Soon after this, circles began to be formed in my native town, for the
purpose of table-moving. A number of persons met, secretly at
first,--for as yet there were no avowed converts,--and quite as much for
sport as for serious investigation. The first evening there was no
satisfactory manifestation. The table moved a little, it is true, but
each one laughingly accused his neighbors of employing some muscular
force: all isolated attempts were vain. I was conscious, nevertheless,
of a curious sensation of numbness in the arms, which recalled to mind
my forgotten experiments in church. No rappings were heard, and some of
the participants did not scruple to pronounce the whole thing
a delusion.
A few evenings after this we met again. Those who were most incredulous
happened to be absent, while, accidentally, their places were filled by
persons whose temperaments disposed them to a passive seriousness. Among
these was a girl of sixteen, Miss Abby Fetters, a pale, delicate
creature, with blond hair and light-blue eyes. Chance placed her next to
me, in forming the ring, and her right hand lay lightly upon my left. We
stood around a heavy circular dining-table.
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