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occupy chairs on the platform, and suddenly produces a knitted shawl or a long piece of gauzy fabric, apparently from the air itself, and exhibits it to the audience. The light in the room is so very bad-about as strong as that in the parlor when we sit before the dying embers " 'twixt the gloamin' and the mirk" before the lamps are lighted -that it is impossible to see the features of Honto or the pattern of her shawl; but the sketch shows the latter as it appeared to us. She threw the slender fabric over the railing, and so gave us an opportunity to see that its strands were perfectly opaque.* Then throwing it over her head as a Spanish woman wears her mantilla, she produced another, woolen, black and apparently striped; and then passed both behind the curtain.

Somebody in the audience then asked if she would allow Mrs. Cleveland to feel the beating of her heart; whereupon she opened her dress and Mrs. Cleveland laid her hand upon the bare flesh. It felt cold and moist, not like that of a living person. The breast was a woman's, and the heart beat feebly but rhythmically. The same pulsation was felt in the wrist. Honto's hand was hard and of medium size, her fingers broad but not stumpy, its color dark-in a word, the hand of an Indian.

After Honto retired, various other spirits of Indians and Whites (among the latter two little children) appeared before us, but I must reserve further description for another chapter.

*The platform-railing has been omitted in this and other fullpage pictures, because of the in artistic effect of so many straight lines, and the additional fact that they interfere with the view of the groups. This railing is a nuisance, at any rate, and should be removed, Its only conceivable use, that I can see, is to deter rude spectators from rushing forward to grasp the phantoms.

T

CHAPTER X.

MANY PHANTOM VISITORS.

HE next materialized spirit to make its appear

ance after Honto, was that of a dark-faced

squaw, who calls herself "Bright Star." She is shapely, tall, well-proportioned, and of a dignified carriage. She dresses in dark clothing, trimmed with bands of white that look to us like broad tape in the dim light, but that Mr. Pritchard says are beads. On her head she wears a sort of frontlet, in the centre of which is a jewel or luminous spot, that gives out a phosphorescent gleam, shining in the obscurity like the diamond in a rajah's turban. I have seen this spirit six times to the present writing, and she always appears dressed alike.

Next came "Daybreak," another squaw, dressed in dark costume, who danced to the playing of the violin, and then suddenly passed into the cabinet. As I shall have frequent occasion to refer to the dancing of spirits, especially Honto, who invariably indulges in this amusement, I may as well say that William Eddy's movements in the dance are as different from those of

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any of the former as possible. Several times we had dancing in the hall for an hour or so before the organization of the circle, and I noticed that William's motions are devoid of suppleness and agility. Though he thoroughly enjoys himself and shows no reserve, he holds his arms somewhat akimbo, his head back and to one side, and his stomach projected; while Honto's body sways like that of a Zingala or an Oriental almeh -lithe and graceful. William was evidently cut out for a great medium, but not for a dancer.

'Daybreak" gone, then came "Santum," whose appearance as regards stature and bulk is calculated to excite surprise. He measures 6 feet 3 inches, full half a foot more than the medium. His dress appears to be a hunting-shirt of dressed buckskin, striped perpendicularly and fringed at the seams, leggings of the same and fringed the same, a feather in his head, and sometimes he wears a powder-horn slung by a belt across his shoulder. This horn is a real one, presented to the spirit some time ago by a visitor, who also gave Honto an embroidered cap that she sometimes wears.

After Santum came two other Indian men, and then several whites made their bow to the audience. The first of these was William H. Reynolds, late of the shoemanufacturing firm of Reynolds Brothers, Utica, N. Y. During the war he was Colonel of the 14th N. Y. Artillery, attached to the 9th Army Corps, and died May 6th, 1874, of fever, contracted in the service. He was dressed in black and wore a full beard. As well as I could distinguish, he was a square-shouldered, gentlemanly appearing man. His shirt was white, and

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THE REYNOLDS BROTHERS.

I could see the collar distinctly. William Eddy wore, as he always does, a brown checked-gingham shirt, without collar or cuffs.

This spirit was followed by his brother, John E. Reynolds, who died in New York State, Nov. 15th, 1860. He wore a dark suit, and no beard on his face except a moustache. He graduated at Harvard University, but I am not informed as to the year. His shoulders sloped quite differently from William's, and he was quite another looking person.

Then Mr. George A. Reynolds, the surviving brother, recognized his nephew, Stephen R. Hopkins, a lad of fifteen, with light, curly hair. Mr. Reynolds asked "Mrs. Eaton," the spirit directress, if she would answer a mental question, and her voice immediately replied: "Don't give yourself any anxiety about that; you are a medium fast enough already;" which, the interrogator informed me, was what he desired to know.

We were next favored with the appearance in the closet-door, of the tall figure of the late William Brown, of York, Pa. He is the father of Edward Brown, who married Delia Eddy a few months ago, and he makes his salutation to the audience nearly every evening. He is six feet, one inch, in stature, has white hair, no beard, and dresses in a black suit of the Quaker cut.

His son sat in Mrs. Andrews' circle, at Moravia, N. Y., twice a day for a whole year without seeing any of his friends, and the same bad luck followed him here for four or five weeks, at the expiration of which time his father presented himself. For a while he could not speak at all; then he uttered a few simple greetings in

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a faint whisper; and at length he conversed in a strong, full, natural voice, saying whatsoever he pleased with as great ease apparently, as in life. Except at one seance in London, in 1870, with a noted lady medium, I had never heard a spirit-voice before, and confess that I was amazed to hear Mr. Brown's, issue from his lips as though a living man stood before me and not a being from the other world, clothed for a brief moment in a body like my own. I leave theorists to settle the vexed question, whether spirits actually employ the organs of speech to articulate sounds, or by their will-power cause certain vibrations of the air outside of and independent of lips, palate, and tongue, in imitation of spoken words. I can only say that after hearing numerous spirit-addresses and conversations, I have detected no difference in the movements of the lips, from those of a living person.

Allan Kardec, a French spiritist author, calls the phenomenon of spirit-speaking, pneumatophony, and affirms it to be the result of the exercise of will-power upon the invisible fluids of the atmosphere. He says (p. 194):

"Spirits, being able to produce noises and rappings, can as well make any sound of nature, vocal sounds imitating the human voice, beside us or in the air. From what we know of the nature of spirits, it may be believed that some of them of an inferior order delude themselves, and believe they speak as when alive. (See Revue Spirite, February, 1858: History of the Ghost of Mlle. Clarion.)

"It is necessary to guard against taking for spirit-voices all sounds that have no known cause. Spirit or pneumatophonic sounds have two very distinct methods of being produced; sometimes it is a voice which resounds in the soul, but while the words may be clear and distinct, there is nothing material in them; at other times they are exterior and as distinctly articulated as if they came from a person at our side. In whatever manner they may be produced,