P. How do you think your present illness will result?     

 V. [After a long hesitation and speaking as if with effort.]       I must die.     

 P. Does the idea of death afflict you?     

 V. [Very quickly.] No—no!     

 P. Are you pleased with the prospect?     

 V. If I were awake I should like to die, but now it is no matter. The mesmeric condition is so near death as to content me.     

 P. I wish you would explain yourself, Mr. Vankirk.     

 V. I am willing to do so, but it requires more effort than I feel able to make. You do not question me properly.     

 P. What then shall I ask?     

 V. You must begin at the beginning.     

 P. The beginning! But where is the beginning?     

 V. You know that the beginning is GOD. [This was said in a low, fluctuating tone, and with every sign of the most profound veneration.]     

 P. What then, is God?     

 V. [Hesitating for many minutes.] I cannot tell.     

 P. Is not God spirit?     

 V. While I was awake I knew what you meant by “spirit,” but now it seems only a word—such, for instance, as truth, beauty—a quality, I mean.     

 P. Is not God immaterial?     

 V. There is no immateriality—it is a mere word. That which is not matter, is not at all—unless qualities are things.     

 P. Is God, then, material?     

 V. No. [This reply startled me very much.]     

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