been driven out during the excitement, as far as was possible without coming in contact with his rather portly abdomen.

Symptoms of uneasiness now began to manifest themselves in a hat of one of the party, which was now lying upon a table in the rear of the room, and we were advised to keep a bright lookout for developments in that quarter, as we were told that such articles were sometimes transferred bodily, without visible agency, from other parts of the room to the centre-table. No such performance was witnessed by ourselves.

Different messages came, but one predominant intelligence, the alleged spirit of the doctor's patient, seemed to drive the less demonstrative or weaker ones away. The medium stated that such was often the case. It seemed that selfishness might be a characteristic of spirits as well as of mortals, and that the rules of politeness were sometimes forgotten in the struggle for precedence, in the invisible as well as the material world.

Two initial letters, "J. N.," were written by the medium at the professed dictation of a spirit. No one of the party recognized them as belonging to an acquaintance. Again they came, this time "J. V. N.," and the same a third time without recognition, although the medium stated that the spirit was desiring to communicate with some one present.

On our way home, in reviewing the events of the evening, it suddenly occurred to the doctor that the initials were those of an uncle long since deceased, with whom in life he was intimate, and at whose house he had spent many months. A peculiar form given in life by his uncle to the letter "N" he thought he recognized in the initials furnished by the medium.

to questions, and it seemed to the writer that the séance would close with nothing new added to his own personal experience of the mystery under investigation.

Those whose spirits he had invoked were not those with whom he would have sought an interview if he had felt a confidence in the genuineness and authenticity of the professed revelations. now wrote upon a slip of paper the name of one with whom he would gladly communicate if he were certain such a communication were legitimate and possible. He folded the paper so that no one but himself could know the contents, and asked if the spirit were present. Three raps came in immediate response.

"Will the spirit please indicate its presence by three raps here?" said the medium, indicating a point on the surface of the table.

The raps came upon the precise spot indicated. "Will the spirit write upon the slate ?" Three raps.

The two smaller slates were placed side by side, to "magnetize" them, the medium said, while a circle of touching hands was made by those present. Then, in accordance with directions, the writer placed together the two slates, which were thoroughly cleansed of any suspicion of a mark. No pencil was placed between them for the convenience of any being, visible or invisible. The writer now held with a firm grasp the two slates, and became aware that writing was going on within. The sound ceased. He opened the slates, and there, in a delicate hand, he read on one these words: "We cannot communicate more to-night. Good-night all." It seemed evident that some unknown intelligence had left its imprint within the covers of the slate, but the writer could not believe that the communication came from the spirit of the person named upon the slip of paper. If so, the character of that person seemed to him to have strangely altered, and the first address after years of separation seemed lacking in the quality of affectionate remembrance which would naturally have characterized it, but on the contrary seemed to be heartless and unsatisfactory.

He had

"Did

you ever communicate with me before?" Three raps.

"Through whom?"

"I do."

"Through Mansfield.'"

The medium wrote at the supposed dictation of the spirit, saying that it was the name of the medium through whom it came. No such medium was known to the writer, and so he stated. A second reply was made that the message was sent through a young lady.

A lady was probably the presiding priestess at the "circle" mentioned, and it is possible that her name, which the writer does not know, may have been Mansfield.

The medium now said that the spirits had left for the evening, and that the séance was at a close. The writer was not satisfied as to the authenticity of his communications. He felt as Æneas felt when the "Infelix Dido" spurned his kind advances on the plains of Hades. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, and the possible impoliteness of detaining spirits who had expressed a desire to retire for the night, he ventured to request the spirit who had communicated with him to give him one further proof of its identity. "Will not the spirit, before it goes, write its name upon the slate?" he asked.

The spirit hears the request that has been asked," said the medium. "Will it grant the request?"

Three raps.

Again, as before, the slates were held. The sound of writing was heard within, the slates were opened, and, instead of the name which the writer was expecting to see, were found these words, "I am your wife," and the name written upon the slip of paper was that of a wife eight years deceased.

