ecret developing circles whereto a
few of his friends only are invited. I was present last Sunday, and
shared in the marvels. The place of the seance was the parlor of his
apartment, his young wife and little daughter being present. There was,
in addition, an elderly lady, mother-in-law of the psychic, and a Polish
student whom I will call Jacob. I am quite sure that no one else entered
or left the room during the evening. Mrs. Pratt, the mother-in-law,
occupied a seat between me and Jacob. The little girl sat at the window,
and was under my eye all the time. The wife spent most of the evening at
the piano on my right. The room was fairly dark, though the light of a
far-away street lamp shone in at the window.

"The psychic retired into a little alcove bedroom, which served as
cabinet, and the curtain had hardly fallen between him and our group
when the spirit voices began. The first one to speak was 'Evan,' the
'guide,' and I remarked that his voice was precisely like a falsetto
disguise of the psychic's own.

"Soon 'Evan' and other spirits appeared at the opening of the curtain.
The wife called them each by name, but I could see only certain curious
fluctuating, cloud-like forms, like puffs of fire-lit steam. The effect
was not that of illuminated gauze, but more like illuminated vapor. At
length came one that spoke in a deep voice, using a foreign language.
Jacob, the young Pole, sprang up in joyous excitement, saying that he
had sat many times in this little circle, but that this was the first
time a spirit had spoken to him in his own tongue. As they conversed
together, I detected a close similarity of accent and of tone in their
speech. It certainly sounded like the Polish language, but I could not
rid myself of the impression that the Pole was talking to himself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the accent, inflection, and quality of the ghost's voice
were identical with that of the living man, and this became still more
striking when, a little later, Jacob returned to his seat, and the
'Count,' his visitor, called for the Polish national hymn. Jacob then
sang, and the phantom sang with him. Now this seemed like a clear case
of identification, and was perfectly satisfactory to Jacob, but I had
observed this fact: the Pole was an indifferent singer--having hard
work to keep the key--and the 'Count' was troubled in the same way. His
deep, almost toneless, singing struck me as a dead, flat, wooden echo