4. In one instance which came to my knowledge, a young lady, previously unacquainted with mathematics or astronomy, would, when entranced, and sitting with her mother and sister, write fluently off pages of an astronomical treatise, calculations, diagrams, and all. She averred and believed in her entranced state—for, when awake, it was all a mystery to her—that this performance was the product of an intuition. Her manuscript was afterwards found to run word for word with an article in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. That book, however, stood in the library, in a remote part of the house. She certainly had it not with her when she used to scribble its contents; nor did she remember ever having looked into it, awake or asleep. She said—when entranced, and this had been found out—that she believed she read the book as it stood in the library. 5. With some imperfectly lucid patients, the exercise of their new faculties appears to be fatiguing, and to call for great exertion. So they are occasionally with difficulty led to answer at all; and then when inconsiderately pressed, they are tempted to say any thing, just to be left tranquil. It is difficult to say how the preceding sources of error are to be effectually guarded against. Possibly, by rigid training from the first, the patient might be brought to distinguish false promptings from genuine intuitions. But even the latter vary in lucidity and certainty. This admission was made to a friend of mine by M. Alexis, the celebrated Parisian clairvoyante. The reader cannot fail to be interested by the following account, given by M. Alexis when entranced, of his own powers, and their mode of operation:— “Pour voir des objets éloignés,” observed M. Alexis, “mon âme ne se dégage pas de mon corps. C’est ma volonté qui dérige mon âme, mon esprit, sans sortir de cette chambre où je suis. Si mon âme sortit, je serais mort; c’est ma volonté. Ma volonté suffit pour anéantir pour quelque tems la matière. Ainsi quand cette volonté est en jeu, la boite matérielle de mon individu n’est plus. Les murs, l’espace, et même le tems, n’existent plus. Mais ce n’est qu’un rêve plus ou moins lucide. Quelquefois ma vue est meilleure qu’à d’autres. Ma vue n’est jamais la même. Une fois je suis disposé pour voir une sorte de choses, et une autre fois une autre sorte. En regardant votre chambre dans un quartier éloigné d’ici, je ne vois pas les rues ni les maisons intermédiaires. La seule chose (alors) qui est dans la pensée est la personne qui me parle. Je vois les objets d’une manière plus incomplète que par mes sens, moins sure. Il serait impossible de fair comprendre comment je vois. Plus il y a de l’attraction—plus j’éprouve de l’attraction aux objets que je veux voir, ou qui me touche—plus il y a de lumière; plus j’éprouve de répulsion, plus il y a de ténèbres.” * * * * *