All present sat round a table in a dark room, touching hands, with
extended finger points. When the gas was turned up it was discovered
that one of the unbelievers actually had a large bangle on his wrist. It
had not been there before. Of course the spirits had slipped it on. He
let this pass then. He had not the discourtesy to explain that a very
pretty girl at his side had gently manoeuvred it into its place. Her
taper fingers were very soft and worked as spirits might.

This had gone off well, and better followed. Again the lights were
lowered to the faintest glimmer. Soft music played. Forms floated
through the air, now here, now there, plucking at a
tambourine--touching a sweet chord on the open piano. At last, in evil
moment, the most angelic, sylph-like form came all too near our friend
who wore the bangle. The temptation was too great for mortal man. He
extended his arms and took firm, substantial, desperate hold of the
nymph, at the same instant shouting wildly to his brother, "Turn up the
gas, Jim."

The vulgar light revealed that the panting figure struggling from his
grasp was that of his pretty neighbour who had slipped the bangle on his
wrist. Strange to say, the giver of this spiritual feast never forgave
those two brothers for their discourtesy.

But there are, as Hamlet says, real mysteries in this dull, prosaic life
of ours. One or two true tales may not come amiss. I am quite ready to
give any member of the Psychical Society chapter and verse and
authorities, and every available data, if desired.

A certain barrister lost his wife a few years since. He was left with
two little children to care for alone. London was no longer what it had