And I affirm that the voice spoke to me of things that no one but
John Powles could possibly have known. He did not fail to remind me of
the promise he had made, and the many times he had tried to fulfil it
before, and he assured me he should be constantly with me from that
time. It was daylight before the voice ceased speaking, and then both
Miss Showers and I were so exhausted, we could hardly raise our heads
from the pillows. I must not forget to add that when we _did_ open our
eyes again upon this work-a-day world, we found there was hardly an
article in the room that had not changed places. The pictures were all
turned with their faces to the wall--the crockery from the washstand was
piled in the fender--the ornaments from the mantel-piece were on the
dressing-table--in fact, the whole room was topsy-turvy.
When Mr. William Fletcher gave his first lecture in England, in the
Steinway Hall, my husband, Colonel Lean, and I, went to hear him. We had
never seen Mr. Fletcher before, nor any of his family, nor did he know
we were amongst the audience. Our first view of him was when he stepped
upon the platform, and we were seated quite in the body of the hall,
which was full. It was Mr. Fletcher's custom, after his lecture was
concluded, to describe such visions as were presented to him, and he
only asked in return that if the people and places were recognized,
those who recognized them would be brave enough to say so, for the sake
of the audience and himself. I can understand that strangers who went
there and heard nothing that concerned themselves would be very apt to
imagine it was all humbug, and that those who claimed a knowledge of the
visions were simply confederates of Mr. Fletcher. But there is nothing
more true than that circumstances alter cases. I entered Steinway Hall
as a perfect stranger, and as a press-writer, quite prepared to expose
trickery if I detected it. And this is what I heard. After Mr. Fletcher
had described several persons and scenes unknown to me, he took out a
handkerchief and began to wipe his face, as though he were very warm.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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