truths
had formerly passed through my own brain as the dreams of a wandering
imagination. Like that American philosopher who looks upon one of his
own neophytes as a man of great and profound mind because the latter
carefully remembers and repeats to him his own carelessly uttered
wisdom, I saw in these misty and disjointed reflections of my own
thoughts the precious revelation of departed and purified spirits.

How a passion for the unknown and unattainable takes hold of men is
illustrated by the search for the universal solvent, by the mysteries of
the Rosicrucians, by the patronage of fortune-tellers, even. Wholly
absorbed in spiritual researches,--having, in fact, no vital interest in
anything else,--I soon developed into what is called a Medium. I
discovered, at the outset, that the peculiar condition to be attained
before the tables would begin to move could be produced at will.[7] I
also found that the passive state into which I naturally fell had a
tendency to produce that trance or suspension of the will which I had
discovered when a boy. External consciousness, however, did not wholly
depart. I saw the circle of inquirers around me, but dimly, and as
phantoms,--while the impressions which passed over my brain seemed to
wear visible forms and to speak with audible voices.

I did not doubt, at the time, that spirits visited me, and that they
made use of my body to communicate with those who could hear them in no
other way. Beside the pleasant intoxication of the semi-trance, I felt a
rare joy in the knowledge that I was elected above other men to be their
interpreter. Let me endeavor to describe the nature of this possession.
Sometimes, even before a spirit would be called for, the figure of the
person, as it existed in the mind of the inquirer, would suddenly
present itself to me,--not to my outward senses, but to my interior,
instinctive knowledge. If the recollection of the other embraced also
the voice, I heard the voice in the same manner, and unconsciously
imitated it. The answers to the questions I knew by the same instinct,
as soon as the questions were spoken.

If the question was vague, asked for information rather than
_confirmation_, either no answer came, or there was an impression of a
_wish_ of what the answer might be, or, at times, some strange
involuntary sentence sprang to my lips. When I wrote, my hand appeared
to move of itself; yet the words it wrote invariably passed through my
mind. E