“Why so?” inquired Onslow. “She predicts disaster to it.” “But why did you not tell me that before?” asked Mrs. Berwick. “Simply, my dear, because you are inclined to be superstitious.” “Hear him, Mr. Onslow!” said Mrs. Berwick. “He calls me superstitious because I believe in spirits, whereas it is that belief which has cured me of superstition.” “I can readily suppose it,” replied Onslow. “The superstitious man is the _un_believer,—he who thinks that all these phenomena can be produced by the blind, unintelligent forces of nature, by a mechanical or chemical necessity.” “I may believe in spirits in their proper places,” said Berwick, “and not believe in their visiting this earth.” “But what if their condition is such that they are independent of those restrictions of space or place which are such impediments to us poor mortals?” “Do you, too, then, believe in ghosts?” asked Berwick. “Yes; I am a ghost myself,” said Onslow. Berwick started at the abruptness of the announcement, then smiled, and replied, “Prove it.” “That I will, both etymologically and chemically,” rejoined Onslow. “The words _ghost_ and _gas_ are set down by a majority of the philologists as from the same root, whether Gothic, Saxon, or Sanscrit, implying vapor, spirit. The fermenting _yeast_, the steaming _geyser_, are allied to it. Now modern science has established (and Professor Henry will confirm what I say) that man begins his earthly existence as a microscopic vesicle of almost pure and transparent water. It is not true that he is made of dust. He consists principally of solidified air. The ashes which remain after combustion are the only ingredient of an earthy character that enters into the composition of his body. All the other parts of it were originally in the atmosphere. Nay, a more advanced science will probably show that even his ashes, in their last analysis, are an invisible, gaseous substance. Nine tenths of a man’s body, we can even now prove, are water; and water, we all know, may be decomposed into invisible gases, and then made to reappear as a visible liquid. Science tells me, dear madam, that as to my body I am nothing but forty or fifty pounds of carbon and nitrogen, diluted by five and a half pailfuls of water. Put me under hydraulic pressure, and you can prove it. So I do seriously maintain, that I am as much entitled to the appellation of a ghost (that is, a gaseous body) as was the buried majesty of Denmark, otherwise known as Hamlet’s father.” “And I assert that Mr. Onslow has proved his point admirably,” said Mrs. Berwick, clapping her little hands. “I confess I never before considered the subject in that light,” rejoined her husband.