The Wanderings of a Spiritualist
Mystery & Suspense, International, Fiction & Literature, Action Suspense, Classics
| Author: | Arthur Conan Doyle | ISBN: | 1230002908502 |
| Publisher: | GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS | Publication: | November 23, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Arthur Conan Doyle |
| ISBN: | 1230002908502 |
| Publisher: | GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS |
| Publication: | November 23, 2018 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
*** Original and Unabridged Content. Made available by GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS***
Synopsis:
Excerpt from The Wanderings of a Spiritualist
There was one memorable night when I walked forth with my head throbbing and my whole frame quivering from the villa of Mr. Southey at Merthyr. Behind me the brazen glare of Dowlais iron-works lit up the Sky, and in front twinkled the many lights of the Welsh town. For two hours my wife and I had sat within listening to the whispering voices of the dead, voices which are so full of earnest life, and of desperate endea vours to pierce the barrier of our dull senses. They had quivered and wavered around us, giving us pet names, sweet sacred things, the intimate talk of the olden time. Graceful lights, Signs of Spirit power had hovered over us in the darkness. It was a different and a wonderful world. N ow with those voices still haunting our memories we had slipped out into the material world - a world of glaring iron works and of twinkling cottage windows. AS I looked down on it all I grasped my wife's hand in the darkness and I cried aloud, My God, if they only knew - if they could only know! Perhaps in that cry, wrung from my very soul, lay the inception of my voyage to the other Side of the world. The wish to serve was strong upon us both. God had given us wonderful signs, and they were surely not for ourselves alone.
*** Original and Unabridged Content. Made available by GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS***
Synopsis:
Excerpt from The Wanderings of a Spiritualist
There was one memorable night when I walked forth with my head throbbing and my whole frame quivering from the villa of Mr. Southey at Merthyr. Behind me the brazen glare of Dowlais iron-works lit up the Sky, and in front twinkled the many lights of the Welsh town. For two hours my wife and I had sat within listening to the whispering voices of the dead, voices which are so full of earnest life, and of desperate endea vours to pierce the barrier of our dull senses. They had quivered and wavered around us, giving us pet names, sweet sacred things, the intimate talk of the olden time. Graceful lights, Signs of Spirit power had hovered over us in the darkness. It was a different and a wonderful world. N ow with those voices still haunting our memories we had slipped out into the material world - a world of glaring iron works and of twinkling cottage windows. AS I looked down on it all I grasped my wife's hand in the darkness and I cried aloud, My God, if they only knew - if they could only know! Perhaps in that cry, wrung from my very soul, lay the inception of my voyage to the other Side of the world. The wish to serve was strong upon us both. God had given us wonderful signs, and they were surely not for ourselves alone.
