BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Westbridge is a small town, so near one of the largest cities in our Union that it can keep pace with all the vagaries and wild chimeras with which the fantastic spirit of the age seems to delight to bewilder and mislead its votaries, as well as learn the latest news or display the latest fashions. And yet it is far enough from New York to have a character and mode of living entirely its own. That character is the severe, and the mode of life rigid and exemplary. All kinds of amusements are looked upon with a disapproving eye, and many of them have been so completely extirpated that they are hardly ever alluded to. Dancing alone has contrived to maintain a precarious foothold in the community, sometimes shrinking down into the modest cotillion, and again, when the ranks of its votaries are recruited from some less scrupulous portion of the country, bursting forth in the full horror of waltz, polka, or schottisch. Its reign is, however, short, and the social gatherings soon regain their usual character for staid propriety.

When you go to a party at Westbridge, to be invited to which is a sort of a testimonial that you are a discreet and proper person, you are expected to take a seat and remain seated. To move about much argues a lightness of mind, and will cause talk. Of course, the conversation will have to be principally carried on with your neighbor, whoever he or she may happen to be; and three hours' uninterrupted conversation with a shy youth or a heavy old bachelor is a mental effort of which let those speak who have tried it. I have generally taken refuge in silence, after having made the observations that are usually considered proper on such occasions.

If you are a lady, books as a subject of conversation are interdicted; for, St. Paul being our great oracle, puddings, and not literature, are considered as the proper objects on which the female mind may exercise itself; and, though the state of public feeling in Westbridge allows a critical supervision over the conduct of the members of its society, yet gossip in its broader sense is interdicted.

Thus deprived of the aliment that sustains it in so many places, the social feeling languished, and sometimes seemed almost extinct. Yet, in reality, it retained a vigorous vitality, and only needed an opportunity to show how strong and deep it had struck its roots in our common nature, so that neither circumstances nor education could utterly destroy it. The mania for moving tables in the peculiar way that came in with the spirit-rappings was just such an occasion as the people in Westbridge would allow themselves to seize upon, as a legitimate means for gratifying the love for novelty and excitement that is inherent in mankind.

They excused, or, I should say, accounted for their ardor in the cause—for to excuse their course of conduct is below a true Westbridgeite—by speaking calmly and wisely of moving tables in that mysterious way as a new fact in science yet unaccounted for, and all their efforts were to be considered as so many scientific experiments to discover whether electricity, or some hitherto unknown physical influence, were the agent. For a time in Westbridge, we all, young and old, became natural philosophers, and pursued our investigations with a most exemplary zeal.

In a state of benighted ignorance on the subject of table-moving, never having heard of it even, I made my entrance into the sewing society, held weekly at Westbridge. As soon as I entered, I became aware that some exciting topic was under discussion. That being our only weekly gathering during the winter, in the calmest times the tongue ran an even race with the needle; but on this particular afternoon the sewing seemed to be forgotten. Work in hand, I seated myself near a lady to whom a large circle were listening in open-eyed wonder.

"At my cousin's in New York," she was saying, with animated emphasis, "they moved a heavy table, with a marble top, up stairs."

"Well, I suppose that is often done," said I, as yet uninitiated into the mystery.

"Yes; but with their hands—that is, without their hands. I mean just by putting their hands on the top of it, without using any force at all."

"I know a gentleman in the city who can, after keeping his hands on the table for a little while, take them off, and it will follow him all about the room," said another lady.

"My cousin told me," said a young girl, so absorbed in listening that her work had fallen on the floor, "that he had heard of tables being made to spring up to the ceiling—heavy tables."

"Can such things be, and not o'ercome us with a special wonder?" thought I; and I asked, rather skeptically, "Have you ever seen any of these wonderful things?"

"Oh, yes!" said several at once, and one of the speakers continued—

"We have been trying experiments at Colonel Dutton's, and Mr. Johnson's, and at our house, and we find that we can make the tables move about the room as long as we keep our hands on them. We have not yet succeeded in making them follow us or spring up from the floor; but I have no doubt we shall. Our power seems to increase every day."

