It occurred to me what bearish paws the old Doctor, in his gruff sport, would lay upon modern Spiritualists, if he were about in these days. I smiled to think what an inexhaustible theme for skeptical wit was afforded by the awkward and tedious process of communication employed. But after a little reflection, I said to myself, is not the common action of Spirit upon Matter, while we are here in the body, quite as inexplicable? If we were not accustomed to it, would it not seem nearly as inconvenient and laborious? The Spirit which dwells within me, (I know not where, or how,) wishes to communicate with a Spirit dwelling in some other body, in another part of the world. Straightway, the five-pronged instrument, which we call a hand, is moved by Spirit, and promptly obeys the impulse. It dips a piece of pointed steel into a black fluid, and traces hieroglyphic characters invented by Spirit to express its thought. Those letters have been formed into words by slow elaboration of the ages. They partake of the climate where they grew. In Italy, they flow smoothly as water. In Russia, they clink and clatter like iron hoofs upon a pavement. It appears that Spirit must needs fashion its utterance according to the environment of Matter, in the midst of which it is placed. By a slow and toilsome process, the child must learn what ideas those words represent; otherwise he can scarcely be able to communicate at all with the Spirits in other bodies near him. If they are distant, and his Spirit wills to converse with them, it must impel the five-pronged instrument of bone and sinew to take up the pointed steel, and trace, on a substance elaborately prepared from vegetable fibres, certain mystic characters, which, according to their arrangement, express love or hatred, joy or sorrow. If Spirits _out_ of the body do indeed tip tables and rap the alphabet, to communicate with Spirits _in_ the body, it must be confessed that the machinery we poor mortals are obliged to employ, in order to communicate with each other, is nearly as tedious and imperfect as theirs. Ancient oriental philosophers, and some of the Gnostics at a later period, believed in a gradation of successive worlds, gradually diminishing in the force of spiritual intelligence, and consequently in outward beauty. They supposed that each world was an attenuated likeness, a sort of reflected image of the world above it; that it must necessarily be so, because, in all its parts, it was evolved from that world. They believed that the inhabitants of each world knew of those in the world next below them, and were attracted toward them; but that the world below was unconscious of the higher sphere whence it emanated.