The raps ceased, and a half hour was spent in an interesting conversation with the frank, intelligent medium.

"Accounts have been given of different spheres. Andrew Jackson Davis has quite a description. But different accounts come through different spirits, and the communications are not reliable. Some of them say that the world they inhabit is our own world, and in fact that they hardly know the difference between their present condition and that when in the flesh-they hardly know they are dead."

"Has any good ever resulted from the supposed communications?"

The medium looked at the question from a pecuniary standpoint.

"If much could be gained by it, we mediums would not all be quite so poor as we are at present. I myself lost two thousand dollars in an investment from following the advice given by a spirit. Such advice is entirely unreliable, so far as money is concerned. A gentleman once placed a bank-note of large amount between the slates on this table, and offered to give it to me if a single word was found written on the slate when opened, and not a word would come then, though they would come fast enough at any other time. The spirits can't be bought. But I think my life was once saved by a communication from a spirit which prevented my sailing in a steamship which was lost, the Pacific."

"Why would the spirit not stay longer tonight?"

"I can't tell. They come and go as they please. I have no control over them. In fact, when I am perfectly indifferent and care little about the manifestations, they are often the most satisfactory."

"How, then, can you always produce the spirits on the arrival of any new visitor ?"

"The spirits come with them, those they are

communicated with us?"

"I do not know. Some think it is some unknown force in nature."

This explanation may be a lucid one to those who are more capable than ourselves of comprehending its meaning.

"I feel weaker after the séance is over."

"Years ago, when I commenced giving séances, they did so; now I have become quite indifferent to them."

Notwithstanding the remarkable phenomena witnessed, and the apparent presence of some unseen intelligence other than ourselves, especially

"I used to hear the rappings even when I was a child."

We were not so heartless as to believe that the medium was an impostor deliberately attempting to deceive us. We felt rather that he was as much mystified as ourselves, and rather deceived than a deceiver. We did not discover any indications even of an attempt specially to "impress" us with a sense of his remarkable powers. He seemed to take our acceptance of the fact of his possessing peculiar faculties as something established beyond question.

We have thus attempted to give a statement of actual occurrences, as plain and undistorted as if we were testifying in a court-room, with the prospect in view of an immediate and rigid cross-examination. To those who deny the strict veracity of the tale just told, we have no reply to make. To those who say that the whole party were the victims during both evenings, of hallucinations and delusions, or of that mysterious mesmeric or psychological influence which made them all believe that they saw that which did not occur, we can only reply, that, if so, we were utterly unconscious of such an influence, and, if so, then we can never feel sure hereafter, on any occasion of interest or importance, that we are not similarly controlled, and we might well fear, even in the affairs of daily life, that some unseen magician may be leading us at his will by his noxious power. If the testimony of thousands is to be rejected on this ground, then human testimony in general is more unreliable than has been supposed, the belief in miraculous interventions at any former time must be discarded, and the whole system of accepting evidence in courts of law should be revised.

If an explanation is asked for the occurrences we have described, the answer may be given that, having the facts, every reader is at liberty to

the writer still doubts that the alleged communications were authentic. The fact still remains that although for now nearly half a century a correspondence has been daily kept up with an innumerable throng of professed spirits in some other world, yet we are just as ignorant of that world as ever, not a single new or reliable fact concerning it having been obtained. On the contrary, the most inane of empty drivelings have been promulgated to eager, expectant, and intelligent audiences, which might well excite the suspicion that the spirit-land is really some grand and charitable lunatic asylum for the universe of which we are a part.

