Hundreds of skulls have come under my apparatus for examination during the past decade, and I possess facts that would make many great English families quake; facts asserted by ancestors’ souls--_and souls cannot lie_--of how titles and estates have been wrongfully obtained, and rightful heirs darkly put aside to favour other candidates. I know of facts, suppressed in history, which, were I to reveal their dark catalogue of murders, conspiracies and political intrigues, would put a fresh interpretation upon the records of our country. But of what avail would the disclosure be to our present generation? The heart of man in the nineteenth century is, what it has been in all ages, “desperately wicked.” On the other hand, it has been my good fortune to converse with kings and ambassadors, with men of learning, poets, statesmen, with artists and men of science, even with the great Isaac Newton himself, and am now in the position of being the best-informed man, upon past history and events, of any person in the world. Men say there is but a thin partition between a savant and a madman. I know better; I may be the former, but between me and madness a vast gap yawns, although my friends will have their little jibe at me. Great men ever had their traducers, and I, naturally, am no exception. Of all those with whom I have chatted--and by my experiments I can converse with the spirit or soul of _any_ person, provided I have the skull to which I can attach my apparatus--there has not been one equal in intellectual capacity to Sir Isaac Newton, a most steady, solid man of scientific sense. Now Newton’s idea of the brain and my own precisely coincide, and if I give _my_ notion upon the subject I give his also. Here it is. The brain is an elaborate storehouse of knowledge of every kind. It contains a record of _all_ one has learned during one’s lifetime; I say _all_, because if a person has learned a thing and forgotten it, it must not be supposed that that thing has vanished from the brain; not so; it is faithfully recorded in the brain substance, though the mental faculties may not be strong enough to _reproduce_ the particular thing or theme when wanted. Not only is everything once learnt retained by the brain, but it also contains a record of every _action_ of one’s life. All these actions and events are stored away in minute cells to the number of hundreds of thousands, and yet to the human eye they are not as visible as a pin’s point; in fact, they have no dimensions whatever. Now, supposing this theory to be correct, can we not see (and I say it with great reverence) how easy the task of the Recording Angel must be; can we not imagine the celestial one reading the record of a man’s brain as easily as we poor mundane mortals can scan a book? Are not many biblical texts elucidated by this theory; for instance, Ecclesiastes xii. 14; Matthew xii. 37; and Hebrews iv. 13?