"What kind of power is it?"

"Some persons think it a new development of electricity. I think myself it is some mysterious physical agent residing in our bodies—a kind of magnetism that works all these wonders. That is also Dr. Whitman's opinion."

"How do you try your experiments?" asked I, rather more inclined to believe in it, since I had heard those scientific terms and Dr. Whitman's name.

"We sit round a table, and lay our hands upon it so as to cover as large a surface as possible; the thumbs must touch, and the little fingers of each hand be in contact with the little fingers of the one on either side, so as to form a complete circle. You must not allow any other part of your person or dress to touch the table, or the communication will be interrupted; and it is better not to talk or laugh, but to be perfectly quiet and intent on your object."

Thus fully instructed, I went home bent on experimenting. Who could tell but that I should go to my room at night followed by all the furniture in the drawing-room in a slow procession? Though thus extravagant in my hopes, I showed a proper humility in my first attempts, selecting a very small tea-poy as the object of my experiment. I obtained an assistant, a lady, who, at first, when seated opposite to me with her hands outspread on the table before her, having nothing else to do, was very much inclined to converse, but, at my earnest entreaty, she relapsed into silence; and thus we sat for two weary hours. I had been told that my fingers would tingle, and they did tingle, and that was the sole result of this patient waiting. Tired out at last, we came to the conclusion either that, in our ignorance, we had neglected something essential to the success of the attempt, or that we were entirely deficient in that mysterious physical agent, of which some other persons seemed to possess such a super-abundance.

After having been pursued all night by tables, from which my utmost efforts hardly enabled me to escape, I arose with a nightmare-feeling of oppression upon me, for which a walk in the bracing air of a cold bright day in February seemed the best remedy.

"I will run over directly after breakfast to Mrs. Atwood's, to get the receipt for that new pudding, which she promised me, and then return and devote the rest of the morning to making calls," thought I.

And, accordingly, a little after nine, I put my head into Mrs. Atwood's sitting-room.

"I won't come in, thank you, this morning," said I, in answer to her invitation. "I cannot stay a minute. I merely came to ask for the receipt for that apple and tapioca pudding. Henrietta isn't as well as usual to-day, and I thought she might like it. Oh, you are trying to move a table! Don't let me disturb you, then. How do you succeed?"

"Not very well this morning," said Mrs. Atwood; "but last night we were very successful. It was our first attempt, too. Jane brought home such wonderful accounts from the sewing society, that we could not rest until we had made a trial of our powers. I think this morning we need a little more assistance, as some of the children have gone to school. I wish you would stay a little while and help us."

"I should be very happy to do so," said I, yielding to her solicitations and my own curiosity, and coming forward; "but I am afraid I should be a hindrance rather than an assistance." And I related my failure of the preceding evening.

I found Mrs. Atwood, her two eldest daughters, and one of her boys sitting anxiously, with outspread hands, round a very small table. A more miserable, distressed-looking child than the little white-headed Charles Atwood I do not think I have ever seen.

"I made Charley come in from his play to help us," said Mrs. Atwood, "because Jane was told that light-haired people possess more of that peculiar electric power, or whatever it is, than any other. Charley is the only member of our family who has light hair. Sit still, my son," she added, as Charley gave the table a little nervous kick.

There was a long silence, broken only once when Charley looked up, with his face full of some deep purpose, and inquired the very lowest price for which wigs could be bought. The question being considered irrelevant, the only answer the poor child received was a shake of the head and a frown from his mother. A peculiar whistle, the familiar signal of one of his favorite companions, threw Charley into such a state of painful suffering that, in commiseration for him, I consented to take his place. He bounded off in an ecstasy of joy, and I took no more note of time till we heard the clock strike eleven. In the mean time, the table had quivered twice, and once moved about an inch. With a sort of Jonah-like feeling, I arose, saying—

"It is useless for me to try longer; I am convinced that I rather retard the movements of the table than assist you." And, bidding her good-morning, I turned my steps homeward.

