possible frighten Lucius by means of it. If the operator told his subject during the experiment that the animal was merely imaginary, this qualification made no difference; for Lucius was completely subject to the mental picture, and was unable to draw upon his own reason or entertain an explanation of the experiment. This result led Mr. Quimby to believe that “man has the power of creation,” and that ideas take form. Then the question arose, What are ideas composed of? “They must be something, or else they could not be seen by the spiritual eyes.” This led Quimby to inquire whether Lucius could see anything if he merely thought of something abstract, such as a general principle. “I found that if I thought of principles, he had no way of describing them, for there was nothing to see; but if I thought of anything that had form I could make him see it.”
Sight, then, was equivalent to reality for Lucius. Yet in the operator's mind there might be merely a visual image. But if the supposed object had no existence outside of the mind of the operator and the subject's perception of it, why might not an alleged “spirit” in the case of spiritistic phenomena be a mere idea in the mind of people in the audience? An experiment convinced Mr. Quimby that this could be the case. Requesting any one to give him a name written on a bit of paper, Mr. Quimby passed the slip of paper to Lucius, who was sitting blindfolded by the committee. Lucius read the name aloud. Quimby then told Lucius to find the person. His account of this experiment continues as follows:
“My mode was to make him ask questions so that the
audience could lead him along. So I said, ‘Who is he, a
man or a boy?’ He said, ‘A man.’ ‘Is he married?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Well, tell me if he has children, and how many.’ He
answered, ‘His wife has three children.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘find
him.’ Lucius said, ‘He left town between two days.’ ‘Well
find him.’ He traced him to Boston, and by inquiring
followed him to the interior of New York and found him in a
cooper's shop. Now all this was literally true, and I suppose
some one in the audience knew the facts, although neither the
subject nor I knew anything about the man. I asked what
became of the man. Lucius said the man was dead. ‘Well,'
said I, ‘find him and bring him here.’ ‘Well,' said he, ‘he is
here, can't you see him?’ Said I, ‘Give a description.’ So
he went on and gave a general descripition. But these gen-
