longer healthy — it reeks with the decay of sixty,
perhaps a hundred, centuries of animal and
vegetable life. In view of these facts, how could
it be possible for the products of the soil to retain
the purity and vigor which characterized
them in the ante-diluvian period of the world?
Is it not evident that, from age to age, as the
soil has deteriorated, the vitality of vegetation
has also decreased, and that the human race has
been, and is still being, organically undermined,
and slowly, but surely, driven toward the point
of physical extinction?
Having successfully established the cause of
the physical degeneration of the human race, I
proceed to discuss the problem of its arrestment.
There are two methods by which this could
be accomplished. First, pure soil, which, in
turn, would mean pure vegetation, and a pure
source of sustenance for mankind. That at this
of the world, such a thing as absolutely pure
soil is obtainable, surpasses belief. One can
conceive of no earth, containing the fructifying
germs of life, that has not suffered from the
poisonous touch of putrefaction, either by the
decay of animal and vegetable matter, or by
microbic life carried through the atmosphere. I
therefore discard that solution of the problem,
and enter upon the second and, in fact, only
available method.
This remedial agent, though seemingly
involving many difficulties, is in reality a very
simple matter. In brief, it merely involves the
production of life-supporting vegetation from
soil containing the hitherto-undisturbed dust of
physically-perfect men who lived prior to the
deterioration of the products of the earth and its
attendant evils. I hold that such soil contains
to the highest degree the essentials for producing
perfect physiques — that the vitalized atoms into
which those robust ancients passed after dissolution
have never lost their virtue, in spite of the
decay of the intervening centuries, and that they
can still be made to produce a vegetable life that
would arrest the physical decay of the species,
and ensure to the world what would be, to all
intents and purposes, a new race of beings.
I have resolved to make the experiment. The
only question is, where and how to secure the
life-impregnated soil necessary for the trial.
Aug. 10, 1884. — After long study and deep
contemplation I have determined to send an
agent to Mesopotamia, the probable cradle of
the human race, for the purpose of locating, if
possible, the most ancient burial places of the
world, and securing a supply of the vitalized soil
so necessary for the success of my experiment.
The man I have secured for the mission is
himself a scholar of no mean attainments, and,
provided with an instrument which I have furnished
him for determining the relative vitality of
atomic particles, he will have no difficulty in
recognizing the soil for which he goes in quest.
I have necessarily been compelled to acquaint
him with the nature of my discovery, but he has
promised inviolable secrecy, and within a week
he will be upon the ocean, bound for the Orient.
Dec. 4, 1884. — Good news at last. After
months of impatient waiting I have received
word from my agent. He writes that at the cost
of infinite labor, and after many disappointments,
he has finally secured, from an ancient
crypt on the banks of the Euphrates, about a
ton of vitalized dust, which meets every requirement
of the testing tube, and that it has already
been shipped.
Jan. 6, 1885. — The precious boxes have arrived
six of them long, mysterious and coffin-like.
I do not wonder that the neighbors
regarded them with suspicion. Little do they
know the prize they contain.
I cannot wait until spring to begin my
experiment; nor, indeed, would it be advisable to
expose my vitalized earth to the danger of
atmospheric impurities in the open air. I have gone
to the expense and trouble of having a hot-house
constructed, to-morrow the beds will be made,
within a week the seeds will be in the vitalized
soil, and then well, all I can do will be to await
with patience for nature to do her share, and
thus fortify me for the great work of physical
reclamation which lies before me.
*
* *
I have, I think, read enough of this very
remarkable diary to give you an insight into the
peculiar theory which Prof. Dinkledonkle had
evolved. Let me now take up the narrative in
my own words.
Early in the evening of a certain day in
February, 1886, a messenger called at my
residence, and requested that I should accompany
him to the home of an eccentric Professor, who,
he said, was evidently in the last stages of
physical decline, and who had earnestly requested
that I should be sent for.
The house to which I was conducted was a
small, single-story dwelling, in the centre of
a garden that had evidently been a source of
pride to its owner at one time, but which was
then in a desolate and neglected condition. On
entering the house, I found the invalid propped-up
in bed, and impatiently awaiting my arrival.
He was a man well-advanced in years — in the
neighborhood of three-score and ten I should
judge. He was quite bald, and the absence of
hair gave his face the appearance of being
unusually long. His skin had a peculiar clay-like
grayness difficult to define. So long as his eyes
were open its earthy hue was not particularly
noticeable. When he closed them, even for a
moment, it was hard to believe that the man
was not dead.
