into two unscientific young girls.  Afterwards the said learned friend tried Planchette with me, and we were considerably startled to find that when I asked of the so-called spirits, “What think ye of Christ?” the pencil under our unconsciously-guided hands made answer, “With the utmost reverence!” I need not assure mankind that neither my friend nor I (both incredulous and unwilling witnesses) lent ourselves or one another to any deception, and were mentally inclined, if at all, to the expectation that the “spirits” might rather blaspheme than bless.  It is right to mention that, beyond the pair of young ladies and our two selves, only the host and hostess were in the room; of whom I have this further wonder to report, viz., that the host, whom I must not specify by name without his leave, is afflicted with blindness, notwithstanding which and his alleged incompetence towards poetry as an old naval officer, his wife showed me several copybooks full of blank verse written by him in a hand unlike his own, and supposed by them to be inspired by Young, as a continuation of his “Night Thoughts.”  The captain and his lady also told us how frequently flowers and sweetmeats (!) were showered on them from the ceiling at their domestic dual seances:  and on another occasion a lady showed my wife and me a paper of seed pearls, alleged to have been flung into her lap from the heavens—­through the ceiling—­by her departed lord and master!  Similarly, a lady well known in the professedly spiritualistic circles, deposited round her chair, in the dark, at Mr. S.C.  Hall’s, a profusion of bouquets—­probably from Covent Garden;—­and that, notwithstanding the hostess had herself searched the lady before the seance, as it was known that Mrs. G’s special gift from the spirits was the multitudinous creation of flowers!  Really, there must be a stand somewhere made to credulity; but, at all events, the venerable host and hostess believed this, on what seemed to them reasonable evidence, and quite forgave me for not believing it too.

And this brings me, naturally enough, to give a detailed account of the two best and last seances I ever took the trouble to attend; for I have, during many years, entirely avoided such exhibitions, as generally childish, mentally unwholesome, and to some people dangerously seductive.  I had several times asked my worthy friends last alluded to, to give me and a friend of mine, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, the privilege of “assisting” at a seance under their experienced guidance:  and accordingly we were invited to meet Mr. Home, the high priest of spiritualism, a quiet, well-mannered gentlemanly person enough, known to our host from his birth.  The other guests were a countess, the widow of a colonel, and a distinguished physician; in all we numbered eight.  My friend and I were requested privately, by our host, to conceal our probable incredulity if we desired the favour of the “spirits” in the way