There was no result whatever at the first sitting.  The spirits were out of temper, obstinate, would not work.  The disappointment was great, even to the novices, who had expected some fun at least.  However, it was only an adjournment.  The fun came next night.

All present sat round a table in a dark room, touching hands, with extended finger points.  When the gas was turned up it was discovered that one of the unbelievers actually had a large bangle on his wrist.  It had not been there before.  Of course the spirits had slipped it on.  He let this pass then.  He had not the discourtesy to explain that a very pretty girl at his side had gently manoeuvred it into its place.  Her taper fingers were very soft and worked as spirits might.

This had gone off well, and better followed.  Again the lights were lowered to the faintest glimmer.  Soft music played.  Forms floated through the air, now here, now there, plucking at a tambourine—­touching a sweet chord on the open piano.  At last, in evil moment, the most angelic, sylph-like form came all too near our friend who wore the bangle.  The temptation was too great for mortal man.  He extended his arms and took firm, substantial, desperate hold of the nymph, at the same instant shouting wildly to his brother, “Turn up the gas, Jim.”

The vulgar light revealed that the panting figure struggling from his grasp was that of his pretty neighbour who had slipped the bangle on his wrist.  Strange to say, the giver of this spiritual feast never forgave those two brothers for their discourtesy.

But there are, as Hamlet says, real mysteries in this dull, prosaic life of ours.  One or two true tales may not come amiss.  I am quite ready to give any member of the Psychical Society chapter and verse and authorities, and every available data, if desired.

A certain barrister lost his wife a few years since.  He was left with two little children to care for alone.  London was no longer what it had been to him.  He wished to make a home in the suburbs for his little boy and girl, and at last found one to his mind.  He bought a villa near the river, in a pretty, country-like locality.  The house was in bad repair, and he set workmen at it without delay.  One day he took his children down with him while affairs were still in progress.  They played about, while he sat writing in what was to be the library.  Presently they ran to him.  “Oh, papa!  Mamma is out here!”

“Oh, no, my dears!  Mamma is not there,” he replied.

“But she is; indeed she is,” they persisted.  “She is at the end of the long passage.  We saw her; but she would not let us go on.  She waved us back.”

To satisfy the children he must go with them.  They led him to a long, dark corridor leading to back premises.  “Ah, she is gone!” they cried in great disappointment.  “Quite gone!  But she was there, papa.  She would not let us go on.  Come, let us look for her.”