My Library

“I bit my lip with vexation; for I had devoutly believed in and loved the subject and its advocates. I had always loved Davis, and highly admired his philosophy and writings, especially since a great free convention he once held in Central New York. I was aware that he had foes —people who refused to believe that God had appointed him his mouthpiece; who pointed to the graveyard in Quincey, Massachusetts, where lie the bodies of John and Hannah Grieves, surmounted by a stone that tells that these poor suicides came there, lost, ruined, from reading his books. I was well aware that there were painful rumors concerning a couple of divorces, and that some friends of mine had cut their throats in order to all the quicker reach the ‘Summer-land’ which he so elegantly described; but still I loved—still love him dearly. But now, when Ravalette suggested that he was a humbug, it struck me that Ravalette was right; for I suddenly recollected that once the great clairvoyant lost a little dog named ‘Dick,’ which his seership could not trace. I remembered that nineteen-twentieths of his prophecies from the ‘superior condition’ never came to pass, while the twentieth any school-boy could guess at. I recalled the fact that his philosophy was most decidedly medical—highly emetic, and very cathartic—and that his followers soon lost what little common-sense they formerly had, else it were impossible for them to accept the