He appeared to recognize me at once, and
called me by name. I probably looked surprised,
for he hastened to say that he had known me for
some time, both by sight and by reputation, and
it was for this reason that he had ventured to
send for me, for the purpose of soliciting a favor.
"I am," he said, "the possessor of a secret
which I would not willingly carry with me into
the grave. The details are given in a diary
which I will hand you. All I ask is that,
provided there is a sufficient residue after my affairs
are settled, you will publish the facts to the
world."
My curiosity was greatly aroused.
"Where is the diary you speak of?" I asked.
Slipping his bony hand under the pillow, he
drew forth this little, leather-bound volume, and
handed it to me.
"This book," he said, "contains the record
of what I believed, and still believe to be the
greatest discovery of the age. Before I proceed
further I will ask you to hastily run your eyes
over the pages I have marked, so that what I
am about to tell you will be intelligible.
I took the book, and cursorily ran over the
pages I have read for you this evening. The
Professor watched me with feverish earnestness.
When I finally looked up, he said, eagerly:
"Now you understand what I meant when I
spoke of my great discovery. Surely, you will
agree with me as to the cause of the physical
degeneration of the human race, and the potency
of healthy, vitalized atoms to restore mankind
to its original condition of physical perfection?"
I did not reply, and he continued:
"Since making this discovery, the physical
salvation of the human kind has been the
all-absorbing dream of my life. You have just read
how I secured several boxes of vitalized earth
and prepared for the crowning experiment of my
career. The only thing lacking was a subject, and
that I soon found.
"A medical friend of mine, who is associated
with one of the public charitable institutions,
secured for me a young boy, an orphan, whose
stunted growth and frail physique made him,
apparently, a most desirable object for my
demonstration.
"My subject came to live with me just about
the time the first vegetables were ripe, and I
cannot tell you with what care I fed him, or with
what solicitude I watched for some indication,
however slight, that the experiment was to be
crowned with success, and the frail lad developed
into a robust, healthy young man. The
boy was bright-eyed, and he had a sunny-disposition
in spite of his physical emaciation. At
first I scarcely noticed him, except with the
calculating eyes of the scientist — of the
demonstrator. The subject in himself was of no
consequence to me. He was simply a means to
an end.
"Gradually, however, his childish, suffering
face and wistful eyes began to make an impression
upon my heart, and I saw with a great pity
that was not caused alone by the promised failure
of the experiment in which I had so
confidently engaged, that he was constantly declining
in health and strength. I might go on and tell
you how, month after month, in spite of all I
could do for him — in spite of the fact that no
vegetable food ever passed his lips that was not
grown in vitalized soil, under my own care — I
might describe to you in infinite detail how in
spite of all this he faded before my eyes; but
I will not harrow your feelings with the details of
those unhappy weeks of alternate hope and
despair. Let me draw a curtain over the sad
picture, and say, simply, that be died. You can
imagine what a blow his death was to me. For
days I could not believe it — the only creature
I had ever loved, dead, despite my marvellous
discovery. It seemed incredible!
"In the first transports of grief human affection
triumphed over the cold spirit of scientific
investigation, and I felt that my discovery was
at fault — that it was an ignis fatuus which I had
been pursuing with no possible chance for ultimate
success. I am glad to say that, later, in
my moments of calm reflection, I cast aside these
doubts as being unworthy a philosopher and
savant. Subsequently, I learned that the boy's
parents had both succumbed to phthisis, so that,
under the circumstances the recovery of my
subject was too much to expect. Nothing on earth
could have saved him. A prying deputy coroner
censured me for his death — declared I had
denied him proper medical treatment. Sir, that
was an unfeeling charge. What! deprive him
of proper treatment when I had exhausted
every resource of my great discovery upon him?
It was unjust, but I am resigned. Posterity will
do me justice — Prof. Dinkledonkle will yet stand
vindicated before the world!
"Are you sure," I asked, "that there was no
mistake about the soil — that the dirt you
received actually contained the vitality essential
to the success of the experiment?"
A startled look came into the face.
"I — I never thought of such a possibility,"
he muttered, as though communing with himself,
"such a suspicion never entered my mind.
Besides, Stedson — Stedson wouldn't have done
such a thing — I'm sure he would not have
deceived me. And yet," clutching nervously at
the coverlet, and raising his voice to a querulous
treble — "and yet, he had the earthoscope,
and I had no means of testing the soil — and he
has never returned to render an accounting —
and the boy is dead — and the experiment is a
failure!"