If the school-boy of ten years' growth, returning from his daily task, when interviewed by his mother, could give no more satisfactory description of his school-room, teachers, and playmates, than the alleged spirits have given of their home, surroundings, and occupations, the boy would doubtless be re-interviewed by his irate mamma in a style approved by Solomon, in which the manifestations would probably be decidedly vivid, material, and striking. The thought is a most revolting one, that those who have once been in this world happy, contented beings, in pleasant homes, should now be skulking in and out from dusky cabinets at the bidding of Chippewa Indians and vulgar females, to gratify for a few moments the curiosity of a gaping crowd. Spirits, if so they are to be called, who can take pleasure in such interviews, would seem rather to belong to that unhappy throng who would gladly return to the world from whence they came, but who, perhaps, by way of retribution, are allowed to catch only occasional glimpses of that which they once misimproved and lost, and who now, like the waves of the sea, are stayed by the supreme command, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further."

CHAPTER I.-"PEACEFUL DAYS." My name is Thomas Rivers. Captain Rivers I am called now. It used to be Tom Rivers, in the old times when I was a lad going every day with a green baize bag full of books to Rathminster School. Rathminster, a small town in the south of Ireland, containing about two thousand inhabitants, was, as I first knew it-and it has not changed much for the better since a quiet and rather sleepy place, with little stir or life about it, save twice in the year, when the judges entered it to hold the spring and summer assizes; for though so insignificant in itself, it had contrived somehow to retain its position as the county-town; and contained on one side of its rather large and empty-looking square the county jail, and on the other the court-house. There were no signs of progress or improvement of any kind about Rathminster, but the reverse. In wealth and industry it seemed to have retrograded, to judge from a closed factory or mill standing in one of the little streets that led into the square, and an unkept-up sort of appearance about the principal houses. The town had, moreover,-speaking from an ecclesiastical point of view,-seen better days, for Rathminster had enjoyed the honor and benefit of having a bishop resident in its neighborhood, before the suppression of some dozen Irish bishoprics in the early part of this century; and the ivy-covered wall of the ruined palace and the stately trees of the domain, now let for grazing, while they added to the picturesque appearance of the town, seemed somehow in keeping with its drowsy and unprosperous character. Another indication of what had in bygone days been a paramount influence in Rathminster still survived, in the sign which hung over the door of an hotel, certainly too large for the present requirements of the place, where a faded golden mitre was portrayed on a rusty chocolate-colored ground. At some little distance from the town stood the church, or cathedral I suppose it should be called, once a fine building, but of which now only the chancel was standing; large enough, however, for the congregation it had to accommodate, and surrounded by some fine old oak and elm trees.

And yet, though there was rather a deserted air about the town, and blades of grass might be seen springing up here and there on the steps of some large house, and though there was a tinge of green over the square, and it was but too plain that Rathminster had seen its best days, still, with the wooded hills and rich meadows by which it was surrounded, the old trees of the domain, the ruined palace, the ancient church, and the pretty little river that wound through the valley on the sloping side of which the town stood, Rathminster presented a very pleasing and picturesque appearance. Of one good thing time had not deprived Rathminster; namely, its excellent school, a school sufficiently well endowed always to secure the services of a competent head-master; and at which the sons of the gentry, the trades-people, and the farmers in the neighborhood, together with some twenty or thirty boarders, received a thoroughly good education. It was partly on account of the school that I had come to Rathminster. My father, who had been in the merchant service, had been drowned at sea. My mother had survived him but a few years, leaving me at ten years old an orphan, alone in the world, without brother or sister, or any near relation except an aunt, my mother's sister. This aunt, Mrs. Pearson, was a widow, living in Rathminster, where she owned one or two of the houses; and where, by keeping a book and stationer's shop, she was able to add something to the small income she derived from her rents. To her, therefore, I went upon my mother's death, having no other home; and Rathminster School offering to me, as a day-boy, an education such as elsewhere, and with the means my parents had left me, would have been quite out of my reach. Mrs. Pearson having no son of her own, and only one daughter, Annie, about a year younger than myself, made a son of me, and was as kind and loving as any mother could have been.

About a mile out along one of the roads leading from Rathminster, or about half that distance if you took the path leading through the churchyard, there was a pretty little farm-house, with some trees about it. In front there was a garden,