There is a prevalent impression that Spiritualism is on the decline, but proof to the contrary exists in the fact that no class of books commands such rapid and extensive sales as those which narrate Spiritualistic experiences and discuss Spiritualistic phenomena. Mr. Howell's last novel is one of the many instances of such popularity. To any one who can remember back about thirty years _The Undiscovered Country_ revives vanished impressions, renews old problems and brings up portraits of fervid enthusiasts of every age, all bent on getting an answer to the unanswerable. That was the time when all over the country a favorite social amusement was for a company to sit about a table of light weight in a dusky room, each with his or her fingers lightly pressed upon the board and just sufficiently touching their neighbor to form a connecting link. In this position the "spirits" were patiently waited for: known as they were to be inconsistent, capricious and elusive, their eccentricities were regarded as sacred. The least sound which disturbed the stillness was interpreted as a message from the other world: any inclination to rock on the part of the table gave evidence that the company was surrounded by invisible but powerful spiritual forces. Sometimes everybody waited in vain: the spirits might be invoked from their vasty depths, but would not come. Again, the faithful believers in the group were the victims of an outrageous hoax on the part of some one of the circle who could creak joints or tip tables. But there would come times when patient waiting and intense belief were rewarded--when tables walked, when floor, ceiling and furniture all resounded to startling raps. Then came the opportunity to leap the gulf from time into eternity--to measure distance and compare finite with infinite knowledge. "Mr. A----," the medium would observe, "there is a spirit who wishes to communicate with you." Mr. A---- would be thrilled with a sort of ghastly gladness. The angelic visitant was anxious to define his personality by the aid of the Spiritual alphabet, and turned out to be Mr. A----'s father. In life he had signed his name William C. A----, but after suffering the great change the middle initial had been altered into H. But what matter? Such trifling inaccuracies were not counted. "Miss S----," the medium would say, "I see a spiritual form standing by you." "Is it my mother?" miss would cry, the tears gushing to her eyes. "I think it is. She is dressed in gray silk, with lace about her throat. Her hair is dark, and she wears some sort of ornament among the braids." "Are you sure the hair is dark?" cries Miss S----, almost in hysterics. "My dear mother's hair was quite light, a beautiful golden." "I see more clearly now," the medium would reply: "the hair is golden." "A little gray on top?" "Yes, a little." "Oh, my mother!" Miss S---- would shriek, gazing beyond vision to find her.