“No,” I said. “The soul does not, I am sure; and as to matter, it merely changes form.” “But why, then,” said he, “should not the dead soul talk to the living? In space, no doubt, exist all forms of matter, merely in finer, more ethereal being. You can’t suppose a naked soul moving about without a bodily garment--no creed teaches that; and if its new clothing be of like substance to ours, only of ethereal fineness,--a more delicate recrystallization about the eternal spiritual nucleus,--must it not then possess powers as much more delicate and refined as is the new material in which it is reclad?” “Not very clear,” I answered; “but, after all, the thing should be susceptible of some form of proof to our present senses.” “And so it is,” said he. “Come to-morrow with me, and you shall see and hear for yourself.” “I will,” said I, “if the doctor will lend me the ambulance.” It was so arranged, as the surgeon in charge was kind enough, as usual, to oblige me with the loan of his wagon, and two orderlies to lift my useless trunk. On the day following I found myself, with my new comrade, in a house in Coates street, where a “circle” was in the daily habit of meeting. So soon as I had been comfortably deposited in an arm-chair, beside a large pine table, the rest of those assembled seated themselves, and for some time preserved an unbroken silence. During this pause I scrutinized the persons present. Next to me, on my right, sat a flabby man, with ill-marked, baggy features and injected eyes. He was, as I learned afterwards, an eclectic doctor, who had tried his hand at medicine and several of its quackish variations, finally settling down on eclecticism, which I believe professes to be to scientific medicine what vegetarianism is to common-sense, every-day dietetics. Next to him sat a female-authoress, I think, of two somewhat feeble novels, and much pleasanter to look at than her books. She was, I thought, a good deal excited at the prospect of spiritual revelations. Her neighbor was a pallid, care-worn young woman, with very red lips, and large brown eyes of great beauty. She was, as I learned afterwards, a magnetic patient of the doctor, and had deserted her husband, a master mechanic, to follow this new light. The others were, like myself, strangers brought hither by mere curiosity. One of them was a lady in deep black, closely veiled. Beyond her, and opposite to me, sat the sergeant, and next to him the medium, a man named Brink. He wore a good deal of jewelry, and had large black side-whiskers--a shrewd-visaged, large-nosed, full-lipped man, formed by nature to appreciate the pleasant things of sensual existence. Before I had ended my survey, he turned to the lady in black, and asked if she wished to see any one in the spirit-world. She said, “Yes,” rather feebly.