ied with the name of conversation, showed him to be ignorant in
the extreme, and to be credulous in proportion. He had come to New York,
hoping, in that centre of light and science, medical and theological, to
find relief from a certain demon which possessed him. This wicked spirit
made him often do things he didn't wish to do--caused him to foam at the
mouth, tear his clothes, etc., and he wanted to know whether the
Wanderer was not possessed of a spell to quiet the tormentor.
"Certainly; follow our directions, and you never shall be troubled with
him again."

Accordingly, the patient was brought into the back room, which had been
darkened up purposely. A circle was described, within which incense was
burnt, and in the centre stood the Awful One in his flowing robe, with
his magical wand in his hand, uttering terrible conjurations. "Do you
feel any thing?" he would occasionally ask the countryman, who was
gaping with wonder and admiration. "N--no, I dunna that I do," the man
would reply. "Then it has not left you yet: you'll be sure to know when
it does. You'll feel a sort of shock go all through you, and will see
sparks: then open your mouth wide, and the spirit will jump out." As it
was some time before the sufferer obtained relief, Selim was called to
his aid; and the way in which their Latin and Greek orations were tossed
about at one another, would have astonished the Professors. At last the
Wanderer placed the patient upon a stool, and proceeded with his
incantations. Suddenly the countryman uttered a shriek, and jumping into
the air, cut a pigeon-wing. "He's gone! I felt him go!" He had touched
the electrical machine, which had been fully charged, and was put there,
as it were, in ambush. "Do you feel much better?" "Yes; I'm another
man."

The poor fellow went away, declaring himself a perfect cure. And
Forsythe and Barrington agreed, that after such a brilliant finale it
was as well to beat a retreat: just as some gentlemen, at the close of
an evening visit, relate a witty anecdote, or sparkle out a brilliant
repartee, snatch up their hats, make their bows, and leave you in the
middle of a laugh. But another adventure was in store for them, which
had not entered into their calculations at all. The play-bills show us
that after a tragedy there generally comes a farce: the case was
reversed with them, for they had enjoyed their farce, and had laughed
over it heartily--and now there was danger of its ending in a