Mrs.
Thaxter placed her left hand on it, and Mrs. H., a New York lady, placed
her right hand, while the rest of us formed a circle around the table.
In five or ten minutes, planchette began to move, and wrote out "John
Laighton," in plain, bold letters. "He was my great-uncle," said Mrs.
Thaxter; "and there used to be a proverb in Portsmouth, 'As honest as
John Laighton.'" Then she wrote on the paper: "Where is my father?"
A few minutes afterward, Mrs. H. closed her eyes, and fell back in her
chair, as if she were fainting. Suddenly coming to herself, she seized
the pencil from planchette and wrote rapidly on the paper, while Mrs.
Thaxter held her other hand. She was at the left of Mrs. Thaxter, but I
cannot remember now whether Mrs. H. wrote with her right or left hand.
Mrs. Thaxter was greatly excited and looked all the time in Mrs. H.'s
face in the most earnest and impressive manner. Mrs. H. behaved like a
person under the influence of strong emotion, and continued to write
intermittently until the sheet of paper was nearly covered. Mrs. Thaxter
read the sentences eagerly, but without saying a word. Several times Mr.
H. entreated his wife to desist, but she paid no attention to him. The
whole performance lasted nearly half an hour, and when it was over, Mrs.
Thaxter said, "They are all answers to questions which I asked of my
father," and remained very grave and quiet during the rest of the
evening.
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