I could hardly follow the Professor's. rapid
sentences; but suddenly he stopped, and with
gesture of pain laid his hand on his heart.
"I have only a little while to live," he said,
"and since you have raised these doubts in my
mind, I am anxious for the end. The sooner it
comes the sooner will I know the truth."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
There was an eerie look in the old Professor's
eyes as he answered:
"The knowledge that is denied men in this
life is surely given to them in the spirit world."
"And if he has deceived you?"
"If he has — if he has," — and a ghostly light
seemed to flicker in his ashen face — "I'll haunt
him until the day of his death!"
*
* *
Prof. Dinkledonkle died a few days later, and
I placed his diary in a cabinet for safe-keeping,
pending the settlement of his meagre estate. An
unexpected claimant appeared prior to the
day of the funeral, and I need hardly add that
he refused point-blank to use any of the assets
of the property for the publication of the
Professor's whimsical book. It was nothing but
rubbish, he declared — one of the Professor's
impracticable, crazy theories — and none of "his"
money should go to perpetuate such nonsense.
It was rather selfish; though, to tell the truth,
I couldn't blame him very much; and so, for
ten years, the old Professor's diary has been
hidden away, and to-night, for the first time, its
contents have become known to others outside of
my own family. In fact, I had forgotten its
existence until, a few evenings since, I was
called to visit another dying man who was solicitous
of seeking me.
I found the sick man in a wretched room, on
the top floor of a cheap apartment building. I
immediately recalled him as an individual who,
during the past decade, had become familiar as
a street character, and who had been set down
as a harmless lunatic. The thing that attracted
attention to the man — and I have no doubt you
have all seen the poor fellow and noticed his
peculiar actions — was the fact that he was
always delving into the dirt, turning over the
soil in the street, and testing it with a curious
little instrument which he invariably carried;
while, at the same time, he seemed to be perpetually remonstrating with himself, or with
some imaginary person beside him. No one
appeared to know anything definite about the
fellow, and no amount of questioning could
make him explain his singular behavior.
When I entered the room he was tossing
uneasily upon the bed.
"Here you are at last!" he exclaimed, as he
caught sight of me — "I thought you would
never come."
I began to express my regret at not making
greater haste, when he broke in with an apology
for speaking so sharply.
"The fact is, sir," said he, "you are doing
me a kindness to come here at all. I have no
claim upon you, and would not have presumed
to send for you if I had not been compelled to do
so by a certain power that controls my actions."
There was something in the man's manner
even more than in his words, that excited my
interest. I sat down beside the bed, and waited
for him to continue.
"My purpose in sending for you was to make
a confession relative to a great wrong I inflicted
a number of years ago upon a man known as
Prof. Dinkledonkle.
"Prof. Herman Dinkledonkle?" I interrogated,
excitedly.
"The same. You knew him then?"
"Yes — but go on."
"The Professor, a philosopher in his way,
had evolved a curious theory for the physical
rejuvenation of the human race, and he
commissioned me to go to Mesopotamia and secure —"
"A certain amount of vitalized earth from
the unpolluted burial-places of the ancients," I
interposed.
He looked at me in astonishment.
"How did you know that?" he faltered.
"No matter," I said — "go on with your
story."
He resumed:
"The Professor was so deeply interested in
his theory, and so firmly resolved to give it a
practical demonstration, that he well-nigh
impoverished himself to raise the money necessary
for the expedition. I may as well tell you that
the great hobby of my life has always been — or
was up to ten years ago — the deciphering of
ancient hieroglyphics. I had made a close study
of everything relating to this fascinating science,
and it had become a mania with me. The hope
of one day winning immortal fame by disclosing
some of the secrets of the past that had
baffled the skill of the world's greatest scholars,
kept constantly urging me to renewed efforts and
closer application to my chosen study. The one
great obstacle in the way of my success was my
grinding poverty. I was too poor to make
the long journey to the historic lands of the East,
to continue my work among the ruined cities
of the past. You can imagine, therefore, that I
seized upon the Professor's proposition with
fervor. It promised to afford me the opportunity
to visit those far Eastern lands about which I
had dreamed so long, and I went away filled
with hope and enthusiasm. Up to this time I
had no intention of deceiving my patron. I had
no faith in his theory, but I had determined to
make an earnest effort to secure the soil he
desired for his experiment. Then a great temptation
came. Why, I asked myself, should I
throw away several thousand dollars in a useless
search for something that did not exist, when
the same money might give me fame and
fortune? I will not prolong this part of my story —
it is too painful. Let me merely say that I
yielded to the temptation, and used
Dinkledonkle's money for my own purposes."
