Perhaps a year before we returned to London, a Catholic friend brought me to a spiritualistic séance at the house of a young man who had been lately arrested under a suspicion of Fenianism, but had been released for lack of evidence.  He and his friends had been sitting weekly about a table in the hope of spiritual manifestation and one had developed mediumship.  A drawer full of books had leaped out of the table when no one was touching it, a picture had moved upon the wall.  There were some half dozen of us, and our host began by making passes until the medium fell asleep sitting upright in his chair.  Then the lights were turned out, and we sat waiting in the dim light of a fire.  Presently my shoulders began to twitch and my hands.  I could easily have stopped them, but I had never heard of such a thing and I was curious.  After a few minutes the movement became violent and I stopped it.  I sat motionless for a while and then my whole body moved like a suddenly unrolled watch-spring, and I was thrown backward on the wall.  I again stilled the movement and sat at the table.  Everybody began to say I was a medium, and that if I would not resist some wonderful thing would happen.  I remembered that my father had told me that Balzac had once desired to take opium for the experience sake, but would not because he dreaded the surrender of his will.  We were now holding each other’s hands and presently my right hand banged the knuckles of the woman next to me upon the table.  She laughed, and the medium, speaking for the first time, and with difficulty, out of his mesmeric sleep, said, “tell her there is great danger.”  He stood up and began walking round me, making movements with his hands as though he were pushing something away.  I was now struggling vainly with this force which compelled me to movements I had not willed, and my movements had become so violent that the table was broken.  I tried to pray, and because I could not remember a prayer, repeated in a loud voice

  Of Man’s first disobedience and the fruit
  Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
  Brought death into the world and all our woe... 
  Sing, heavenly muse.

My Catholic friend had left the table and was saying a Pater Noster and Ave Maria in the corner.  Presently all became still and so dark that I could not see anybody.  I described it to somebody next day as like going out of a noisy political meeting on to a quiet country road.  I said to myself, “I am now in a trance but I no longer have any desire to resist.”  But when I turned my eyes to the fireplace I could see a faint gleam of light, so I thought “no, I am not in a trance.”  Then I saw shapes faintly appearing in the darkness & thought, “they are spirits;” but they were only the spiritualists and my friend at her prayers.  The medium said in a faint voice, “we are through the bad spirits.”  I said, “will they ever come again, do you think?” and he said, “no, never again, I think,” and in my boyish vanity I thought it was I who had banished them.  For years afterwards I would not go to a séance or turn a table and would often ask myself what was that violent impulse that had run through my nerves? was it a part of myself ­something always to be a danger perhaps; or had it come from without, as it seemed?