. et

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J MME oy vs . 4 , 4 - ee 7

yy, ; af ie le j et a | + : ‘* ; |} | . / U L, LITERATURE AN iWS n J huts a | | i . ) i 1, LD Ol — , — — —— - aes Snartisttendeinanpodeettentae ne ase eeeaeatemmtnteness a moreso ans eed a = : : = rn one no * ‘ rAR 7 J N ite fo be “ae oo , . baal ¥ . . i. ‘ [37> gpWARD WHELAN] eo Chis is true Liberty, when Free-born Men, having to advise the Public, may speak free ——EvRteres. [EDITOR axp PUBLISHER. —— : . " . cA » 0 ~ aneiaeeeeper aa aeetnaetasannane tennant — “ a= a See laa ieeengeeseemeattceenenersnoanataemeneteanrtee! —_—-—— — --——— ————~ ee so nn meee scorer You. VI. CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAN Y, AUGUST 11, 185 ea . . : , co D, MONDAY, AUGUST II, 1856. No. J. ; er : i - re ED : 2 PR et si ae 2 , ps re " en erste wot = acne = voeew : ro = = ~—es sae - _ - —— - = same Le MOON'S HASES. — AUGUST, 1856. . miscellaneous phenomena, which have from the earliest ages | I will not here delay my narrative with an account of the pupil—being, perhaps, constiutionally inclined more towards , First Quarter 8th day, 7h. 43m. evening. S.W. occupied the fears, the thoughts, and the inquiries of the /mental anguish which this cireumstance caused me; suflice it those influences—soon penetrated deeper into the paths of Full Moon Lith day, lh. 1m. morning, S. human race. that L left the room, locked the door again, and resolved | mesmeric research than the master. By a rapidity of convic ‘ ay » Pps Yweanine , After 1 rake’ « 7 P } . D ““ j i ere “oS 3 . — Smee on ; th. 2 m. evening. - ti é After about three weeks’ stay, he left me, and returned to | never to re-enter it till I had learned the fate of my. friend. | #0" that seems almost miraculous, J pierced at once to the New Moon 30th day, 6h. 34m. morning. as his medical studies at Cassel. promising to visit me in the | ‘The next day I set off for Cassel. The journey was long | wees a : eee = eee Dare Seema at ge — meee |. eld Hel od “« Beetitccapery ; at + wee ~~ “i> | tient to that of operator, bec onsible of great internal Fa frecna oo the grape-harvest should be in progress. His | and fatiguing, and only a portion could be achieved by train. | err unk ot A iodaartl of nadiibeotnnsaeniobeen sean . Literature. | Heinred wore S oa ae and remarkable : " Farewell, | Though I started very early in the morning, it was quite blish the most extraordinary rapports between my patients and emmric » mein Druder ; farewell till the gathering season. | night before the diligence, by which the transit was com-/ myself, even when separated from them by any distance, how- ; ees ee ae | In thought I shall be often with you.” | pleted, entered the streets of the town. Faint and weary | ever considerable. Shortly after the discovery of this new oe a Pe ee ener He was holding my hands in both his own as he said this, | though I was, I could not delay at the inn to partake of any | Power, | became aware of another and a still more singular is from the ly News, Lon spaper, of arecent date ; fand a ee — flitted across his countenance ; the | refreshment, but hired a youth to show me the way to Ce ae ear uae + 7 7 ee A WORD WITH AMERICA. | next moment he had stepped i » diligence. : as one. | ete Laie anni = ee , we te Beare R TT ul J ete ieee d _ into the diligence, and was gone. | Albert’s lodgings, and proceeded at once upon my search, with me the ordinary process of memory. Memory is the re- ; How now—kindly kindred Nation! Toner tee at yet without knowing why, | made my way} He led me through a labyrinth of narrow old fashioned | production or summoning back of past places and events. ; Is it well to kin lle thus won ly rea to my cottage. This visit of Albert’s had | streets, and paused at length before a high red brick dwelling | With some this mental vision is so vivid as actually to produce | Quite a prairie conflagration, strangely unsettled me, and I found that for some days after | with projecting stories and a curiously carved doorway. An} the effect of paiating the place or thing remembered upon the

lerrible to both of us? We are kinsmen, sons and brothers,

his departure, I could not return to the old quiet round of | old man with a lantern answered my summons; and, on my

retina of the eye, so asto present it with all its substentive form, its lights, its colours, and its shadows. Such is our so-

| studies, which had been my oceupation and delight before he | inquiring if Herr Lachner lodged there, desired me to walk

Let us be to kinship true : England's heart is just—your Mother's, And she cannot fight with you! °

lf our rulers made a blunder, Frankly too they make amends, And the world is all a-wonder *~ were ungenerous in brothers fo insist on more thau due, When you know as wellas others We wili never fight with you !

