362 MY LIFE 



give one curious test which occurred to General Lippitt 

 recently, and an account of which he sent to me in February, 

 1894. In his early life he had lived in Paris, and had become 

 acquainted with several members of the Bonaparte family, 

 and had rendered some services to them. This was only 

 known to himself, but it accounted (to him) for the fact that 

 he had, through different mediums, received messages from 

 some of them, and from Napoleon III. In August, 1893, he 

 had seances with a medium previously unknown to him, and 

 received on a slate under test conditions a long message in 

 French, purporting to come from Napoleon III., and to give 

 his last dying thoughts. A facsimile of this is given in a 

 Chicago paper, and is written as if it were an ordinary prose 

 message; but on copying it out I found that it was in rhyme, 

 and, so far as I could judge, very forcible, and even pathetic 

 verse. I therefore sent a copy of it to Mr. F. Myers, asking 

 him what he thought of it, and whether it was correctly 

 written. In reply he told me that he had paid special atten- 

 tion to the rules of French poetry, and that this was correct 

 verse such as no one but a Frenchman could have written. 

 General Lippitt, who was a good French scholar, observes 

 that there is only one error in it — the omission of the final 

 " e " in the word profonde near the end, which is doubtless an 

 oversight, when all the other refinements of the language, as 

 well as the numerous accents, are correct. General Lippitt 

 also prints a certificate that the medium knew no French; 

 but that is quite unnecessary in view of the test conditions. 

 Esprit C., who signs it, is one of the medium's guides who 

 knows French. 



"L'Heure sonne! on la compte; elle n'est deja plus: 

 L'airain n'annonce, helas ! que des moments perdus. 

 Son redoubtable son m'epouvante, m'eveille; 

 Et c'est la voix du temps qui frappe a mon oreille. 

 S'il ne m'abuse point, le lugubre metal 

 De mon heure derniere a donne le signal : 

 Cest elle! . . . ou retrouver tant d'heures ecoulees? 

 Vers leur source lointaine elles sont refoulees; 

 Le seul effroi me reste et l'espoir est banni. 

 II faut mourir, finir, quand je n'ai rien fini, 