"And those boxes which you sent to the
Professor?"
"They contained nothing but common dirt."
"I was right then."
"You knew that also?"
"I divined it, and intimated as much to the
Professor."
The sick man looked at me doubtfully for a
moment.
"You seem to be acquainted with all the
facts," he said. "In any event," he added,
speaking slowly, and with more hesitation than
he had yet betrayed, "there is very little more
to tell. My breach of trust weighed heavily upon
my conscience, and I wandered around from
city to city, and from ruin to ruin; utterly unable
to pursue my investigations. Finally, having
exhausted the money entrusted to me, I returned
to the United States in time to learn that the
experiment had failed, and that the Professor
was rapidly approaching his end. I did not go
near him — my conscience would not permit it —
but (do not start, sir) the moment he died, I
knew it — his spirit stood beside me! 'You have
deceived me,' I heard him say as plainly as I can
hear your breathing at this moment — 'you have
deceived me; from this day on I will never leave
you, day or night!'
"Sir, he has kept his word. He is always
with me. You have seen me, perhaps, walking
in the highway, stirring up the mud, rummaging
in the dirt. Now you know why. It was the
spirit of my deceived patron impelling me to
a never-ending search for the vitalized atoms he
so ardently desired when he was in the flesh.
For ten years I have been a hunted, haunted
wretch — living, and yet dead — my ambitions
blighted — my actions controlled by the malignant
spirit of the man I wronged — deprived of
hope, and love, and sympathy — of all that poor
earthly creatures hold dear! I have deserved it,
and yet, surely, I have atoned for my one
transgression. Ah, Professor —–"
His voice had suddenly changed, and as he
turned away from me and looked toward the far
end of the room, I followed his gaze with
ill-concealed trepidation.
"Ah, Professor," he went on, "it will only
be a little while before I am rid of you, and
then —"
Just then he recalled by presence.
"I beg your pardon," he said — "I was speaking
to Prof. Dinkledonkle."
"To Prof. Dinkledonkle?" I echoed, and I
felt myself shiver from head to foot.
"Why, yes — didn't you know? He has been
in the room all the time."
I furtively cast my eyes about the place. I
could see nothing — feel nothing.
Stedson noticed my look.
"You do not believe me," he said — "I see
it in your face. Let me convince you.
Professor," turning away from me again — "this is
Mr. —–"
He did not complete the sentence. I put my
hand on his arm and stopped him.
"No, no," I said, nervously, "don't do that.
I knew him in the flesh. I have no desire to
meet his ghost."
Stedson respected my wish, but I did not
prolong my visit. I pleaded another engagement, and got away. I am not naturally a
coward, but the supernatural aspect of the affair
unnerved me. Any doubt I might have had in
regard to Stedson's sanity was shaken by what
seemed to be a literal fulfillment of the Professor's
dying threat. To-night moreover, all
speculation was set at rest. The truth of Stedson's
statement was demonstrated beyond all
conjecture.
Feeling ashamed of my cowardice, and wishing
to make amends for my abrupt departure, I
called upon him this evening for the second time.
In the midst of our conversation, he suddenly
threw up his arms, and with a groan fell back
upon the pillow. Trembling with apprehension
I reached over and touched him. His body was
rigid. I gently shook him, but there was no sign
of life.
Just then the air beside me was stirred, and
a voice which sounded strangely familiar whispered:
"He is dead."
I looked up, expecting to see a new-comer in
the room. The door was closed, and so far as I
could see, I was alone with the dead man.
The next moment the startling truth flashed
across my mind.
The voice was that of Prof. Dinkledonkle.
It was he who had spoken to me. It was his
spirit that had stood beside me, and assured me
of Stedson's death.
A week ago I would have laughed at the
suggestion of such a ghostly visitation — you are all
witnesses to the fact that I have been the
skeptic among you. I am no longer a doubter.
What I have heard with my own ears I am compelled
to believe"
"How do you account for the Professor's
spiritual domination over the unfortunate
archaeologist?" asked the chair.
"That is something I cannot comprehend,"
responded the Clergyman. Then regretfully:
"It is really too bad that I did not interview
Dinkledonkle's voice. Who can say what a mine
of information it might have opened up for us?"
