Within one minute, the twilight and phosphoric lights appeared; and in two or three more a delicious sensation of ease spread through me--a cool comfort, before which all pain and distress gave way, oozing out, as it were, at the soles of my feet. During that hour, and almost the whole evening, I could no more help exclaiming with pleasure than a person in torture crying out with pain. I became hungry, and ate with relish for the first time for five years. There was no heat, oppression, or sickness during the _seance_, nor any disorder afterwards. During the whole evening, instead of the lazy, hot ease of opiates, under which pain is felt to lie in wait, I experienced something of the indescribable sensations of health, which I had quite lost and forgotten. Her dear friend during all the years that remained to her--Mr. Henry G. Atkinson[12]--had just come into her life. His interest in her case was enlisted by their mutual friend, Basil Montagu; and Mr. Atkinson undertook to direct the mesmeric treatment by correspondence. Margaret, the maid, continued the mesmerism till September, and then Mr. Atkinson induced his friend Mrs. Montague Wynyard, the young widow of a clergyman, to undertake the case. "In pure zeal and benevolence this lady came to me, and has been with me ever since. When I found myself able to repose on the knowledge and power (mental and moral) of my mesmerist the last impediments to my progress were cleared away and I improved accordingly." [12] As this friendship had a profound influence upon Harriet's after thought and work, some description of Mr. Atkinson seems in place; and I need offer that gentleman no apology for merely quoting what has appeared in print before about him. Margaret Fuller wrote thus of him in a private letter, in 1846:-- "Mr. Atkinson is a man about thirty, in the fullness of his powers, tall and finely formed, with a head for Leonardo to paint; mild and composed, but powerful and sagacious; he does not think, but perceives and acts. He is intimate with artists, having studied architecture himself as a profession; but has some fortune on which he lives. Sometimes stationary and acting in the affairs of other men; sometimes wandering about the world and learning; he seems bound by no tie, yet looks as if he had relatives in every place."--_Memoirs of Margaret Fuller_, by Emerson.