Thus is illustrated what will be, I think, the experience of every one who cares to apply this test to Materialized Spirits.  When the investigator is unknown to the Medium, a Spirit materialized through that Medium will confess to any name in the heavens above or the earth beneath, in the world of fiction or the world of reality.  Of course, it would not do to ask a Spirit whether or not it were some well-known public, or equally well-known fictitious, character.  You would be repelled if you should ask a Spirit if it were ‘Yankee Doodle,’ but I am by no means sure that it would not confess to being ‘Cap’en Good’in,’ who accompanied Yankee Doodle and his father on their trip to town, and whose name is less familiar in men’s mouths.  All the good, earnest, simple-hearted folk who attend these seances ask the Spirits, when they appear to them for the first time, if they are father, mother, brother, husband, wife, or sister, and the Spirit will in every case confess the kinship asked for.  But, as I have just said, the investigator need not restrict himself to his family, his friends, or his acquaintances.  Let him enter the world of fiction, or of poetry, or of history, he has but to call for whomsoever he will, and the Materialized Spirit will answer:  ‘Lo! here am I!’

Let me strengthen this with the following additional illustration:  Not long ago at a Materializing seance where I was, I think, unknown to everyone, certainly to the Medium, a Spirit emerged from the Cabinet, clad in flowing white robes, and advanced towards me with a wavering gait, which could be readily converted into a tottering walk, if I should perchance ask if it were my great-grandmother, or could be interpreted as the feeble incertitude of a first materialization, if I should perchance descend the family tree and ask for a more youthful scion.  I arose as it approached and asked:  ‘Is this Rosamund?’ ‘Yes!’ replied the Spirit, still wobbling a little, and in doubt whether to assume the role of youth or of old age.  ‘What!  Fair Rosamund!’ I exclaimed, throwing into my voice all the joy and buoyancy I could master.  The hint to the Spirit was enough.  All trace of senility vanished, and with equal joyousness she responded ’Yes, it’s indeed Rosamund!’ Then I went on, ’Dearest Rosamund, there’s something I want so much to ask you.  Do you remember who gave you that bowl just before you died?’ Here Fair Rosamund nodded her head gaily and pointed her finger at me.  ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ I said, ’you forget, Fair Rosamund, I wasn’t there then.  It was at Woodstock.’  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ she hastily rejoined, ‘so it was; it was at Woodstock.’  ’And it was Eleanor who offered you that bowl.’  ’To be sure, I remember it now perfectly.  It was Eleanor.’  ’But Rosamund, Fair Rosamund, what made you drink that bowl?  Had you no suspicions?’ ‘No, I had no suspicions.’  And here she shook her head very sadly.  ’Didn’t you see what Eleanor had in her other hand?’ ‘No.’  ‘Ah, Fair Rosamund, I’m