Here is one plain fact, whatever else may be doubted. After conversing for two days with this extraordinary visitor, I became most desperately in love with her, or him, or it--as you please. Though past my majority, my placid nature had never before been thoroughly aroused in this direction. Now, by reason of the tact and knowledge of my nature, possessed by the invisible party, and still more because of my state of mesmeric subjection, I was sighing like a furnace or a Romeo. Not Ulysses, Circe tempted--not Sintram seeking his Undine--not the hapless sailor wight pursuing the maiden of the _mer_, was more utterly enamored than was I. As a proof that I was no bad specimen of the 'gushing' persuasion, at this period, read the following expressive though sometimes commonplace retort. I do not profess to know, and do not much care, whether it was the utterance of an artful fiend, a misguided saint, or one of those 'sympathetic spirits' of whom Swedenborg makes frequent mention. According to his statement, these beings are in such a condition, that whenever they come in contact with a mortal, they chime in with and encourage the views and tendencies of their terrestrial acquaintance; and often, without meaning it, lead him into great errors--being themselves used as cats' paws by decidedly evil spirits. But here is the tender missive, which I transcribe from between two heavy pages of notes on the Aristotelian and Baconian philosophies: 'I thought that I had experienced the joys of reciprocal affection; but never until now have begun to realize what an unbounded sea of bliss two kindred souls can bathe in. Ah! who could have convinced me that so much rapture could be crowded into a few moments, as was mine while you were pouring forth the inexhaustible treasures of your mind upon my entranced ear? Spare me the sudden transition from mere esteem to such huge, melodious irresistible outpouring of affection. It takes away my strength; while the expression of my warm feelings can never so affect your sturdy, much tried, trouble-scathed manhood.' You see that the flattery is never forgotten. But adulation is an instrument of the weak as well as of the deceitful. The utterer of this may have been innocent of fraud, and, like myself, mesmerized into following the will of a more powerful being. Again, the purpose of _this_ being may have been a good one. Such, and so many, and so great, and varied, and strange, seem to be the possibilities and dangers of the inner life.