f
the spoons.

"Really, Mrs. Hotchkiss!" said the lady, with a slight smile, and that
indefinite, quickly smothered change of eye which signifies, "I don't
believe a word of it!" "Are you sure that there is not a mistake
somewhere, or a little mental hallucination? The story is very
entertaining, but--I beg your pardon--I should be interested to see
those spoons."

"Your curiosity shall be gratified, madam," I said, a little testily;
and taking the key from my pocket, I led her to the cupboard and
unlocked the door. I found those spoons as straight, smooth, and fair as
ever spoons had been;--not a dent, not a wrinkle, not a bend nor untrue
line could we discover anywhere upon them.

"_Oh!_" said our visitor, significantly.

That lady, be it recorded, then and thenceforward spared no pains to
found and strengthen throughout Nemo's Avenue the theory that "the
Hotchkisses were getting up all that spiritual nonsense to force their
landlord into lower rents. And such respectable people too! It did seem
a pity, didn't it?"

One night I was alone in the library. It was late; about half-past
eleven, I think. The brightest gas jet was lighted, so that I could see
to every portion of the small room. The door was shut. There was no
furniture but the book-cases, my table, and chair; no sliding: doors or
concealed corners; no nook or cranny in which any human creature could
lurk unseen by me; and I say that I was alone.

I had been writing to a confidential friend a somewhat minute account
of the disturbances in my house, which were now of about six weeks'
duration. I had bewed him to come and observe them for himself, and help
me out with a solution,--I myself was at a loss for a reasonable one.
There certainly seemed to be evidence of superhuman agency; but I was
hardly ready yet to commit myself thoroughly to that view of the matter,
and--

In the middle of that sentence I laid down my pen. A consciousness,
sudden and distinct, came to me that I was not alone in that bright
little silent room. Yet to mortal eyes alone I was. I pushed away my
writing and looked about. The warm air was empty of outline; the
curtains were undisturbed; the little recess under the library table
held nothing but my own feet; there was no sound but the ordinary
rap-rapping on the floor, to which I had by this time become so
accustomed that often it passed unnoticed. I rose and examined the room
thoroughly, until quite satisfied that I was its