r to move it, Mr.
Paine had only to insert one end of a short iron rod in a hole in the
heel of his boot, put the other end of the rod through a hole in the
floor, just under the edge of the carpet near the wall, and then press
the rod down upon the end of the lever.

The movements necessary in fixing the iron rod to its place were
executed while he was picking up his handkerchief, that he had purposely
dropped.

The middle of the lever was attached to the floor, and the end with the
cross-piece, being the heavier, brought the other end close up against
the floor, the wires in the cross-piece having their points just within
the bottom of the holes in the floor. The room was carpeted, and there
were little marks on the carpet, known only to Paine, that enabled him
to know just where to place the table. Pressing down the end of the
lever nearest the wall, an inch would bring the wires in the cross-piece
on the other end of the lever against the legs of the table, and
slightly raise the latter. One of the wires would strike the table-leg a
very little before the other did, and that enabled the "medium" to very
nicely rap time to the tunes that were sung or played. Of course, no
holes that any one could observe would be made in the carpet by the
passage of the wires through it.

For appearance' sake, Paine, before his detection, visited, by
invitation, the houses of several different spiritualists, for the
purpose of holding seances; but he never got a table to move "without
contact" in any other than the place where he had properly prepared the
conditions.

CHAPTER XVI.

SPIRITUALIST HUMBUGS WAKING UP.--FOSTER HEARD FROM.--S. B. BRITTAN HEARD
FROM.--THE BOSTON ARTISTS AND THEIR SPIRITUAL PORTRAITS.--THE WASHINGTON
MEDIUM AND HIS SPIRITUAL HANDS.--THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS AND THE
SEA-CAPTAIN'S WHEAT-FLOUR.--THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS ROUGHLY SHOWN UP BY
JOHN BULL.--HOW A SHINGLE "STUMPED" THE SPIRITS.

I hear from spiritualists sometimes. These gentry are much exercised in
their minds by my letters about them, and some of them fly out at me
very much as bumble-bees do at one who stirs up their nest. For
instance, I received, not long ago, from my good friends, Messrs.
Cauldwell & Whitney, an anonymous letter to them, dated at Washington,
and suggesting that if I would attend what the latter calls "a seance of
that celebrated humbug, Foster," I should see something that I could not
explain. Now, this anonymous lett