318                            PARIS   IN   AMERICA.
" Sir," said he, in a dry tone, " your questions are im-
pertinent. How dare you ask a medium whether he
believes in God ? We alone know what the soul is, we
alone have in our hands the proof of its immortality."
" What is the soul, then ?" asked I impatiently.
"It is a magnetic force," answered Jonathan. "This
monad, created by God and endowed with consciousness,
makes itself an envelope, as the grain of wheat, cast in the
earth, makes itself roots, a stalk, and blades. When the
body has grown old, the soul, always young and active,
throws off a decrepit ôovering, and takes^flight to a bet-
ter world, to seek a new form for its immortal energy.
See yonder globes radiating in space—Jupiter, Saturn,
Sirius—so many spheres inhabited by risen spirits. To
ascend the infinite scale of creation, always to approach
God without ever attaining him—such is our glorious
destiny. Death is only a passage to a more intense fife.
Nothing is annihilated here on earth—no, not even an
atom of dust ; how, then, can the consciousness become
extinct ? Is God a capricious artist, who destroys the
masterpiece of his greatness and goodness?"
" Sir," exclaimed I, " these words are beautiful, and
go to my heart ; but the proof—that proof which human-
ity has demanded for six thousand years—give it me."
" Nothing is easier," returned Jonathan. " Let us fly
to Sirius, which is shining yonder above our heads ; you
will see one of the stations which you will some day
inhabit.  It is not long since I visited Washington there."
The offer was calculated to tempt a curious man, but
the cursed sorcerer had already played with me ; I dis-
trusted his magic. Fearing the annoyances of a new
voyage, I refused; I was wrong; it was an opportunity
which perhaps I shall never find again.