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.The case of Francis Truth, alias Will Bemis, the selfstyledDivine Healer, attracted no little attention through-out theEast, especially in Boston, a few years ago.The man was ahandsome, plausible, smooth-spoken man, who claimedto have some mysterious mesmeric power by which hecould cure any disease, simply by the laying on of hands.His ad-vertisements bristled with testimonials and bril-liant promises, and he did a good business among thecredulous.Many, who doubtless had nothing whatever thematter with them, were hypnotized into the belief that theywere cured.Finally, Truth or Bemis found his money getting lim-ited, because he could only treat a limited number a day.Then he had recourse to the absent-treatment dodge.Hewould tell his patients that he would give them an absent treatment at a certain hour, andat that time they were to retire to their rooms and think of him, and they would receive thehealing influence! As the number of his dupes grew, he branched into a mail-order feature,until hundreds and thousands of people who had never seen the healer were sendinghim money by mail.He received hundreds of letters each day, until the post-office wasforced to deliver them in great bags, and his income amounted to thousands of dollars aweek! Truth lived in great style, drove about in his own carriage, had quite an office force ofstenographers and clerks to handle the mail, and was getting rich, hand over fist, when thepost-office authorities and the police put an end to his career.Advertising mediums, clairvoyants, and astrologers have hosts of dupes, and some invitethe methods of the confidence man, with mystical advice and fortune-telling.Not long ago,a certain Miss Ethel L -, of Malden, Mass., visited a so-called medium in Boston.Assoon as she entered his inner sanctum she was surprised to have him caution her about alarge sum of money which she was carrying.This occult knowledge so inspired her confi-dence, that she asked his advice about a suit she was interested in.He told her he wouldhave to put her in a trance, which he did.When she came out of it, he cautioned her to godirectly home, and to hold he fingers crossed until she reached her own room, where shemust remain for two days.It was actually some hours before she realized that she had beenrobbed of $1,000 which she had in her pocket! Of course, the medium had disappeared!41The Right Way to do WrongI must say that with all its boasted culture and learning, Boston seems to be a favorite cityfor all sorts of schemes of this kind; astrologers, mediums, clairvoyants, test-mediums,and the like abound in the Hub as in few other places it has been my good fortune to visit,and I have been all over the world.Chicago also has its share.New Yorkers pride themselves in believing in nothingat all, and yet it was only a short time ago that a mannamed Ridgley, and calling himself the East IndianMystery, victimized many people of wealth and fash-ionint hat metropolis.This remarkable person com-bined the fakir of the East with the modern magnetichealer and the Voodo doctor of French Louisiana.Theman himself is 70 years old.He is small, spry, alert,and wonderfully shrewd.His beard is bushy andblack, except where age has whitened the edges, andgrows thick and curly at the sides.The nose is as flatas a negro s.He denies negro blood, however, and ab-hors the race.He claims to be from Hindoostan, andtalks to others in the house in a strange tongue.The eyes of the man are small, shrewd, and dark.The forehead, from each side of whichgrows grays bushy hair that hides the ears, is high, receding, and intelligent. I knew you were coming, says this wizard-like man, and I determined to receive youthough warned against you.Now you want to know what I am, what I do.Let us be honestwith each other.He chooses big words as he proceeds to describe himself.They are used aptly, but mispro-nounced.The th becomes d, and there are other things not unfamiliar in the Southernnegro.The East Indian proceeds to read your character and to tell you of your life.He doesit well. I am not a fortune-teller, he explains. They are frauds, and I am a physiognomist.I readfrom the apex of the nose to the top of the forehead.I don t predict; I tell you; and I don task you to say if I am right or wrong.It is said that among this man s patrons have been men and women whose names are apart of the life of New York.It is also said that a recent marriage which astonished New York society came after thewoman in the case had consulted this strange combination of Charlatan and physician.She confided to him her desire, told him of her repeated failures to secure her wish, tookthe treatment, and in three months was married.Then followed, so the story goes, manypresents, among them a tenement to the East Indian
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