hat huge, heavy table rising up against the law of gravitation was
enough to chase away all incredulity. One fact is stronger than fifty
theories; and one reliable success overweighs a thousand failures. I
testify to that which I have seen.

But more, and more wondrous, was to follow. All at once Mr. Home flung
himself back in his chair, looking wild and white; and then rising
slowly and solemnly, went to the still bright fire, into which he
thrust his unprotected hands, and taking out a double handful of live
coals, placed them--as a fire offering--upon Mr. Hall's snow-white head,
combing the hair over them with his fingers, all which our host appeared
to receive more than patiently--religiously. Thereafter Mr. Home placed
them in the Countess's blonde-lace cap, and carried them, as a favour
vouchsafed by the spirits, to each of us, to hold in our hands. When he
came to me, Mr. Hall said: "My friend, have faith." "Yes," I answered,
"and courage, too;" whereupon I was blest with a good handful of those
wonderful coals, still hot enough to burn any skin; but, somehow or
other, I felt no pain and had no mark. Here was another law of nature
put to shame, in the miraculous fact that fire was seemingly deprived of
the power of burning. How this could be, I cannot guess; but I record
manfully the fact as witnessed. After this, an accordion held under the
table by Mr. Home with one hand, the other being upon the table,
positively played a tune of itself--"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie
Doon"--requested by Dr. Chambers, "that being the tune his dead child
loved so." I was requested to look under the table to see the
"spirit-hand" operating near the carpet; but I saw nothing except the
vitalised accordion expanding and contracting of itself, being held
tightly at the upper handle by Mr. Home. Some of the company, however,
claimed to see and to shake hands with the child, and Mr. Home requested
me to ask for a similar favour by placing my hand open under the table;
this, accordingly, I ventured to do, with the result of feeling my thumb
sensibly touched and thrilled, which I was told was a good sign of
favour from the spirits--albeit in my own mind I remembered what our
omniscient Shakespeare sings at the mouth of one of the Macbeth
witches,

"By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes"--

and failed to feel quite comfortable. Soon, however, Mr. Home said: "The
accordion is leaving my hand;" and I saw t