Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 May 1890 — THE FATAL WARNING. [ARTICLE]

THE FATAL WARNING.

When I was a divinity student at the university my most intimate friend was Jarvis Blair, whom I loved with the devotion of a brother. There was one subject, however, that we frequently discussed, and which was a great cause of discussion. He believed that departed spirits sometimes returned, while I discredited such a possibility. When I was about to leave college he brought up the oid discussion again and promised to prove the truth of his belief by coming to me should he die first. We separated from that day and I only heard of him by letter. Then I married and settled down. In the postscript of one of his letters I read this: “My Dear : You may see me sooner than you think. I intend to visit Virginia.” I was greatly pleased, and so was my wife, for I had talked to her of Jarvis very often. In expectation of his coming she now furnished our spare room, and one day called me to look at it. “Do you think Jarvis will like itP” she asked. “How could he help itP” I answered, kissing her. “Your hospitality is something he will appreciate, you dear little Virginia woman, even if he does not understand the beauty of the chintz and the delicacy of the embroidery on the pillow cases.” My wife was contented. However, we waited two or three weeks, and heard no more of Jarvis Blair. One Saturday night it occurred to me to add something to my sermon. I felt that I had mot quite expressed my thought. My wife retired early, and the children were always safe in bed at 9 o’olook. I heard old Minty fastening up the shutters, and afterward creak up the stairs to a little attic bedreom she had, and Sam, her son, with the small boy, Bill, were whistling their way to their sleeping place in the coach house. All was very quiet except for an occasional shriek of the train. There was a station less than a mile away, and I was writing rapidly, when a 6udden impulse made me turn my head, and 1 saw Jarvis Blair standing in the doorway. He had arrived and been admitted by Jim without my knowledge, I thought; and I was about to rush toward him, but found myself incapable of moving. For his part. I noticed now that he was curiously pale. “James, you believe it now, don’t you?” he asked. “What?” I gasped. “This,” he said. “I am not dead yet, but lam going to die. I have 3lipped out of the body. They think me asleep, but 1 can return to it for a little while. I was on my way to see you, but at Richmond I fell ill. If you travel fast you may reach Richmond before I die.” He was gone. A horror possessed me that I never felt before in all my life, and I rushed away to my room, leaving the sermon on the table and my lamp still ingIn the morning I told my wife of the event. “I know it was a nightmare now,” I said, • ’but it seemed very real to me.” To my surprise she answered: “My dear, I think you must go to Richmond at once.”

“At once?” I said. “Why, this is Sunday morning.” “My dear James,” she said, “Mr. Garner will preach at any time for you.” (Mr. Garner was an old clergyman who was too feeble to take charge of a church, but who liked to be called upon to read a sermon at times. He was our neighbor.) She took out her watch, called Jim, and sent him with a note to the Garners. An answer was returned at once. “The thing is done now,” sp|- gaid. “Go, my dear. The. train sia&s in twenty minutes. The oarriage is at the door. I’ll get a lift from somebody,” “This is preposterous,” I said. ) “My dear husband,” she answ&red, ‘ ‘there is no doubt in my mind Ithat your dying friend has called you.”l Accordingly, I was on i.iy Ato Itu-hnxMd In half an hour. IWt

nothing came oflt, 1 knew the secret would be between Kitty and myself. When the train reached Richmond I alighted, and took my way straight to the hotel where travelers from the North usually stopped. The clerk wae an old acquaintance of mine. • ‘How do you do, sirP” he called tc me. I advanced, and with a curie us feeling of certainty that the reply would be in the affirmative, said: “I am told a friend of mine. Dr. Javis Blair, is here. Is her” “Yes, sir.” be answered: “but I am sorry to say he is very, very ill.” “I should like to see him,” I said. The clerk called a waiter, who led me along the halls and up the stairs, until I reached a certain room, on the door of which he rapped softly. A nurse opened the door. To my whispered inquiry, she replied. “Going fast.” And entering I saw my old friend once more; lying motionless on his pillow, his eyes closed his face pale as in my vision of the night before. “He may not wake agaiD,” said the nurse; “but we thought him gone last night, and ho returned.” She paused and gave me a peculiar half-frightened smile. • *lt seemed like a return rather than awakening,” she added. • ‘Perhaps it was, ” I said. The tears filled my eyes. I took my dear friend’s hand and touched mv lips to it. It closed on mine, and his eyes opened. “James,” he said, “that wife of yours is a dear good creature. Tell her I am glad she hurried you, or else I should not have seen you again. <iod bless you—and me.” With those words on his lips, he closed his eyes again, This time he never returned. I have had no more experience of this sort, but I never scoff at those of others now, however impossible they may seem.