As I passed the house of one of my acquaintances, my attention was arrested by a tap on the window—a phenomenon that never happened in Westbridge before within my recollection. I obeyed the summons, and found the whole family assembled, gazing in gleeful wonder at the clumsy antics a table was playing under the guidance of three of its members. One of these was a light-haired boy of about thirteen. There was a sober mischief lurking in his face that awoke a slight suspicion in my mind.

"Are you sure that Robert is not using a little muscular force?" asked I.

"Bob? Oh no; he wouldn't do such a thing. He knows how anxious we are to discover the truth that lies at the bottom of these strange developments. And look how lightly his hands rest on the table—the fingers hardly touch it. But Bob has a great deal of electricity about him."

He looked as though he had.

"And I have observed," continued Mrs. Dutton, "that boys and very young men are more successful than any others in moving tables."

If that had not been announced to me as a scientific fact, I should have regarded it as a suspicious circumstance. But manner has a great effect, and Mrs. Dutton's grand emphatic way impressed me so strongly that I listened with the unquestioning reliance of an ignorant, but trusting disciple.

I watched the table as it went reeling and pitching, in a blind and purposeless sort of way, about the room, closely attended by the three who had set it in motion.

"Now take your hands off, and perhaps it will follow you," said I.

That was an unfortunate request of mine, for, with the lifting of the hands, all movement in the table ceased. Bob took the opportunity thus afforded him, and made his escape from the room. We spent a long time in trying to "charge the table," as we called it in our wisdom, again, but were unsuccessful. I was astonished in the midst of our attempts, and just as the table began to make its usual quiver preparatory to a start, to hear the clock strike three. I hastened home to dinner without the receipt, and with the pudding and the calls still unmade, but with my mind so full of perplexed wonder at what I had seen and heard, that I hardly gave a thought to my omissions.

We were discussing the matter in a family circle in the evening, and I presume most of the other households in Westbridge were engaged in the same way, when two young ladies were shown into the parlor.

"We have come to borrow one of your tables—your very smallest, Mrs. Forsyth; and, Pauline, we want you to come back with us. You know how these experiments are tried, I believe. Mrs. Dutton says you were in there this morning, and saw how they did it. We have been trying in vain for the last hour, and at last I came to the conclusion that our tables were all too large, and I told mamma I was sure you would lend us one, and come and see if we omitted anything essential."

"Certainly," said I, "I will do all I can—that is very little. I have not succeeded yet in any attempt I have made. How shall we get the table carried round? Our servants are unfortunately out or engaged."

"Oh, we can carry it ourselves," said Miss Preston, an enthusiast, whom no trifling obstacles daunted; and we passed through the quiet streets of Westbridge carrying the table between us, and amusing ourselves with the curious surprise of the few pedestrians we met, as the full moonlight fell on us and our burden.

At Mrs. Preston's I was successful for the first time. The table quivered, then rocked, then tilted, and at last moved a little this way and that—not much, but just enough to lift from my mind the oppressive feeling of my own inability to do that of which all the men, women, and children in Westbridge seemed to be capable.

When I returned in the evening, I was told that another one of our set of small tea-poys had been borrowed by another neighbor; and for the succeeding fortnight there was little heard or thought of in Westbridge but moving tables. We ran into each other's houses unceremoniously in the evening, and met in little social groups, and our town began to wear another aspect.

But the heresy of involuntary muscular action had arisen in some way. The person who first broached the opinion, abashed perhaps by the indignant disapprobation with which it was received, had shrunk back into silence, but his opinion remained and was gaining ground. The parties began to run high. The people in Westbridge who had performed such wonders with their electric or magnetic force felt called upon to stand their ground and give some convincing proof that they had not all this time been duping themselves.

Those who had lately been devoting themselves to scientific experiments were invited to a soirÉe at Mrs. Dutton's. A few disbelievers in the science were also asked, that the examination might be carried on fairly and openly.

