My Library

occurred long ages ago, in the green and halcyon days of Magic, but it is difficult to imagine such things as taking place in the broad light of this nineteenth century. Millions, aye hundreds of millions, have believed, do, and, in coming years, perhaps ages, will believe in the startling records of a magic similar to that I have detailed, and which is described so briefly, yet so graphically, in the Book of Exodus; and yet these people will strenuously insist that the day of such things—of such exhibitions of the Upper Magic—has for ever passed away, totally unmindful of the great fact, that, when the astonishing things there recorded were accomplished, there must of necessity have been a law—a natural law—in accordance with, and by which, they were done, and that no law of Nature has ever yet been repealed; consequently, they must exist to-day in as full perfection and power as ever. “What remains of the present affair to be told, may, with what has already been related (and the truth of which may be ascertained most readily by correspondence with the parties named), be implicitly relied on as correct in all essential particulars; and yet, the occurrences that took place on that eventful night are of a kind so horrible, so utterly monstrous, that, at times, I almost believe that we all—twelve healthful men, and six women—were laboring under some strong delusion. I should still cling