My studies in spiritism had developed in me another feeling which was kin to this—­a belief in a spiritual insight, the possession of which would always, if entire confidence were placed in it, tell one at the moment what should be done; an intuition which would guide him, but only on the condition that it was trusted absolutely.  And at that period of my life I followed it with unfaltering trust.  A curious illustration of this state of mind and its effect had already occurred to me in the spring, and, as it relates to this topic and involves a very curious psychological phenomenon, I describe it in connection with the so similar experience of the backwoods.  I had made an engagement with Mr. Brown, the sculptor, to meet him on the trout brook that ran through my uncle’s farm in Rensselaer County, New York, a hundred and fifty miles from New York city, but I lost the last train by which I should have met him at the appointed time,—­daybreak of the following day.  Determined to keep the engagement, I took a parallel railway, which ran through western Massachusetts and a section of country which was entirely strange to me.  From the station at which I left the railway, that of Pittsfield, there was a distance of several miles to the place of rendezvous, which was in the town of Hancock, close to the boundary line between New York and Massachusetts.  On leaving the station I inquired the way to Hancock, and was told that as the crow flies, i.e. across an intervening mountain, it was twelve miles without even a footpath; but, by the road around the mountain, twenty, and that, unless I knew the mountain, I could not possibly find my way over it.  It was just sunset as I left Pittsfield, and I decided to risk the mountain, and, following a wood road, I climbed the steep declivity, and, going in what seemed to me a nearly direct course, after an hour’s walk I recognized a gap in the hill-crest and a distant view with two little lakes reflecting the sky which I had seen the hour before.  I had been following a charcoal-burner’s road in a circle; daylight had gone, and the mists were coming on heavy as rain, making it impossible to see ten yards before me.  There was no recourse, if I was to keep the rendezvous, but to follow the guidance of the inner sense.  I determined to obey the monitor, and plunged into the forest, in unhesitating obedience to it.  I did not guess, nor did I try to make any kind of calculation.  I felt that I must go in a certain direction, and, as the darkness deepened, I had, literally, to grope my way, walk with my hands out before me, not to run against the trees, for, with little exception, the way lay through dense woodland, amidst which were scattered boulders and fallen tree trunks.  I could not—­and I speak without the least exaggeration—­see the trees at my arm’s length.  The fog was so dense and the trees so wet that every leaf or twig dripped on me till I was soon drenched as completely as if I had been plunged into a lake.  I passed