My Library

the company in general, and signed by the very name of Mr. ——’s inamorata of the Isle de Bourbon! Now, my dear, was all this hum-bug?’ “To this, the lady, whose scepticism would not abate one jot, even in the face of such an—to all but a Rosicrucian—overwhelming demonstration as this, replied: “ ‘Why, I presume you had all taken a little too much wine, fell asleep, got up, wrote on the wall, and—Bah! It’s all humbug! and that settles the question at once!’ “The lady was silent, and the literary lion—I will call him Mr. A——, for whom the party was gotten up, entered the arena of conversation, and observed that: ’Spectral or Spiritual science —he preferred the former term—was yet but in its infancy in Christendom, provided what a casual acquaintance of his, a man of extraordinary research in all things occult, and whom he had met under peculiar circumstances but a little while before—affirmed to be true with regard to the faith, philosophy, and practices of a certain branch or rather family of the Hindoos or other Eastern tribes. “ ‘This individual,’ pursued Mr. A——, ‘is a firm and devout believer in Spiritualism, and yet contends that not over two-tenths of what passes current under that term, is really that which it is claimed to be. Nay, further: he declares, and gives his reasons why, which latter