On entering the drawing-room at Mrs. Dutton's, I found the company already assembled. I saw all the familiar faces I had met so often lately around, not the festive, but the scientific board, and mingled with them were few not so often seen of late. Seated in the place of honor, on the luxurious sofa, were two stout and stately dowagers, guarding between them their niece, Edith Floyd, a lovely, blooming little beauty of sixteen, with brown eyes and fair hair falling in soft curls on either side of her face. Nearly opposite to her, and leaning against a door, stood Reginald Archer, a young Virginian, at that time a student at the college in Westbridge.

It was a rare event to meet a college student in the society of the place, for so many of them had acted the part of the false young knight "who loves and who rides away," that they had been for some time laboring under a kind of polite ostracism. But Mr. Archer had connections in the town, which fact accounted for his exception from the social banishment to which his companions were doomed. The first sight of Edith Floyd had so captivated him, that ever since he had been trying, but trying in vain, to obtain an introduction to her. She was so carefully watched and secluded by her two guardians, that this was the first evening that Mr. Archer had found himself in the same room with her. Even then he did not feel equal to encountering her imposingly dignified aunts, and stood waiting for a more favorable opportunity of forming her acquaintance.

Moving about from one group to another, talking in an excited, earnest way, was Mr. Harrison, the only man in all Westbridge who had expressed an utter disbelief in the whole movement from the first to the last. Even the idea of involuntary or unconscious muscular action was scouted at by him. There had not been a table moved in the town, he said, which had not been done by some person who was perfectly conscious of what he or she was doing. He would not reason nor listen to reason on the subject. It was too purely absurd, he said, for argument. He never entered a room where it was going on without being thrown out of all patience, and yet he haunted the tables and the groups around them, as if he found some strange fascination about them, talking, jesting, and inveighing at our ridiculous credulity, and doing his utmost to stem the tide that was so strong against him. But it was all to no purpose. Mrs. Dutton said, in her oracular way, that "Mr. Harrison had no faith, and faith was the key to knowledge."

Though thus summarily disposed of, he fought on still, not a whit discouraged by his want of success or the little credit he gained for himself.

After selecting with care a suitable table, those of the company who chose to be the experimenters placed themselves around it, and the number and variety of the fingers that were spread on that little surface was quite wonderful to behold. Under such experienced hands, the table performed its part to admiration. Its mode of progression was awkward and angular, to be sure; but what could be expected from the first attempt of a candlestand? It began at last to turn with such rapidity that it was followed with difficulty, and the laughing, confusion, and bustle occasioned by the endeavor to keep pace with its irregular movements created a merry turmoil seldom seen in a decorous assembly in Westbridge. Suddenly, the table made an unexpected tilt nearly to the floor, thus releasing itself from most of the hands laid upon it. The rest, satisfied with the result of the experiment, withdrew their fingers and went to receive the congratulations of the company.

Mrs. Dutton, in a state of high excitement, turned to Mr. Harrison and asked his opinion.

"You have humbugged each other most successfully," said he, too intolerant of the affair to be very choice in his expressions.

Mr. Archer, to whom the whole proceedings were new and strange, and who had had his attention about equally divided between the table and Edith Floyd, said, in a low voice, to Mr. Harrison—

"If I were to find myself seated with hands outspread at a table, waiting for it to move, I should certainly think that my head was a little touched."

"You are the only sensible person in Westbridge—besides myself," said Mr. Harrison, warmly.

Meantime, Ellwood Floyd, Edith's brother, desirous to repeat the experiment, had seated himself at the table, and was endeavoring to obtain assistants. But, satisfied and tired, most of the company were more inclined to talk.

"Come, Edith," said he, impatiently.

She looked beseechingly at her aunts, who, with some reluctance, gave their consent. They evidently regarded her as some precious jewel, which they were afraid to trust for one moment out of their care, for fear they should be rifled of it.

