rmants as narrowly as
possible, there appeared to be no possibility of fraud. The impression
had gradually deepened in my mind that here is an instance of genuine
Spiritual power. But the fraudulent character of his dealings with the
sealed letters made me fear that _falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus_.

On the 14th of May, 1885, I called on Dr. Mansfield at his house, No. 28
Dartmouth Street, and was ushered into the second story front room--a
bedroom. There were, I think, three front windows looking on the street;
at the farthest was the Medium's table, so placed sideways to the
window, and close to it, that the full light fell on the Medium's left
hand, as he sat at it, and faced the middle of the room. In front of the
Medium, as he sat at the table with his back to the wall, were the usual
writing materials, lead pencils and mucilage bottle, and beyond them, on
the edge of the table farthest from the Medium, and between him and the
rest of the room, was a row of books, octavos, etc., extending the whole
length of the table and terminating in a tin box, like a deed box, with
pamphlets on it. When the Medium sits at his table, this row of books is
between him and his visitor. The table for the visitor is a small one,
near one of the other windows and six or seven feet from the Medium. On
this table were a number of strips of paper and a pencil.

The Medium, who did not ask my name, bade me take a seat at the small
table and write my question on one of the strips of paper, and then to
fold down the paper two or three times.

I sat down and wrote, "Has Marie St. Clair met Sister Belle in the other
world?" I then folded that portion of the strip of paper down three
times, and told the Medium that it was ready for the mucilage; he came
over from his table at once with a brush of mucilage, and spread it
abundantly under the last fold. Then, taking the strip between his thumb
and forefinger, he walked with it back to his table, keeping it in my
sight all the time. As soon as he took his seat and laid the strip on
his table before him, I rose and approached his table, so as to keep my
paper still in sight; _the row of books entirely intercepted my view of
it_. The Medium instantly motioned to me to return to my seat, and, I
think, told me to do so. I obeyed, and as I did so could not repress a
profound sigh. Why had no one ever told me of that row of books? The
Medium did not sit in statue-like repose, but moved his body much