d present itself.

Bott stepped inside the railing by the closet, and placing his hands
upon it, addressed the assembly. He did not know what peculiar shape
the manifestations of the evening might take. They were in search of
truth; all truth was good. They hoped for visitors from the unseen
speers; he could promise nothing. In this very room the spirits of the
departed had walked and talked with their friends; perhaps they might
do it again; he knew not. How they mingled in the earth-life, he did
not pretend to say; perhaps they materialized through the mejum;
perhaps they dematerialized material from the audience which they
rematerialized in visible forms; as to that, the opinion of another--he
said with a spacious magnanimity--was as good as his. He would now
request two of the audience to step up and tie him. One of the
long-haired ruminant men stood up, and a young fellow, amid much
nudging and giggling among the scorners, was also forced from his
chair. They came forward, the believer with a business-like air, which
showed practice, and the young skeptic blushing and ill at ease. Bott
took a chair inside the curtain, and showed them how to tie him. They
bound him hand and foot, the believer testified that the binding was
solid, and the skeptic went to his seat, playfully stepping upon the
toes of his scoffing friends. The curtain was lowered, and the lamp was
turned down.

In a few moments, a scuffling sound was heard in the closet, and Bott's
coat came flying out into the room. The believer pulled back the
curtain, and Botts sat in his chair, his shirt sleeves gleaming white
in the dust. His coat was laid over his shoulders, and almost as soon
as the curtain was lowered he yelled for light, and was disclosed
sitting tied as before, clothed in his right coat.

Again the curtain went down amid a sigh of satisfaction from the
admiring audience, and a choking voice, which tried hard not to sound
like Bott's, cried out from the closet: "Turn down the light; we want
more power." The kerosene lamp was screwed down till hardly a spark
illumined the visible darkness, and suddenly a fiery hand appeared at
the aperture of the closet, slowly opening and shutting its long
fingers.

A half dozen voices murmured: "A spirit hand"; but Sam Sleeny whispered
to Maud: "Them are Bott's knuckles, for coin." The hand was withdrawn
and a horrible face took its place--a pallid corpse-like mask, with
lambent fire sporting on the narr