On May 25, 1882, came the following communication from a spirit, who declined to give his name, for reasons which he claimed to be prudential and personal to himself. It is here given in his own words:

"The band of spirits who have this medium in charge, together with other exalted ones and one who is co-operating with them temporarily, have not only allowed, but invited me, unworthy as I am, to come and tell my story. It is a short and terrible one, and in deep sorrow and humiliation I proceed to tell it.

"I was called, and justly so, a drunkard. By nature I was blessed with a strong and robust constitution, and I was, what is too often a curse, the child of wealthy parents. My father was rich, and this circumstance proved my ruin. I was nursed in the lap of luxury, never knew what it was to want, and consequently had no sympathy for those that suffered, or those immersed in the fierce struggles of poverty. I disdained to work with my hands for bread, and knew not the hardships and sorrows of the trifling millions. My brow was never moistened by the sweat of labor, and I grew up in the belief that the poor were intended and purposely created to serve the rich, and were deserving of naught but a bare scanty subsistence. My life of indolence and ease, my uninterrupted hours of leisure, produced their inevitable fruit in their accompaniments of vice and immorality. Idleuess, as I now know, is the parent of vice, and riches too frequently constitute the propagating life germs of wickedness. It was sadly true in my unhappy case. Oh, fathers, mothers, heed my warning counsel: Train your children to labor—to work, work, work. Allow but few idle hours for dissipation and vice. Keep them away, if possible, from the club room, where intoxicating beverages are indulged in and made inviting by temptation, and where lascivious conversations only tend to stimulate and develop the lower passions and propensities of their natures. "Wine, fair to look upon and with frequent imbibations exhilarating, contains within its alluring embrace a terrible lurking serpent whose venomous sting is fatal to all that is noble, grand, and holy. It strikes, figuratively speaking, its poisoned teeth into the very vitals of our being, and the effect follows us to the other life with its terrible retributive vengeance. Oh, pity the poor inebriate, and erect all possible barriers against the terrible ravages of the fell destroyer. The Drunkard."

April 24, 1882, came the following :

" I am permitted to come to you to-day to relate something of my history. There is a twofold purpose in my visit. I am told that this will greatly benefit me as a spirit still bound to my idol—gold—and that I may be instrumental in warning others to avoid my condition.

" I lived in the flesh more than three score years, and ten, and when I laid down to die the only thing I regretted leaving was my gold and hoarded wealth. Oh, I thought, if I could only take it all with me how happy I would be. The world said I was a noble man, because being avaricious and greedy, I was successful in acquiring riches. My nobility of character was measured entirely by my ability to accumulate money and property. I want to publish it to the world that money, stocks, and landed estates, are poor capital to bank on in the spirit world. They will do here, and as the world goes, will make you respectable, your society and influence coveted and all that, but you need a different kind of capital on this side of life. Gold here has great purchasing power. It buys the luxuries of life, it even buys honor, virtue, and innocence, at a fearful sacrifice and cost to others, but its power, except its terrible evil following, ends with your life in the body. Nothing but good deeds, noble charities, and upright living pass current in the land of souls. I was a miserable, soulless miser, and my occupation and delight consisted in adding to my coffers, and in this endeavor I forgot and ignored conscience and every thing in the pathway of the pursuit of my idol.

" I belonged to a fashionable church, owned a pew, attended the services, and flattered myself that this was all that was needful to prepare my soul for happiness in the other world. No appeals of charity were ever strong enough to touch my sympathies or open my purse strings. The tears of the widow, the wails of the orphan, or the cries of the suffering, however piteous, never touched my heart or obtained from me a single penny. I stinted myself and family and contributed nothing towards the relief of want and suffering, for I was so completely enslaved by the ac-t cursed love of and passion for money. This is a humiliating confession to make, but it is, alas, for my happiness, too true. I tell you money has been my curse, and oh, how terribly have I suffered. Years upon years have rolled by, and I have only partially paid the penalty of my folly. No wonder the rich man wanted some one to go back and tell his brethren of his fate. I hope I may hereby be the humble instrument in warning others against the pitfall into which I have fallen. My gold came up before me here to greet my fond gaze, and when I would joyously reach out forit, behold it would elude my grasp, thus teaching me that it had no real existence except as the haunting specter of my unholy life struggle for its possession. The light of redemption now begins to beam upon me, flooding my soul with its bright rays of hope. I feel this will do me good, and I am very thankful for the opportunity. Let me be simply known as The Miser."

William Gailard was an old personal friend, and the first one who called my attention to the subject of Spiritualism. He had been a Swedenborgian, and at times had officiated as a preacher in England before he came to the States. At a sitting with Mrs. Green, June 2, 1882, I was pleased to receive the foh lowing communication from him :

" My old friend, Mr. Helleberg. I know you have been waiting and wanting to hear from me, and I have been just as anxious to respond. Here in the spirit world we have order and system, and each one must bide his time. My time has come to speak a few words to you, and I assure you, my dear old friend, I seize the opportunity with pleasure I cau not fully express.