It was a cold, dead morning (the sun not being up yet), and when I had
out-watched the paling light of the fires of the iron country, and the
curtain of heavy smoke that hung at once between me and the stars and
between me and the day, I turned to my fellow-traveller and said:
“I _beg_ your pardon, sir, but do you observe anything particular in me?”
For, really, he appeared to be taking down, either my travelling-cap or
my hair, with a minuteness that was a liberty.
The goggle-eyed gentleman withdrew his eyes from behind me, as if the
back of the carriage were a hundred miles off, and said, with a lofty
look of compassion for my insignificance:
“In you, sir?—B.”
“B, sir?” said I, growing warm.
“I have nothing to do with you, sir,” returned the gentleman; “pray let
me listen—O.”
He enunciated this vowel after a pause, and noted it down.
At first I was alarmed, for an Express lunatic and no communication with
the guard, is a serious position. The thought came to my relief that the
gentleman might be what is popularly called a Rapper: one of a sect for
(some of) whom I have the highest respect, but whom I don’t believe in.
I was going to ask him the question, when he took the bread out of my
mouth.
“You will excuse me,” said the gentleman contemptuously, “if I am too
much in advance of common humanity to trouble myself at all about it. I
have passed the night—as indeed I pass the whole of my time now—in
spiritual intercourse.”
“O!” said I, somewhat snappishly.
“The conferences of the night began,” continued the gentleman, turning
several leaves of his note-book, “with this message: ‘Evil communications
corrupt good manners.’”
“Sound,” said I; “but, absolutely new?”
“New from spirits,” returned the gentleman.
I could only repeat my rather snappish “O!” and ask if I might be
favoured with the last communication.
“‘A bird in the hand,’” said the gentleman, reading his last entry with
great solemnity, “‘is worth two in the Bosh.’”
“Truly I am of the same opinion,” said I; “but shouldn’t it be Bush?”
“It came to me, Bosh,” returned the gentleman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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