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344 throw me into the magnetic state. She then applies the Morning Post to the pit of my stomach, and becomes aware of its contents instantaneously through my instrumentality. The sensation to me, however, is most distressing. Even when I am away from her presence, she can, by a mere effort of her iron will, constitute me her active medium, and, when I am in this condition, all her own sensations find their counterpart in mine. If Mrs. B. were to take a dose—but enough of this—be it sufficient for you to know that, though twenty miles distant from her, I should feel the effects.

“Her power is enormous. You vainly imagine, I dare say, that those inscriptions which you see on the walls of London and the neighbourhood, with futile inquiries as to ‘Whether you bruise your oats?’ ‘Have you tried the Eureka shirts?’ &c., really bear reference to the trivial subjects with which they profess to deal. Bah! they appear so to your eyes; but to me they are luminous inscriptions pregnant with my fate, and indicative of Mrs. Robert Bircham’s commands. I have passed through the six magnetic states—having lingered for six months at that of clairvoyance; but now, unfortunately for myself, I am greatly favoured, and greatly miserable. I have won my way, or been forced, to the condition of allgemeine klarheit, in which all things hidden in the past, in futurity, and in distance of space are subjected to my survey. I think it right to tell you this much, that you may be able to form your own opinions upon the reality or unreality of the facts I am about to relate to you.

“A few months back—nay, I will fix the exact date, as it may perhaps prove of importance in the solution of the question—it was on the afternoon of the last Saturday of last November, I had strayed away from my prison-home, and felt in unusual spirits. I walked in the direction of the eastern districts of London—a portion of the town not much known to Londoners of the West-end, but which has always possessed for me unusual interest—was it by a secret anticipation that there I was to meet with the last and direst blow of my unhappy life? There is something very picturesque in this portion of the town to those who are in the habit of pacing round the monotonous circle of the more usual and fashionable strolling ground.

“I finally found myself in the Jewish quarter—too commonly known, I believe, as Houndsditch. On every side inscriptions greeted my eye to the effect that Pine Apple Rum was sold here by permission of Dr. Adler! or, ‘Here’s your only unleavened bread, patronised by Dr. Adler!’ or a corn extracted from the venerable foot of Dr. Adler was exhibited in a window, with a Hebrew inscription around it, which might possibly be in eulogy of the extractor’s skill. Dr. Adler was evidently the Sir Watkin of this Hebrew Llangollen. The Jewish population had re-opened their various establishments for the despatch of business, and I was assailed on all sides with questions as to whether I was willing ‘to buy or shell.’ ‘Vood I shtep in? de besht prishes given for old clo.’ ‘Vood dey vait upon me at moine own housh?’ Turning a deaf ear to all these commercial offers, I strolled on up the three or four steps, and through the little halfpenny turnpike into Phils Buildings, forgetful of my sufferings, and amused with the ingenuous manner in which the population of all ages, and of both sexes, worked out their manifest destiny. The little yellow-skinned children in the gutters tried to take advantage of each other in innocent bargains for toffy and brandy-balls; while the tawny Esther in the sere and yellow bloom of her lovely maidenhood examined the nap on the hat of her beloved Benjamin, and risked a guess at its probable price; whilst Benjamin, evading her question, glared out of his keen Jewish eyes—luminous beads set in yellow plaster of Paris—counter inquiries as to the worth of the ponderous rings which gave to the ears of his beloved a commercial value. At this moment, and whilst I was in the principal street of this interesting quarter, there was a great stir and commotion. Fat, flabby matrons—old hook-nosed men—Jewish youths and maidens—Jewish boys and girls, rushed out from their pavilions of old and renovated clothes—threw up the windows—and appeared upon the roofs. The whole street was walled and paved with what is called by sentimentalists the monumental face. There was a shout and a cry of—

‘De Old One! De Old One!’

“I saw him coming down the street; I saw him as clearly as I now see Mr. Brown. He was very tall, very old, very bent. Upon his shoulders there was a sack, and in his hand a staff; but he walked on looking directly before him, and heedless of the inquiries which were addressed to him on every side, of ‘How much for his hat?’ ‘A noo pair for de old shoes, and five and shiksh!’ ‘Would he shell anyt’ing?’ It was unnecessary for me to ask questions. I knew who the old man was who was advancing towards me at a pace which would have puzzled the late Captain Barclay. I knew but too well that I saw before me

“.

“I drew back as he was about to pass me, but what was my astonishment to find that when he came to where I stood, he paused in the monotonous impetuosity of his career, and glaring at me with a horrid glassy stare which froze the very marrow in my bones, groaned out in a voice deep and hollow as the moan of the sea in a subterranean cave—

‘’

“I stood amazed and silent; my feet were rooted to the ground. Again he addressed me, but this time there was mockery in his tone:

‘’

“Fain, fain would I have declined to hold any dealings with him, but my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. Even thought seemed paralysed in my brain. Again he addressed me, but this time not as I fancied wholly without menace:

What“What [sic] had I to do with garments—old or new? Could I but understand the meaning of the mysterious apparition. The old Jew, after a moment’s pause, added:

‘Komm mit me!’