That they had scant knowledge of the affairs of their famous associates disturbed them as little as it did those whom they were to represent. For it soon became evident that the questioners at tapping-tables and dark seances were in nowise offended by foolish answers, and received the most palpable nonsense which was whispered to them in the communications of spirits as profound, superhuman wisdom, which they interpreted according to their wishes. It is easy to pipe for him who loves to dance; and he who is determined to hold converse with Julius Cæsar, Plato or Beethoven, will hear, in the stammering utterances of some cartman with whom he has in some mysterious way put himself _en rapport_, words of the sublimest import. Several years ago, the town in which the scene of this story is laid was attacked with the fever of spiritualism. At first, people were content to move tables and produce rappings, but by degrees they grew ambitious for a more exalted mode of spiritual intercourse; and two mediums, with their hypnotic subjects, made their entry into town, so that hardly a night passed without some ghostly doings--and that, too, in the homes of the best and most cultured families. To satisfy the increasing demand, it was decided to establish two of the more robust spirits permanently in town, that they might be ready at the lightest summons. Two candidates offered themselves at once for the post--one, the spirit of a traveling wine-seller, the other, the soul of a house-servant, who, it chanced, had been employed by the burgomaster of the town, and thus was especially conversant with the affairs of the inhabitants. This somewhat dissimilar pair seemed qualified to meet all requirements, and one fine evening they sallied forth. Johann Gruber, the servant, proposed that they take up their quarters in the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas;" for even spirits of coarser mould, becoming accustomed to the stillness of the other world, avoid noisy districts in this. No more quiet sleeping-place for two sensitive shadows could be found than the lofty, dark coach-house adjoining the stable. The door opening on the court was always ajar, but the dusty floor was never trodden by human foot. An ancient calash stood in the farthest corner, its leathern portions so gnawed away by the rats that it had wasted into the mere skeleton of a carriage. As soon as Heinrich Müller, the quondam mercantile traveler, beheld this ruin, he declared his wish to become its exclusive possessor. With a soft sigh, evoked by the recollection of his former merry journeyings, he stretched his ethereal form comfortably upon the cushions, from which the leather covering and horsehair had been eaten away, leaving the quills of the feathers sticking through--a circumstance which, unpleasant as it might have proved to an occupant with flesh and bones, in nowise impaired the comfort of this spiritual essence.