What? as if f th we dare not ?— By God's favor, England's coasts Are invincible !—we care not For a thousand thousand hosts ; But you only, call we brothers All the tongues and peoples through, And, though stout agamat all others, Never will we fight with you!

rs

Take your heritage-—possess it. England gladiy sees your growth ; And may peace and plenty East and west, and north and south : Only, covet net another's ; God brings wrongfulness to rue : Though, for ua, we tel) you, brothers, Never will we fighé with you!

Diess it,

arty-work, we understand it, And how bad ambition strains

With the morals of a bandit To seeure its petty gains:

Bat amongst you, better brothers Mourr tor what the baser do,

W hile her anger England smothers, Foe she wili nut fight with you !

Surely to provoke the kindly Were a scandal and a sin ; And if selfish placemen,bliudly E Stiz a storm that they may win,— Spite of diplomatic bothers, Wrongs belike and insults too, You may make us sorry brothers, But we will not fight with you ! No '—the doom of both is written [n a flood of blood and woes, If America and Britain Ever call each other foes: By the name that names us brothers, “Be there crace between us two.— By the love that lives in mothers, Never will we fight with you !

——o <P oa-s

THE DOPPELGANGER.

Albert Lachner was my particular friend and fellow ttudent. We studied together at Heidelberg; we lived to- gether; we had no secrets from each other ; we called each other by the endearing name of brother. On leaving the

university, Albert decided on following the profession of |

medicine. I was possessed of a moderate competence and a iittle estate at Ems, on the Lahn; so I devoted myself to the tranquil life of a proprietaire and a book-dreamer. Albert went to reside with a physician, as pupil and assistant, at the little town of Cassel; [ established myself in my inheritance.

I was delighted with my home; with my garden, sloping

down to the rushy margin of the river ; with the view of

Ems, the turretted old Kurhaus, the suspension bridge, and, further away, the bridge of boats, and the dark wooded hills, closing in the little colony on every side. I pianted my gar- den in the English style; fitted up my library and smoking room ; and furnished one bed-chamber especially for my friend. This room overlooked the water, anda clematis grew up around the window. I placed there a book-case, and filled it with his favorite books; hung the walls with engravings which I knew he admired, and chose draperies of his favor- ite color. When all was complete, I wrote to him, and bade him come and spend his sammer holiday with me at Ems.

He came; but [ found him greatly altered. He was a dark, pale man; always somewhat taciturn and sickly, he was now paler, more silent, more delicate than ever. He seemed subject to fits of melancholy abstraction, and appeared as if some all-absorbing subject weighed upon his mind— sume haanting care, from which even L was excluded,

He had never been gay, it is trae; he had never mingled in our Heidelberg extravagances—never fought a duel at the Hirsehgasse-4never been one of the fellowhood of Foxes— never boated, and quarrelled, and gambled like the rest of us, wild boys as we were! But then he was constitutionally unfitted for such violert sports; and a lameness which dated from his early childhood, proved an effectual bar to the prac- tice of all those athletic exercises which secure to youth the mens sana in corpore sano. Still, he was strangely altered ; and it cut me to the heart to see him so sad, and not to be porweied to partake of his anxieties, At first I thought

e had been studying too closely; but this he protested was rfot the case. Sometimes I fancied that he was in love, but I was soon convinced of my error: he was changed—but how or why, I found it impossible to discover.

