Francis observed a great difference in the character of the raps proceeding from Mr. Hogarth from those of the spirit last summoned, which had been supposed to be that of Mr. Dempster's eldest daughter, who had died at sixteen, and of a lingering disease. The latter were faint, and almost inaudible to an unpractised ear, while those of his father were firm and distinct. There was never any power of knowing from what part of the room the raps would come, and as answer after answer appeared to come so readily to his questions, it is not to be wondered at that Francis felt excited and awed at the mysterious intercourse.
"Advise me, my father; tell me what to do if you see more and know than more I can do. Should I assist my mother, as she asks me to do?"
The single impatient rap, meaning "No," was the immediate reply.
"Is she not in poverty and want?"
Again the answer was "No."
"Should not I write to her?"
"No; have nothing to do with her," was the answer.
"Can I ever have what I most desire in the world? You promise improvement—I want happiness," said Francis, passionately, startled out of himself by the extraordinary pertinence of the answers to his questions, and careless in the company of absolute strangers as to what they thought of him.
"Patience! I watch over you," was the reply.
"What do you do in the spiritual world?"