Our secret circle had not held many sessions before a remarkable change took place in the character of the revelations.  Mr. Stilton ceased to report them for his paper.

“We are on the threshold, at last,” said he; “the secrets of the ages lie beyond.  The hands of spirits are now lifting the veil, fold by fold.  Let us not be startled by what we hear:  let us show that our eyes can bear the light,—­that we are competent to receive the wisdom of the higher spheres, and live according to it.”

Miss Fetters was more than ever possessed by the spirit of Joe Manton, whose allowance of grog having been cut off too suddenly by his death, he was continually clamoring for a dram.

“I tell you,” yelled he, or rather she, “I won’t stand sich meanness.  I ha’n’t come all the way here for nothin’.  I’ll knock Erasmus all to thunder, if you go for to turn me out dry, and let him come in.”

Mr. Stilton thereupon handed him, or her, a tumbler half-full of brandy, which she gulped down at a single swallow.  Joe Manton presently retired to make room for Erasmus, who spoke for some time in Latin, or what appeared to be Latin.  None of us could make much of it; but Mr. Stilton declared that the Latin pronunciation of Erasmus was probably different from ours, or that he might have learned the true Roman accent from Cicero and Seneca, with whom, doubtless, he was now on intimate terms.  As Erasmus generally concluded by throwing his arms, or rather the arms of Miss Fetters, around the neck of Mr. Stilton,—­his spirit fraternizing, apparently, with the spirit of the latter,—­we greatly regretted that his communications were unintelligible, on account of the superior wisdom which they might be supposed to contain.

I confess, I cannot recall the part I played in what would have been a pitiable farce, if it had not been so terribly tragical, without a feeling of utter shame.  Nothing but my profound sympathy for the thousands and tens of thousands who are still subject to the same delusion could compel me to such a sacrifice of pride.  Curiously enough, (as I thought then, but not now,) the enunciation of sentiments opposed to my moral sense—­the abolition, in fact, of all moral restraint—­came from my lips, while the actions of Miss Fetters hinted at their practical application.  Upon the ground that the interests of the soul were paramount to all human laws and customs, I declared—­or rather, my voice declared—­that self-denial was a fatal error, to which half the misery of mankind could be traced; that the passions, held as slaves, exhibited only the brutish nature of slaves, and would be exalted and glorified by entire freedom; and that our sole guidance ought to come from the voices of the spirits who communicated with us, instead of the imperfect laws constructed by our benighted fellow-men.  How clear and logical, how lofty, these doctrines seemed!  If, at times, something in their nature repelled me, I simply attributed it to the fact that I was still but a neophyte in the Spiritual Philosophy, and incapable of perceiving the truth with entire clearness.