than the philosopher, pledged to
defend the philosophy of the last fifty years, and bound hand and foot
by his philosophic Athanasian Creed, and I don't know how many articles,
more than thirty-nine, I fancy.

In the latter part of the year 1856, or beginning of 1857, then, I was
residing in Paris, that lively capital being full of Mr. Home's doings
at the Tuileries. At that time I knew nothing, even of table-turning. I
listened to the stories of Mr. Home and the Emperor as mere canards. I
never stopped to question whether the matter were true, because I in my
omniscience knew it to be impossible. It is this phase of my experience
that makes me so unwilling to argue with the omniscient people now; it
is such a waste of time. At this period my brother came to visit me, and
he had either been present himself or knew persons who had been present
at certain seances at Mr. Rymer's. He seemed staggered, if not
convinced, by what he had heard or seen, and this staggered me too, for
he was not exactly a gullible person and certainly by no means
"spiritual." I was staggered, I own, but then I was omniscient, and so I
did what is always safest, laughed at the matter. He suggested that we
should try experiments instead of laughing, and, not being a
philosopher, I consented. We sat at the little round table in our tiny
salon, which soon began to turn, then answered questions, and finally
told us that one of the three, viz., my wife, was a medium, and
consequently we could receive communications. I went to a side table and
wrote a question as to the source of the manifestations, keeping it
concealed from those at the table, and not rejoining them myself. The
answer spelt out by them was--"We, the spirits of the departed, are
permitted thus to appear to men." Again I wrote--"What object is served
by your doing so?" The answer was--"It may make men believe in God." I
have said I am not a philosopher, therefore I do not mind confessing
that I collapsed. I struck my flag at once as to the _impossibility_ of
the matter. At the same time I did not--as I know many ardent
spiritualists will think I ought--at once swallow the whole thing,
theory and all. I should not have believed if a man had told me this;
was it to be expected that I should believe a table? Honesty is my best
policy; and I had better, therefore, say I was never so utterly knocked
over by anything that occurred to me in my life before or since. My
visage of utter, blank ast