After he had been with me about a week, I chanced one day to allude to the rapid progress that was making every- where in favor of mesmerism, and added some light words of incredulity as I spoke. ‘To my surprise, he expressed his absolute faita in every department of the science, and de-

fended all its phenomena, even to clairvoyance and mesmeric ‘and entered.

| Came,

| the more.

ii r | friend had been gone about a fortnight, 1 returned almost W hy you W ill not be our friends ; |

Somehow, our long arguments dwelt unpleasantly upon my mind, and induced a nervous sensation for which I felt ashamed. I had no wish to believe; 1 struggled against conviction, and the very struggle caused me to think of it At last the effect wore away; and when my

insensibly to my former routine of thought and oceupation. rhus the season slowly advanced. Ems became crowded with

| tourists, attracted thither by the fame of our medicinal ‘springs; and what with frequenting concerts, promenades, jand gardens, reading, receiving a few friends, occasionally | taking parts in the music-meectings which are so much the

i

fashion here, and entering altogether into a little more so- i ciety than had hitherto been my habit, I succeeded in banish- jing entirely from my mind the doubts and reflections which had so much disturbed me. | One evening, as I was returning homeward from the house of a friend in the town, I experienced a delusion, which, to say the least of it, caused me a very disagreeable sensation. | I have stated that my cottage was situated on the banks of the river, and was surrounded by a garden. The entrance lay at the other side, by the high road; but I am fond of | boating. I had constructed, therefore, a little wicket, with a flight of wooden steps leading down to the water's edge, | near which my small rowing boat lay moored. This evening [ came along by the meadows which skirt the stream; these meaclows are here and there intercepted by villas and private _enclosures. Now, mine was the first; and I could walk | from the town to my own garden fence without once diverging

up stairs to the third floor.

“Then he is living !” I cried eagerly.

* Living !” echoed the man, as he held the lantern at the foot of the staircase to light me on my way---‘ living ! Mein Gott, we want no dead lodgers here.”

After the first flight, 1 found myself in darkness, and went on, fecling my way step by step, and holding by the broad bannisters. As I ascended the third flight, a door on the landing suddenly opened, and a voice exclaimed :

“Welcome, Heinrich! Take care ; there is a loose plank on the last step but one.”

It was Albert, holding a candle in his hand—as well, as real, as substantial as ever. I cleared the remaining interval with a bound, and threw myself into his arms, | Albert, Albert, my friend and companion, alive—alive and well !”

“ Yes, alive,” he repligd, drawing me into the room and closing the door, ‘ You thought me dead ?”

“T did iudeed,” said 1, half sobbing with joy. Then glaneing round at the blazing hearth—for now the nights were chill—the cheerful lights, and the well spread supper table: ‘Why, Albert,” I exclaimed, “ you live here like a king.”

« Not always thus,” he replicd, with a melancholy smile. “T lead in general a very sparing bachelor-like existence. Bat it is not often I have a visitor to entertain ; and you, my brother, have never before pariaken of my hospitality.”

“ How!” I exclaimed, quite stupified ; * you knew that I was coming ?”

from the river path. I was musing, and humming to myself’ ars of a popular melody, when, all at once, I began , thinking of Albert and his theories. This was, I asseverate, ‘the first time he had even entered my mind for at least two ‘days. Thus going along, my arms folded, and my eyes fixed fon the ground, [ reached the boundaries of my little dumain | before 1 knew that I had traversed half the distance. Smil- jing at my own abstraction, T paused to go round by the en-

; some

“trance, when suddenly, and to my great surprise, I saw my

| friend standing by the wicket, and looking over the river | towards the sunset. Astonishment and delight deprived me ‘at the first of all power of speech; at last—‘ Albert!” I cried, “this is kind of you. When did youarrive?” He ‘seemed not to hear me, and remained in the same attitude. | [ repeated the words, and with a similar result. ‘ Albert, ‘look round, man!” Slowly he turned his head, and looked ime in the face; and then, O horror! even as I was looking at him, be disappeared. He did not fade away; he did not | fall; but, in the twinkling of an eye, he was not there. | Trembling and awe-struck, I went into the house, and strove to compose my shattered nerves. Was Albert dead, and were ‘apparitionstruths? I dared not think—I dared not ask my- | self the question. I passed a wretched night; and the next | day I was as unsettled as when he first left me. It was about four days from this time when a circumstance | wholly inexplicable oceurred in my house. I was sitting at | breakfast in the library, with a volume of Plato beside me, | when my servant entered the room, and courtesied for per- }mission to speak. I looked up, and supposing that she needed money for domestic purposes, I pulled out my purse from my pocket, and saying: ‘* Well, Katrine, what do you want now 2?” drew forth a florin, and held it towards her.

