“Your Earth People are in their ignorance robbing you of this opportunity; being greatly disturbed over your absence from the body, which they have discovered notwithstanding our efforts to hold their attention elsewhere. “The one poor harassed soul, less gross than the rest, upon whose instincts we have relied for your safe return, has yielded to their importunities sooner than we anticipated, and has now resorted to Prayer. An earnest Prayer to the Father from a sincere and faithful heart is a Power we can not safely combat. “You must now return; but we will try to raise you again from the depths, when you are in the quiet of your own home, alone, and the prospects are favorable.” Deeply disappointed and violently struggling against the power that would thus wrench us from the happy haven into which we had drifted, we heard—O, so faintly, as from a great distance—— “Rest easily, Earth-child; you are doing yourself only harm. All will be made clear in the Good Father’s own time.” Then the horrible whistles, the jolting of the train, and an indignant voice saying: “Didn’t you see her shiver? Such a fuss over nothing! She is coming to, all right. Better keep your bottle for those that need it. Some doctors think that brandy will start or stop the universe.” This last in an undertone. We opened our eyes very reluctantly, to find a red-faced, wrinkled and be-whiskered man bending over us, with a breath strongly indicative of the contents of a bottle held threateningly near. Pushing it angrily away, we exclaimed in a far-from-Reinstern-like tone:— “Why are you meddling with our affairs? We did not want to come back yet; we have not seen the father’s field;—not even had dinner—and things looked so attractive!” He shook his head with a professional air, and murmured: “Not right yet;—better,—decidedly better.” Then we sat up as straight as a clothes-pin, and glaring at the passengers about our seat rudely demanded: “Just trot right off about your own affairs, now, all of you; you have treated us shamefully, and,” we sniveled and wept a little at this point, “we don’t even know your names.” The conductor now interposed: “Madam, you fainted, and but for the kindness of this physician,—” “Kindness of fiddlesticks!” we interrupted, “we were out of town, off on a voyage,—visiting friends,—and should have returned in good time, if—” The doctor hastily returned to his post, while the others with horror-stricken faces, as promptly retreated. Resourceless before their suspicions, we relinquished all intentions to elucidate, and added, simply: “Who thought we were all right if left alone?” Whereupon a mild-mannered miss of probably sixteen well-invested summers, turned toward us to say, modestly: “I’ve seen people that way before; Aunt Sophronia often is; I don’t understand it; but you didn’t look a bit dead.” “Dead!” we ejaculated; “We’d like to die that way often, every day or two. You must have some common sense.”