“Gently, Miss Mildmay,” interposed D’Arcy. “I desire that each and every one may see and judge for themselves, feeling convinced that no person of average mental powers, having investigated the subject fairly and with candor, could continue a sceptic. To assist you, however, in your research, let me recommend to your notice ‘Owen’s Footfalls on the Boundaries of Another World.’ Likewise the works of Andrew Jackson Davis. Also, the ‘Arcana of Christianity,’ by the Rev. T. L. Harris, and the eloquent and spiritual discourses of the latter author; lastly, a gem of beauty, a perfect string of pearls, the ‘Foregleams of Immortality,’ by Sears. This latter work, with those of Mr. Harris, are written in the very spirit of true Biblical and catholic Christianity, untrammelled by the narrow-mindedness of sectarianism. Read these books, not forgetting to breathe a prayer for light, attend some circles, and I think in six months from this time you will tell me that you are really ‘born again, and a new creature,’ so different will be your views of the infinite destinies of the divine human spirit—so shadowy will appear the present, so real, so near the future.” I looked at him, struck with the intenseness of his manner—his large, blue, serious eyes, filled with the far-off look, of those whose spirits live in perpetual communion with the inner world. Like Ananias, it appeared to me that scales fell from the eyes of my soul, and I began to see things for the first time in their true light. Evelyn also was deeply impressed; after a pause of emotion, she was the first to break silence. “May I ask,” she said, “what first induced you, with your manly intellect and infidel sympathies, to take sufficient interest in this subject to attend a circle?—for if I judge you aright, curiosity alone would scarcely have drawn you there.” “You have justly divined, Mrs. Travers, and I will tell you all.” He paused, and then resumed with deep and touching emotion— “A young girl, whom I loved, God knows how fondly, was taken from me in the bloom of youth, and on the eve of marriage, by a fearful accident, which left her not a vestige of beauty—burned to death,” he said, with a shudder. “A confirmed infidel, with no hope—crushed, tortured, maddened by the idea that she was lost to me forever, I cursed my cruel fate, and should have put an end to a hateful existence, had not pride whispered, ‘Do not be mastered by your destiny; conquer it—live,’ And I lived. At this time, I heard much of the Miss Foxes, and of the wonderful things occurring in their presence. An impression I could not shake off led me to their house. In bitter mockery, I asked myself, Am I insane? I went to scoff—be it said—but returned to pray. A communication came thus by raps— ‘Do not mourn for me, Philip. I am happy now. I was taken from you, because you enveloped your soul in pride as in a mantle. Dear Philip! you must become as a little child.