She courtesied again, and shook her head. “ Thank you, master; but it is not that.”

Something in the old woman’s tone of voice caused me to |look up hastily. ‘ What is the matter, Katrine? Has any- | thing alarmed you ?”

“If you please, master—if it is nota rude question, has —has any one been here lately ?”

‘“ Here !” I repeated. ‘ What do you mean ?”

‘In the bed up stairs, master.” .

I sprang to my feet, and turned as cold as a statue.

“The bed has been slept in, master, for the last four nights.”

I flew to the door, thrust her aside, and in a moment sprang up the staircase and into Albert’s bedroom ; and thee, plainly, I beheld the impression of a heavy body left | upon the bed! Yes, there, on the pillow, was the mark

where his head had been laid; there the deep groove pressed

by his body! It was no deception this, but a strange, an incomprehensible reality. I groaned aloud, and staggered heavily back.

“It has been like this for four nights, master,” said the old woman. ‘ Each morning I have made the bed, thinking, perhaps, that you had been in there to lie down during the day; but this time I thought I would speak to you about it.”

« Well, Katrine, make the bed once more ; let us give it another trial; and then”

I said no more, but walked away. When all was in order, I returned, bringing with me a basin of fine sand. First of all I closed and barred the shutters ; then sprinkled the floor ‘all round the bed with sand; shut and locked the chamber | door, and left the key, under some trivial pretext, at the ‘house of a friend in the town. Katrine was witness to all ‘this. That night I lay awake and restless; not a sound | disturbed the utter silence of the autumn night; not a breath ‘stirred the leaves agaiast my casement. | rose early the next morning; and by the time Katrine “was up and at her work, I returned from Ems with the key. /« (ome with me, Katrine,” I said ; “let us see if all be right ‘in Herr Lachner’s bedroom.” | At the door we paused and looked, half terrified, in each ‘other’s faces; then I summoned courage, turned the key, The window shutters, which I had fastened

revelation, with the fervor of a determined believer. 1 the day before, were wide open—unclosed by no mortal hand ;

I found his views on the subject more extended than any and the daylight streaming in, | —upon foot-mayks in the sand ! | Jatter, ‘heavy, as if the walker had rested longer upon one | the other,

I had previously heard. ‘To mesmerie influences he attri- buted all those spectral appearances, such as ghosts, wraiths,

and doppelgangers ; all those noises and troubled spirits ; all those bavshecs or family apparitions ; all those hauntings and

fell upon the disordered bed

Looking attentively at these I saw that the impressions were alternately light and foot than

like a lame man.

“Certainly. I have even prepared a bed for you in my own apartment.”

I gasped for breath, and dropped into a seat.

“ And this power, this spiritual knowledge ”

“Is simply the effect of magnetic relation—of what is called rapport.”

“ Explain yourself.”

Not now, Heisrich. You are exhauste] by the mental and bodily excitement which you have this day undergone. Kat, now ; eat andrest, Afier supper, we will talk the sub- ject over.”

Wearied as I was, curiosity and a vague sort of horror which I found it impossible to control, deprived me of ap- petite, and I rejoiced when, drawing towards the hearth with our meerschaums and Rhine wine, we resumed the former conversation.

“You are, of course, aware,” began my friend, “ that in those cases where a mesmeric power has been established by one mind over another, a certain rapport, or intimate spiritual relationship, becomes the mysterious link between those two natures. This rapport does not consist in the mere sleep-pro- ducing power; that is but the primary form, the simplest stage of its influence, and ia many instances may be altogether omitted. By this, I mean that the mesmerist may, by a su- preme act of volition, step at once to the highest power of con- trol over the patient, without traversing the intermediate gra- dations of somnolency or even clairvoyance. This highest power lies iu the will ofthe operator, and enables him to pre- sent images to the mind of the other, even as they are produced inhisown. [ cannot better describe my subject than by com- paring the mind of the patient to a mirror, which reflects that

} | |

sire. Thisrapport I have long sought to establish between us.”

‘But you have not succeeded.”

