“No I cannot move it,” I said, in real doubt I was conscious of a blind sense of exertion, wherein there was yet no proper exertion, but which seemed to exhaust me.  Fascinated by this new mystery, I contemplated my hand as something apart from myself,—­something subordinate to, but not identical with, me.  The rising of the congregation for the hymn broke the spell, like the snapping of a thread.

The reader will readily understand that I carried these experiences much farther.  I gradually learned to suspend (perhaps in imagination only, but therefore none the less really) the action of my will upon the muscles of my arms and legs; and I did it with the greater impunity, from knowing that the stir consequent upon the conclusion of the services would bring me to myself.  In proportion as the will became passive, the activity of my imagination was increased, and I experienced a new and strange delight in watching the play of fantasies which appeared to come and go independently of myself.  There was still a dim consciousness of outward things mingled with my condition; I was not beyond the recall of my senses.  But one day, I remember, as I sat motionless as a statue, having ceased any longer to attempt to control my dead limbs, more than usually passive, a white, shining mist gradually stole around me; my eyes finally ceased to take cognizance of objects; a low, musical humming sounded in my ears, and those creatures of the imagination which had hitherto crossed my brain as thoughts now spoke to me as audible voices.  If there is any happy delirium in the first stages of intoxication, (of which, thank Heaven, I have no experience,) it must be a sensation very much like that which I felt.  The death of external and the birth of internal consciousness overwhelmed my childish soul with a dumb, ignorant ecstasy, like that which savages feel on first hearing the magic of music.

How long I remained thus I know not.  I was aroused, by feeling myself violently shaken.  “John!” exclaimed my mother, who had grasped my arm with a determined hand,—­“bless the boy! what ails him?  Why, his face is as white as a sheet!” Slowly I recovered my consciousness, saw the church and the departing congregation, and mechanically followed my parents.  I could give no explanation of what had happened, except to say that I had fallen asleep.  As I ate my dinner with a good appetite, my mother’s fears were quieted.  I was left at home the following Sunday, and afterwards only ventured to indulge sparingly in the exercise of my newly discovered faculty.  My mother, I was conscious, took more note of my presence than formerly, and I feared a repetition of the same catastrophe.  As I grew older and my mind became interested in a wider range of themes, I finally lost the habit, which I classed among the many follies of childhood.