A few evenings after this we met again.  Those who were most incredulous happened to be absent, while, accidentally, their places were filled by persons whose temperaments disposed them to a passive seriousness.  Among these was a girl of sixteen, Miss Abby Fetters, a pale, delicate creature, with blond hair and light-blue eyes.  Chance placed her next to me, in forming the ring, and her right hand lay lightly upon my left.  We stood around a heavy circular dining-table.  A complete silence was preserved, and all minds gradually sank into a quiet, passive expectancy.  In about ten minutes I began to feel, or to imagine that I felt, a stream of light,—­if light were a palpable substance,—­a something far finer and more subtile than an electric current, passing from the hand of Miss Fetters through my own into the table.  Presently the great wooden mass began to move,—­stopped,—­moved again,—­turned in a circle, we following, without changing the position of our hands,—­and finally began to rock from side to side, with increasing violence.  Some of the circle were thrown off by the movements; others withdrew their hands in affright; and but four, among whom were Miss Fetters and myself, retained their hold.  My outward consciousness appeared to be somewhat benumbed, as if by some present fascination or approaching trance, but I retained curiosity enough to look at my companion.  Her eyes, sparkling with a strange, steady light, were fixed upon the table; her breath came quick and short, and her cheek had lost every trace of color.  Suddenly, as if by a spasmodic effort, she removed her hands; I did the same, and the table stopped.  She threw herself into a seat, as if exhausted, yet, during the whole time, not a muscle of the hand which lay upon mine had stirred.  I solemnly declare that my own hands had been equally passive, yet I experienced the same feeling of fatigue,—­not muscular fatigue, but a sense of deadness, as if every drop of nervous energy had been suddenly taken from me.

Further experiments, the same evening, showed that we two, either together or alone, were able to produce the same phenomena without the assistance of the others present.  We did not succeed, however, in obtaining any answers to our questions, nor were any of us impressed by the idea that the spirits of the dead were among us.  In fact, these table-movings would not, of themselves, suggest the idea of a spiritual manifestation.  “The table is bewitched,” said Thompson, a hard-headed young fellow, without a particle of imagination; and this was really the first impression of all:  some unknown force, latent in the dead matter, had been called into action.  Still, this conclusion was so strange, so incredible, that the agency of supernatural intelligences finally presented itself to my mind as the readiest solution.