Not altogether ; neither have my efforts been quite in vain. You have sfruggled to resist me, and I have felt the opposing power baffling me at every step; yet sometimes I have pre- vailed, if but for a short time. Tor instance, during many days after leaving Ems, I left & strong impression upon your mind.”

“ Which I tried to shake off, and did.”

“True ; but it was a contend-d point for some days. me recall another instance to your memory. ago, you were suddenly, and forsome moments, forced to suc- cumb to my influence, although but an instant previous you were completely a free agent.”

“At what time in the day was that?” I asked fulter- ingly.

« About half-past cight o’clock in the evening.” _

I shuddered, grew deadly faint, and pushed my chair back.

« But where were you, Albert?” I muttered in a half audible voice.

He looked up, surprised at my emotion ; then, asif catching the reflex of my agitation from my countenance, he turned ghastly pale, even to his lips, and the drops of cold dew start- ed on his forehead.

“ [—was—here,” he said, with a slow and laboured articu- lation, that added to my dismay. :

« But I saw you—I saw you standing in my garden, just

Let

you had been forced upon me.”

« And did you speak to—to the figure ?”

“'Twiee, without being heard.

“My very words! Then youheard me?” _

« Bat when you had spoken them,” he continued without heeding my question—‘ when you had spoken them—what then ?”

“ Tt yvanished—where and how, I know not.”

Albert covered his face with bis hands, and groaned aloud.

“ Great God !” he said feebly, “ then I am not mad!”

I was so horror-strucx, that L remained silent. Presently

‘drank it at a draught, and then turning his face partly aside, and speaking in a low and preternaturally even tone, related to me the following strange and fearful narrative :-—

«“ Dr. K——, under whom I have been studying for the last _year here in Cassel, first convinced me of the reality of the ‘mesmeric doctrine; before then I was as hardened a secptic

jas yourself, As is frequently the case in these matters, the

-

of the operator as long, as often, and as fully, as he may de- |

About five days |

as I was thinking of you, or, rather, just as the thought of

The third time I eried”— |

he raised his head, poured out half a tumblerful of brandy, |

called memory —who shall say whether it be memory or reality ? I had always commanded this faculty ina high degree; indeed, so remarkably, that if I but related a passage from my bool, the very page, the printed characters, were spread before my mental vision, and I read from them as from the volume. My recollection was therefore said to be wondrously faithful, and, ag you will remember, I never erred in a single syllable. Since my recent investigations, this faculty has increased ina very singular manner. I have twice felt as though my inner self, my spiritual self, were a distinct body—yet scarcely so much a body as a nervous essence or ether; and as if this second being, in a moment of earnest thought, went from me, and visited the people, the places, the objects of external life. Nay,” he continued, observing my extreme agitation, ** this thing is not wholly new in the history of magnetic phenomena —but it is rare. We call it, physchologically speaking, the power of far-working. But there is yet another and a more appalling phase of far-working—that of a visible appearance out of the body—that of being here and elsewhere at the same time—that of becoming, in short, a doppleganger. The irre- fragible evidence of this truth I hav2 never dared to doubt, but it has always impressed me with an unparalleled horror. I- believed, but 1 dreaded; yet twice I have for a few moments trembled at the thought that I—I also may be—may be——-O rather, far, far rather would I believe mycelf, deluded, dream- ing—even mad! Twice havel felt a consciousness of self absence—once, a consciousness of self-seeing! All knowledge, all perception was transferred to my spiritual! self, while a sort of drowsy numbness and inaction weighed upon my bodily part. The first time was abouta fortnight before | visited you at Ems; the second happened five nights ago, at the period of which you have spoken. On that second evening, Heinrich ’’—here his voice trembled audibly—‘‘ 1 felt myself in possession of an ‘unusual mesmeric power. I thought of you, and impelled the ‘influence, as it were, from my mind upon yours. This time i found no resisting force opposed to mine; you yielded to my dominion— you believed.

