the
"worker" who was operating with me at the time did not know how to plot
the position of a ship at sea, after the manner of seamen; and although
the method of stating a ship's position was perfectly familiar to me,
yet I _anticipated_ that the answer in regard to her would have been
given in general and indefinite terms. What was my astonishment, then,
to find distinctly written out, "Latitude 35 deg. 30 min. S.; longitude
98 deg. 40 min. W." True this position was about four thousand miles out
of the way, but where did the answer, such as it was, come from?

Continued experiments proved that in every instance where Planchette
attempted to foretell an event, it failed ignominiously; and while it
replied to questions with the utmost effrontery, it was rarely correct,
unless indeed, as it shrewdly said itself, "the worker was reliable as
an informant."

Many months after these experiments, I found myself on the shores of
southern France. Here my associations were entirely different from those
I had known in the far-off Pacific, and, desirous of ascertaining how
Planchette would comport itself under the change of conditions, I
essayed further trials.

It will be sufficient to give one example of the answers given:

"What should one do," it was asked, "when life becomes unbearable?" The
answer was contained in one word, but written in such a scrawl as to be
illegible. The question was repeated, when the same word apparently was
written in reply, but still illegible. The question was put a third
time, when Planchette, with great energy, wrote in bold characters, and
distinct, the word PRAY. On comparing this with the former answers, they
were found to be the same.

The question, however, is not as to the degree of faith to be placed in
the words of Planchette, but why should it write at all?

In attempting to answer this question, I shall confine myself mainly to
the field of daily experience, and draw illustrations from such works
only as are familiar to the great majority of readers.

Our twofold nature has often been noticed and commented upon. It has
been said that we are possessed of two separate and distinct characters:
the outward, which we present to the world, and with which we are in
some degree familiar ourselves, and that inner, deeper part of which we
know so little.

St. Paul reveals the existence of our dual nature when he exclaims with
passionate fervor, "The good that I would I do not, but the e