The M’Whiskers, whom I met at Oban, were very jolly old people. Papa M’Whisker had made a big fortune teaplanting in Ceylon, and had bought, and added to Dramdotty Castle in the far, far north. They were perfectly full of ghosts and spiritualism, and at Dramdotty they seemed to have a ghost for every day in the week. On Monday there was the “Spotted Nun,” on Tuesday the “Floating Infant,” on Wednesday the “Headless Dwarf,” on Thursday the “Vanishing Nigger,” on Friday the “Burnt Lady,” and on Saturday the “Human Balloon,” and on Sunday the whole lot attended on them, and, I daresay, went to the kirk with them.

M’Whisker himself was a jovial soul, fond of his toddy, and very much resembled the Dougal Cratur in “Rob Roy.” My friend, John Clyde, should have seen him. He had a furious red head of hair and beard of the same colour, and the street boys used to call after him the song, “The folks all call me, Carroty, What, what, what, oh! Carroty,” etc. Mrs M’Whisker was a stout lady with eyes like small tomatoes and a gimlet nose. They had a son, a boy of ten, called Fernando M’Whisker, because he was born in Spain. When they came to St Andrews they had purchased a number of my “Ghost Books.” (These ghosts at present chiefly haunt the Citizen Warehouse, booksellers’ shops, and the railway bookstall.) That is the reason perhaps that the M’Whiskers invited me to a spiritualistic seance at their house in South Street. They generally came to St Andrews for the winter, partly to get away from the cold of their northern home, and partly because they thought the history and atmosphere of St Andrews lent itself to an all-pervading presence of ghosts, spooks, and spirits. I had only been to two such shows before—one at Helensburgh and one at Cambridge—and was, and still am, very doubtful of the genuineness of spiritualism. On the day appointed I went to the M’Whiskers’ house[67] in South Street, and was shown in by a Highlander in the M’Whisker tartan. It was early in the afternoon, but I found the shutters in the large room all shut, and a few dim lights only were burning. On a sideboard in the corner stood plenty of refreshments and everything else to comfort the inner man. In the centre of the room there was a round table covered with a M’Whisker tartan tablecloth, which touched the floor all round: this in itself was suspicious to my mind. I was introduced to the chief medium, one Mr Peter Fancourt, who looked as if he had been buried and dug up again. He was in tight, sleek black clothes, and resembled in every way “Uriah Heep” in “David Copperfield.” The other medium was a Mrs Flyflap Corncockle. They were supposed not to know each other, but I am as certain that they were accomplices as that the Bell Rock is near St Andrews Bay. A number of chairs encircled the table. We had all to seat ourselves on these chairs, with our thumbs and little fingers touching round the edge of the table. The first thing that happened was a kind of “squish,” and then a huge bouquet of flowers descended on the table from somewhere. It was a clever trick, but the flowers were of the commonest sort, and what I had seen in all the greengrocers’ shops that morning. The lights were now turned very low, and a spirit arm and hand appeared floating about, which shone a good deal. It hovered about from the ceiling to above our heads, and when I got a chance I jumped on a chair and seized it with both hands. It seemed to shrink up, and was torn through my hands very forcibly, and in such a material manner that I was forced to let go. I don’t know where the hand and arm went to, but it was simply a juggling trick. After this “Mr Heep” (I beg his pardon, Mr Fancourt) said that there was an unbeliever present, and as I was that unbeliever I was relegated to an armchair by the fireplace with one of M’Whisker’s muckle cigars. From that point of vantage I watched the whole affair, and they assured me they would tell me all that was going on. The next very curious thing was that they suddenly all took their hands off the table, and their eyes slowly followed something ceilingwards. It was funny to see them all lying back staring up at the roof. Then very slowly their heads and eyes resumed their normal position.[68] “Did you see that?” said the M’Whisker triumphantly. “I saw nothing whatever,” I remarked. &ldquo............