al plane--that is to say, on one plane for
me. Any 'spirit manifestation,' so long as we are what we are, must be
an agitation of what we call 'molecules of matter,' and is to that
extent physical. I have no patience with those highfilutin teachers who
speak of matter as though it were ignoble in some way. Matter to me is
as mysterious as spirit."

At this moment a slight movement of the psychic arrested me, and as we
listened the silvery sweet voice of "Maudie" issued from the darkness,
saying: "_Mr. Mitchell wants Mr. Garland to change places with Mr.
Fowler. Be very careful as you move about. Don't joggle mama. It's very
dangerous to her._"

As I rose to comply, "Maude" called out: "_Mr. Mitchell wishes the
threads fastened to mama's wrists. He wants you and Mr. Fowler to hold
them the way you did at Mr. Miller's house._"

Turning up the lights, we tied a strong silk thread to each wrist, and
passed the ends under each arm of the chair. Fowler took one of these
ends while I retained the other. I then called the attention of Brierly
to the fact that the table was seventeen inches from the feet of the
psychic, and that the fastenings were unchanged. When his examination
was completed, the lights were again turned off, and the circuit of
hands restored.

"Maudie" then requested that the pieces of cone be put together and
placed on the floor beside the table. Fowler did this, and drew a chalk
mark about it, numbering it "Position No. 1." Immediately after his
return to his seat the table was strongly pushed away from the psychic.
It moved in impulses, an inch or two at a time, until it was certainly
six or eight inches farther from the psychic.

It is impossible to conceive how this movement without contact takes
place; but, then, what do we know about the action of the magnet on a
pile of iron filings? How can a thought in the brain of man contract a
set of muscles and lift a cannon-ball? At bottom we do not know how the
will, as we call it, crosses the chasm between mind and matter--we don't
even know there is a chasm.

"Do you feel any motion in your thread, Fowler?" I asked.

"Nothing but a faint quiver," he replied.

"Neither do I, and yet the table moved."

"The table is crowding against me!" called Mrs. Fowler, in some
excitement.

The fact that the table moved toward us and directly away from the
psychic was in itself suspicious; but, as a matter of fact, at other
sittings we obtained sidewise moveme