been cast off. One trained to speech in childhood loses
certain faculties that can never be regained.

"My wife died many years ago. She left me a broken heart and
a child, newly born. I had just built this house, among
strangers. We intended to devote the remainder of our lives
to the study of mental phenomena. We desired to carry on our
work without interruption. We planned to live unknown among
those around us. When she died I saw in the child an
opportunity. I determined to make its life a grand
experiment; to preserve and cultivate its native
intuitions--the germ of the power of direct communication.
God has vouchsafed success to me. He lives--a man of exalted
powers the like of which the world has never seen but once,
and then in Christ, the very Son of God. But, unlike Him, my
son is only human, with weaknesses that are our common lot.

"The years are flying, and strength is failing! I must die
soon and he will live. That thought burns my brain, passing
through it day by day. His life may be long extended and he
cannot live alone, nor among men, for he would be a stranger
and friendless--feared and dreaded by superstitious fools.
He has never seen a human face outside these walls nor heard
a human voice but mine. I have told you my trouble."

He ceased writing, but before I had finished reading the
statement some strange influence came over me. I felt
restless and uncomfortable. My hand was shaking so that I
could scarcely read the words on the last sheet of paper.
Suddenly I raised my eyes and saw a young man, godlike in