On another occasion I took an artist friend to the first séance he ever attended. The medium was a psychic of the Corliss type, an automatist who delivered his "spirit messages" by word of mouth. There were perhaps a dozen other sitters present. To one of these, a thin, gaunt, haggard-looking young woman, the entranced medium announced the presence of "a spirit named Wagner." It was none other, it appeared, than the spirit of the great musician, who promised he would aid her with her musical compositions. A smile of infinite content transformed her careworn features, as she leaned over and whispered to my friend: "The spirit of Liszt is already helping me. With Wagner's aid I cannot fail." One could not smile in face of the story of boundless faith and pitiful struggle these few words told. And with the next sitter pathos rose to positive tragedy. "There is the spirit of a man here, whose name is Frederick," the medium declared, "and he comes to you, madam. Take my hand." Slowly a woman, dressed in deep mourning, stood up and extended her hand. Intensity was written in every line of her face. "There were two Fredericks," she said. "Which is it?" "It is the Frederick--it is the Frederick, who, while on earth, did this." And he struck her sharply on the arm. Tears filled her eyes. "I understand," she murmured, "I understand. What does he say?" All this was interesting, but not convincing. For aught we could tell to the contrary, the medium had familiarized himself with the life stories of these women, who doubtless were regular attendants at his séances. But now he passed to the friend by my side. "A message for you, sir," said he, "from the spirit of a military-looking man. Yes, he says that when he was in this sphere he was a commander of soldiers, a general. This is what he looks like." He launched into a long description, which I could see was making a profound impression on my friend. "Has he anything particular to say to me?" he asked. "He says that you must on no account decline the offer that has been made to you to go West--that you will never regret going." Less than two hours earlier my companion had told me of a commission unexpectedly tendered him, involving a long sojourn in California. At the medium's words he turned pale, and glanced around as though half expecting to see a ghost standing behind his chair. When the séance had come to an end, and we were walking home together, he solemnly assured me that the medium had accurately described a dead friend, an army officer of the rank of general, whose advice, had he been alive, he would have sought with regard to his projected journey to California.