Jardin.

One reads in the Journal de la Nièvre: A dire accident occurred last Saturday at the railway station. Mr. Jardin, a man of sixty-two years, on leaving the station yard, was caught by the shafts of a tilbury, breathing his last a few hours afterward.

The death of this man revealed one of the most extraordinary stories, to which we would not have given credit had truthful witnesses not assured us of its authenticity. Here it is, just as it was narrated to us:

Before being employed at the tobacco warehouse of Nevers, Jardin lived in the Cher, the borough of Saint-Germain-des-Bois, where he practiced the profession of tailor. His wife had died five years before, in that village, a victim of a chest inflammation, when, eight years ago, he left Saint-Germain to come to live in Nevers. A laborious employee, Jardin was very pious, of a devotion that bordered on exaltation; he gave himself up with fervor to religious practices. In his room he had a prie-dieu, on which he liked to kneel. Friday evening, finding himself alone with his daughter, he announced to her, suddenly, that a secret presentiment warned him that his end was near. — “Listen — he said to her — to my last wishes: When I am dead, you shall hand over to Mr. B… the key of my prie-dieu so that he may take what he finds there and deposit it in my coffin.” Surprised by this abrupt recommendation, Miss Jardin, not knowing for certain whether her father was speaking seriously, asked him what there could be in the prie-dieu. At first he refused to answer, but, as she insisted, he made to her the strange revelation that what was there were the remains of her mother! He informed her that, before leaving Saint-Germain-des-Bois, he had gone to the cemetery during the night. Everyone was sleeping in the village. Feeling himself very alone, he had gone to the grave of his wife and, armed with a spade, had dug the earth until he reached the coffin that contained the remains of her who had been his companion. Not wishing to part from these precious remains, he had gathered up the bones and deposited them in his prie-dieu. At this strange confidence, a little frightened, but still doubting that her father was speaking seriously, Miss Jardin promised him to conform to his last wishes; persuaded that he wanted to amuse himself at her expense, and that the next day he would give her the solution of this fantastic enigma. The next day, Saturday, Jardin went to the office, as was his custom. About one o'clock he was sent to the goods station to dispatch sacks of tobacco destined for the supply of the warehouse. He had scarcely left the station when he was struck in the chest by the shafts of a tilbury, which had gone unnoticed by him among the carriages parked at the loading dock. His presentiments had not deceived him. Knocked down by the violence of the shock, he was carried home unconscious. The aid lavished upon him made him recover his senses. They asked to take off his clothes, in order to examine the wounds, but he opposed this vigorously; they insisted, and he refused still. But as, despite the resistance, they were preparing to undress him, he suddenly collapsed: he was dead. The body was placed on a bed. But what was the surprise of those present when, after he was undressed, there was seen over the heart a leather sack, tied around his body! A cut made by the doctor, called to verify the death, separated the sack into two parts, from which a dried hand escaped! Remembering what her father had told her the day before, Miss Jardin notified the gentlemen B… and J…, cabinetmakers. The prie-dieu having been opened, there was taken from it a shako of the National Guard, in the bottom of which was found the head of a dead person, still with the hair; then they perceived, at the bottom of the prie-dieu, arranged upon the slats, the bones of a skeleton: they were the remains of Jardin's wife. Last Sunday Jardin's remains were conducted to their final resting place. To satisfy the will of the sexagenarian, they placed in the coffin the remains of his wife and, upon his breast, the dried hand which, if we may so express ourselves, for eight years had felt the beating of his heart.

Evocation.

Answer. – Here I am.

Who informed you that we wished to speak with you?

Answer. – I know nothing; I was dragged here.

Where were you when we called you?

Answer. – Beside a man whom I love, accompanied by my wife.

How did you have the presentiment of death?

Answer. – I had been warned by her whom I so lamented. God had granted it, through her prayer.

So your wife was always at your side?

Answer. – She did not leave me.

Were your mortal remains, which you kept in the prie-dieu, the cause of her continual presence?

Answer. – By no means; but I believed it so.

Thus, had you not kept those remains, the Spirit of your wife would not for that reason have ceased to remain at your side?

Answer. – Then is thought not more powerful to attract the Spirit than the remains, which are of no importance to it?

Did you see your wife again immediately at the moment of death?

Answer. – It was she who came to receive me and enlighten me.

Did you immediately have consciousness of yourself?

Answer. – After a little while; I had an intuitive faith in the immortality of the soul.

Your wife must have had existences prior to the last. How is it explained that she forgot them, in order to consecrate herself entirely to you?

Answer. – She had to guide me in my material life, without, for that reason, renouncing her former affections. When we say that we never leave an incarnate Spirit, you must understand that by this we mean to give to understand that we are frequently nearer to it than elsewhere. The rapidity of our movement allows us this, as easily as, for you, a conversation with several interlocutors.

Do you remember your previous existences?

Answer. – Yes. In the last I was a poor peasant, without any instruction; but, previously, I had been a sincere religious, devoted to study.

Might the extraordinary affection that you had for your wife have had, as its cause, former relations from other existences?

Answer. – No.

Are you happy as a Spirit?

Answer. – More is not possible, you must understand.

Can you define your present happiness and tell us its cause?

Answer. – I ought not to need to tell you it: I loved and missed a beloved Spirit; I loved God; I was honest. I found what I lacked: these are the elements of happiness for a Spirit.

What are your occupations as a Spirit?

Answer. – I told you that when I was called I was beside a man whom I loved; I was seeking to inspire in him the desire for good, as the Spirits whom God judges worthy always do. We have still other occupations, which we cannot, for now, reveal.

We thank you for the kindness of having come.

Answer. – I thank you also.