‘« It was so,’ I murmured faintly. | © At the same time, my brother, [ felt the most earnest de- sire to be once more near you, to hear your voice, to see your frank and friendly face, to be standing again in your pretty | garden beside the running river. {t was sunset, and I pictured ito myself the scene from thatspot. Even as I did so, a dullness came over my senses—the picture on my memory grew wider,

brighter ; 1 felt the cool breeze from the water ; | saw the red sun sinking over the far wocds ; | heard the vesper-bells ringing j from the steeples; in a word, I was spiritually there. | Presently 1 became aware as of the approach of something, ‘| knew not what—but a something notof the same nature as | myself—something that filled me with a shivering, half com- | pounded of fear and half of pleasure. Then a sound, smothered ‘and strange, as if unfitted for the organs of my sp:ritual sense, seemed to fill the space around—a sound resembling speech, yet reverberating and confused, like distant thunder, I felt paralysed, and unable to turn. It came and died away asecond time, yet more distinctly. 1 distinguished words, but not their sense. It came a third time, vibrating, clear and Joud— “ Albert, look round, man!’’ Making a terrible effort to overcome the bonds which seemed to hold me, | turned—I saw you! ‘The next moment, a sharp pain wrung me in every limb ; there came a brief darkness, and | then found myself, without any apparent lapse of time or sensible motion, sitting by yonder window, where gazing on the sunset | kad begun to think of you. ‘The sound of your voice yet rang in my ears ; the sight of your face was still before me; I shuddered—I tried to think ‘that all had been a dream. I[lified my hands tomy brow they were numbed and heavy. I strove to rise; but a rigid torpor seemed to weigh upon my limbs, You say that I was visibly present in your garden ;1 kaow that 1 was bodily present in this rsom. Can it be that my worst fears are coulirmed — that [ possess a double being ¢”’ We were both silent for some moments. At Jast I told him ‘the circumstances of the bed and of the footmarks on the san’ | He was shocked, but scarcely surprised. | “Thave been thinking much of you,” he said ; “and for |several successive nights I have dreamed of you and of my | stay—nay, even of that very bedroom. Yetl have been con | scious of none of these symptoms of far-working. It is true ‘that I have awakened each morning unrefreshed and weary, as lif from bodily fatigue ; but this 1 attributed ‘o over-study and constitutional weakness.”’

“ Will you not tell me the particulars of your first experience of this spiritual absence ?’’

Albert sat pale and silent, as if he heard not.

I repeated the question,

“Give me some more brandy,’ he said, “and I will tell you.”’

ldid so. Heremained fora few moments looking at the fire befere he spoke ; at last he proceeded, but in a still lower voice than before. ‘* The first time was also in this room ; but how much more terrible than the second. 1 had been reading —reading a metaphysical work upon the nature of the soul— when [ experienced, quite suddenly, a sensation of extreme lassitnde. The book grew dim before my eyes; the room darkened ; I appeared to find myself in the streets of the town. Plainly I saw the churehes in the gray evening dusk ; plainiy the hurrying passengers; plainly the faces of many whom I knew. Now it was the market-place ; now the bridge ; now the well-known street in which I live. Then I came to the door: it stood wide open to admit me. J passed slowly, slowly up the gloomy staircase; I entered my own room; and there ”’

He paused ; his voice grew husky, and his face assumed a stony, almost a distorted appearance.

‘* And there you saw,’’ { urged—** you saw’’—

‘* Myself! Myself, sitting in this very chair. Yes, yes ; myself siood gazing on myself! We looked—we looked into each— each other's eyes-—we —we-—we’’ ——

His voice failed; the hand holding the wine-glass grew stiff, and the brittle vessel fell upon the hearth, and was shuttered into a thousand fragments. ;

“* Albert! Albert!’ 1 shrieked, ** look up. shall { do?” t | Lhung frantically over him ; I seized his hands in mine ; they were cold as marble. Suddenly, a3 if by a last spasmodic ‘effort, he turned his head in the direction of the door, and looked earnestly forward. The power of speech was gone, but his eyes glared witha light that was more vivid than that of \life. Strack with an appalling idea, I followed the course of | his geze. Hark!a dul!, dull cound—meusured, distinct, and slow, ag if of feet ascending. My blood froze; I could not ‘remove my eyes from the doorway; 1 could not breathe. Nearer and nearer came the steps—alternately light and heavy, ‘light and heavy, as the tread ofalameimen. Nearer ond nearer —agcross the landing —vpon the very threshold of the chamber.

O heavens! what