Such are the facts of this case.
Margaret Corray is now my wife. She has never
seen Auburn, and during the weeks whose history as
it shaped itself in my brain I have endeavored to
relate, was living at her home in Oakland, wondering
where her lover was and why he did not write.
The other day I saw in the Baltimore Sun the following
paragraph:
“Professor Valentine Dorrimore,
the hypnotist, had a large audience last night.
The lecturer, who has lived most of his life in India,
gave some marvelous exhibitions of his power, hypnotizing
anyone who chose to submit himself to the experiment,
by merely looking at him. In fact, he twice hypnotized
the entire audience (reporters alone exempted), making
all entertain the most extraordinary illusions.
The most valuable feature of the lecture was the disclosure
of the methods of the Hindu jugglers in their famous
performances, familiar in the mouths of travelers.
The professor declares that these thaumaturgists
have acquired such skill in the art which he learned
at their feet that they perform their miracles by simply
throwing the ‘spectators’ into a state
of hypnosis and telling them what to see and hear.
His assertion that a peculiarly susceptible subject
may be kept in the realm of the unreal for weeks,
months, and even years, dominated by whatever delusions
and hallucinations the operator may from time to time
suggest, is a trifle disquieting.”
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