With blushing eagerness, Edith hastened to her brother's side, and two little hands, white and soft as snow-flakes, fell softly on the table. Instantly, two other hands, whose aristocratic beauty of form Lord Byron might have envied, although their color was somewhat of the brownest, were placed beside them.

"Introduce me, if you please," asked Mr. Archer, in a whisper, of a cousin of his, a lady who was standing near; and, the ceremony being performed, Mr. Archer felt inclined to bless the credulity which had thus enabled him to accomplish what had been for many months the desire of his heart.

Mr. Harrison looked on in astonishment.

"Is it possible!" he exclaimed.

"I begin to think there is something in it," said Mr. Archer.

"Is your brain turned too?"

"Perhaps it is a little," said Mr. Archer, with a half smile, while a flush stole over his face. He would not on any account have Mr. Harrison, the greatest tease in Westbridge, suspect the true reason for his sudden change.

All farther attempts at conversation were strictly forbidden by Mr. Floyd, who took upon himself the direction of the experiment. Three other ladies had joined, but he still looked about for more recruits.

"Come, Mr. Lamb," asked he of a large, mild-looking man, who had gathered himself up in a corner, as if he were laboring under a constant apprehension that he took up too much room in the world, "you will help us, I know."

Mr. Lamb begged to be excused, and the effort of speaking before so many brought a faint pink tinge to his face.

"Have you no faith either?" asked Mr. Harrison.

"You would not ask that, if you had seen him as I did yesterday," said Mr. Floyd, "sitting with outstretched hands over a large dining-table. He told me, when I went in, that he had been there all the afternoon, and had not yet produced the slightest effect."

Mr. Lamb's face was by this time a deep crimson, and, feeling it useless to attempt to withdraw any longer from observation, he advanced to the table and placed upon it a pair of hands so large, soft, and yielding that, when they at last stopped spreading, seemed to cover two-thirds of the table.

"Ah, that is something like!" said Mr. Floyd, highly satisfied with his new recruit.

But yet the table did not move as soon as before. Several times I fancied I observed a preparatory quiver in it, and the exclamations of those around it showed that they also were in expectation of some decided result; but we were as often disappointed. Looking closely, I thought that Mr. Archer's hands rested more heavily on the table than was expedient. I suggested this to him, and he thanked me politely, and showed such an evident desire to do nothing out of rule that he quite won my approval.

"My fingers are tingling," said one of the ladies.

"So are mine," said Mr. Archer.

But nothing came of it. After a long waiting, Edith Floyd burst out with, "I am so tired!" in a low, sighing whisper.

Instantly, the table began to move, very slowly and cautiously at first. But soon it increased its velocity, until the excited group around it could hardly keep pace with it. It whirled from one end of the drawing-room to the other with a rapidity never before seen in Westbridge.

"Not so bad a substitute for the waltz," said Mr. Harrison, as he watched the movers running, laughing, and exclaiming, mingled in apparently inextricable confusion. "I would not object to take a turn myself."

That was an unfortunate speech. One by one the movers withdrew their hands, until at last Mr. Lamb was left alone standing by the table in the middle of the room. In great confusion, he retired, and very soon the company dispersed.

That was the climax of the table-moving mania in Westbridge. What might have happened, if we had gone on, cannot be conjectured. We might all have been hearing mysterious rappings, and conversing with those most earthy spirits, whose utter barrenness and poverty of intellect have not hindered them from misleading some of our thoughtful and earnest minds.

The very day after Mrs. Dutton's soirÉe, Professor Faraday's exposition of the whole jugglery came out, and even the "Westbridge Chronicle" had the barbarity to publish it, "for the benefit," it said, "of some of its readers," when everybody in Westbridge knew that the editor had piqued himself on the possession of more electricity than any one else in town. The subject of table-moving is now a forbidden one in Westbridge. I have not heard an allusion to it for the last six month.

Yet, I fancy, it has produced some results; for Edith's two aunts, who were wont to delight in the most severe strictures on the young men of the present day, now make, in their sweeping assertions, a marked exception in favor of Mr. Reginald Archer.